Precious Bones (34 page)

“That sounds good to me. I’m sure Mama will let me go out there now.”

On the school playground I walked up to Betty Jean Davis and said, “Did you hear about what happened with my daddy?”

“No, I did not. Did he get arrested again?”

“No, Betty Jean, he has been cleared of everything. He never did any of those things.”

Betty Jean sniffed in some air and said, “I do not care.
You
and
your
family mean nothing to me.”

I leaned in a little closer to her and whispered, “Betty Jean, you should start being nicer to people or your secret admirer might come crawling around in your bed when you’re sleeping.” Betty Jean’s eyes bulged out. Her mouth puckered up like she had just taken a swig of vinegar. I turned and walked away before she could find her voice again.

After school I was outside with my rifle, all dressed for hunting. I heard Mr. Cotton’s tractor coming up our driveway. Little Man was in the driver’s seat. He wasn’t old enough to have a driver’s license, but sometimes his daddy let him drive the tractor because it wasn’t a car.

I went out to meet him. He climbed down from the tractor, then turned around and picked up his double-barreled shotgun from the floor. It was his Christmas present from last year, but you would think he’d just got it. He dearly loved that gun. Little Man’s face glowed with pride as he held it out in front of him. “Bones, is that about the prettiest thing you ever did see?”

“Little Man, you say that every time you touch that gun. C’mon, let’s get going.”

As we headed toward the swamps, the dogs started to follow us. “Bones,” Little Man said, “turn your dogs around. None of ’em is hounds and they’ll just scare everything away.”

“They’re good huntin’ dogs, they won’t scare anything away.”

“They are not. Not a one of ’em has a drop of hound in ’em. Now tell ’em to stay back. You remember how bad they were last time they came in the swamps with us?”

“They were not bad. Silver was the one that found that Yankee man’s leg.”

“That was just luck on her side. Tell ’em to stay back.”

I turned around and told the dogs to stay. The three of them sat in the yard and watched forlornly as I walked away with Little Man.

Me and Little Man walked along in silence. Tall stands of parched saw grass rustled in the cool evening breeze. A thin gray mist hovered over pockets of warm water. The only sound was our feet crunching along the tops of dry leaves.

Every few minutes, Little Man would stop and dramatically hold out one arm for me to stop, too. He would bend his head forward and search back and forth, like an Indian in the movies.

After he did this a couple of times, I couldn’t stand it anymore. “What are you doing, Little Man? You’re acting like you’re Davy Crockett or something.”

“I am not. I’m just huntin’, that’s all.”

“Well, I ain’t ever seen you hunt like that before.”

“Well, now you have. Hush up, Bones, before you scare everything in the swamp away.”

We continued to walk along in silence. The evening shadows had come alive, flickering over the thick undergrowth.
Suddenly Little Man stopped and held me back with his arm. Only this time, he didn’t do the Indian search thing with his head. He looked back at me and whispered, “You hear that?”

I cocked my head and strained my ears, but all I heard was the breeze as it brushed across the tops of the dry leaves.

Little Man squatted and pulled me down with him. He stared into a cluster of trees. “There’s something in there.”

The sound of his voice made the hair stand up on the back of my neck and along my arms. “Are you tryin’ to scare me? There ain’t nothing in there.”

Little Man turned and looked at me. The brown of his eyes became one with the evening dusk; all I could see were two white circles in his face. “I’m sure there’s something in there.”

As I stared into the thicket, something moved. I watched as a murky form began to rise up from the shadows. At first it looked like somebody covered in an old brown blanket trying to scare us. Then it slowly moved forward, away from the shadows and out into the clearing. Two large golden eyes glinted in our direction.

Little Man’s grip tightened on my arm. I looked at him and saw small silvery beads of sweat pop up across his forehead. “Bones, that is a gol-durn black bear.”

