CHAPTER 8 A Birthday Promise From the Curt Iles book, As the Crow Flies. Learn more at www.creekbank.net Author's note: This is an earlier draft of the final novel. It has several errors. See if you can point them out and reply. If this comes from a school classroom with the teacher's name, I'll send an autographed classroom copy of the book. (One copy per school). Monday, October 10, 1881 After about a week at the store, I’d settled into a routine. I was always the first at the store with the Irishman arriving to unlock later. He’d join me on the steps. As always I was reading one of my two books: the Bible or Les Mizz. On this morning, I had them both out. The Irishman nodded at my Bible. “It’s in as bad a shape as the big book. What happened?” “They both got tossed out in the rain one night.” He picked up the Bible. Its pages had been stuck together due to being waterlogged. The ink hadn’t run but pulling the pages apart had made some passages illegible. The Irishman scowled as he examined Les Miserables. “How’d this happen?” “My Pap’s bad to drink. One night he got upset at me over some little nothing and in a fit tossed my books out of the wagon. It was raining a log-floater and he said he’d thrash me if I retrieved them. You can see the result.” “Your own father did this?” “Yes sir. I guess he knew where to hit where it hurt. As soon as he passed out, I got the books. Took a week to dry the pages, pull them apart, and work on my smudged hand-written notes.” “I held up the Bible. I now call it my waterproof Bible. It weathered the storm pretty well. That’s why I carry both of my books in this canvas sack for protection. Another time, Pap tore own four pages of Revelation to start a fire.” “The more I hear about your father, the less I like him.” With that, we both went to work getting the store ready for business. * * * As I left the store that afternoon, the Irishman stood in the doorway, “Remember, don’t stumble—” “Over anything behind me.” “If you stumble, let it be something in front—” I hesitated before finishing my part, “And don’t forget to get up.” “And keep your powder dry as well as your books.” I waved as I walked toward the grist mill. I wanted to talk to Dan Moore. I found him, covered in corn flour, smiled. “Headed home?” “If you can call a wagon a home.” “Home’s where the heart is.”He walked with me toward the tree line. In a fake Irish accent, he said, “May the road rise up to meet ye. And the wind be at your back. And the rain fall softly on the fields.”He pointed. “Your bodyguard’s awaiting.” Just then, Unk stepped out of the shadows. “Well, I see you’re in good hands,” Dan said. “It’s back to the grind for me.” I approached Unk. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” “I kinda like being your bodyguard. Fine day, ain't it?” “I don’t feel like talking today.” “That’s all right. I can talk for both of us.” And he did. We’d walked about a quarter mile when I finally broke in. “Today’s my birthday.” “Why didn’t you tell me this mornin’? Did they know it’s your birthday at the store?” “I didn’t tell them.” Unk studied on this for a while. “How old are you today?” “Sixteen.” “Well, I guess your Ma will have a birthday supper waiting for you.” “I doubt she remembered.” Unk stopped. “You could’ve reminded her.” “But I didn’t. Some things aren't worth the trouble. Having to prompt Ma didn't seem fair.” “Fair to who?” “Her or me. It’s not fair that my own mother would forget the date of the day she brought me into this world.” Unk scratched his head. “Folks in the woods ain’t too good at keeping up with dates. You had to help me on what day of the week it was. ” “But this is my own mother.” Unk stepped in front of me. “Maybe she’s waiting to surprise you.” “Doubt it. This morning, Ma was up making coffee over the campfire before I left for work. I kept waiting for her to say, ‘Happy birthday.’ She probably doesn’t even know what month it is, much less the date.” I nodded down the path. “I guess we’ll see. By the way, when is your birthday?” “I’m not rightly sure. I always celebrate it on January the first.” “Why?” "It's easy to remember, and folks are celebrating anyway, so it makes it easy for me to imagine they're shooting fire poppers and guns in the air ‘cause it’s Unk’s birthday.” “What year were you born?” He rubbed his chin. “I’m not rightly sure. I believe it was 1812 or 13.” “So, you’re nearly seventy years old.” “Somewhere in the vicinity. I use 1812 ‘cause it’s the year Louisianer became a state.” “You’ve celebrated every birthday in Louisiana?” “Yep, don’t plan on being nowhere else. This is home for Ol’ Unk.” He kicked a dried pile of cow manure out of the roadway. “How about you, Miss-Mizz? Where’d you have your last birthday?” “I’m not sure. I believe it was New Orleans.” “You’re not sure?” “Unk, I’ve probably never had a birthday in the same place twice.” “That’s hard to believe.” “It’s what happens when you don’t have roots. Drifting and squatting does that to a soul. Just pounds you down flat and gives you tunnel vision. Surviving becomes the focus.” He limped around a hole the road. “You sound bitter.” “I am. I just don’t have much to believe in.” He took my hand. “Well, Unk says ‘happy happy birthday’ to you, Miss-Mizz.” As we neared our wagon, Unk stopped. “This is ri’t far enough for me.” He hesitated, then looked me in the eyes. “What do you believe in?” "Honestly, there's a whole lot more I don't believe in than I do." Unk shook his head. “That’s sad.” His comment irritated and saddened me. “Well, Mister Professor, what do you believe in?” He nodded at the late evening stars. “Look at those first stars bravely appearing in the twilight. For