The Saints of Swallow Hill(31)

He said, “I ain’t ever been in one.”

“You ain’t never been jukin’? Well, after today, you could stand some music, and a little somethin’ special. Come on. I ain’t supposed to be over here as it is, but I got somethin’ needs saying, and best way to do it is with a little liquor in me.”

Del was tired and didn’t feel like going anywhere, but he got to his feet and said, “Well, all right.”

He pulled his mattress back inside and as a last thought, he pocketed Melody and the two men started off. They came to a grouping of shacks in a section backed against the woods with only one way in and out, the path they were on. This was the colored’s section. As they passed by, most went about their business, but some glanced at him and Nolan strangely. Del was cautious, glancing over his shoulder and side to side, nervous that Crow might see him and decide he needed more learning.

They went by several shanties and a few of the men called out to Nolan, “Hey, Long Gone, you jukin’ tonight?” and “Hey! Last time you went where I think you’re headed, took you two days to get over it.”

Del saw a different side of Nolan than when they’d first met. The man went along with an easy, big smile, walking loose, relaxed, and at one point, he even performed a little jig.

Someone hollered out, “Why you bringing him?”

They approached a tar-paper-covered shack decorated with hundreds of bottle caps and a couple of advertisements, one for Red Man chewing tobacco, the other for Coca-Cola. A few men sat outside in rocking chairs, easing them back and forth slowly, while others were perched on stools. All had some form of alcohol close by. He noticed jugs with the corks popped off, jars with varying amounts of clear liquid, set within arm’s reach. Here faces were friendlier, their consumption of what they called “buck,” which was corn liquor, had eased their aches and pains, and washed away the troubles of the day. A handful of them had instruments and were in the middle of a song. One strummed a banjo, one pulled a tune from a fiddle, another held spoons clacking out a rhythm, while yet another stroked his thumb rhythmically up and down an old washboard. The song wasn’t familiar to Del, but he still wished he could join in on Melody. He would have liked to have played along with them, but Nolan was inside now, so Del went in too.

Off in one corner was a small table where four men sat, the blue haze of cigarette smoke hovering over their heads, faces illuminated by the oil lamp set in the center. They were playing cards but stopped long enough to raise their jars toward Nolan.

Nolan pointed at a small table and said, “Sit there, and I’ll get us some hooch.”

Del said, “I’m okay with a RC or orangeade.”

Nolan shook his head, and Del raised his shoulders. He went and sat, continuing to take in the atmosphere, one that held an air of tension, a suggestion of something about to happen. A pool table sat in the center of the room, and two men played a boisterous game, calling each other derogatory names when one made a poor shot. He glimpsed a couple seated in a rustic booth, holding hands across the table, aware of no one but each other. He put his attention back on Nolan and the woman who served him. Nolan took some time to flirt a little before he came back over to Del and offered him a choice.

He said, “This one’s straight, this one, it’s got some lemonade added to it. Since you ain’t a drinker, you might like it best.”

Del took it, sipped, and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It ain’t bad.”

Nolan grinned and said, “Still potent, ’specially if you ain’t used to drinking.”

They relaxed and watched the comings and goings frequently punctuated by the twang and creak of the spring-loaded screen door. The liquor begin to unwind the knotty spot between Del’s shoulders as it warmed him from the inside out. After a few minutes, and a few more sips, Nolan sat forward, leaned across the table to stare directly into Del’s eyes.

“What brung you here?”

Del rolled the glass between his hands. He wanted to tell him about the grain bin, felt he could for some odd reason. He started off with what most said nowadays.

“I needed work.”

Nolan waited for him to go on while Del stared into his glass. The silence grew. He shifted on his chair, glanced again at Nolan, who’d not dropped his calm gaze.

“Something peculiar happened, and I’ve yet to figure it out, so I thought work might do me some good. I’d been living in the woods awhile.”

Nolan sat back, took a sip of his drink, and said, “What’s peculiar for some, ain’t for others.”

“You might change your mind after hearing this. Boss man I had before I come here, he didn’t care much for me either. In his case, he had good reason. He told me to work in the grain bin one day, and while I was in it, he had a couple other workers open the door. The grain swallered me whole. I couldn’t move, nothing. Then, I couldn’t breathe. It was the worst pain I ever felt, until suddenly, I was outside the grain bin. I could see them trying to save me.”

He stopped talking, watched Nolan for his reaction. Nolan only sipped some more, still listening.

Del emphasized what he’d said. “You understand. I was outside, looking down. I could see everything.”

Nolan leaned back in his chair, and he said, “My granny used to tell me stories like’at all a time. Said some souls trying to leave this earth get trapped ’tween places. Sometimes you end up roamin’ the earth, looking a door to Heaven. You ask me, you was lucky.”