| General Fiction posted January 8, 2013 | Chapters: |
1 -2- 3... 
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Rabbit begins his summer with his grandparents .
A chapter in the book Rabbit
The Adventure Begins
by bhogg
| Background The young boy, Rabbit, learns he is to spend the entire summer with his grandparents in West Central, Georgia. His parents thought this might be a hardship. Not quite! |
When I found out I would be spending the entire summer of 1957 with my grandmother, I was ecstatic. When Mom and Dad dropped me off, I got a big hug from my mother as she said, "Rabbit, you know I'm going to have another baby. It's going to be real busy at home getting ready for it and everything. It's going to be lonely without you. Are you sure you'll be okay with your grandma?"
Giving an obligatory sniffle, I replied, "Yes Ma'am. I reckon I'll be just fine." She and my dad walked slowly toward the car. Before getting in they took a quick peek back. My grandma had her arm around my shoulder. Mom and Dad waved. I waved back. I'm sure that Mom thought I was all sad.
I guess Grandma thought I would be sad too, so she made one of my favorite dinners. We had fried chicken, fresh sliced tomatoes, green beans, fried okra and rice topped with white milk gravy. I'd mention the buttermilk biscuits, but they weren't special. I pretty much got them every day.
After dinner, we sat on the front porch and rocked. I wanted to run up to Virge's cabin, but thought it best to wait. Grandma told me he was going to be down first thing in the morning to work on her front fence.
I was anxious to see Virge, but my Grandpa had me all excited about the evening. He asked me if I wanted to stay up and listen to the heavyweight boxing championship of the world on the radio.
As a younger man, my grandpa was a boxer. According to his carefully maintained cigar box full of clippings, he did pretty well as a welterweight. He boxed in local textile leagues and state tournaments. Perhaps because of him, I followed professional boxing through the sports pages of the newspapers. I was thrilled to stay up and listen. The fight was between American, Floyd Patterson and Swede, Ingmar Johansson.
We settled in and munched on Grandma's popcorn. I was drinking my iced tea and remember asking my grandfather how come his tea was in such a small glass and didn't have any ice in it. The boxing match started and it was very exciting. Both fighters were down on the canvas a couple of times and then Patterson seemed to be getting the best of Johansson. To me, it was pretty much a "black and white" issue. I wanted Patterson to win because he was an American, Johansson from Sweden. Well, it was a "black and white" issue for my grandpa too. He wanted Johansson to win because he was white and Patterson black.
In the sixth round, Patterson knocked Johansson down and out. My grandpa leaped out of his chair and ripping the radio from the table, hurled it through the window. The only sound after the shattered glass was my grandpa muttering, "Oh Shit!" Reaching through the window to retrieve the radio, he sliced his arm open on a shard of glass hanging from the sill. I woke Grandma up and she rushed Grandpa to the emergency room.
This actually made an article in the local newspaper the next day. The headline while not complete, told much of the story. "Heavyweight fight in Sweden sends local man to emergency room."
I got to see Virge after all that night. He came down to sit with me while they went to the emergency room. I swept up the glass and Virge replaced the window panes. Like in many of his tasks, he patiently showed me how to place glass.
By the time I went to bed that night I was tired but excited. This was my first day and the adventures had already begun.
Since I had gotten to bed so late, my grandma let me sleep in a little bit. Of course, sleeping in has a whole new meaning in the rural South. It meant she let me sleep in past sun-up. I was up by seven, had breakfast, gathered the eggs in and then joined Virge for one of his chores.
If you're going to be doing outside work in West Central Georgia in June, you best get an early start. Virge had been working for an hour when I got there at eight. The job today was pulling honeysuckle vines and weeds away from her front fence. We had been working for an hour, and it was only nine. My dog Skippy was supervising. He would interrupt his nap under the shade of a magnolia tree, look up and check on us from time to time.
Skippy got up abruptly and started barking. Virge and I stopped working to see what got his attention. Old man Caruth was walking up the road toward us. You could tell it was him, because he walked kinda gimpy. As my grandpa used to say, he had a hitch in his giddy-up. He was a tall, gangly, white man, always dirty and smelly, with a smile like a picket fence; some white teeth, but lots of gaps. Folks used to say that old man Caruth was good for nothing. I'm here to tell you that ain't exactly so. He sure could raise watermelons.
He stopped at the front yard. Skippy wandered over and sniffed him. With that done, he lifted his leg high and peed on his pants leg. Old man Caruth kicked out at him, yelling, "You dumb damn dog!" I took a look at Virge for a sign, and didn't see even a glimmer of a smile. I said nothing. I always thought Skippy was pretty smart, though my grandma did usually refer to him as that damn dog.
"Howdy Rabbit. Is your grandpa home?"
"No, sir, he ain't. He and Grandma drove into town to sell some eggs at the farmers' market."
"Well, don't matter. I'm glad to see old Virge here anyhow. Virge, do you know any young nigras that'll come pick my watermelons? I pay five cents a piece if they pick em and load em in the truck."
