Sharecropping The Apocalypse: A Prepper is Cast Adrift (30 page)

“Ha! Bertha, I ain`t had so much fun in a coons age. Crick I am going to sit down with you all; I believe your story but you got to finish it before me and Bertha feed you supper and send you on your way.” Clem said sitting down but still retaining Crick`s pistol in his belt.

“Well I am happy to hear that, Clem.” Crick said.

“Me too!” Loomis echoed before turning quickly to see Bertha appearing to be sneaking up on him if that was possible with her close proximity and rather wide girth.

“Now that we all friends, can I touch it?” Bertha said somehow managing to get her head half way over her shoulder and starting to reach with her far hand.

“Touch WHAT!” Loomis sort of shriek croaked while sliding Crick into Clem with his own bit of butt weight.

“Now Bertha, you know you can never touch a man’s cowboy hat!” Clem said, regaining his seat and straightening it.

“Well, I asked him politely first real nicely, didn’t even touch when I had a gun on him. Did I Loomis? We friends now, Clem said so. Can I touch it?” Bertha pleaded.

“Now, Bertha, I told you when we was growing up that it was the code of the west never to touch another man’s cowboy hat.” Clem said reverently placing his hand over his heart.

Crick and Loomis both suppressed grins as Bertha acted like a child being scolded for approaching a hot stove and Clem acted like he had just said the most profound thing that had ever been said.

“She can touch it, it’s a special day, Clem.” Loomis said and doffed his Stetson and handed it to Bertha who received it like it was the holy grail itself.

“Wow, it’s kind of heavy and stiff!”  she said examining it further. “Look here, it’s got a bow on its underwear!” she said peering inside of it.

“A hat has a liner, not underwear.” Loomis said wresting his hat back from the woman to Clem and Cricks hoots of laughter.

“Dang, you all are fun!” Clem said chuckling and motioning for them all to come on and follow him down the trail.

“Get back to your story Crick and leave Loomis alone Bertha.” Clem said as he led the way.

“I ain`t bothering him none,” Bertha called back from the rear of the column.

“His haid ain’t near as big as I thought it was.” Bertha commented  which made Crick have to choke back a laugh.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” Clem said chuckling and calling a halt to the hike.

“”Bertha you get up here and lead the way home. We ain`t going to make no progress with you talking to Loomis all the way home.” Clem said grinning at Bertha`s Aahwwww! look she couldn’t play with Loomis any more.

“Thanks buddy!” a relieved Loomis said.

“Watch out for the barn,” Clem whispered back to a “Oh shit” look from Loomis before telling Crick to carry on with what his rescue plan was supposed to be.

“Ok Clem, Bertha, on with the story. I only live about 15 miles from here I think and the idea was we basically find help and notify someone to get them folks off that castaway island. I don’t know whether or not phones work or not around here after that cyber-attack on the country’s grid.” Crick said starting to explain.

“Them Al Quidey used swords? Hear that Bertha they was toting sabers. Them are crazy bastards Bertha, kind of like them stories Uncle Willie told how he got that samurai sword off that Jap officer. They promote the craziest dumbest one to carry a big pig sticker and charge the enemy while they carry guns and run after him to make sure that he does it. I guess they think if we watching that crazy bastard hollering he is going to kill us and were waiting for one of his own men to shoot him and save us the trouble we won’t think about shooting at them running behind until they get too close. Doesn’t work though, Uncle Willie just said shoot the crazy bastard in the lead first or whoever is hollering loudest with the most stripes. Go ahead Crick resume your story.” Clem said hollering at Bertha to be thinking about what they were having for supper since they had company today.

Loomis started to interject something snide but Crick laughingly cleared his throat and said to let it ride.

“Anyway, I don’t know who I can find in charge of anything to help get them folks off the island but once we do and we get them off there safely they are going to need some help getting home. You know the gas pumps aren’t working a thousand miles in either direction now that the powers been cut, don’t you Clem?” Crick asked.

