Shaking the Sugar Tree (17 page)

“I could just spend my whole life out here,” I said, breathing in the clean air, the sweet scent of the trees and river water.

“Aren’t you afraid of snakes or bears?”

“Only when they bite.”

“Are there bears out here?”

“Not that I know of. What you need to worry about are wild pigs.”

“Pigs?”

“Vicious bastards too,” I said. “If you ever see one, just steer clear. They’ll take your frikkin’ leg off and make no mistake.”

“Really?”

“That’s what happened to my brother Jerry. He was out here fishing and fell asleep. A herd of wild pigs came along and that was that.”

“Jesus, that’s awful!”

“We found body parts all up and down the river. We found everything except his right hand.”

“That’s… that’s awful. How old was he?”

“He was twelve.”

“He was out here by himself and he was just twelve?”

“We heard him screaming. By the time me and my brother Billy got here, there was nothing but blood and body parts all over the place. It was a huge frikkin’ mess.”

He fell silent, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, horrified.

I let him stew in it for a bit.

“Do you believe everything you hear?” I asked. “You won’t last long in the South if you do.”

“Are you making this up?”

“That’s what we do, Yankee boy. Poetic license and all that.”

“You bastard!”

“You should have seen your face! I don’t even have a brother named Jerry.”

“I ought to kick your ass.”

“Might have to get a permission slip from your mama.”

“You are
so
going to pay for this.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Are you lying about the wild pigs, too?”

“There’s not that many of them. You’d have to go really deep into the forest. I’ve never seen any around here. If you do see one, stay away. That’s the best advice. They might not take your leg off, but they will take a bite out of you. My friend Bo had just finished skinny-dipping when one of those bastards came trotting out of the woods and bit his dick clean off.”

“Just bit it off? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Then that bastard pig put it on a stick and heated it over the campfire while Bo ran home and tried to explain it to his mama.”

“So you’re lying to me again?”

“It’s a Southern tradition.”

“Are there any crocs in the water?”

“I done told you there ain’t no crocodiles around here.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Mostly the spelling,” I said.

W
HEN
THE
sun began to go down, the air cooled off and shadows fell on the trees and the water. Sprayed liberally with mosquito repellent, Noah and I sat on the rocks at the far end of the river bend, holding fishing poles, waiting for bites, our lines thrown into the deep part of the pool at the base of the small bluff.

Jackson tended to the fire, wandered around the campsite collecting dried wood and fallen branches, making an orderly pile.

The radio was playing KUDZU. Jackson changed the channel and the Bee Gees floated our way, explaining that nobody gets “Too Much Heaven.” I was just about to complain when Noah grunted and pulled on his pole.

“Hah!” he exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder at me, beaming.

I hurried over to him, made the sign for “nice and easy,” watching him; ready to grab the pole if he needed me to.

“Hah!” he exclaimed again, grinning with pleasure.

His line swam across the water from one side to the next as the fish tried to get away.

Nice and easy
, I signed.

“Has he got one?” Jackson called as he came running.

“It’s a biggun,” I said proudly.

“How can you tell?” Jackson asked.

“See how bent his pole is? Damn fish is going to pull it out of his hands if he keeps up.”

“I’m really hungry,” Jackson said.

“Dinner is coming!” I replied happily.

There was a splash in the water about ten feet out.

Noah’s lips were screwed down in concentration now. He stared at the water, watching his line slowly come to shore. The fish splashed and put up a serious fight, but Noah kept reeling him in and didn’t give him any slack to spit the hook and make his escape.

When the fish was close to the shore, I grabbed hold of the line and lifted it out of the water.

A five-pound bass, easily.

“Hah!” Noah shrieked with delight.

I got the fish safely to shore and we examined it with a fair bit of pride.

“I want to try,” Jackson said.

“Take my pole. I’ll clean this one and get it grilling on the fire. If y’all catch another, we’ll have seconds.”

“Good deal,” Jackson said.

He was a big one!
Noah signed to him excitedly.