Virge waited a few seconds like he was thinking it over, and then replied, "No, sa - can't say as I do. I'd do it myself, but I'm eighty-seven years old."
"Well, Virge, if you think of somebody, jes let me know. Rabbit, since you a neighbor and all, you can come down, pick whatever melon you want for 25 cents." With a scowl at Skippy and spittin tobacco juice his way, old man Caruth headed out. Skippy walked over to where his pee dripped of old man Caruth's britches. He proceeded to pee again. People claim that dogs are just animals and basically dumb. I could swear though that Skippy was smiling. The look on his face did all but say, "Dumb damn human."
I waited until he got down the road some, and turning to Virge, I asked, "Didn't you just tell me that Joe Leslie and Sugar Butts were looking for some work?" They were his nephew and niece, and that nickname for her was his, not mine. It came from the fact that even though she was all normal up top, she had about the biggest butt you'd ever see on a person.
"I did say that, Rabbit, but I wouldn't have nobody I know work for dat nasty ol man. Anyhow, most folks pay ten cents apiece, not five. I just don't cotton to dat man. He's what folks call white trash. Next time you see his wife, take a look at her face. She'll powder it up some, but you'll still see the bruises where he be hittin on her. Plus, even though it was before I was born, his granddaddy or someone in his line, used to own my momma."
I tried to absorb what he just said. "Virge, do you mean he used to owe your momma, like money or something?"
"Naw Rabbit, I mean one of his kinfolk used to own my momma. It be like your grandpa ownin dem two mules, or you ownin dat ol dog Skippy. My momma was a slave."
"Virge - I'm just eight going on nine, but I know you can't own somebody!"
"Well Rabbit - you is right, but long time ago, you could. Right here where we standin, used to be all sorts of 'owned' people, working this here farm. They used to grow cotton and de owner used to have slaves to do all de work. Ol man Caruth's family used to own his bottom land and the land across the highway from this place. Look across that pasture. All them terraces used to be part of a cotton field. Them ol rock piles are where they picked em outa the field and throwed em outa the way."
For a eight year old kid, this was a lot for me to process. Looking at Virge, perhaps in a different way, I said, "I want one of them watermelons."
"O.K. Rabbit, when we get done here, we'll walk on down and get us a melon. We can put it in the spring house and let it get nice and cool. Come this evenin, it'll be good to eat."
"Virge - I don't want to buy one. I want to steal one."
"Hey, Rabbit, if you ain't got the money, I'll give you the quarter."
"It ain't the money. I got a quarter. It just seems we ought to steal it."
Virge looked at me with a puzzled look. He eventually countered, "You been to church with me and Sugar Butts, and you know the bible say, 'Thou Shalt Not Steal'. You remember dat?"
"Yea - I reckon I do, but don't it say something about Thou Shalt Not Own Somebody."
Virge chuckled as he said, "Naw, it don't say nothin about that. In fact, them Jews got traded back and forth to all sorts of people and they was slaves themselves."
"I still say we ought to steal a watermelon."
"Rabbit - I jes don't think that's a good idea."
"Virge - if we wait until 7:30 tonight, it ought to be dark enough so nobody sees us. What do you think?"
"Yea - that oughta be about right."
At 7:15 I told my grandma that I was going to walk down to the lake and catch a big ol bass. I just hoped she didn't want to go. I met Virge and off we went to old man Caruth's watermelon patch. We got there and waited for a few minutes. We were about 300 yards away. The porch light was off and there was nobody on the back porch, so we snuck over the barbed wire fence and out into the watermelons. Virge found us a good one, and cut it off the vine with his Barlow knife.
If there ever was a dumb old damn dog, it was old man Caruth's coon dog. It began barking those crazy howls, ooooow, ooooow, oowooow. That back door slammed open with a bang, and there was old man Caruth in his long johns with a gun in his hand. He started yelling, "I know you boys. You best put that watermelon down and get on out of here."
We got on out of there all right, but running, Virge with the watermelon under his arm. First the flash of a double barrel shotgun, and then, KABOOM, KABOOM. Had we had any logic about us, we wouldn't have worried. At that distance and light condition, he couldn't possibly recognize us, much less hit us. There weren't no logic though, just pure wet your pant scared.
I was running as fast as I could and then in a panic, I remembered Virge. I stopped, turned around and looked for him. Oh no, I thought, what happened to him? Then I glanced to my left, and there he was, about ten yards ahead of me. I reckon he must have jumped the fence.
We ran for a few more minutes, and then stopped. It's hard to get your breath when you been running, and even harder when you start laughing like a couple of schoolgirls. We caught our breath and walked on up to Virge's cabin. Joe Leslie and Sugar Butts were there, so we cut that watermelon right up and ate it. It had to have been the best watermelon of all time. And why not? You know what they say about forbidden fruit?