“See, I told you to fill up 3 weeks ago, but nooooooooooo. Then you had to get drunk in the truck and run the battery down listening to the radio!” Bertha complained.

“Hey you were in on that, we had to listen to that school station that has gotta tell you everything about a jazz song or big band hit before they play it for ya.” Clem complained.

“Well who the hell listens to race cars on the radio? You never even seen a race car let alone been to one of them racetracks you listening to. Besides, how you tell the race cars from the static on there without an announcer, anyway?” Bertha fired back.

“Don’t mind us, bickering is one of the things we do to pass the time around here. Truck won’t start until we get a jump so we can’t help you out none with a ride to town. Got an old bicycle if you can ride it. Slim Furlong lives about 6 miles yonder way, he give you a ride if you tell him I told you to.” Clem said as they walked out into a field across from 10 cinderblock and wood ramshackle shacks. You could see which ones might be still serviceable and not collapsing and one had an old blue and white pickup truck sitting in front that had seen its better days.

“That’s my truck over there in front of Berthas, told you she was in on that hoot nanny the other night. I live over there on the other end of the field.” Clem said pointing at another assemblage of tin roofed shanties and a few big wooden barns.

“This here is what we call the bottoms. Used to be reserved for colored folks. Still is, I reckon.”  Bertha said with a giggle, smiling mischieviously at Clem.

“They called it the bottoms because it’s at the bottom of the hill. I told her to move up to one of the houses up by me years ago but she is stubborn and won’t do it.” Clem said complaining.

“Don’t listen to that crazy old white man. Them houses up by the barn yard ain`t no better than what we has in the bottoms excepting his house which was reserved for the foreman. I keep telling him he ain`t no foreman anymore but you should hear how he tries to boss me around. Least ways down here in the bottoms I ain`t so accessible for him to holler at me to help him do something.” Bertha replied with a shame on you look towards Clem.

“Now Bertha you know I don’t boss you as much as you nag me. It ain`t fittin that we still got us a black and white section on this plantation. Told you back in the 90`s we should integrate the place just like the schools are now and invited you to my neighborhood.” Clem said protesting.

“Don’t listen to that old fish eyed fool. He just don’t like having to walk down to my house every day for breakfast and wants me closer to cook and clean for him.” Bertha said fussing but with a slight smile.

“Now I tell you what Loomis, you ain`t going to believe this but she is the most contrary and most prejudiced one on this place. Her chickens lay brown eggs, she’s got Black Nubian goats, raises black magic zucchini, why the only thing integrated down here is that black and white jersey milk cow she has got that is more cantankerous than that world’s oldest black mule she keeps around for no other reason than he don’t like me.” Clem advised stopping momentarily to wipe his brow with an old blue bandanna.

“That’s another thing, every Christmas she gives me a blue bandanna and I give her a red one. Told her we ought to swap one time and she gave me a look and a talking to like you wouldn’t believe mister. I am telling you I ain`t seen her so riled since that social worker offered to exchange her white picture of Jesus for a black one.” Clem said about to carry on with his tirade further but Bertha pointed her weapon at him and advised him there were places for people who blaspheme like him and told a bit of that story.

“Now, I don’t know what color that man might have been and it don’t matter to me as long as somebody don’t tell me he is red like the devil. That was my mammy’s picture and I like it. Besides Jesus is always white now my grandma says, he is the Holy Ghost now right?  She tell me not to worry about folks saying they seen a ghost around the old cemetery. Might have been Jesus or Saint Peter coming to lead somebody up the golden staircase to heaven.” Bertha declared in a don’t- mess-with-me admonishment.

“See what I mean? You just can’t talk to her about modernization, religion, politics or them critters she keeps.” Clem said sulking.

“I got mines and you got yours. You move up to the big house if you want to put on airs. You as poor as any field hand that ever worked this place being white and living in the foreman’s house don’t mean nothing around here.” Bertha said with a bit of fire none of the guests had seen out of her yet.

