Читать книгу Billy Don't - William OSB Baker - Страница 6

The tall impenetrable bamboo thicket grew against the high-board fence separating the Blair's smaller garden from the Baxters' garage. In the center of the bamboo thicket, close to the fence, Bax and Billy found a secret hiding place impervious to anyone passing alongside the Blair's house or on the street. Bax had found it while the two of them had been walking the high board fence. Together they devised a circuitous route to the opening in the thicket which would not leave a give-away trail to their most secretive of hiding places.

First they would climb the tree on the Blair's side of the fence, then work their way out upon a limb hanging over the fence and swing down onto the fence. From there they walked the fence, hidden behind the tall bamboo on one side and the Baxter's garage on the other, to where they could see the open ground below them, and jumped down into the perfect hiding place. They returned the same way, each helping the other to scale the tall fence. Never did they leave a path for others to follow.

From their hiding place the boys could watch the comings and goings of the Blair household, knowing they were secure behind the thick stand of bamboo. Not wanting to give away their trusted secret location, Billy and Bax were always quiet when in their secluded hideaway. Seldom did they stay long, since without something to hide from, the self imposed silence soon grew boring.

"Billy. Billlllly. BILLLLY." The call for him to come became louder and louder, then became filled with frustration. "BILLLLLLEEEEEEEEE."

Billy pursed his lips, and placed his forefinger against them indicating to Bax he was to be quiet. Their eyes told each other they were not going to answer Mrs. Blair's calling. Slowly, with the gentleness of a light breeze, Billy parted the bamboo stalks to view the back porch. There with her hands to her mouth stood Mrs. Blair again calling out his name. "BILLLLLLEEEEEEEEE." He looked at Bax. They both laughed. Billy put his hands over his mouth to stifle the sound and rolled on the ground, laughing.

Soon the calling stopped. "You are going to get the razor strap.” She shouted toward the barn, then turned and entered the house.

Again Billy parted the bamboo stalks. "She's gone." The boys sat wiping the wetness of laughter from their eyes, forever satisfied with the security of their hiding place.

"You want some candy?" asked Billy.

"Yeah, sure, but where ya gon,na get it?" Bax asked.

"At the Neville Corner Store."

"You got any money?"

"A nickel." Billy pulled the coin from his pocket, showing it to Bax.

"Geez, where'd ya get it?"

"I took it. Ya wan’na go or not?"

"Ya, I wan’na go, but who'd ya take it from?"

"God."

The reply was curt and hard. Bax knew to leave it alone. Billy faced the tall fence. "Help me up." Billy raised his foot for Bax to place in his hands. Billy jumped, grabbed the top of the fence as Bax pushed on his foot, and lifted himself out of their hiding place. On top of the fence Billy turned, extending his hand down to Bax for his turn to scale the tall fence. With both of them on the fence they walked the top board to the tree, grabbed the limb and swung down to the ground.

"Quick, round this way, she won't see us." Billy took the lead. They ran round the front of the house and down the graveled driveway. To the north of the Blair's barn was a large blackberry patch growing in the neighbor's neglected back yard. Over the years the blackberry bushes had overgrown and obscured the Conestoga wagon left there from the days of the early West. In later years the wagon would be discovered by the new owner of the property and a fruitless effort would be made to trace how it came to be there. For the moment, it and the blackberry bushes had created a second hiding place. Unlike the bamboo thicket, where they could hide and watch others, the space under the Conestoga wagon provided a sanctuary of privacy. Beyond the Conestoga wagon sat a row of four open garage stalls. Like the wagon, they sat empty and long forgotten. The yellow jackets had taken up residence in the abandoned stalls and their nests hung among the exposed rafters denying Billy the use of the garage and its shady comfort. At the rear of the garage was a hole under the foundation leading to the vacant lot behind the garage, and an escape route to Neville Avenue often used by Billy.

Bax dropped to his knees and peered through the hole. “Geez, can ya get through there?”

Billy responded, “Sure. I’ll show ya.” He rolled onto his back, and with his arms outstretched over his head, he reached through the hole, grasped the outer edge of the foundation, and pulled himself through the tight hole. Bax followed without Billy's help.

Now, safe in their escape, they walked the half block to the Neville Corner Store on 38th Avenue. At the store they equally selected five cents worth of candy from the glass jars lining the counter. Then with Billy holding the bag of candy, they returned as they had come, with Billy again going first through the hole. From there, they crawled under the Conestoga wagon.

Feeling safe with the question, Bax asked, "What did you mean when you said you stole the money from God?"

Billy did not answer right away. He had torn the paper bag open, laid it flat on the ground, and made equal piles of the assorted candies. Finished, he scooped up his half, pushed the other in the direction of Bax, rolled onto his side and looked hard at Bax. "Mrs. Blair puts money in a jar. She says it's for God. I took it out of the jar, so what?"

"Geez, noth'n." Bax immediately realized his question had irritated Billy, and he knew he had best drop the subject.

