Precious Bones (6 page)

Little Man laid the croker sack on the worn wooden countertop, reached inside, and pulled out one of the blue crabs. “Howdy, Mr. Ball. You think we could trade this here for two RC Colas and a moon pie?”

“I think that would be a fair enough trade.” Mr. Ball picked up a corner of the croker sack, peeked inside, and said, “Looks like y’all had a pretty good catch today.”

“And Mr. Speed would like an RC, too. I can take it out to him,” I added.

Outside, I handed one cola to Mr. Speed, and me and Little Man sat down on the front steps, next to the bench. We watched as cars glided by in both directions on U.S. 1. Being it was the only highway stretching from Jacksonville to Miami, just about every car coming or going had to pass by the Last Chance.

After an acceptable time of silence, Mr. Speed said, “Done counted ’leven Yankee cars passed by from this mornin’. Four New York, three Michigan, three New Jersey, and one Co-net-ti-cut, yes, sir, one Co-net-ti-cut.” Sometimes Mr. Speed’s memory got stuck together like the pages of an old wet book.

Little Man took a gulp of his RC. “You don’t say, Mr. Speed. That’s a tolerable lot of Yankees. Wonder where they’re headed.”

“Down Palm Beach, down Palm Beach, where all them coconut palms washed up on shore. People sure do love to see them palms, twenty thousand of ’em washed up and planted their selves right on the beach, yes, sir, twenty thousand of ’em.”

“Twenty thousand,” I said. “How did twenty thousand coconuts get washed up on the beach?”

“Shipwreck. About seventy-five years ago a ship wrecked in a storm and spilt all them coconuts on the beach. Some planted their selves and some was planted by people living there. Then they named it Palm Beach, yes, sir, Palm Beach.”

Little Man shook his head. “Well now, that sure does make sense, don’t it, Bones?”

“It sure does, and it’s an interesting story, too.” I took a sip of my icy-cold RC. It slid down my parched throat like liquid joy. “Mr. Speed, you should have seen the river today, it was just plumb full of schools of mullet, the busiest I’ve seen it in a while. Nearly every time we threw our gig in a school, it came out with a fat mullet on it.”

Mr. Speed continued to bob his head and stare out into his private world. Then he replied, “Florida has seven hundred different kinds of fish, some so big they could swaller up a car and some so itty-bitty you can hold ’em on the tip of your finger, yes, sir, so itty-bitty you can hold ’em on the tip of your finger.”

“Lordy, Mr. Speed, why, I reckon it would take about a lifetime to meet up with all of them,” I said.

The three of us sat for a few minutes sipping our colas, me and Little Man nibbling our moon pies. Then I asked, “Mr.
Speed, you know anything about birds? There were all kinds of birds hunting on the river today.”

He wagged his head up and down. “Got four hundred different kinds of birds, four hundred that live here, the rest of ’em just come down to visit. Some of ’em are right peculiar, like that big ol’ pink flamingo. He don’t start out pink, he just gets that way from being out in the sun. They don’t roam around much, stay pretty much down in the South, down in the South.”

“Come to think of it,” I replied, “I never seen one of those birds in the river or the swamps, only pictures of ’em. Little Man, you ever seen a live flamingo?”

“Nope, can’t say as I ever have seen one. We’ll have to take a ride down Miami-way someday and see ’em. I hear there are flocks of ’em down there.” Little Man stood up and let out a loud burp. “ ’Scuse me. Bones, it’s gettin’ late. We better be headin’ back home if we’re gonna make it before noon dinnertime.”

“Yeah, I reckon so,” I said. Little Man returned the three bottles to Mr. Ball. I gathered up our gigs and croker sack.

I turned and said, “It sure was nice talking with you, Mr. Speed. I enjoyed hearing about the birds and the fish and the coconuts, too. I’ll be seeing you again real soon.”

He bobbed his lopsided head and said, “Real soon, y’all come back real soon.”

On the walk back home I said to Little Man, “I sure do enjoy talking with Mr. Speed. He pretty near knows something about everything. Where do you think he gets all that information?”

