Buddies (13 page)

After Joey Frank had finished silently crying, he got up, not bothering to wipe away the tears from his face that Ernie wasn’t able to see. He picked up his fishing pole and pulled the line from the water to check his bait. He put a fresh worm on the hook and dropped it back into the water. He was going to try to be his normal self now.

“Did you git one, Joey Frank?”

“No, I wuz just puttin’ frash bait on my hook.”

“We must be in a bad spot. Do you wanna change places?”

“We will if you want to, Ernie.”

“You sound like yore head is commencin’ to stop up Joey Frank. Are you ketchin’ a cold?”

“I may be; you know them thangs’ll sprang on you before you know it.”

“Yeah, they will. My Mama says that goin’ barefooted on rainy days will cause a fella to come down with a cold. You oughta wear them ole brogans of mine when it’s a-rainin’. Heck, I ain’t gonna need’m anymore. What little I’m gonna be a-walkin,’ not goin’ to school an’ all, or workin’ in the fields, my new shoes will last me for no tellin’ how long.”

CHAPTER NINE
 

The Widow Simson and Mama gathered enough scraps and old clothes together from their belongings to complete the two quilts. They had worried they wouldn’t get to finish them since all the material the ladies at church donated had run short.

Mama and Joey Frank carried the completed quilts to Ruby Creek. Mr. McGraw agreed to try to sell them in his dry goods store. Mama asked Mr. McGraw if he could get at least five dollars each for the quilts, however if he couldn’t, then get whatever he could for them.

Joey Frank stayed up with the work that had to be done to the cotton crop and Mama helped also now that the quilting project had ended. She worked alongside him, wearing her flowered bonnet and an old cotton dress with long sleeves to protect her fair skin from the hot sun and wind.

Late in the evening Mama’s feet became heavy and hurt after carrying around the old pair of oversized boots that she wore laced with twine. She never complained after a hard day of work, but Joey Frank did.

One night after he had gone to bed, he felt ashamed that he had complained of his back and shoulders hurting, “If anybody needed to complain about ailments, then it oughta be Ernie Brown an’ not me for shore.” He thought as he stared out into the darkness. “I’ll git over what ails me, but Ernie may never git over a-bein’ blind if his Pa cain’t git the money for his operation.” Joey Frank couldn’t get to sleep because his thoughts continued to dwell on Ernie and his eye surgery.

The outlaw Jesse James crossed his mind again, and he mused, “I wonder what that fella Jesse James would a-done if he had a buddy like Ernie an’ he got shot an’ went blind an’ didn’t have no money for a operation? I bet if Pa wuz livin’ he’d say he’d a-robbed a bank. Rob from the rich folks an’ give to the poor folks…”

Joey Frank turned around in his bed to face the cool breeze from the open window. Thoughts kept pouring into his mind as he looked out at the moonlit night. “I wonder if I could rob a bank? If I did do sech, then I’d hafta do it all by myself ‘cause Ernie couldn’t help me. I wonder if I’m ole anuff to rob a bank? Shucks, I guess I am; Pa said Jesse James wuz just a young fella when he first started a-robbin’m. The way he talked, he wudn’t much older than me; just a few years, maybe two or three. I could use Pa’s pistol, but shucks, I won’t shoot nobody for shore. I won’t even load the thang. Miss Rene won’t know the dif’rents. I’d just skeer her into givin’ me the money. Gosh; what if I got caught though, an’ had to go off to jail an’ leave Mama an’ Gloria. Mama would hafta tend the cotton crop an’ look after Gloria all by herself…but then maybe I wud’nt git caught. I bet I can outrun anybody in that bank. Ernie could always do about ever’thang better than me, but he couldn’t never outrun me. Them folks in the bank won’t know who I wuz for shore. ‘Cause I’d wear one of Pa’s old hats an’ pull it a-way down on my head an’ put a bandanna over my face like Pa said Jesse James did, when he robbed. Nobody couldn’t see nothin’ except my eyes.”

Joey Frank had grown sleepy now, and he could hardly keep his eyes from closing. He had to put his thoughts to rest until morning when he could think more clearly.

