leaned to the side and spat on his porch. “County chairman my eye.”
“I don’t guess I know them too well,” Kyle said.
“Ain’t nothing worth knowing about that lot.”
“I reckon not.”
The paralyzed man said, “You all are good trees. Keep to yourselves.”
“Sir?”
“I stutter?”
“No, sir. You said my family is trees.”
“People, boy. Good people. Had the stroke, you know.”
Kyle nodded and took a polite half step back away from the paralyzed man, a gesture to communicate that he was ready to leave.
“Let me give you a quarter for fetching my mail.”
Kyle knew that he could get a whole pack of watermelon Now and Laters at the reservoir bait shop for less than a quarter. A pack of Now and Laters could be rationed to last a whole day if you were disciplined about it. But Kyle’s skin had begun to crawl. He wanted off the porch more than he wanted the Now and Laters. He took another half step backward.
“Nosir, I just couldn’t take that. I appreciate it, though.”
“Just wait a minute and let me reach here in my pocket.”
As Kyle shuffled a bit farther away from the man, he saw that one side of the paralyzed man’s body worked just fine, while the other side was dead.
“No. Nosir, I’ve got to—”
The paralyzed man’s good left arm shot out like a striking cobra, and his hand clamped down on Kyle’s wrist. It was tight and unyielding like metal.
“What you got in your hand there, boy? What you trying to steal from me?”
Kyle tried to wrench his hand free, but the man’s grip was powerful. There was no give to it, no question of wriggling free from it.
“Nothin’! I wasn’t trying to steal nothin’.”
“Open your hand, boy. Open your hand or I swear to God above I’ll break it open.”
Again, there was no question of refusal. Kyle did as he was told.
The paralyzed man grunted when he saw the small scrap of folded paper in Kyle’s palm. “Open it.”
Kyle manipulated the slip of paper using the fingers of his free hand. He held it out for the paralyzed man to read.
“‘Go to the green pond for your treasure.’ Treasure is misspelled. What’s it supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. It don’t mean nothing. It’s a game.”
“A game? A game? Why, you’re playing a game with the devil, son. Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think old Kenny Ahearn ain’t right in the head?”
Kyle struggled as best he could. His hand had gone from tingly hot to blood-starved cold, then just numb. He pulled so hard to get away that he pulled the monstrous metal wheelchair forward just a bit.
“Do you think I don’t know who you are?” the paralyzed man hissed at Kyle. Kyle could see his yellow teeth dotted with black spots of decay. Drool spilled lazily from one corner of his mouth. “You’re them that set that fire. You’re the ones. Firebugs. That’s you, boy. Firebug.”
Kyle surprised himself by saying, “You’re crazy. Let me go. Let me go or I’ll tell!”
“Kyle! Kyle!”—It was Grace. Kenny Ahearn and Kyle both looked up, their faces almost touching, and saw Grace standing at the road’s edge, the cornstalks towering behind her little girl’s body. Her cheap patriotic cape stood out in stark, absurd contrast to the verdant background. Grace turned away from them and yelled back into the corn, “Daddy! Daddy! Kyle’s right over here!” She turned back to face the boy and the man in the wheelchair on the porch. “Kyle, you better hurry up! Daddy’s been looking everywhere for you.”
The paralyzed man maintained his constrictor grip on Kyle’s wrist for a moment longer, as if to prove that he didn’t care if Kyle’s daddy was coming or Tecumseh Sherman or Jesus Christ Himself. He held Kyle’s eyes with his and said, “Get on up out of here, firebug” and released Kyle’s wrist at the same moment that Kyle was jerking away. Kyle stumbled and fell on his back with a jaw-cracking thud, immediately turning over and scrambling away.
The
“I don’t guess I know them too well,” Kyle said.
“Ain’t nothing worth knowing about that lot.”
“I reckon not.”
The paralyzed man said, “You all are good trees. Keep to yourselves.”
“Sir?”
“I stutter?”
“No, sir. You said my family is trees.”
“People, boy. Good people. Had the stroke, you know.”
Kyle nodded and took a polite half step back away from the paralyzed man, a gesture to communicate that he was ready to leave.
“Let me give you a quarter for fetching my mail.”
Kyle knew that he could get a whole pack of watermelon Now and Laters at the reservoir bait shop for less than a quarter. A pack of Now and Laters could be rationed to last a whole day if you were disciplined about it. But Kyle’s skin had begun to crawl. He wanted off the porch more than he wanted the Now and Laters. He took another half step backward.
“Nosir, I just couldn’t take that. I appreciate it, though.”
“Just wait a minute and let me reach here in my pocket.”
As Kyle shuffled a bit farther away from the man, he saw that one side of the paralyzed man’s body worked just fine, while the other side was dead.
“No. Nosir, I’ve got to—”
The paralyzed man’s good left arm shot out like a striking cobra, and his hand clamped down on Kyle’s wrist. It was tight and unyielding like metal.
“What you got in your hand there, boy? What you trying to steal from me?”
Kyle tried to wrench his hand free, but the man’s grip was powerful. There was no give to it, no question of wriggling free from it.
“Nothin’! I wasn’t trying to steal nothin’.”
“Open your hand, boy. Open your hand or I swear to God above I’ll break it open.”
Again, there was no question of refusal. Kyle did as he was told.
The paralyzed man grunted when he saw the small scrap of folded paper in Kyle’s palm. “Open it.”
Kyle manipulated the slip of paper using the fingers of his free hand. He held it out for the paralyzed man to read.
“‘Go to the green pond for your treasure.’ Treasure is misspelled. What’s it supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. It don’t mean nothing. It’s a game.”
“A game? A game? Why, you’re playing a game with the devil, son. Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think old Kenny Ahearn ain’t right in the head?”
Kyle struggled as best he could. His hand had gone from tingly hot to blood-starved cold, then just numb. He pulled so hard to get away that he pulled the monstrous metal wheelchair forward just a bit.
“Do you think I don’t know who you are?” the paralyzed man hissed at Kyle. Kyle could see his yellow teeth dotted with black spots of decay. Drool spilled lazily from one corner of his mouth. “You’re them that set that fire. You’re the ones. Firebugs. That’s you, boy. Firebug.”
Kyle surprised himself by saying, “You’re crazy. Let me go. Let me go or I’ll tell!”
“Kyle! Kyle!”—It was Grace. Kenny Ahearn and Kyle both looked up, their faces almost touching, and saw Grace standing at the road’s edge, the cornstalks towering behind her little girl’s body. Her cheap patriotic cape stood out in stark, absurd contrast to the verdant background. Grace turned away from them and yelled back into the corn, “Daddy! Daddy! Kyle’s right over here!” She turned back to face the boy and the man in the wheelchair on the porch. “Kyle, you better hurry up! Daddy’s been looking everywhere for you.”
The paralyzed man maintained his constrictor grip on Kyle’s wrist for a moment longer, as if to prove that he didn’t care if Kyle’s daddy was coming or Tecumseh Sherman or Jesus Christ Himself. He held Kyle’s eyes with his and said, “Get on up out of here, firebug” and released Kyle’s wrist at the same moment that Kyle was jerking away. Kyle stumbled and fell on his back with a jaw-cracking thud, immediately turning over and scrambling away.
The
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