Little Man walked in silence for a while and then replied, “I reckon it comes from a place where you and me can’t go, or a place we wouldn’t really want to go. It’s a place where just him and God sits together and talks with each other.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I do believe that Mr. Speed knows God as a personal friend; he’s that kind of a person.”

As we approached my house I turned and said, “Little Man, if you got time tomorrow, why don’t you and me go out and see if we can find that missing Yankee man.”

“Why would we want to do that? That’s the sheriff’s job.”

“Well, you never know, he could be out there lost and scared and hungry. I could bring along the dogs to help us hunt.”

“I got some mornin’ chores to do, but I could come over later. If we’re goin’ out in the swamps, I’ll be bringin’ my gun and you should bring yours, too.”

“Okay, I’ll let Mama know, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sure enough, there was something waiting out in the swamps, but it wasn’t lost and it wasn’t scared.

Pale sunlight had just begun to tap against my bedroom window when I was awakened by a warm nuzzling in my ear. I reached up to find the furry body of Nippy Raccoon resting on my shoulder. As I stroked her soft fur, her little humanlike hands began to knead my neck as she purred contentedly like a cat.

Nippy had been given to me by Little Man’s daddy, Mr. Cotton. He found her along the highway next to her dead mother’s body. She had the short, stubby tail of a female, not the long, elegant ones the males lost their lives for. Nippy was a born thief; anytime something bright and shiny went missing, it could usually be found tucked under her blanket in her small sleeping box in my room. But if you looked into her little bandit face, she stole your heart away.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, picked up Nippy, and headed into the kitchen. Mama was sitting at the table with her usual morning cup of coffee, reading a
Saturday Evening Post
, but Nolay was nowhere to be seen. Mama looked up and
said, “Bones, there’s grits and scrambled eggs on the stove. Your daddy already ate and went out on some business. Just help yourself.”

Nolay was mostly a commercial net fisherman. Him and Ironhead owned a boat together and kept it up at the Grant Fish House. But on occasion he went off on “business trips.” I wasn’t clear on what all he did on those trips. All I knew for sure was my daddy had a lot in common with a raccoon. He was intelligent, inquisitive, and mischievous. To hear him tell it, he never stole a thing in his life, but he sure borrowed a lot. Nolay often told me, “Bones, some people just got more stuff than they know what to do with. That just ain’t right. Stuff shouldn’t sit around idle.”

After I got my breakfast, I sat down and said, “Mama, later on today me and Little Man are going out to the swamp for a while.”

Mama put her magazine down and looked at me. “Why are you going out there?”

“Just to have a look around. You know how beautiful it is in the summer with all the birds and babies and stuff. And we just might find that lost Yankee man. He might be out there scared and hungry.”

“What Yankee man are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember the story from last night? The one Ironhead told to me and Nolay about a Yankee man being reported missing to the sheriff? He was last seen out by our swamp.”

Mama shook her head. “Yes, I remember that. But my goodness, Bones. Well, I guess it’s all right. Just be careful and
make sure you stay close to Little Man.” Mama closed her magazine and stood up. “After breakfast I need you to help me with some chores in the garden.”

Me and Mama were just about finished weeding when we saw Little Man strolling up our road. Mama said, “I’ll finish up, Bones, you can go now.”

“Thanks, Mama, we’ll be home before dark.”

I ran in the house and grabbed the single-shot .22 rifle Nolay gave me when I turned six years old. He said I could have an automatic when I turned ten, but I was still waiting on that one.

I ran out in the yard and whistled for the dogs. The three of them came bounding from all directions and surrounded me and Little Man.

Little Man had his .22 automatic rifle in his hand and a croker sack stuck in his belt. Pointing to the sack he said, “Just in case we run across something for dinner.”

With the three dogs leading the way, we headed through the scrubland and toward the swamp. Silver stayed in front and zigzagged her way through the brush.

