"Where is Pa at?"
"I don't know, honey. Somewhere outside." Momma's
hands in the dough and flour. White dust and mud. Dust caint live on
bread alone.
"Can I go find him?"
"I'm sure he ain't far. I used to think he had his eyes on
some faraway place. Turns out he did, just not one on any map.
Can you button your jacket? See my hands?"
"If you put'em in the fire you'd have biscuit hands."
"I declare! Don't you be saying things like that. Maybe
Daddy's feeding the chickens. You can tell him I'm putting the
biscuits on now." She'll bake'em in the fireplace.
Outside the wind is blowing.
Smoke
rolls out the chimney.
Does it smell like biscuits?
Then it goes
over
the trees.
My home cuddles agin the mountain foot. Warm as a cat
in bed. Where is Yellerboy?
The leaves ever where. Yellow. Red. Brown.
They blow.
The sheets on the line wave white.
Momma's hands. Bye-bye.
I'd like to say bye to this place Nelson. I know they must
be work in Charlotte or Asheville. He don't face her when she
talks. Tall above her. When he does. A tree leans over a house.
And what's Momma goina do without me here? Y'ever think of that?
Think that New York Jew's goina come down here and slop her hogs?
Frankly Damitall Loosenbelt.
There he is. "You caint catch them leaves Yellerboy.
C'mere boy. Kitty kitty." A leaf is a thing God blows in the air like
a bird and a fat yeller cat caint catch it there. He's a old fatso.
Not like me. I'm skinny, and don't have yellow hair on my belly.
A cat has a little button under its tail and then under that a tomcat
has a little suitcase he carries around. Pa said it. For when he
goes courtin. "You wanna go see Pa feed the
chickens? Might be a mouse in the chicken house."
Near the chicken lot trees wave their arms. Pa's voice
in the wind. "Troubles! Don't tell me about ..." Then it blows away
with the leaves. Acorns popping my head and the chicken
house. A tin roof is rattle-y. Like the ice last summer fell from the sky.
Hell. The devil is there and the dimocrats get to go this fall.
Pa through the wire. Nobody but him and the chickens.
Don't
hang
on the wire
it'll cut my fingers off.
He's a-hollerin. "And don't tell him either. He already knows."
Scattering corn like seed.
And five thousin got fed that day.
Chickens at his feet. A chicken is dumb. It hunts for a
thing to peck. "I'm a-tellin you today--" he says. He reaches in his
bucket and flings another handful of corn. Lucky jumps on the edge
of the bucket and wobbles. He is a brave rooster with a big red comb
on his head. Pa stares. Lucky cocks his head the way a chicken
will do.
"Don't you know--" Pa says. Then he shoots his arm out
like a snake and grabs Lucky by the neck and pulls him right up in
his face and hollers, "--there's a life beyond this that knows no pain?"
Lucky flaps his wings.
"What ya tellin'im, Pa?"
Pa's head jerks. "Hey there, Big Time. Where'd you come
from?" He lets Lucky drop from on high.
I point to the house. "Momma's fixin supper."
"Sounds good to me. Well, I tell you what. I was just
telling these chickens some of the things that a few people around
here need to be reminded of. That's just what I was doing. Maybe
I'll tell 'em one of these days, too."
"Is Lucky a sinner?"
Pa laughs. Comes out the gate and picks me up. We
head for the house. The smoke is gray blowing from the chimney.
Its a long way to the ground. His hair so black it shines in the sun.
Like a crow. "Yeah, he probly is. Probly got too many hens on his
mind. People's the same. There's always more chances to get their
minds on the wrong things 'n right things. Take your mother.
I can't say I understand her, but she's a good woman, one of the best.
But all she can think about is all the thousand places she thinks we'd
be better off than here. Charlotte or Asheville or Atlanta Georgia for
God's sake. When there's only one place for us that's better than
here, and that's in the next life. And wantin to buy a car of all things.
You don't want to go anywhere do you, honey?"
"I don't know. I ain't been." I can pat his hair. Black like
a crow is sneaky. The way he pats mine. They watch for the corn
you plant. You can shoot them with a gun.
"And leave Lucky behind? And Yellerboy? And Granma
Tucker? Nope, I got everthing I want or need right here. Right in my
arms. Say, where's your cap? Don't your momma know you'll get a
earache in this wind?"
"Her hands was in the dough. It was white."
"Ha! That's right." He pinches my cheek. "And what
color's that fat old fella running there?"
"Yeller."
"And how many fingers I'm holding up?"
"Four."
"You got it. That stands for four more years without no
Democrat for a President. Roosevelt! I don't know what gets in
that woman's head. I see she's got some clothes out on the line.
Let's get'em in for her. Scoot."
The sheets are blowing. "Pa, pa, look. Booo! Boooo!"
"Oh no! You're a scary looking ghost. Please don't haunt
me, Mr. Ghost."
"It's not a ghost! It's me!"
I run.
Pa runs.
Yellerboy runs.
In the wind.
With the leaves and smoke.
We run.
Fiction: Holier
Than Thou | Main Map
Theory: Origins of this episode
Initial release: October 19, 1995
Last update: June 28, 1996