Blood Red Road
Page 2
You seen what Pa’s up to? I says to Lugh.
He don’t raise his head. Jest starts hammerin away at the sheet to straighten it.
I seen, he says. He did it yesterday too. An the day before.
I seen, he says. He did it yesterday too. An the day before.
What’s al that about? I says. Goin right, then left, over an over.
How should I know? he says. His lips is pressed together in a tight line. He’s got that look on his face agin. The blank look he gits when Pa says somethin or asks him to do somethin. I see it on him more an more these days.
Lugh! Pa lifts his head, shadin his eyes. I could use yer help here, son!
Foolish old man, Lugh mut ers. He gives the metal sheet a extra hard whack with the hammer.
Don’t say that, I says. Pa knows what he’s doin. He’s a star reader.
Lugh looks at me. Shakes his head, like he cain’t believe I jest said what I did.
Ain’t you ggered it out yet? It’s al in his head. Made up. There ain’t nuthin writ en in the stars. There ain’t no great plan. The world goes on. Our lives jest go on an on in this gawdfersaken place. An that’s it. Til the day we die. I tel you what, Saba, I’ve took about al I can take.
I stare at him.
Lugh! Pa yel s.
I’m busy! Lugh yel s back.
Right now, son!
Lugh swears unner his breath. He throws the hammer down, pushes past me an pratikal y runs down the ladder. He rushes over to Pa. He snatches the sticks from him an throws ’em to the ground. They scat er al over.
There! Lugh shouts. There you go! That should help! That should make the gawdam rain come! He kicks Pa’s new-swept spel circle til the dust ies. He pokes his nger hard into Pa’s chest. Wake up, old man! Yer livin in a dream! The rain ain’t never gonna come! This hel hole is dyin an we’re gonna die too if we stay here. Wel , guess what? I ain’t doin it no more! I’m out a here!
I knew this would come, says Pa. The stars told me you was unhappy, son. He reaches out an puts a hand on Lugh’s arm. Lugh ings it o so fierce it makes Pa stagger backwards.
Yer crazy, you know that? Lugh shouts it right in his face. The stars told you! Why don’t you jest try listenin to what I say fer once?
He runs of . I hurry down the ladder. Pa’s starin at the ground, his shoulders slumped.
I don’t unnerstand, he says. I see the rain comin.… I read it in the stars but … it don’t come. Why don’t it come?
It’s okay, Pa, says Emmi. I’l help you. I’l put ’em where you want. She scrabbles about on her knees, col ectin al the sticks. She looks at him with a anxious smile.
Lugh didn’t mean it Pa, she says. I know he didn’t.
I go right on past ’em.
I know where Lugh’s headed.
I find him at Ma’s rock garden.
He sits on the ground, in the middle of the swirlin pat erns, the squares an circles an lit le paths made from al di erent stones, each their own shade an size. Every last tiny pebble set out by Ma with her own hands. She wouldn’t al ow that anybody should help her.
She careful y laid the last stone in place. Sat back on her heels an smiled at me, rubbin at her big babby-swol ed bel y. Her long golden hair in a braid over one shoulder.
There! You see, Saba? There can be beauty anywhere. Even here. An if it ain’t there, you can make it yerself.
The day after that, she birthed Emmi. A month too early. Ma bled fer two days, then she died. We built her funeral pyre high an sent her spirit back to the stars. Once we’d scat ered her ash to the winds, al we was left with was Em.
A ugly lit le red scrap with a heartbeat like a whisper. More like a newborn mouse than a person. By rights, she shouldn’t of lasted longer’n a day or two. But somehow she hung on an she’s stil here. Smal fer her age though, an scrawny.
Fer a long time, I couldn’t stand even lookin at her. When Lugh says I shouldn’t be so hard on her, I says that if it warn’t fer Emmi, Ma ’ud stil be alive. He ain’t got no answer to that cuz he knows it’s true, but he always shakes his head an says somethin like, It’s time you got over it, Saba, an that kinda thing.
I put up with Emmi these days, but that’s about as far as it goes.
Now I set myself down on the hard-packed earth so’s my back leans against Lugh’s. I like it when we sit like this. I can feel his voice rumble inside my body when he talks. It must of bin like this when the two of us was inside Ma’s bel y together. Esseptin that neether of us could talk then, of course.
We sit there fer a bit, silent. Then, We should of left here a long time ago, he says. There’s got a be bet er places’n this. Pa should of took us away.
You ain’t real y leavin, I says.
Ain’t I? There ain’t no reason to stay. I cain’t jest sit around waitin to die.