I looked closer. The shadowy lump unfolded, and sure enough, it was a bear. It took a few hesitant steps in our direction and stopped. It raised its huge head and began to sniff the air. The bear was so close I could see white hairs around its
jaw and eyes. A familiar musky smell drifted off its shaggy body and filled the air. It was the same smell I had smelled those other times out on the edge of the swamp.

Little Man let go of my arm. He eased his hand under the stock, slowly raised the gun, and pointed in the direction of the bear. His head leaned in against the stock; one eye squinted shut as he looked down the smooth metal barrel and aimed at the bear’s chest. His finger wrapped around the trigger.

I reached over and placed my hand on the gun, right above the hammer. “Little Man, that’s Sandy Claws. You can’t kill Sandy Claws.”

“That’s a bear, a big black bear.”

“That’s Sandy Claws. If you kill her it would be like … like killing a story. I’ve heard stories about her all my life, and so have you. Sometimes I didn’t think she was real, but there she is, right in front of us. She’s real, and she’s still alive.”

Little Man turned, and we stared deeply into each other’s eyes. Slowly his face softened as memories flooded in and overpowered the hunter. He moved his finger away from the trigger and lowered the gun.

We continued to stare at each other, a pungent smell surrounding us and drifting up our noses. We whispered at the same time, “Sandy Claws is Soap Sally!”

We watched as the old bear pointed her nose straight up and sniffed as if in search of some familiar scent. She dropped her massive head and slowly rocked back and forth. She looked sleepily in our direction. Her huge maw opened and
yawned. Then she turned and ambled back into the thicket of trees, where her body once again blended into the shadows.

Little Man put his hand on my arm. “Wait till we know for sure she’s gone.”

For a few minutes we sat in silence, our ears filled with the rhythm of our own breathing.

“Okay, Bones, I think it’s safe now.”

We got up and walked over to where the bear had stood. We knelt down and reverently placed our hands in the prints she had left behind.

“I reckon it was a honor for us just to get to see her.” Little Man stood up. “We better be heading back. I gotta get back home before dark, and that old tractor ain’t got headlights.”

As we walked side by side, I asked, “Do you think it’s sorta sad that ol’ Sandy Claws has to live all by herself? I mean, she don’t have no friends or family. Do you think she’s lonely?”

“I don’t know about a bear being lonesome. I’d have to think on it. I reckon it could happen.” Little Man shook his head. “I swear, Bones, you ask some of the dangest questions. But I do admit, it does get your mind a-wonderin’.”

Back at the house, Little Man got on the tractor and started it up. As he rumbled off into the night, he yelled over the noise of the engine, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bones.”

That evening at the dinner table I could hardly wait to tell Nolay and Mama.

“You’ll never guess what happened to me and Little Man today when we went huntin’.”

Nolay replied, “Y’all track something down or did something track you down?”

“Better than that, Nolay. We saw ol’ Sandy Claws. She came out and stood right in front of us, clear as day.”

“You sure about that, you really saw her? Your eyes wadn’t playing tricks on you?”

“No, sir, it wasn’t a trick, she was really there. She’s real; she was so close I could see her eyes and even smell her. You remember those times I thought Soap Sally or something was after me? Well, it was Sandy Claws. I know it was her. I recognized the smell. She smells like an ol’ wet rug or something. After she left, we went out and looked at her feet prints, and just like you always said, the claws were so big they dug right down into the sand.”

“Well now, I am mighty glad to know that ol’ bear is still alive. She’s got somewhat of a legend around her. She must have woke up from her winter nap for a little break. And Bones, I know what you mean about that smell. I’ve smelled it myself.” Nolay let out a little laugh. “Now, ain’t that something … that ol’ bear spying on us all these years!”

“Nolay, do you think she’s lonely? Do you think she misses her kids and family?”

“Well, I reckon she could feel that way. No tellin’ how far she roams up and down these woods lookin’ for her kids, lookin’ for a friend. I don’t know if she quite understands that they’re all dead and ain’t ever coming back. But she must miss ’em.”

“Did you ever shoot a bear?”

