Joe Lansdale - A Fine Dark Line

“Rosy,” Callie said. “I didn’t mean to. I mean, I threw it, but I didn’t think it would hit it.”

“Killed it deader than a stump,” Rosy said.

Mom and Dad looked at Callie in that manner only parents can manage.

“Really,” Callie said. “I didn’t mean to kill it. I was just playing around.”

“Still,” I said, trying to manage a save, “she has a good arm.”

“Flings like Whitey Ford,” Daddy said.

“Stanley,” Mom said. “That’s no way to talk. Bragging on her for something like that. Killing a poor bird. Hitting Mr. Chapman.”

“Several times,” Dad said.

“Several times?” Mom said.

“He was shaking Stan out of a tree,” Callie said.

“Off a stairway actually,” I said.

“A stairway?” Mom asked.

I explained. Mom said, “I didn’t know that was back there. You didn’t tell me that was back there. I’ll have to see that.”

I probably hadn’t mentioned it because in my mind it was connected to finding the letters, which even now I didn’t mention. And neither did Callie.

“What was wrong with Mr. Chapman, Daddy?” I said. “He’s always cranky, but . . .”

“Was he drinking, Stanley?” Mom asked Dad.

“I don’t think so,” Dad said. “I didn’t smell it on his breath. Then again, I wasn’t trying to.”

“Daddy was too busy slapping him to smell his breath,” Callie said.

“That drinkin’ turn a man bad,” Rosy said. “I ought to know. I bet he was drinkin’. He used to work right there where them trees is now. In that old Stilwind house. He such a good-looking man then.”

“I remember you saying that before,” I said. “It’s hard to imagine.”

“You sure, Rosy?” Callie said. “He looks like something out of a monster movie to me.”

“After that fire happened, it was like he turn ugly,” Rosy said. “Like it done burned him bad as it burned that little Stilwind girl.”

“I believe I’m behind on all this,” Mom said.

“Me too,” Daddy said.

Me, Callie, and Rosy filled in the blanks. Well, Rosy told what she knew and me and Callie told what we thought we ought to tell. I still didn’t mention what me and Buster had been doing, all the stuff I had found out. I sure didn’t tell them about Winnie Wood, Margret’s mother, or about how Buster had not only interrogated her, but had helped her practice her profession. And I didn’t even know how to begin about Jewel and Margret and what they were doing. Then, of course, there was the pregnancy. So far, concerning my experiences of the summer, all that was missing were flying saucers and the Loch Ness Monster.

“How come you and Callie know all about this?” Mom asked me.

“Heard it around,” I said.

“They say that Margret’s ghost out at the railroad tracks,” Rosy said. “Heard theys one of them ghosts in that house on the hill. Jewel Ellen’s ghost.”

“Ghosts all over,” Daddy said.

“No one lives in the house on the hill anymore,” I said.

“How do you know?” Daddy said.

“I’ve heard that,” I said.

Daddy thought for a moment, pursed his lips, said, “I think that’s why you rode up the hill that day you had the wreck. To see if you could see a ghost. Comes together now. Is that it?”

It was close enough, so I said, “Yes, sir.”

Daddy shook his head.

“There isn’t a ghost though,” I said. “It’s Mrs. Stilwind. She leaves the old folks home sometimes and goes there and people see her.”

“How do you know that?” Mom asked.

I decided I had to tell the truth on this one. “Buster told me.”

“He did, did he?” Daddy said.

“Boy,” Callie said, chuckling, changing the subject back to where we had started. “Daddy sure gave Mr. Chapman a butt whipping.”

“That’s enough of that talk,” Mom said.

“Well,” Callie said, “he did.”

“I did,” Daddy said.

“He slapped him the way he slapped Chester, only harder,” I said.

“Chester, by the way,” Mom said, “was innocent.”

“I’ve said it before,” Daddy said. “Chester was bound to do something eventually, and he probably did something before, so he had it coming.”

“That’s a silly way to think,” Mom said.

“I suppose it is,” Daddy said. “But it’s my only excuse.”

“Mr. Chapman had it coming,” Callie said. “Whap, whap, whap. And Daddy hit him with a stick too. And he cussed.”

“Stanley, what kind of talk is that around the children?”

“Pretty foul, I suppose,” Daddy said. “It was a strained moment.”

Daddy said this as if it were the only time he had ever let go of a string of colorful expletives.

“I can’t imagine what that poor little Richard goes through,” Mom said. “It has to be horrible. Where’s his mother during all this? What’s she doing about it?”

“Mr. Chapman beats her,” I said. “He slaps Richard around too. I’ve seen them with knots and fat lips and black eyes.”

“What a man,” Daddy said.

“This time he got slapped around,” Callie said. “Did you see him try to melt into the ground? He was looking for some kind of hole to go into.”

“Weasels like holes,” Daddy said. “Any place where they can’t see the light of day.”

“I can’t imagine why Mrs. Chapman puts up with such,” Mom said. “Your daddy ever did that, I’d be gone. After I killed him.”

“I only slap guys around,” Daddy said. “When they have it coming, of course.”

“Nub bit him,” I said. “He tried to protect me.”

“Poor Nub got hit with a stick,” Callie said.

“He’s all right,” Daddy said. “He’ll have a knot and a headache, but he’s all right. Good ole Nub.”

“I’ll give our brave hero dog a can of dog food, right now,” Mom said.

“What about the rest of us heroes?” Callie said.

“Nub first,” Mom said. “Besides, I haven’t enough dog food to go around.”

“That’s funny,” Daddy said.

“I’ll bake some cookies for the rest of you. No. This is a real celebration. Rosy will bake the cookies and I’ll help.”

This was a special moment, I thought. Mom had accepted that Rosy was the better cook, and that was the end of it.

“It gettin’ right around dinnertime, Miss Gal,” Rosy said. “Why don’t I fix some dinner. Some fried chicken and greens, corn bread and mashed taters. Then I’ll fix some oatmeal cookies make your stomach wish it was twice its own size.”

“I won’t fight that idea,” Daddy said.

19

THREE DAYS BEFORE SCHOOL, a Saturday, Mom sent me and Callie to town to buy some school supplies. Callie, who had been learning to drive, took the car. Back then, though you had to have a license, the cops didn’t check them much. Fewer people, looser rules. You could drive around when you were thirteen, no problem.

Daddy wasn’t quite that loose with the rules, but he had started to let Callie drive at sixteen. With him in the car at first, and finally, now and then, alone.

We shopped, got the few things we needed. Mostly pens and pencils. They had a new kind of fountain pen you put little plastic cartridges full of ink into, and when those wore out, you replaced them. We bought a couple of those and lots of replacement cartridges. We bought Big Chief tablets, colored map pencils, two small dictionaries, and lots of writing paper and composition notebooks.

I loved all of that stuff. It was exciting. It was a great way to end a summer and prepare for a school year. I was actually starting to look forward to school.

Of course, within a month to six weeks I’d be sick of all of it and anxious for Thanksgiving, and then the Christmas holidays.