Читать книгу Totem - Jennifer Maruno - Страница 7

Chicken Coop

Father Gregory waited behind the wheel of the old green pick-up in a grey short-sleeved clerical shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Ernie and Jonny jumped into the back beside a pile of used shingles, a couple of fence posts, and a battered tool box. They bumped down the grassy rutted road to the school gardens beside the river.

“Welcome to our Garden of Eden,” Father Gregory called out the window gesturing to the rows of beans, carrots, and cabbages. “It smells so beautiful in the moonlight, when the trees are full of fruit and the ground ripe with berries.”

Jonny knew nothing about the garden at night, but he knew once the boys returned from summer vacation, they would be picking all day long. The one good thing about garden work was you could eat straight from the plants when no one was looking.

The two nuns working at pea trellises waved to Father Gregory as they drove by. Behind the gardens, a small storage shed had collapsed in a storm.

Father Gregory, Jonny, and Ernie surveyed the heap of boards. “We’re going to re-use the wood for a chicken-coop,” Father Gregory told them. He handed each of the boys a hammer and a tin can. “You can get to work pulling out the nails.”

Before long, the cans were full of slightly bent nails and several piles of lumber lay on the ground, sorted according to size.

The school bell clanged in the distance.

“Hope that’s the lunch bell,” Ernie exclaimed. “I’m starving.”

Father Gregory opened the metal lunch pail and handed each of the boys a newspaper packet. Ernie began to unwrap his, but Jonny put out a hand to stop him. “Klahwa,” he whispered. “We have to give thanks.”

Father Gregory unwrapped a chicken leg, some cheese, and a bun after saying grace.

Ernie stared down at his single slice of bread and cold boiled potatoes. “How come he’s not eating the same as us?” he asked in a loud voice.

No one answered.

After wolfing down his food, Ernie crumpled the newspaper into a ball and tossed it to Jonny. Then he picked up a piece of lumber and waved it about. “Throw it,” he said. “We’ll see how far I can hit it.”

Jonny placed the newspaper ball on the ground beside his feet. He knew it wasn’t time for sports.

“You’ll get free time after dinner,” Father Gregory said. “Let us pray.”

“We prayed before we ate,” Ernie protested.

“And we pray to give thanks for the meal,” Father Gregory informed him.

As Jonny and the priest bowed their heads, Ernie stared at them in disbelief.

“It might be a good idea to put the coop on a platform,” Father Gregory said when he opened his eyes. “That way it won’t flood when it rains.”

“One night there was much rain,” Jonny said as he stood. To his own surprise, he found himself repeating the words of the old man in the woods. “The water crept around the houses. The great poles trembled and groaned. The people stayed on their platforms as the water rose higher and higher.”

Father Gregory looked at him and raised his eyebrows.

“Where did you learn that?” Ernie asked.

“I don’t know,” Jonny said. “It just sorta popped into my mind.”

“You’re telling the story of Noah’s Ark,” Father Gregory said as he fastened the lunch pail shut.

Ernie and Jonny took turns sawing the fence posts in half, while Father Gregory dug the holes. By the time they heard the dinner bell, the platform was finished.

“You boys ride up front with me,” Father Gregory told them. He patted the worn leather seat. “Move in closer, Jonny,” he said. “Make room for Ernie.”

“How many chickens are there going to be?” Ernie asked as they pulled away.

“We are going to start off with eight,” Father Gregory said. He placed his hand on Jonny’s knee and squeezed. “And one rooster, of course,” he said.

Jonny shifted himself closer to Ernie.

Two bowls of soup waited for them on the table in the kitchen. Two slices of bread and two spoonfuls of white lard sat on a tin plate. An enamel tea pot stood next to two chipped cups.

Ernie frowned at the ghostly crescent of onion, dime sized piece of carrot, and four peas floating in the greasy broth. “My baby sister can make better soup than this,” he said.

The cook opened the oven and removed a pair of roasted chickens. He placed them on a platter and surrounded it with potatoes. When Father Gregory entered, he handed him the platter.