Where would you go?
It don’t mat er. Anywhere, so long as it ain’t Silverlake.
But you cain’t. It’s too dangerous.
We only got Pa’s word fer that. You do know that you an me ain’t ever bin more’n one day’s walk in any direction our whole lives. We never see nobody essept ourselves.
That ain’t true, I says. What about that crazy medicine woman on her camel last year? An … we see Potbel y Pete. He’s always got a story or two about where he’s bin an who he’s seen.
I ain’t talkin about some shyster pedlar man stoppin by every couple of months, he says. By the way, I’m stil sore about them britches he tried to unload on me last time.
They was hummin al right, I says. Like a skunk wore ’em last. Hey wait, you fergot Procter.
Our only neighbor’s four leagues north of here. He’s a lone man, name of Procter John. He set up homestead jest around the time Lugh an me got born. He drops by once a month or so. Not that he ever stops proper, mind. He don’t git down o a his horse, Hob, but jest pul s up by the hut. Then he says the same thing, every time.
G’day, Wil em. How’s the young ’uns? Al right?
They’re fine, Procter, says Pa. You?
Wel enough to last a bit longer.
Then he tips his hat an goes o an we don’t see him fer another month. Pa don’t like him. He never says so, but you can tel . You’d think
Then he tips his hat an goes o an we don’t see him fer another month. Pa don’t like him. He never says so, but you can tel . You’d think he’d be glad of somebody to talk to besides us, but he never invites Procter to stay an take a dram.
Lugh says it’s on account of the chaal. We only know that’s what it’s cal ed because one time I asked Pa what it is that Procter’s always chewin an Pa’s face went al tight an it was like he didn’t wanna tel us. But then he said it’s cal ed chaal an it’s poison to the mind an soul, an if anybody ever of ers us any we’re to say no. But since we never see nobody, such a of er don’t seem too likely.
Now Lugh shakes his head. You cain’t count Procter John, he says. Nero’s got more conversation than him. I swear, Saba, if I stay here, I’l eether go crazy or I’l end up kil in Pa. I got a go.
I scramble around, kneel in front of him.
I’m comin with you, I says.
Of course, he says. An we’l take Emmi with us.
I don’t think Pa ’ud let us, I says. An she wouldn’t wanna go anyways. She’d rather stay with him.
He don’t raise his head. Jest starts hammerin away at the sheet to straighten it.
I seen, he says. He did it yesterday too. An the day before.
I seen, he says. He did it yesterday too. An the day before.
What’s al that about? I says. Goin right, then left, over an over.
How should I know? he says. His lips is pressed together in a tight line. He’s got that look on his face agin. The blank look he gits when Pa says somethin or asks him to do somethin. I see it on him more an more these days.
Lugh! Pa lifts his head, shadin his eyes. I could use yer help here, son!
Foolish old man, Lugh mut ers. He gives the metal sheet a extra hard whack with the hammer.
Don’t say that, I says. Pa knows what he’s doin. He’s a star reader.
Lugh looks at me. Shakes his head, like he cain’t believe I jest said what I did.
Ain’t you ggered it out yet? It’s al in his head. Made up. There ain’t nuthin writ en in the stars. There ain’t no great plan. The world goes on. Our lives jest go on an on in this gawdfersaken place. An that’s it. Til the day we die. I tel you what, Saba, I’ve took about al I can take.
I stare at him.
Lugh! Pa yel s.
I’m busy! Lugh yel s back.
Right now, son!
Lugh swears unner his breath. He throws the hammer down, pushes past me an pratikal y runs down the ladder. He rushes over to Pa. He snatches the sticks from him an throws ’em to the ground. They scat er al over.
There! Lugh shouts. There you go! That should help! That should make the gawdam rain come! He kicks Pa’s new-swept spel circle til the dust ies. He pokes his nger hard into Pa’s chest. Wake up, old man! Yer livin in a dream! The rain ain’t never gonna come! This hel hole is dyin an we’re gonna die too if we stay here. Wel , guess what? I ain’t doin it no more! I’m out a here!
I knew this would come, says Pa. The stars told me you was unhappy, son. He reaches out an puts a hand on Lugh’s arm. Lugh ings it o so fierce it makes Pa stagger backwards.
Yer crazy, you know that? Lugh shouts it right in his face. The stars told you! Why don’t you jest try listenin to what I say fer once?
He runs of . I hurry down the ladder. Pa’s starin at the ground, his shoulders slumped.
I don’t unnerstand, he says. I see the rain comin.… I read it in the stars but … it don’t come. Why don’t it come?
