we get caught runnin’ a white boy, they think we kidnap you. They’d kill us all. Lynch us for sure.”
Jesse cut more meat and handed pieces to Cracker-Jack to ration out.
Leon took his and bit a piece off. His fingers glistened with grease. There were fewer mosquitoes near the river-flow, so Leon put his pine branch on the gravel next to him.
“You be good in a town,” Buddy said. “You strong. You sturdy enough to work.”
They ate for a short while and stared at the wide river going by in front of them. The mesmerizing sound of the water took each of Leon’s companions to a different place. Some stared down reaching back to the past; others glanced skyward into the future. The turning ripples of water helped to rearrange thoughts. The ker-plunk of a fish hitting the surface set whatever thought Leon had at the moment into place in his mind, set it more vivid than it had been a moment earlier.
Leon brought his thoughts into words, not recognizing that it was the shock of the fish-sound that forced the words into the world. “You ever get guilty about causing a man’s death?” he asked Big Josh.
“Ain’t guilty for his death. Guilty for runnin’.”
“You pappy do what he done outta love, boy. He give he life like a gift. You don’t need no guilt,” Bob told Leon.
“What’s this about his pappy be dead?” Cracker-Jack asked.
Leon narrowed his eyes at Bob. “It’s nothin’. It’s a private matter.”
“A private matter,” Cracker-Jack mocked. “Ain’t we speakin’ proper now. You a preacher’s son or somethin’?” Cracker-Jack stepped close to Leon and slapped the back of his head.
“Leave ‘im be. He allowed his private matter,” Bob said. “I’m sorry I brung it up, boy.”
“We got a right to know what in his past if it might git us kilt,” Cracker-Jack said. “Somebody after you? You on the run? We already in danger juss keepin’ you along.”
“I knowed he runnin’,” Buddy said.
“I’m not on the run,” Leon said.
“Then who kilt you pappy?”
“Some men. They killed him instead of me. Then they went home. They don’t care about me. All they wanted was someone’s life.” Leon’s jaws locked.
“Let ‘im be now,” Bob said.
“If’n I hears one footfall don’t belong to one of us,” Cracker-Jack threatened.
“You won’t. That’s my word.” Leon went back to staring at the river. He didn’t want to remember his father the way he did, red blood around him, his eyes staring blindly up at the sky beyond Leon’s head. Somehow the river sound helped him forget. In the movement, the swirls and slapping, Leon could see Big Leon in the fields, still moving, still alive.
Sweat trickled from the hat band down the sides of Leon’s head. He took the hat in his hands and traced the brim with his fingers thinking how he almost got to wear it to another funeral. Had Big Leon known their running would turn into a funeral too?
The sky had sucked up all the fog, turning it into clouds that floated in small groups, changing shape as they meandered east. The black foothills became visible all around them, light glowing off treetops in one area and logged flats in another area. There were signs of men, but no men.
A bald eagle flew overhead, spying on the river trout.
“Wish I had his eyes,” Jesse said.
“Wish I had his wings,” Buddy said.
“Damn-flammity. I wish we had the fish he gonna catch.” Bob said, ending in a chuckle.
“We could stay hear tonight,” Cracker-Jack said. “Heard that sometimes the fish gets loose and falls on the ground. Eagle jus’ leaves ‘em. People finds ‘em half a mile from the river.”
“We could try fishin’,” Jesse said.
“I still got a couple o’ Cookie’s pins.” Bob searched inside his bedroll.
Leon knew where to find the fish if they were there. If the river was any bit like the creek, there’d be fish resting upriver a bit, where the water slows and settles near the flat.
The six of them
Jesse cut more meat and handed pieces to Cracker-Jack to ration out.
Leon took his and bit a piece off. His fingers glistened with grease. There were fewer mosquitoes near the river-flow, so Leon put his pine branch on the gravel next to him.
“You be good in a town,” Buddy said. “You strong. You sturdy enough to work.”
They ate for a short while and stared at the wide river going by in front of them. The mesmerizing sound of the water took each of Leon’s companions to a different place. Some stared down reaching back to the past; others glanced skyward into the future. The turning ripples of water helped to rearrange thoughts. The ker-plunk of a fish hitting the surface set whatever thought Leon had at the moment into place in his mind, set it more vivid than it had been a moment earlier.
Leon brought his thoughts into words, not recognizing that it was the shock of the fish-sound that forced the words into the world. “You ever get guilty about causing a man’s death?” he asked Big Josh.
“Ain’t guilty for his death. Guilty for runnin’.”
“You pappy do what he done outta love, boy. He give he life like a gift. You don’t need no guilt,” Bob told Leon.
“What’s this about his pappy be dead?” Cracker-Jack asked.
Leon narrowed his eyes at Bob. “It’s nothin’. It’s a private matter.”
“A private matter,” Cracker-Jack mocked. “Ain’t we speakin’ proper now. You a preacher’s son or somethin’?” Cracker-Jack stepped close to Leon and slapped the back of his head.
“Leave ‘im be. He allowed his private matter,” Bob said. “I’m sorry I brung it up, boy.”
“We got a right to know what in his past if it might git us kilt,” Cracker-Jack said. “Somebody after you? You on the run? We already in danger juss keepin’ you along.”
“I knowed he runnin’,” Buddy said.
“I’m not on the run,” Leon said.
“Then who kilt you pappy?”
“Some men. They killed him instead of me. Then they went home. They don’t care about me. All they wanted was someone’s life.” Leon’s jaws locked.
“Let ‘im be now,” Bob said.
“If’n I hears one footfall don’t belong to one of us,” Cracker-Jack threatened.
“You won’t. That’s my word.” Leon went back to staring at the river. He didn’t want to remember his father the way he did, red blood around him, his eyes staring blindly up at the sky beyond Leon’s head. Somehow the river sound helped him forget. In the movement, the swirls and slapping, Leon could see Big Leon in the fields, still moving, still alive.
Sweat trickled from the hat band down the sides of Leon’s head. He took the hat in his hands and traced the brim with his fingers thinking how he almost got to wear it to another funeral. Had Big Leon known their running would turn into a funeral too?
The sky had sucked up all the fog, turning it into clouds that floated in small groups, changing shape as they meandered east. The black foothills became visible all around them, light glowing off treetops in one area and logged flats in another area. There were signs of men, but no men.
A bald eagle flew overhead, spying on the river trout.
“Wish I had his eyes,” Jesse said.
“Wish I had his wings,” Buddy said.
“Damn-flammity. I wish we had the fish he gonna catch.” Bob said, ending in a chuckle.
“We could stay hear tonight,” Cracker-Jack said. “Heard that sometimes the fish gets loose and falls on the ground. Eagle jus’ leaves ‘em. People finds ‘em half a mile from the river.”
“We could try fishin’,” Jesse said.
“I still got a couple o’ Cookie’s pins.” Bob searched inside his bedroll.
Leon knew where to find the fish if they were there. If the river was any bit like the creek, there’d be fish resting upriver a bit, where the water slows and settles near the flat.
The six of them
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