Joey Frank carried all the eggs he had gathered during the week to Ruby Creek to sell to the merchants there. The two dollars and twenty-five cents that was collected could’ve been used to pay down on a pair of brogans he so desperately needed, however earlier he had gotten permission from Mama to give it to the Browns for Ernie’s surgery. With every penny that Mr. Brown put into the jar, he marked the amount down on the paper pasted around the base of the half-gallon jar. After he added the two dollars and twenty-five cents that Joey Frank had given, he said the total amount was now seventy-four dollars.

Ernie was beginning to change. Joey Frank could never recall when his buddy refused an opportunity to go fishing. He didn’t want to go walking out into the open fields anymore; he wouldn’t give in and allow Joey Frank to walk him to the blacksmith’s shop to visit with Mr. Pearson.

Ernie would sit idly for hours on the front porch of his home and whittle on sticks with his pocketknife while staring out into open space. His olive skin from the touch of Indian blood, as well as his tan from the hard work in the hot summer sun and blistering winds was now growing pale. His cheekbones were sharp under his dark-circled eyes from all the weight loss. In the past Ernie could never get enough to eat, and Joey Frank wondered if he might be hollow inside.

Ernie hardly ate at all now, and what little he did eat, his Mama would have to force him. The only thing that he seemed to enjoy was his chewing tobacco he constantly kept in his mouth.

Joey Frank was beginning to wonder if Ernie Brown, the happy-go-lucky and strong-willed buddy whom he had always known, was giving up? Was he giving up because he might never be able to wrestle a turtle from the river again, or because he might never again be able to sneak up on a rattlesnake, grab it by the tail and pop its head off? He thought that maybe Ernie was giving up on everything. After all, it must be the most terrible thing that could ever happen to a person. He could not imagine one’s sight being taken away and not being able to see or do the things he had always done.

Joey Frank felt miserable when he looked at his buddy. He wanted Ernie to get up off his behind and go fishing with him. He wanted to scream that if he didn’t, his veins were full of “chicken blood”, because he was giving up on everything. He was just about ready for Ernie to hear from him, but he choked up and almost cried managing only to say, “I better be a-goin’ now, Ernie. It ain’t long ‘til chore time. I’ll see you come a-Saturday.”

The following week Joey Frank’s thoughts were constantly on Ernie. He hoped and prayed he would snap out of his depression and try to get back to his normal self again.

The next Saturday when he went to visit Ernie, he was disappointed to find there was no change in him. Joey Frank believed that Ernie maybe had grown worse. It was past nine o’clock when he arrived at his home, and found he was still in bed. He lay staring at the ceiling with his hands cupped around his ‘spit can’. The tough soles on the bottom of his bony feet had almost completely peeled away, and his toenails that he always kept trimmed close with his pocketknife were too long.

Ernie wouldn’t talk of going fishing with Joey Frank. He said it wouldn’t be worth the walk because the fish probably wouldn’t be biting anyway. When Joey Frank asked him to get out of bed to try their luck for just a short while, Ernie fibbed, saying that he had heard it thunder a time or two and didn’t want to get out and get caught in a rainstorm in his condition.

Joey Frank knew very well Ernie had not heard thunder because there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He knew he was making excuses because he had given up and never planned to go back to the river again.

This is one visit with Ernie, Joey Frank wished he had never made. He had to get away because he couldn’t stand the sight of his buddy just lying there and not caring if he ever got up again.

Tears rushed into his eyes. He stood up quickly from the foot of Ernie’s bed and said, “I’m gonna be a-goin’ now, Ernie. I’ll be back come a-Saturday.”

He rushed from Ernie’s bedroom with tears streaming down his face. Only once had he experienced the hurt he was feeling this day, for that was when his Pa died. He felt sure Ernie had detected something wrong, because he left so quickly, but right now he didn’t care.

As he walked down the little narrow road that led from Ernie’s home, he slung his fishing pole as far as he could throw it down through a field that was heavily grown up. He never wanted to see it again, and he didn’t care if he ever wet another fishhook.

Joey Frank never wanted to go near the river again, unless Ernie could go along with him to crack jokes and take the lead in all they did together. He even missed the quarrelling the two of them had done every now and then.

