break-your-heart blue of a shiny lake. Above the lake, coasting down, he saw a duck. He watched it sail out of sight.
"Well, boy?" Freddie's father said.
"It's beautiful," Freddie said.
"Beautiful, hell, are you ready?"
"Yes, sir."
On they walked, the dogs way ahead now, and finally they stood within ten feet of the lake. Freddie was about to squat down into hiding as he had heard of others doing, when a flock of ducks burst up from a mass of reeds in the lake and Freddie, fighting off the sinking feeling in his stomach, tracked them with the barrel of the shotgun, knowing what he must do to be a man.
His father's hand clamped over the barrel and pushed it down. "Not yet," he said.
"Huh?" said Freddie.
"It's not the ducks that do it," Clyde said.
Freddie watched as Clyde and his father turned their heads to the right, to where the dogs were pointing noses, forward, paws upraisedâto a thatch of underbrush. Clyde and his father made quick commands to the dogs to stay, then they led Freddie into the brush, through a twisting maze of briars and out into a clearing where all the members of The Hunting Club were waiting.
In the center of the clearing was a gigantic duck decoy. It looked ancient and there were symbols carved all over it. Freddie could not tell if it were made of clay, iron, or wood. The back of it was scooped out, gravy bowl-like, and there was a pole in the center of the indention; tied to the pole was a skinny man. His head had been caked over with red mud and there were duck feathers sticking in it, making it look like some kind of funny cap. There was a ridiculous, wooden duck bill held to his head by thick elastic straps. Stuck to his butt was a duster of duck feathers. There was a sign around his neck that read DUCK.
The man's eyes were wide with fright and he was trying to say or scream something, but the bill had been fastened in such a way he couldn't make any more than a mumble.
Freddie felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "Do it," he said. "He ain't nobody to anybody we know. Be a man."
"Do it! Do it! Do it!" came the cry from The Hunting Club.
Freddie felt the cold air turn into a hard ball in his throat. His scrawny legs shook. He looked at his father and The Hunting Club. They all looked tough, hard, and masculine.
"Want to be a titty baby all your life?" his father said.
That put steel in Freddie's bones. He cleared his eyes with the back of his sleeve and steadied the barrel on the derelict's duck's head.
"Do it!" came the cry. "Do it! Do it! Do it!"
At that instant he pulled the trigger. A cheer went up from The Hunting Club, and out of the clear, cold sky, a dark blue norther blew in and with it came a flock of ducks. The ducks lit on the great idol and on the derelict. Some of them dipped their bills in the derelict's wetness.
When the decoy and the derelict were covered in ducks, all of The Hunting Club lifted their guns and began to fire.
The air became full of smoke, pellets, blood, and floating feathers.
When the gunfire died down and the ducks died out, The Hunting Club went forward and bent over the decoy, did what they had to do. Their smiles were red when they lifted their heads. They wiped their mouths gruffly on the backs of their sleeves and gathered ducks into hunting bags until they bulged. There were still many carcasses lying about.
Fred's father gave him a cigarette. Clyde lit it.
"Good shooting, son," Fred's father said and clapped him manfully on the back.
"Yeah," said Fred, scratching his crotch, "got that sonofabitch right between the eyes, pretty as a picture."
They all laughed.
The sky went lighter, and the blue norther that was rustling the reeds and whipping feathers about blew up and out and away in an instant. As the men walked away from there, talking deep, walking sure, whiskers bristling on all their chins, they promised that tonight they would get Fred a woman.
Author's Note on Down by the Sea Near the Great Big Rock
Â
I came up
"Well, boy?" Freddie's father said.
"It's beautiful," Freddie said.
"Beautiful, hell, are you ready?"
"Yes, sir."
On they walked, the dogs way ahead now, and finally they stood within ten feet of the lake. Freddie was about to squat down into hiding as he had heard of others doing, when a flock of ducks burst up from a mass of reeds in the lake and Freddie, fighting off the sinking feeling in his stomach, tracked them with the barrel of the shotgun, knowing what he must do to be a man.
His father's hand clamped over the barrel and pushed it down. "Not yet," he said.
"Huh?" said Freddie.
"It's not the ducks that do it," Clyde said.
Freddie watched as Clyde and his father turned their heads to the right, to where the dogs were pointing noses, forward, paws upraisedâto a thatch of underbrush. Clyde and his father made quick commands to the dogs to stay, then they led Freddie into the brush, through a twisting maze of briars and out into a clearing where all the members of The Hunting Club were waiting.
In the center of the clearing was a gigantic duck decoy. It looked ancient and there were symbols carved all over it. Freddie could not tell if it were made of clay, iron, or wood. The back of it was scooped out, gravy bowl-like, and there was a pole in the center of the indention; tied to the pole was a skinny man. His head had been caked over with red mud and there were duck feathers sticking in it, making it look like some kind of funny cap. There was a ridiculous, wooden duck bill held to his head by thick elastic straps. Stuck to his butt was a duster of duck feathers. There was a sign around his neck that read DUCK.
The man's eyes were wide with fright and he was trying to say or scream something, but the bill had been fastened in such a way he couldn't make any more than a mumble.
Freddie felt his father's hand on his shoulder. "Do it," he said. "He ain't nobody to anybody we know. Be a man."
"Do it! Do it! Do it!" came the cry from The Hunting Club.
Freddie felt the cold air turn into a hard ball in his throat. His scrawny legs shook. He looked at his father and The Hunting Club. They all looked tough, hard, and masculine.
"Want to be a titty baby all your life?" his father said.
That put steel in Freddie's bones. He cleared his eyes with the back of his sleeve and steadied the barrel on the derelict's duck's head.
"Do it!" came the cry. "Do it! Do it! Do it!"
At that instant he pulled the trigger. A cheer went up from The Hunting Club, and out of the clear, cold sky, a dark blue norther blew in and with it came a flock of ducks. The ducks lit on the great idol and on the derelict. Some of them dipped their bills in the derelict's wetness.
When the decoy and the derelict were covered in ducks, all of The Hunting Club lifted their guns and began to fire.
The air became full of smoke, pellets, blood, and floating feathers.
When the gunfire died down and the ducks died out, The Hunting Club went forward and bent over the decoy, did what they had to do. Their smiles were red when they lifted their heads. They wiped their mouths gruffly on the backs of their sleeves and gathered ducks into hunting bags until they bulged. There were still many carcasses lying about.
Fred's father gave him a cigarette. Clyde lit it.
"Good shooting, son," Fred's father said and clapped him manfully on the back.
"Yeah," said Fred, scratching his crotch, "got that sonofabitch right between the eyes, pretty as a picture."
They all laughed.
The sky went lighter, and the blue norther that was rustling the reeds and whipping feathers about blew up and out and away in an instant. As the men walked away from there, talking deep, walking sure, whiskers bristling on all their chins, they promised that tonight they would get Fred a woman.
Author's Note on Down by the Sea Near the Great Big Rock
Â
I came up
Similar Books