Billy turned away from Bax, closing out his presence. His thoughts surfaced. "Your soul will turn black." He looked down at his chest wondering where in his body his soul might be. Was it darker now? Five cents worth? That can't be much. Maybe, just a speck. What happens when it turns all black? Maybe I'll blow up and die. Where is my soul? In my stomach, maybe?"

The boys finished their candy, buried the wrappers in the loose soil and wiped their mouths clean. "I got’ta get home," remarked Bax, as he began to crawl out from under the wagon, and through the vine tunnel, being careful to avoid the sharp barbs.

"Yeah, and I got’ta go do something." Billy crawled out behind Bax being equally careful to not become entangled with the blackberry bushes. When clear of the vines he stood, brushed the dirt from his cloths, and sauntered toward the back porch whistling a tune.

She had been waiting. "Where have you been?" she asked, looking down on Billy from the back porch as he crossed the gravel driveway crunching the loose rock under his feet.

"I was playing with Bax." "I have been calling and calling you. Didn't you hear me?"

"No." It was a lie. Billy knew it was lie.

"Come up here." She stood with her hands on her hips watching Billy mount the stairs. "You could not have, not heard me." Her voice was threatening. He moved around to the side of her, staying close the washroom door, prepared to bolt for the kitchen should she make a move to grab him. A rash of words came flying at him, "There is no way you could not have heard me, young man. God was watching you, and He knows you are lying. Every lie you tell makes a black spot on your soul, Billy. When you die God is going to look at your soul, and if it is black He is going to send you to the Devil." She raved on, telling him again how God saw all the bad things and in the end would punish him for his wrong-doings. Finally, it was over. "Now, go clean out the chicken coops like Mr. Blair told you to do."

There must have been at least a hundred chickens, or so it seemed. The four coops were now all in use. In later years, the chicken population would be greatly increased, and the second floor of the barn where Billy and his boy friends had their rubber gun wars, would be turned into one large chicken coop.

"Don't you scare the chickens, and be careful of the setting hens," called Mrs. Blair from the back porch. Billy turned the nailed-on board serving as a latch to the chicken wire gate. "And," she continued, "don't let the chickens out." She watched until Billy was inside the chicken yard and the gate closed, then she turned and entered the house. Alongside the gate were the leavings of the last cleaning, now a reduced pile of mixed manure and straw used to fertilize the gardens. Billy took notice of the pile, wondering how high it would be when he had finished his unwanted chore. The rake, wide scoop shovel and wheel barrow stood inside the gate against the side of the barn where Billy had hastily left them after the last cleaning. The coops sat in the back corner of the Blair's yard across from the barn and against the Baxter's high board fence. Between the bam and the coops was an open area surrounded by a high chicken wire fence in which the chickens scratched and dusted themselves. Pans of one kind or another, cutoff bottoms of rusted out tanks and other receptacles were strewn about the yard for water containers. The coops were built of salvaged lumber, closed on three sides with flat roofs slanting to the back of the coop. Chicken wire was stretched over supporting studs and a flimsy wooden door frame to form the front of the coops. Wooden strew-filled boxes, formerly fruit crates, lined the walls of the coops providing nesting places for the hens. Resting on the ground and reaching diagonally to the roof was the roosting ladder.

The cleaning procedure Billy was to follow had been told to him by Pop Blair. First the chicken coops, then the yard. Fill the wheelbarrow and dump it through the horizontal split in the chicken wire fence. Keep the gate closed so the chickens don't get out. Billy approached the first coop. The doors to all the coops were standing open. Pop Blair opened them in the morning and closed them in the evening, ensuring that all the chickens were in the coops and safe from the occasional varmint who stalked the area at night.

Entering the coop, Billy took notice of the rows of heaped chicken droppings on the ground which gave evidence of the nightly roosting patterns. It stank. The acrid smell compelled Billy to hold his breath. "I don't want that shit-stuff in me," he thought. He clamped his mouth hard shut, stifling the desire to breath. Quickly, as if in panic, he stepped back outside. "Why do I have to clean the damn old coops, anyway? They aren't my chickens."

He felt the entrapment of his young years. How he had to comply for fear of punishment, and the inability to respond or to alter his situation. The need to escape welled within him. He whirled about, prepared to run from the emotional trauma which was dictating his actions. He stopped short.

Bax was closing the gate behind himself. "Want some help?", he called . .

Billy stood transfixed watching Bax carefully choose his steps across the chicken yard. Billy regained his composure. He was like that. He could be full of anger and hatred one minute, and be laughing the next. His moods were swift and often violent.

"Yeah." Billy responded. "You want to rake, I'll shovel and push the wheelbarrow." He enjoyed making tracks in the dirt, then pretending it was a road to be followed from the coops to the fence and return. It put a little fun into the thankless chore.

"We'll take turns, okay?" Bax was equally interested in pushing the wheelbarrow and shared in Bill's dislike of removing the chicken dung from the coops. While Bax was older than Billy and the larger of the two, Billy's violent temper and his prepared willingness to settle things with an unsuspected punch had taught Bax to avoid disagreements. Bax waited for approval of his suggestion.

"Yeah. Okay. After this coop is done. Then we will take turns. Okay?" Billy countered.