It’s okay, Pa, says Emmi. I’l help you. I’l put ’em where you want. She scrabbles about on her knees, col ectin al the sticks. She looks at him with a anxious smile.
Lugh didn’t mean it Pa, she says. I know he didn’t.
I go right on past ’em.
I know where Lugh’s headed.
I find him at Ma’s rock garden.
He sits on the ground, in the middle of the swirlin pat erns, the squares an circles an lit le paths made from al di erent stones, each their own shade an size. Every last tiny pebble set out by Ma with her own hands. She wouldn’t al ow that anybody should help her.
She careful y laid the last stone in place. Sat back on her heels an smiled at me, rubbin at her big babby-swol ed bel y. Her long golden hair in a braid over one shoulder.
There! You see, Saba? There can be beauty anywhere. Even here. An if it ain’t there, you can make it yerself.
The day after that, she birthed Emmi. A month too early. Ma bled fer two days, then she died. We built her funeral pyre high an sent her spirit back to the stars. Once we’d scat ered her ash to the winds, al we was left with was Em.
A ugly lit le red scrap with a heartbeat like a whisper. More like a newborn mouse than a person. By rights, she shouldn’t of lasted longer’n a day or two. But somehow she hung on an she’s stil here. Smal fer her age though, an scrawny.
Fer a long time, I couldn’t stand even lookin at her. When Lugh says I shouldn’t be so hard on her, I says that if it warn’t fer Emmi, Ma ’ud stil be alive. He ain’t got no answer to that cuz he knows it’s true, but he always shakes his head an says somethin like, It’s time you got over it, Saba, an that kinda thing.
I put up with Emmi these days, but that’s about as far as it goes.
Now I set myself down on the hard-packed earth so’s my back leans against Lugh’s. I like it when we sit like this. I can feel his voice rumble inside my body when he talks. It must of bin like this when the two of us was inside Ma’s bel y together. Esseptin that neether of us could talk then, of course.
We sit there fer a bit, silent. Then, We should of left here a long time ago, he says. There’s got a be bet er places’n this. Pa should of took us away.
You ain’t real y leavin, I says.
Ain’t I? There ain’t no reason to stay. I cain’t jest sit around waitin to die.
Where would you go?
It don’t mat er. Anywhere, so long as it ain’t Silverlake.
But you cain’t. It’s too dangerous.
We only got Pa’s word fer that. You do know that you an me ain’t ever bin more’n one day’s walk in any direction our whole lives. We never see nobody essept ourselves.
That ain’t true, I says. What about that crazy medicine woman on her camel last year? An … we see Potbel y Pete. He’s always got a story or two about where he’s bin an who he’s seen.
I ain’t talkin about some shyster pedlar man stoppin by every couple of months, he says. By the way, I’m stil sore about them britches he tried to unload on me last time.
They was hummin al right, I says. Like a skunk wore ’em last. Hey wait, you fergot Procter.
Our only neighbor’s four leagues north of here. He’s a lone man, name of Procter John. He set up homestead jest around the time Lugh an me got born. He drops by once a month or so. Not that he ever stops proper, mind. He don’t git down o a his horse, Hob, but jest pul s up by the hut. Then he says the same thing, every time.
G’day, Wil em. How’s the young ’uns? Al right?
They’re fine, Procter, says Pa. You?
Wel enough to last a bit longer.
Then he tips his hat an goes o an we don’t see him fer another month. Pa don’t like him. He never says so, but you can tel . You’d think
Then he tips his hat an goes o an we don’t see him fer another month. Pa don’t like him. He never says so, but you can tel . You’d think he’d be glad of somebody to talk to besides us, but he never invites Procter to stay an take a dram.
Lugh says it’s on account of the chaal. We only know that’s what it’s cal ed because one time I asked Pa what it is that Procter’s always chewin an Pa’s face went al tight an it was like he didn’t wanna tel us. But then he said it’s cal ed chaal an it’s poison to the mind an soul, an if anybody ever of ers us any we’re to say no. But since we never see nobody, such a of er don’t seem too likely.
Now Lugh shakes his head. You cain’t count Procter John, he says. Nero’s got more conversation than him. I swear, Saba, if I stay here, I’l eether go crazy or I’l end up kil in Pa. I got a go.
I scramble around, kneel in front of him.
I’m comin with you, I says.
Of course, he says. An we’l take Emmi with us.
I don’t think Pa ’ud let us, I says. An she wouldn’t wanna go anyways. She’d rather stay with him.