“Lord, no. Why would I go shoot something I didn’t want
to eat? You don’t go killin’ something just ’cause you got a gun or something that’s more powerful than it is. You name me one animal that kills just for the fun of it.”

“Well, cats. I seen our cats kill a mouse or a bird and not eat it, just play with it.”

“That’s because they’ve been tamed and spoiled. They live with people that provide ’em with everything they need. Believe me, if they were out in the wild, they wouldn’t play with their food. There ain’t no need to kill something if there ain’t a good purpose for it.”

“Nolay, what about those people that kill animals to have them stuffed and hung up on their walls?”

“That’s a shameful waste of life. That’s one of the reasons we don’t have any more black bear or panther or flocks of egrets and whooping cranes. Them fool Yankees.” Nolay stopped, gathered up his thoughts, then continued, “Well … not only Yankees, but lots of greedy people came down here and slaughtered animals for their fur and feathers. Didn’t even eat ’em. Just left their bodies to rot. They’re killin’ the swamps, stealin’ the water, buying up the land. It just ain’t right.”

Mama said quietly, “Nolay, I think if you look back on what’s happened, it wasn’t just outsiders that did those things. It was also the people that lived here. The people that knew the ways of all those animals and how to hunt them. You can’t just be blaming Yankees and outsiders.”

“That’s true, Honey Girl. But I do think I could put the blame on one thing and just about one thing only. Greed.”

Nolay leaned forward and looked at me. “Bones, I will do whatever it takes to protect this land. To protect these swamps
and our way of life. We done lost enough of it already, and I don’t intend to lose any more. Or there won’t be none left for you or anyone else. You understand, Bones?”

I looked at Nolay, his eyes bumping into mine like two clear blue ice cubes. “Yes, sir, I do understand.”

Saturday morning I was up before the first rays of light. I ran into Nolay and Mama’s bedroom. “Y’all get up. It’s Saturday!”

Nolay looked at me with one eye closed. “Good Lord, Bones, Ikibob ain’t even crowed yet.”

“That’s ’cause he’s just a rooster, and he don’t know what day it is.”

“All right, all right. I do have a lot of stuff to take care of.”

At breakfast, Nolay told us all the things he had done the day before. “I went by the Fish House and told Ironhead, stopped by the Last Chance and put a call in to the Cat clan. Hopefully some of ’em will make it up here tomorrow. I didn’t get to see everyone I wanted to, but I think the word will get out.”

Mama said, “You must be expecting everyone we know to show up, because you brought home enough corn on the cob to feed the whole town. We’ll have to use a washtub to boil it in.”

“Don’t worry, Honey Girl, I’m sure none of it will go to waste.”

We had just finished breakfast when we heard a car horn outside. I ran to the window and saw Mr. Cotton’s truck. Sitting in the back bed were Little Man, Earl, Ethan, and a jumble of sawhorses and boards. Nolay walked out and told Mr. Cotton, “The shadiest place will be over yonder under the mango tree.” Mr. Cotton drove over to the tree, and the boys jumped out and started unloading the truck and setting up makeshift tables and benches.

When they finished, Little Man came over to me and said, “Mama’s baking up some pies, cakes, and corn bread. She sure is makin’ good use of that new oven. We gotta go back and get some more things, then we’ll be over to help y’all with everything.”

When they came back, they had not only Miss Melba but also just about every pot, pan, and plate they owned. All morning long, Mama’s kitchen was bustling with activity.

The boys made a long rectangular fire out in the yard. Pots and washtubs were cleaned and stacked up, ready to be put to use. Me, Mama, and Miss Melba started carrying stuff out to the tables.

Late morning, our visitors began to arrive. First came Ironhead. I watched as his old blue pickup truck inched its way up the drive. Sitting next to him was Mr. Charlie. Ironhead drove up by the fire, the whole back of the truck stacked with fresh oysters in the shell.

Ironhead got out and huffed and puffed in our direction,
“It being November, this here is the first and best batch of oysters.”