“She’s talking about the old Mc Cloud plantation house up on the hill a mile from here. Hell, them Mc Clouds were poor as far as plantation owners went and if it wasn’t for the slaves staying on after the Civil war and the share croppers moving in, they would of lost everything they had. I just hope that old bastard Talmadge stays alive long enough to keep paying us a pittance to look out after the place before that scurvy son of his Earl sells the place off piecemeal to pay the taxes. Ain`t no Mc Clouds living on Mc Cloud property for nigh on 40 years I would say unless you might count Bertha.” Clem said with a “Oh shit” look that he had said something he shouldn’t have.

“Clement K. Bowman! You ain`t to big or too old for me to find me a hickory switch to dust your britches with. It’s true I might have more than a drop or two of white blood in me but it’s not your place to be telling folks such. And it’s damn sure it’s not fitting to be washing our laundry around city guests.” Bertha scolded a much apologetic Clem.

“Here we be, you all come in side. Its lots cooler than on that little porch.” Bertha said escorting every one into the darkened main room of the old shotgun style house.

“Have a seat, boys.” Clem said indicating an old 1960 style gray couch that Bertha had festooned with what appeared to be handmade starched white doilies.

The house was spare but immaculate and had homemade braided rag throw rugs of every color imaginable placed strategically throughout. Loomis sat uncomfortably for a moment and then advised Clem he needed to use the bathroom to which he was advised that there was an outhouse out back and bushes aplenty if he didn’t need to utilize a seat.

Loomis walked out back after excusing himself and Bertha hollered at him to go use the backdoor because it was closer and to mind the mule if he had a notion to go see it. He had no sooner got out the door and they heard the screen door slam when Clem jumped up and Bertha bustled herself back into the living room following Clem in a rush out the front door.  Crick just sort of followed along out the front door trying to keep up with the animated giggling pair wondering what was going on but not going to miss whatever it was when the procession came to a halt next to a bush by the front fence that they all peered from in anticipation. The back of the sharecropper compound had three venerable old blued with age wooden barns of which only one seemed to be in repair and holding its roof up without leaks with a small split-rail corral that a milk cow and a mule were sharing and peering at Loomis with interest.

Various breeds of chickens were scratching around in the sand and weeds in back of the house and Loomis was trying to whizz on a big honeysuckle bush when the cow and the mule commenced to talk about him.

“E ah! E ah! Moo Moo! Commenced to echo around the chicken yard and small garden area as Loomis tried to look over his shoulder without getting his feet wet as to what the animals were complaining about.

The mule was having himself a complete fit and it looked like the way he stretched his head out every time he brayed that someone must be pulling his tail to help him out. The cow was a bit more reserved in her vocalizations but she was damn sure fertilizing more ground than what was normal.

“Easy! Easy!” Loomis crooned in their direction as he finished his business and zipped up and went to see about the animals.

“What’s got you so riled up? Settle down mule! You need water? Is there a snake in your pen?” Loomis said approaching the old split oak rail corral.

“Get out of my road chickens I ain`t got no grain for you. You all hungry? Miss Bertha not fed you yet today?” Loomis said trying to figure out how to cow and mule whisper while watching a giant black multi colored rooster fighting chicken with spurs an inch and a half long start towards him.

“Surely the house hears this commotion going on.’ Loomis said to himself looking towards the backdoor and then noticing Crick and crew were grinning at him in the front yard watching the show.

“What’s the matter with these damn beasts? I ain`t done nothing to them, I just watered that bush a little and all hell broke loose.” Loomis called up to them pointing a don’t even think about it finger at the rooster who had decided to back off, just for the moment.

“I told you to mind the mule, Loomis! He is a nice old cuss once you get to know him but he don’t take to strangers.” Bertha said smiling a brilliant white but gap tooth grin at him.

“I told you to quit picking on him, Bertha.” Clem said with a laugh and smacking Crick on the back of the shoulders with a lets go see thump much harder than Crick thought the old geezer could produce.