Читать книгу Bum Rap - Donald E. Morrow - Страница 8

Over the space of my sentence, I became fond of Buck and his stories. Then one day he got back on the Copperhead thing.

“You know,” he said. “I don’t think you fully understood what I was talking about, when I mentioned that I was a copperhead, the other day. I also think you might have got distracted about the things I said about the darkies, so let me tell you this.

“The copperheads were definitely not in the minority. More people were against war, than there were for it.

“It was those damn Jesus junkies, that pushed it through. Long before the war ever got started, they had a whole string of people that were using their houses to shelter runaway slaves.

“Old Abe Lincoln done crapped all over the people when he put an end to slavery. Just think about it for a minute.

“In opposition to what ole Abe did, a sitting president today, would not focus on only one part of the constitution. He would take it all into consideration. The first damn thing he would do, is haul those plantation owners into federal court, and convict them of slavery.

“Then before those suckers could even blink their eye, he would have had a truckload of U.S. Marshals swoop down on that plantation, and capture all the slaves, and then send them back to their own country.

“Abe and that bunch of bible toters did just the opposite. He gave them forty acres and a mule.

“He killed three hundred and sixty-thousand yankee soldiers, and two hundred and fifty-thousand rebels to free a bunch of illegal immigrants, and that’s sure as hell what they were.

“Those southern plantation owners had them kidnapped out of Africa, and then illegally imported into this country.

“Then to top it all off, they built a giant statue of that murdering bastard up there in Washington.

“Now in just a minute I will be done. But before I quit, I want to ask everyone this one question. Has anybody ever heard one of the children of those illegal immigrants offer a toast to all those Yankee soldiers, who died to free their black butts? Do you think one of them ever said a prayer for them?”

“Uh-huh,” I said. What could I say? I sure as heck didn’t want to argue with him. I hadn’t read the same books that he had, and I didn’t want to dispute a darn thing he said, anyway. He just forgot to tell me to “bet my butt on it.”

The days passed... slow...real slow...in time we ran out of things to talk about. Cards? We got sick of casino and gin, but still, the days passed. At night we dealt with our own demons. We fought the nightmares and tried to forget the erotic dreams. One day Buck brought up the darkie question again.

“One of these fine days,” he started out, “it’ll be all over. Long ago, they swore they’d put us in chains the same as we did to them, and I got to admit that if I was a nigger, I’d be just the same. I’d want to mess up every white man I could find, and you can bet your butt on that.”

That was worth a chuckle. The darkies were a minority. They just couldn’t do it. Nearly every house in America has a gun. No foreign power could ever occupy us. Americans are as stubborn as the Russians who said way back in April of 1242: “You come to us with a sword, then you will die by the sword.”

All those winters spent in the libraries weren’t wasted. But I don’t think anyone would ever win a discussion with Buck.

He was sure enough a copperhead, and as he liked to say. You could bet your butt on that. And so... the days rolled on. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and some days new guys would come in, nearly all with the mandatory ten-day sentence. Old Charlie and Willy hit the bricks on a Wednesday and finally, after years passed, my day came and they let me out.

I damn near froze. They’d mislaid my jacket, might even have given it to someone else, so when I hit the streets I had nothing on my back except my shirt. Cold? Man, a cold front must have moved in while I was eating county food, and brought a west wind with it.

It was like a whole gang of knives slamming into my body. I mean, it was so damn cold that it actually hurt. After going about a block, I just ducked into a doorway of a store, but it wasn’t open yet, and the doorway broke the thrust of the wind. It didn’t stop the cold. I was about to get the shakes. Suddenly I saw a guy hurrying up the street, and I yelled at him.

“Hey mister,” I said. “Is there a goodwill store on this street?”

He stopped and looked just a little startled because maybe I didn’t look too good with my week-old beard and my arms crossed over my chest like I was trying to hug myself, and then he shouted back.

“Down at the end of Main Street. Right side. Can’t miss it,” and just like that he was gone.

“Thanks,” I yelled, but there was no way he could have heard me with that damn wind whistling the way it was. So, well, there was nothing else I could do. Either I made it down to the store, or I would freeze, so I took a deep breath and dashed into the wind about the same as a high school football guy crashing into the line, and just kept on running, forcing myself to go even faster, and then, maybe I was praying for the store to be open.

Lights and people moving about is what I first saw and with an immense sense of relief, I ran in the door. Heat. Glorious heat, and right off it hit me in my face, and then I felt it all over the front of my body, and right then I made a silent resolution. No way in hell would I ever be cold again.

I remember seeing an oversized checkout counter right in the center of the store by the entrance door, and the rest of the store was clothes. Racks of them, and then alongside the sides of the building, they had a bunch of shelves, with every home convenience item you could think of stacked on them,

I headed for the coat racks and the first one that coat my eye sort of startled me. A “P” jacket. Holy smoke. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but it was true. I had found an old Navy P jacket, one of the best darn coats ever made.

My luck was turning, Bad days gone. Things were getting good. I took the jacket off the rack and went to the counter. The price tag on the coat said seven dollars, so I handed the money to the girl at the counter, put on the jacket, and once again stepped bravely into the wind. That’s all I can remember with any clarity.

The first pain I felt was just a blur of motion right in my face, and that’s it. The next thing I remember is a woman’s voice. She was talking to another woman and telling her they’d wait to clean me until after the doctor saw me, and maybe I got the idea that they were talking about me, or, maybe I just imagined it, and then I must have drifted back to wherever I had been.

Later, I think I may have heard more voices, but that’s still kind of hazy. It was the next day when I knew for certain I was in a hospital, and shortly thereafter, when I found out I’d had my ass kicked. Naw, that ain’t right. It wasn’t a fight because I’d surely remember it. It was an assault. I’d been assaulted by persons unknown, and it was just about that time that I noticed the cop sitting in a chair over in the corner. Was he here to arrest me again?

There was something else too, but I didn’t notice it right away. The window was open. Huh. End of January in Ohio and these hicks want fresh air.