He sat down by the roadside, and through misty eyes he looked around. He had never before thought about how wonderful it was to be able to see all the things that he had never really observed before. He hadn’t paid attention to the soft green grasses that lay in the open fields where pestering grasshoppers leaped around, with their big ugly eyes, trying to find folks’ vegetable gardens, to eat holes in tomatoes and chew up the leaves. He hadn’t seen the old trees with all their leaves waving to and fro in the pleasant breeze. The only time he ever noticed a “sissy” flower was when he would gather an armful of plum blossoms to put on Pa’s grave. All these things had never really been observed by Joey Frank before today, but were so beautiful now. It seemed so unfair for Ernie to be deprived of all these wonderful things that were out there to be seen. He recalled what his teacher had said about Helen Keller, who wrote, “The seeing does not see.”

“It just ain’t fair,” Joey Frank cried out loud. “I’ve gotta help Ernie; I’ve just gotta help’m an’ I’m gonna hafta do it quick. I’ve gotta git that money some way for his operation. It cain’t wait no longer. Ernie’s done give up an’ he could…he could die. No! No! He cain’t die. He just cain’t do sech. I gotta do somethin’. I just gotta.”

As he sat by the roadside, he cried until he couldn’t cry anymore. He wiped his swollen eyes against the sleeve of his shirt and began to rack his brain for some way to get the money for Ernie. He thought of an old wagon that he had received for Christmas a long time ago that was stored away in the barn loft at home. He thought that he might be able to sell it and get a little money, maybe fifty or sixty cents. There was an old plow stock too that was under the shed at the far end of the house. The handle was broken off, but he was sure that Mr. Pearson at the blacksmith’s shop would probably be glad to fix it for no fee and sell it to some farmer. The old plow stock repaired should bring four or five dollars.

Joey Frank thought of Gloria’s rag dolls that she was so graciously willing to sell in order to help Ernie’s cause. He didn’t know very much about stuff like dolls, but he figured that all of them together might bring a dollar.

He thought hard trying to remember anything else that he had to sell. The only thing he could think of right now was the old rooster, Nelson whom had been around so long.

Joey Frank named the rooster after one of Mama’s brothers because he thought they favored somewhat. The old chicken was called Nelson everyday of his life except when Uncle Nelson came for a visit. Everyone was forbidden to call him by that name because Mama said Uncle Nelson could beoffended knowing his family had named an ugly old rooster after him.

Mama didn’t care very much for Nelson the rooster, and Gloria literally detested him. She fussed at him constantly for doing his business right in the front door. She tried to kill him by throwing pans of boiling water on him. If Gloria could have snuck up close enough on the old chicken to splash him with the hot liquid, it probably would have scalded him to death. Nelson always managed to see her in time to escape with only a few hot sprinkles that never seemed to bother him.

Joey Frank felt sorry for Nelson. He was getting on up in years, and couldn’t defend himself against the younger generation of roosters. They wanted the run of the yard with all the hens. Nelson’s own kin would jump all over him, and before he could get away, they flogged him half to death. The poor fellow went around most of the time with a sore head with all the feathers pecked off because his children and their children had turned against him.

Mama threatened time after time to wring Nelson’s neck and put him into a pot for stew, but Joey Frank always managed to talk her out of it. The nearest Mama ever came to carrying out her threat was on a Sunday evening when the Widow Simson came by for a visit after church services and stepped into a mess where Nelson had done his business on the front porch. Mama was so embarrassed and hurt knowing the widow would never be able to rid her good shoes of that awful scent. She was well aware of this because, she had experienced the same thing.

After the Widow Simson’s visit, Mama told Joey Frank to go build a fire under the wash pot outside and find Nelson, because his time had come. Joey Frank had to do some powerful begging that day to keep Mama from stewing Nelson. He begged her saying, “That pitiful ole rooster don’t know no better than to do what he’s a-doin, an’ if you’ll spare his life this time,

I’ll keep’m away from the front porch so sech thangs won’t happen agin.”

Joey Frank loved Nelson and it would hurt to give him up. Since Mama, Gloria, and all his offspring weren’t too fond of him, then he would be better off in a place where he could live his remaining days in peace.

He didn’t think he would be able to get very much money for Nelson since he was so old. He thought that if anybody wanted to buy him, then they probably wouldn’t give any more than fifteen or twenty cents for him.

Joey Frank couldn’t think of another single thing he could sell. He reached over and picked up a stick, and for each of the items he thought he could sell, he wrote the price they might bring down in the white sand by the roadside.