“Don’t they ever get tired of eating chicken?” Ernie asked as he picked up his spoon.

At six-thirty they were to clear the table where the priests ate their evening meal.

Jonny tore the remaining meat from the chicken carcass and stuffed it in his mouth. “Best part about working in the kitchen,” he said. He pried off a wing and handed it to Ernie.

Ernie scraped the remaining vegetables from the plates into a bowl. He spooned it into his mouth, and then handed the empty bowl to Jonny.

“That’s all right,” Jonny said. “You can have it all.”

“Sorry,” Ernie said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I’m just so hungry.”

They took the dishes into the kitchen.

“What do you want to do now?” Ernie asked, after they finished scrubbing the pots and wiping down the floor. “Wanna go for a walk down that road?”

“We can’t,” Jonny told him. “That leads to the girl’s school. It’s out of bounds.”

Without the other Indian boys around, there wasn’t really much to do. There wouldn’t be a baseball game or choir practice. They didn’t even have a fight in the yard to watch.

“Let’s go to the study hall,” Jonny suggested. “I’ve got a book on the go.”

Ernie wandered about the dark-panelled room, paying elaborate attention to the bars on the windows. “Do you know the rest of that legend?” he asked from across the room.

“What legend?” Jonny replied.

“The one you started to tell at the chicken coop.”

“I didn’t know it was a legend.”

“You don’t know much about Indians, do you?” Ernie said. “That story you told sounded exactly like one of our legends. Do you know the whole thing?”

Jonny closed his eyes. He could still hear the voice of the man in the woods. “Higher and higher went the water,” he said. “Day came and the rain still fell. Night came and the rain still fell. The chief of the village ordered the warriors to tie their canoes together.”

“Keep on going,” Ernie said sitting next to him

Jonny faced the boy next to him with a puzzled face. “I don’t know how I know all this.”

But Ernie didn’t seem to think it strange that Jonny knew this story. “Go on,” he said.

Jonny closed his eyes and continued. “And the people did. For many days and nights the people of the village watched the rain come down and the water rise above the treetops. In fear, they floated and drifted in the waters of the falling rain.”

“You’re telling it exactly the way it is supposed to be told,” Ernie said. He gave a great sigh of satisfaction. “Keep going.”

The rest of the story flowed from Jonny’s mouth. “They lived in the cave until the waters moved back down the mountain and the world began again.” He stopped speaking and gave out a great sigh. A sense of satisfaction rose within him and he smiled. “That’s it,” he said.

“You’ve got to end it the right way,” Ernie said. “Whenever my grandfather told legends, he always ended them the same way.”

Father Gregory walked into the study hall at that moment, carrying a notebook, pencil, and ruler. Jonny closed his book and stood up. Ernie sauntered over to the door.

“You go on ahead,” Father Gregory told Ernie. “I want to show Jonny my plans.”

Father Gregory put the notebook on the table. “In my last church, I had a whole choir of boys that sang as beautifully as you,” he said. “I wanted to be in charge of the choir here, but Sister Theresa was already directing it.” He gave a deep sigh and placed his hand on Jonny’s. “Maybe if I show Father Paul how good I am at taking care of little chicks, he’ll let me take over the choir. What do you think?”

Jonny slipped his hand out from under the priest’s. He didn’t know what to think or what to say, so he slid the notebook toward Father Gregory and quietly left the room.

In the dormitory Ernie adjusted his bed covers while Jonny sank to his knees. “Don’t tell me you’re praying again,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“We’re supposed to pray before bed,” Jonny replied.

The lights went out at nine-thirty. In the long-echoing dormitory, both boys lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Then Jonny remembered what Ernie had said in the study hall.

“Hey, Ernie,” he whispered. “What did you say about ending that legend?”

“You have to say,” Ernie whispered back, “‘these are the words of my people. These are the words I have learned.’” His voice broke into a sob, followed by a series of muffled whimpers.

That kid may be tough enough to fight everyone during the day, Jonny thought as he rolled over and closed his eyes. But, at night, Ernie’s just like all the others, crying in the dark for his home.