Yes he was,
Jackson replied.
Can you show me how to…?

Noah nodded readily, baiting the hook for him and teaching him how to cast the line out into the water.

I gutted the fish, scaled it, rinsed it in the river, and took it back to camp.

Within the hour we had three good-size bass cooked and eaten, and darkness fell in earnest.

Having endured pop music all throughout dinner, I switched the station back to KUDZU, my old standby, and was rewarded with John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country Boy.”

Well, life on the farm is kinda laid back

Ain’t much an old country boy like me can’t hack….

I got to my feet, started dancing and singing at the top of my lungs. Noah joined me, and we went through some of our standard choreographed moves designed to impress viewers. Noah was a real ham when it came to showing out and showing off. We did a country round dance.

Jackson laughed.

“Come on, city boy,” I said, calling to him. “Don’t just sit there like a lump on a log!”

Jackson got shyly to his feet. He tried to dance, but the music was unfamiliar to him.

“Hold on,” he said, crouching down to change the station, and suddenly our camp was filled with the sounds of “Boogie Oogie Oogie.” Now that he was in his element, he treated us to some cool disco moves. Noah clapped his hands together happily and immediately began to try to imitate him.

I smiled as I watched them, the entertainer in me thinking they made a good pair and could bring the house down if they wanted to. I pictured them in Mama’s living room during Noah’s upcoming birthday party. Not even Mama could turn her nose up at that. It was just too cute.

When we got tired of dancing, we built the fire high, which drove off the mosquitoes. Overhead the stars looked down on us with their immensity and mystery. A half-moon rose and slowly moved across the sky.

Jackson and I talked.

Noah got sleepy and brought me his blanket, his signal that it was time for him to go to bed. I helped him strip down to his underpants, then took him on my lap, wrapped the blanket around him, and held him in my arms as he fell asleep, all the while talking to Jackson about anything and everything.

When Noah was asleep, I carried him into the tent and laid him down, arranging him in a sleeping bag and making sure the tent was tightly zipped as I left.

Back by the fire, I got naked and sat in front of Jackson Ledbetter, my intentions plainly obvious.

“I’ve never made love by the moonlight,” he confessed.

“Never?” I was genuinely surprised.

“Is this part of the courting thing?” he asked.

“This is the best part of the night. The skeeters have gone to bed. The moon is on the rise. I’ve spent a lot of nights sitting by the fire, thinking, dreaming—”

“Jacking off.”

“That too. Out here you are really alone in the world, really away from it all. Besides that, it’s a great place to have sex.”

He slowly removed his shirt, shorts, underwear. I looked at his body in the firelight, lusting after it.

“Wanna swim?” I asked, getting to my feet.

“In the dark?” His voice sounded frightened.

“Come on,” I said, holding out my hand.

I led him to the water. We waded in together, holding hands. He was afraid, so I put my arm around his waist, gave him a kiss of encouragement.

“What about the snapping turtles?” he asked, his eyes darting around the dark water.

“They probably went to bed,” I said.

I eased myself into the water and swam out a bit. The water was perfect, washing away the smoke and heat of the fire, cooling me down, refreshing me, flowing gently and easily around my limbs, up my back, over my chest.

“Come on,” I called.

He stood about waist-deep in the water and would go no further.

I swam for a bit, returned to the shore, and collected him. He had wet his hair, cooling off. Holding his hand, I walked back to the fire and sat down, pulling him to me.

It was quite some time before we went to bed.

I
WAS
the first to wake the following morning and I slipped quietly out of the tent and stood in the early morning sunlight, stretching and incredibly glad to be alive. Then I found a tree and took a long, much-needed pee, pissing away the day’s first erection.

Afterward, I went for a quick swim, then walked to the rocks at the far end of the bend and sat down, letting the sun dry me off.

