The Dirty Parts of the Bible by Sam Torode Page A

off to preacher’s school.” Uncle Will leaned against the porch railing and lit up another cigarette.
    A woman’s voice called out from the house. “Wilburn? Wilburn—?”
    “That’s my Millie,” he told me. Then he yelled back, “It’s all right, darlin. Come on out here and meet the new hired hand—your nephew Tobias.”
    Millie pushed open the door, saw me, and gasped. “Why—Malachi’s boy? Don’t just stand there like an ass, Wilburn—draw some water for a hot bath.” She patted the front of my shirt, sending up a cloud of dust. “And fetch some fresh clothes out of Johnny’s closet, while you’re at it. I’ll put some biscuits on—you boys must be famished.”
    “Boys?” Wilburn laughed, pointing at Craw. “That’s the oldest boy I’ve ever seen.”
    Millie squinted her eyes, looked Craw up and down, and pulled Uncle Will inside the house. I could hear her through the screen door. “He’s not setting foot in this house.”
    “But Millie—he’s kin.”
    “Not Tobias. I’m talking about that nigger.”
    “Don’t worry,” Wilburn said. “I’ll take care of it.”
    I hoped that Craw hadn’t heard. If he did, he didn’t say anything.
    A few minutes later, Wilburn stepped out to explain the arrangements. “You can sleep in Jimmy’s room,” he told me. “He’s our youngest. Room’s been empty since he ran off to Fort Worth last winter.”
    “What about Craw?” I asked.
    Wilburn gazed out over his fields. “We don’t have any other rooms,” he said. I looked up at the house in disbelief—there must have been four bedrooms on the top floor. “But there’s the barn,” he said. “Or the shed.”
    “I thank you for your hospitality,” Craw said. “But” —I held my breath, expecting him to decline the offer and take his leave—“I’d better take the shed. Otherwise, I might disturb your cows with my snoring.” Whew .
    Just to be sure, I asked Uncle Will directly: “Does this mean we have jobs for the summer?”
    “I ain’t as young as I used to be,” he said. “Will Junior, my eldest, does most of the work now. I’ve got a hired hand, but he ain’t worth shootin. So—I suppose you can take that as a yes.”
    “Craw, too?” I asked to be sure.
    Wilburn glanced over. “He ain’t as young as I used to be, either.”
    “But I promised to help him. He saved my life.”
    “All right,” Uncle Will said, giving up. “I reckon he’ll be good for something.”
     
    + + +
     
    Later, Millie brought a batch of steaming biscuits out onto the porch, along with butter and jam. Craw and I gobbled them up—they tasted just like Mama’s. At one point, Craw uncovered his hook and speared two biscuits at once. Millie jumped back at the sight.
    When Millie left to get my room ready, Uncle Will dragged a thin, yellow-stained mattress out of the cellar and showed Craw to his shed. It was an unpainted clapboard structure with a sagging roof, not much bigger than an outhouse inside, and chock full of tools, machinery, and spare parts. Craw surveyed the premises. “It ain’t exactly a Frank Lloyd Wright, but it’ll do.”
    Back in the farmhouse, before I fell asleep, I heard Millie chastising Uncle Will. “I told you to get rid of him,” she said. “And you give him a job?”
    “But Millie—”
    “He looks dangerous. For all we know, he could be a vicious criminal on the loose. Did you see that hook on his arm?”
    “Aw, Millie—he’s nothing but a harmless old coot. I know the type. As soon as he finds out how tough the work is, he’ll be back on the road in no time. You can count on that.”
    I hoped he wasn’t right. I didn’t want to lose Craw again.
     



CHAPTER 16
     
    A FTER a hearty breakfast of ham and eggs, Uncle Will fitted me with some old leather boots. “Never go outside without these on,” he said. “You’ve got to guard your ankles around here.”
    “From what—cactus?”
    He laughed. “I reckon you don’t have to worry much about