Silver was half German shepherd and half gray wolf. Nolay had brought her home as a puppy several years ago. She had a lanky body and penetrating blue-gray eyes. If something or someone strange entered our yard, she ran circles around our house to make sure the doors were protected. Sometimes at night she would sit alone, at the edge of our clearing, and howl in her haunting voice. She saw things the other dogs didn’t; she was more wolf than shepherd.

As we walked, the underbrush came alive with the sounds
of small critters scampering for safer ground. Just as we came to the edge of the swamp, Silver stopped and pointed her nose at a thicket. The hair on her back raised and she let out a low growl. Little Man put his hand out to stop me from walking. Like an Indian hunter, he silently walked up to where Silver was. He slowly raised his gun and pointed it in the direction of the underbrush.

I watched as his head fell back and he rolled his big brown eyes up to the sky. “Good Lord, Bones, come over here and see what your dog found.”

I walked up and peered into the thick growth. Laying on the ground was what looked like a small gray baseball. Little Man shook his head. “That ain’t nothing but a little ol’ armadillo your dog done scared half to death. When they get scared they curl up in a ball so nothing can hurt ’em. I knew we shoulda left these dogs at home. They ain’t huntin’ dogs. They just scare everything away.”

I put my hands on my hips and said, “She found that armadillo, didn’t she?”

Little Man shook his head again. “Come on, Bones, let’s see what other critters these dogs can track down.”

As we came closer to the swamp, we began to see the floodwater’s path of destruction. Huge stands of saw grass and cattails were nearly flattened to the ground. The force of the water had cut deep ruts into the swamp’s soft, mucky edge. The sun’s reflection skimmed across the water’s surface, turning
it into an endless black-topped mirror. There were mounds of broken tree branches and dead logs scattered everywhere.

As I looked out over the debris, I turned to Little Man and said, “It sort of makes me sad to see the swamp hurt like this.”

“It ain’t hurt. This swamp has lived through hundreds of storms like this. It don’t hurt it, it makes it better. You see all them piles of muck and rubbish. That there is mighty rich food for a swamp. It just helps it to grow bigger and stronger.”

“I guess you’re right, Little Man, it’s been here forever and it will be here forever after. That does makes me feel better.”

We picked our way along the pockmarked, muddy bank, and the dogs ventured further off, sniffing and smelling things only they could sense. As I squished along the muddy path, an angular object caught my eye. I reached down and pulled it out of the slippery earth. It was a hunting knife, like the one Nolay used to clean fish and game. Just as I turned to show it to Little Man, I saw Silver suddenly stop at a small mound of muck and broken branches. The hair along her back bristled, and she began to growl and slowly circle the mound.

Little Man laughed softly. “What’s that dog got cornered now, a rat or maybe a big, bad ol’ possum?”

Indignantly, I walked toward Silver. Seeing me approach, she squatted down on her hunches, pointed her nose toward the mound, and snarled. “What is it, girl?” I said. “What do you smell?” I followed her eyes to the top of the mound, which was littered with tangled branches and grass. Lying just underneath, covered with a slimy black coating of goo, was an unnatural form. The top half was jagged and wrinkled. The rest
of it appeared to be matted with a layer of fine hair. As I got closer I saw something white and shiny peeking up through the pile of muck. Suddenly, like a firecracker exploding in my mind, I recognized the grisly shape. I turned around so fast I almost fell over my own feet. “Little Man, Little Man, quick, get over here!”

“What’s she got now?”

“I ain’t kiddin’! Get over here quick!”

Little Man sauntered over and stood beside me. I pointed.

Little Man’s brown eyes almost popped out of his head. “Good Lord a-mercy! That there is a human leg!”

“I know it! And it’s that Yankee man’s leg!”

“How do know it’s that Yankee’s?”

“ ’Cause I could never forget those white shoes he was wearing,” I said, pointing to the tip of the shiny white shoe poking out of the muck. “Them’s the shoes he was wearing when me and Nolay saw them Yankees with the Reems brothers.”

Little Man cautiously stepped forward for a closer look. “There ain’t no body, just a leg from the knee down. Where’s the rest of him?”