"I can't stay that long. My Grandmother wants me to go to the store for her." It wasn't the truth, but it supported Bax's position. "You rake three wheelbarrow loads and then we'll take turns. Okay?" Billy countered.

"Okay." Bax was not happy with Billy's terms but knew it was the best he was to get.

"But, I got’ta go home after this coop." The two boys set to work. The wooden beam laid on the ground as a foundation for the coop prevented Bax from raking the manure out of the coop and into the yard. A pile was made just inside the doorway from where Billy loaded the wheelbarrow and made his three trips over the circuitous roadway he had created.

"My turn to wheelbarrow." Bax dropped the rake and exited from the coop.

"Okay." Grudgingly, Billy stepped aside to let Bax pass before entering the coop for his unwanted turn at raking. The wheelbarrow became their point of interest. "Bet ya can't go all the way over and back without getting off the track I made," challenged Billy.

"Bet’cha I can." Bax followed the meandering track as it wound its way among the strewn water containers and eventually to the fence. His trip was expertly piloted, never getting off Billy's track. "Did it," reported Bax.

"Bet’cha ya can't follow this one," chided Billy, setting off with another load and making a new, more challenging track. The boys continued taking turns, raking then wheel barrowing, with alternate turns in creating a more difficult and circuitous route for the other to follow. "Thought you had to go," commented Billy as they moved to the second coop.

"I can go later. Anyway, she just wanted a loaf of bread. Bet’cha ya can't stay on this one." Bax moved quickly, pushing the wheelbarrow in several overlapping circles around the water containers imitating the sounds of a racing motorcycle.

Inside the house Mrs. Blair became conscious of the increased cackling coming from the chicken yard. "That boy," she thought aloud, "what is he up to now?" She turned from her stocking darning to look out the large living room window overlooking the backyard. What she saw made her conclude that Bax was chasing the chickens in circles with the wheelbarrow. Quickly, she set aside her darning needle and made for the back porch. "Why, I swear by the Lord Almighty, if that Baxter boy isn't as bad as Billy." She called at the top of her voice. "David Baxter. You stop chasing those chickens and get yourself home. You hear me. Put down that wheelbarrow and get home this minute or I'll put the strap to both of you."

Bax stopped dead in his tracks, dumbfounded by the sudden appearance of Mrs. Blair, and the direct hostile attack. Then, slowly, he began to put the pieces together. Obediently, he set down the wheelbarrow, looked toward Billy, hunched his shoulders in an expression of helplessness and started for the gate.

"He wasn't doin' noth’n"' Billy shouted his anger. "We ain't hurtn' yer God damn old chickens." His temper had taken over. "Bax don't have to go." He screamed the words.

"Oh yes he does." She hollered the words. "And, you best get yourself up here this minute."

"I ain't going to and Bax don't have to go. We didn't do nothn'." He knew he'd gone too far.

"Mr. Baxter, you get home, and Billy, you march yourself up here this minute, you hear me!" Her words blistered Billy's ears. Billy knew from her voice that he was in trouble. Big trouble.

He moved toward the gate, passing Bax who was waiting for him to lead the way. "I'll see ya later." Billy mumbled the words, not wanting his voice to reach the back porch.

Bax did not reply, and without looking in Mrs. Blair's direction he went off toward his house. Billy was mad. He slammed the gate closed, then looked up at Mrs. Blair with fiery eyes, communicating his anger and defiance. He stomped up the pathway registering his disobedient spirit and absence of fear for what lay ahead. At the bottom of the stairs he hesitated, then resolved to his fate, climbed the stairs while hatefully staring at the object of his anger.

"You have the Devil in you, Billy. You have used the Lord's name in vain. I am going to wash your mouth out with soap." She reached out, grabbed Bill's ear and twisted it hard, bringing tears to his eyes along with loud screams of pain and hatred. She led him by the ear to the pantry and reached for the soap setting on the window sill. Beyond the soap, her eyes fell upon the chicken yard gate. It was open. "Billy," the words come in a rush, “ the gate is open and the chickens are getting out!”

Billy felt the tight twist on his ear relax. He bolted for the pantry door, rounded the corner through the washroom, out the back door and took the long flight of stairs in three jumps.

She followed close on his heels, calling and daring him to flee with promises of much more than a soapy mouth should he not stop and help. Billy stopped, his purpose for the moment being to gather the chickens back into the yard. "Shoo, shoo, chick." He waved his arms directing the chickens toward the gate. Mrs. Blair joined in gathering the chickens from the driveway and the grape arbor. Together they recaptured the flock with the exception of a persistent rooster. Billy chased after it, and cornered it against the Baxter's fence. Being careful to avoid its flapping wings, Billy slid his hands down over the rooster's back, held it firmly in his hands and carried it to the gate. Mrs. Blair opened the gate, and Billy tossed the rooster inside.

Without warning, Mrs. Blair reached out and grabbed Billy's still burning ear, and led him off to the pantry, where the bar of awful tasting soap was thrust again and again into his mouth. He fought back. He kicked and screamed. It was all to no avail. The punishment was meted out and Billy returned to the chicken coops to complete his chore, alone.