starters, I believe in those stars. I believe in them ‘cause I can see ‘em. I don't understand all about them, but I believe in ‘em ‘cause I see them every night.” “Miss-Mizz, do you believe in things you can’t see?” “I don’t even believe in some of the things I can see.” Unk laughed. “That's all right for now, but you hang around Ten Mile long enough, and you might see things differently.” “I doubt it.” He ignored my skepticism. “I can't see a pine taproot, but I believe it's down there under the trunk. We had a hurricane ‘bout twenty year ago, and it laid the yellow pines down by the thousands. It exposed the ones that were top heavy. They didn't have a deep enough taproot. Just proves there’s strength in some things we can’t see.” “Are you preaching to me?” “Unk ain’t smart enough to preach to nobody.”He shrugged. “I’m just observing.” I chunked a clod of dirt at him. In spite of it, I couldn't work up a good mad at him. He was such a sweet combination of being simple and kind. “Why don't you walk to our wagon and meet my folks?” I said. He tipped his hat. “Thank you kindly, but I believe I’ll pass. Your daddy mixes two things I try to stay away from: whiskey and shotguns.” As he turned to go, he said, “Are you gonna tell ‘em it’s your birthday?” “I believe I am. I'd made up my mind. I’m going to do something I’d been waiting to do for a long time. “Miss-Mizz, you be careful what you say. You can’t take back words.”He squeezed my hand.“And happy birthday. You can’t say no one wished you that today.” He turned and tripped over a root, falling face first in the road. “And don’t fergit to not stumble on nuthin’ behind you.” I didn’t answer. I’d heard that saw enough. I had too much baggage behind me not to stumble over some of it. *** Ma had prepared a good supper of sawmill gravy, biscuits, and some fatback. We’d been eating lots of trail salad, but an early frost had ended our supply, and it wasn’t a day too soon for me. Ma set the plates of food on the ground. Pap sat on a stump while Ma and I each had a packing box for a chair. “Missouri, pass me another helping of that gravy.” I handed the plate to Pap.Him being sober, I decided this was as good a time as ever. "Pap. Ma. I have an announcement." Ma looked up while Pap shoveled half a biscuit into his mouth. "I’ve made up my mind on something today. I'm not stealing anymore." Pap set his plate down. "What was that?" "I won't be stealing anymore for you." "You will if I tell you to." "No, sir. You can order me. You can beat me, but I've made up my mind. I won't do it again." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Yes, you will." "No, I won't." He drew back his fist. Ma stepped between us, but I pushed her out of the way, exposing my chin. "You can hit me every day, but I won't do it. Never again. I won't be stealing. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever." Pap threw his plate on the ground and stomped off into the dark. "Missouri, what's got into you?" Ma said. I shrugged. "I just made up my mind. I'm through with it." "But, why today?" "It's my birthday, and I'm giving myself a present." "Today's your birthday?" I nodded. “Baby, I'm so sorry I forgot." I lied. "It's all right.” Tears stung my eyes. “You've got a lot on your mind." "You're not going to steal?” Ma said. “You got religion or something?" "No. I just realized how tired I am of all this. I will answer to God one day, but it’s more about answering to myself now. I want to be able to look in a mirror and see someone I’m proud of. I realized today that my past doesn't have to be my future.” Ma pulled me close. "You know your Pap won't let this go." "I'm game. I've made up my mind." "You're both stubborn." "I’m through stumbling on anything behind me. I’m moving forward.” I broke down in tears—the first real cry I'd had in forever. Ma held me a long time, stroking my hair. "I'm so sorry, Baby. Really sorry. Sorry about forgittin’ your birthday. Sorry about this hell of a life we live. You deserve better.” “Ma, I love you. I don’t expect you to be perfect.” “Well, that’s good, because I’m a long way from it.” She sighed. “And your Pap. I just think…” I held up my hand. “I don’t want to talk about him.” “Mizz, you sure are stubborn. I wonder if the man’s ever been born that’ll tame your gypsy soul.” “I’m not a gypsy.” “Deep down in your soul you are, and nothing and nobody, can change that. She began clearing the dishes, and I walked toward the creek. Brave fireflies blinked on and off in the trees. This cool spell was a harbinger of the end of lots of things, not just my stealing days. I sat on a log under the starlit canopy and watched as the fireflies flickered for probably the last time until next summer. The pesky mosquitos wouldn’t last much longer either. The crickets chirped noisily, near deafening, until Pap interrupted them with his clinking of glass and cussing. He was getting pig-faced drunk. Backlit by the lantern, Ma’s silhouette danced on the wagon canvas as she sang an old spiritual. “I ain't studying war no more.Gonna lay down my sleepy head down by the riverside. Gonna lay down my burden down by the riverside. I ain't gonna study war no more, study war no more. Ain't gonna study war no more…” I couldn’t remember the last time I'd heard her sing. This was my sixteenth birthday … the one I'd never forget.I didn’t get a cake, but the gift of a promise. A present I'd given myself. It was only a start. But it was a start. I shivered, wondering where I'd be for my seventeenth birthday. I had no idea, but I hoped we’d be out of this God-forsaken country and in Texas. Want to know more? Visit www.creekbank.net
Creekbank Stories Curt Iles, Storyteller