I watched the water drift lazily past and thought about Rodney, one of my first boyfriends. I fucked him once, right here, sitting on these rocks with the sun beating down on us. Fucked him hard and proper. Then he fucked me hard and proper. We spent much of our time giving each other blow jobs. I thought I was in love, but he lasted about three weeks and he was gone, and I was sort of glad because I was getting bored with him and wanted something else. What, I didn’t know. The sex was fun, the sex was good, but it wasn’t enough. There was no smoldering to it, I thought, remembering Jackson’s word.

With Jackson, there was all kinds of smoldering going on.

Noah woke, wandered over to the rocks, his skin red and gold. He sat next to me, checking in, smiling.

Are you hungry?
I asked.

He shook his head.

Did you sleep well?

He nodded.

Wanna go swimming?

His face brightened.

We waded into the water and had a long swim.

When he got tired, I held him in my arms and waded into the deeper parts. Then he got behind me and held on to my neck while I swam out further, dog-paddling, enjoying the exercise. Then I turned around and dog-paddled all the way back to the shore, where we sat on the sand, water dripping from our bodies.

Jackson emerged from the tent, wandered off into the trees, came back, and smiled at us sheepishly.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked.

“Out like a light,” he admitted.

“Did you know you fart during your sleep?” I asked.

“I do not!” he said, outraged, offended, not sure whether to believe me.

I waved a hand in front of my nose and my eyes went wide.

“You are such a liar!” he exclaimed.

“Ask Noah. He didn’t hear but he could sure smell it. We had to air the tent out.”

“You did not.”

“Suit yourself.”

“You are such a bad man,” he said. “But I love the way you talk.”

“That’s good, because I do a lot of it. You sound like an uptight British drag queen,” I said.

“I do not!”

“
I do not!
” I said, imitating him, but grossly overexaggerating the effect.

“I don’t sound like that!”

“I don’t sound like that!”

“Stop it!”

“Stop it!”

“I’ll show you!” he vowed.

He dropped his shorts and underwear.

I got up, laughing.

“I’m going to kick your ass!” he said.

“You and what Union army?” I asked as I waded out into the deep water, laughing.

Noah honked.

Jackson waded into the water after me, a determined look on his face.

“Come on, chicken!” I called.

I swam out to the deep end. He followed, dragged me back. Mayhem ensued. He dunked me. I dunked him. We roughhoused. Then we took to hefting Noah and tossing him as high as we could. He splashed into the water and laughed with delight. Again and again, we heaved him about, Jackson grinning, Noah honking and hooting, me more in love with these two boys than I knew what to do with.

Then I heard the whine of a four-wheeler.

“Wait!” I exclaimed, holding up my hands for silence.

Whrrrrrr!

“Oh shit,” I said, hurrying to the shore.

“What?” Jackson called.

“It’s Mama. Don’t let her see you! She’ll have a fucking coronary.”

I waded as quickly as I could to the shore but she arrived on the campsite before I could get to my shorts. She took a good look at my willy and was furious.

Noah shouted happily, “Memaw!”

He ran to her wearing nothing but a huge grin.

Where are your clothes?
she demanded crossly.

He shrugged.

I hurriedly threw on my shorts, grabbed up Noah’s, and helped him dress.

Jackson remained in the water, crouching down to hide his nakedness like Adam in the Garden of Eden.

“What are y’all doing?” Mama demanded, looking at me.

“Skinny-dipping, Mama,” I said.

“Wiley, you have a child around!”

“I don’t think he cares much.”

“What will people think?”

I sighed rather heavily.

We caught three fish last night,
Noah signed to her.

Go play,
she signed, her face full of anger.

He frowned.

“I’m at my wit’s end with you, Wiley,” she said, giving me a hard stare.

“It’s just skinny-dipping, Mama.”

“I don’t care what you do when you’re by yourself, but don’t involve your child in it. What’s wrong with you? That man could be a pedophile!” She said this last thing very quietly.

“I doubt it.”

“I don’t want you exposing my grandson to this…
lifestyle
. I won’t have it. And certainly not on my property. God only knows what else you’re exposing my grandson to.”