Edward Lee: Header 2

“Dang, boy!” Helton finally barked. “Tell us about the fuckin’ package!”

“Oh, yes, sir, that’s what I’m fixin’ ta do,” the boy laboriously continued. “But see, these fellas, they didn’t go into June’s. Instead, they all look right at me. ”

“Trucker,” Micky-Mack asked, “was it these citified fellas who done give you this package?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I been meanin’ to tell yawl. They waves at me after they get out’a that big white fancy motor-home, then they walk over, and they’re all real nice’n smilin’ and they ask me if I ever heard of Helton Tuckton.”

At this data, Helton’s eyes narrowed. “That so?”

“Yes, sir, they ask me if’n I heard’a ya so’s a’course I say yes sir, and then one’a the city men, he step up and say that he’s a friend’a yours and he got a package for ya, but see, he don’t know where ya live.”

Dumar and Helton looked at each other.

“—so I’se say, yes sir, down the old trail off’a Dog Tail Road past the deadfall about a mile, but then I tell ’em that that road ain’t big enough for that big fancy motor-home see, so then this fella, real nice fella, I mean ta say, all of ’em, that is, but this fella ask me since he cain’t drive his fancy motor-home to yer house, could I take this here package to ya directly, so I say yes sir, and you know what he done? He done give me a hunnert dollars for doin’ it!”

Helton went into some deep contemplation. Something just didn’t sound right about this. “Trucker, you say this city fella paid you a hunnert dollars to deliver this package to me? ”

“Yes, sir, that’s a fact.”

“And you say that he says he’s a friend of mine?”

“Oh, yes, sir, he say you’re a good friend’a his, for shore—oh, oh—and he even tolt me his name. He said his name is Paulie. ”

Helton stood stunned. His son and his nephew peered at him.

“Well, I cain’t think of a city fella who’s a friend’a mine,” Helton gave voice to the puzzle. “Ain’t never known no Paulie neither.”

“Well shit on all’a that, Paw,” Dumar suggested. He was tired of all this talk.

“Could be someone ya forgot, Unc Helton,” Micky-Mack added.

“Let’s just see what it is that this fella Paulie sent ya,” Dumar said. “Then you’ll shorely remember him.”

“Yeah, I guess’n yer right.” He looked to young Trucker McKellen. “I thank ya kindly for walkin’ all that way with this package, son. But you best git on home now, and think ’bout how you’re gonna spend them hunnert dollars.”

“Oh, I will, sir,” the boy said. “I reckon I’ll give it to my daddy on account he work so hard and still ain’t got over my mama up’n leavin’…” Trucker looked at the five $20 bills. “Or, dang, maybe I’ll just give some of it to my daddy and keep the rest.”

“Ain’t no reason not to,” Micky-Mack said. “It’s your money.”

Now the boy’s brows rose in an anticipation. “Mr. Helton, you think for maybe fifty dollars one’a them ladies at June’s would stick her finger up my butt while’se playin’ with my willy? My mama used to do that fer me when I was little, and now that I recall…it felt a right good, it did, and—”

Helton winced. “Aw, son, now we don’t wanna hear ’bout none’a that—”

“—and sometimes my daddy’d come in and then he’d—”

“That’s enough, Trucker. Just you run on home now,” Helton insisted, and then, after a polite if not crude farewell, the boy was gone.

“Jesus,” Helton muttered.

Dumar’s face was all lit up. “Come on, Paw! Let’s see what’s in the package!”

Helton whipped out his Buck knife and zipped it through the clear packing tape. He opened the box, looked inside, and withdrew…

“Another package,” he muttered.

Sure enough, there was another box inside the first box, but this one had—

“What’s all that writin’ on the box, Unc Helton?” inquired Micky-Mack.

“Yeah,” Dumar said, “I cain’t read for dick, but you can, Paw. What’s all the black letters say?”

Helton put on an ancient pair of spectacles and, squinting at the box, slowly recited: “M-a-g-n-a-v-o-x…p-o-r-t-a-b-l-e…d-v-d… p-l-a-y-e-r…” He blinked. “What the hail’s that?”

“Aw, shit, Unc,” “Micky-Mack enthused. “I know what it is,” and then he opened up the second box and pulled out a small, sleek device, whose lid amazingly flipped open.

“I’se think I heard of ’em myself,” Dumar speculated.

Helton frowned. “Well I ain’t never heard’a no such thing.”

“Aw, yeah!” Micky-Mack placed the player on a handmade table and showed the others how there was a viewing screen inside that flipped up lid. “See, it’s fer watchin’ movies! ”

Helton eyed the strange machine. “Movies? Ya mean like the movin’-picture show?”

“Yeah!”

“Shee-it, I only been to one movin’-picture show in my life. Was back when I was a little kid and some fella named Eisenhower were president.”

“What was the movie, Paw?” asked Dumar.

“Some silly shit ’bout giant octopusses or some such attackin’ underwater boats. 20,000 Weeds Under The Sea’re somethin’ like that. Didn’t much care for it.”

“Unc, things have changed in these times,” Micky-Mack went on, inspecting the machine. “Now they got these really cool modern movies made in this fancy place called Hollywood. See, I know this ’cos—‘member Crud Tooley? Just a few months ago he come back from the Army, from fightin’ these people they call towelheads in the Eye-Rack , and, see, I hadn’t seen him in years but one day I were walkin’ in town and I see him and he says, ‘Hey, Micky-Mack! I’m back! Let’s go to my place ’cos my sister’s havin’ a up against the waller!’ so I say, ‘Hey, Crud, good to see ya but—shee-it—what’s a up against the waller?’ and he say, ‘Come on up the house and you’ll see,’ so I go with him and, see, it cost ever-body a dollar to go to this up against the waller; Crud, he say his sister has ’em all the time. So when I gets there we go down the basement and I’ll be danged if there weren’t twenty fellas down there, ever-one from Old Man Halm to Mr. Winslow the school principal, and the Larkin Boys—all five of ’em—and that bald-headed fella I hear plays the organ at church, oh, and—”

“Micky-Mack!” Helton raised his voice. “Get to the dang point!”

“Uh, well, shore, Unc. Anyway, what this up against the waller was, see, was Crud’s sister Tulip—she look kind’a funny ’cos her eyes are crooked, and Crud, he tolt me it’s ’cos their mama drunk a lot’a ‘shine when she were pregnant—but anyway, we all give Tulip our buck and then all twenty of us line up against the wall and drop our pants and—I ain’t kiddin’ ya—Tulip got down on her knees and sucked each’n every one of us off. Swallowed ever-thang, too, even my big nut. And ya wanna know the funniest part? Tulip even charged her own brother a buck!”

Helton gaped. “Micky-Mack. You run yer damn mouth more’n Mckellen’s kid. What the fuck’s a 13-year-old girl blowin’ a basement full’a rednecks got to do with this damn thingamajig that come from the package?”

“Oh, well, that’s right, I was gonna tell ya that,” Micky-Mack admitted to a diversion of topics. “It was Crud, he brung one back from the Iraq and tolt me all about it. Ya watch movies on it. Movies that ya can buy in the big-city stores, and, shee-it, now that I think of it, it’s a right kick in the ass for Tulip to charge her own brother for a blowjob when it’s been him paying the property taxes on the house!”