The next afternoon, my grandma told me that she saw old man Caruth at the Farmer's market that morning. "Rabbit, Mr. Caruth told me that two nigra boys stole some watermelons out of his patch last night. He said he took a shot at the two while they were running away. According to him, one was pretty tall and lanky and one real short, almost like a midget. You haven't heard anybody talking about it have you?"
I stopped whittling away at a stick and paused a bit like I was thinking on it. "No Ma'am. I ain't seen anybody this morning but Virge and Carrie and they didn't mention it. According to Mr. Caruth, it couldn't be any of us. Carrie can't run, Virge ain't no boy and I ain't black."
With the slightest of smiles, she said, "No, I reckon not."
I was glad it ended there. I don't like telling lies and when I try, my grandma is real good catching me in one. That's why I like to just tell pieces of the truth. Lucky for me, she just asked if I heard anyone talking about it. "Nope."
Giving an obligatory sniffle, I replied, "Yes Ma'am. I reckon I'll be just fine." She and my dad walked slowly toward the car. Before getting in they took a quick peek back. My grandma had her arm around my shoulder. Mom and Dad waved. I waved back. I'm sure that Mom thought I was all sad.
I guess Grandma thought I would be sad too, so she made one of my favorite dinners. We had fried chicken, fresh sliced tomatoes, green beans, fried okra and rice topped with white milk gravy. I'd mention the buttermilk biscuits, but they weren't special. I pretty much got them every day.
After dinner, we sat on the front porch and rocked. I wanted to run up to Virge's cabin, but thought it best to wait. Grandma told me he was going to be down first thing in the morning to work on her front fence.
I was anxious to see Virge, but my Grandpa had me all excited about the evening. He asked me if I wanted to stay up and listen to the heavyweight boxing championship of the world on the radio.
As a younger man, my grandpa was a boxer. According to his carefully maintained cigar box full of clippings, he did pretty well as a welterweight. He boxed in local textile leagues and state tournaments. Perhaps because of him, I followed professional boxing through the sports pages of the newspapers. I was thrilled to stay up and listen. The fight was between American, Floyd Patterson and Swede, Ingmar Johansson.
We settled in and munched on Grandma's popcorn. I was drinking my iced tea and remember asking my grandfather how come his tea was in such a small glass and didn't have any ice in it. The boxing match started and it was very exciting. Both fighters were down on the canvas a couple of times and then Patterson seemed to be getting the best of Johansson. To me, it was pretty much a "black and white" issue. I wanted Patterson to win because he was an American, Johansson from Sweden. Well, it was a "black and white" issue for my grandpa too. He wanted Johansson to win because he was white and Patterson black.
In the sixth round, Patterson knocked Johansson down and out. My grandpa leaped out of his chair and ripping the radio from the table, hurled it through the window. The only sound after the shattered glass was my grandpa muttering, "Oh Shit!" Reaching through the window to retrieve the radio, he sliced his arm open on a shard of glass hanging from the sill. I woke Grandma up and she rushed Grandpa to the emergency room.
This actually made an article in the local newspaper the next day. The headline while not complete, told much of the story. "Heavyweight fight in Sweden sends local man to emergency room."
I got to see Virge after all that night. He came down to sit with me while they went to the emergency room. I swept up the glass and Virge replaced the window panes. Like in many of his tasks, he patiently showed me how to place glass.
By the time I went to bed that night I was tired but excited. This was my first day and the adventures had already begun.
Since I had gotten to bed so late, my grandma let me sleep in a little bit. Of course, sleeping in has a whole new meaning in the rural South. It meant she let me sleep in past sun-up. I was up by seven, had breakfast, gathered the eggs in and then joined Virge for one of his chores.
If you're going to be doing outside work in West Central Georgia in June, you best get an early start. Virge had been working for an hour when I got there at eight. The job today was pulling honeysuckle vines and weeds away from her front fence. We had been working for an hour, and it was only nine. My dog Skippy was supervising. He would interrupt his nap under the shade of a magnolia tree, look up and check on us from time to time.
Skippy got up abruptly and started barking. Virge and I stopped working to see what got his attention. Old man Caruth was walking up the road toward us. You could tell it was him, because he walked kinda gimpy. As my grandpa used to say, he had a hitch in his giddy-up. He was a tall, gangly, white man, always dirty and smelly, with a smile like a picket fence; some white teeth, but lots of gaps. Folks used to say that old man Caruth was good for nothing. I'm here to tell you that ain't exactly so. He sure could raise watermelons.
He stopped at the front yard. Skippy wandered over and sniffed him. With that done, he lifted his leg high and peed on his pants leg. Old man Caruth kicked out at him, yelling, "You dumb damn dog!" I took a look at Virge for a sign, and didn't see even a glimmer of a smile. I said nothing. I always thought Skippy was pretty smart, though my grandma did usually refer to him as that damn dog.
"Howdy Rabbit. Is your grandpa home?"
"No, sir, he ain't. He and Grandma drove into town to sell some eggs at the farmers' market."
"Well, don't matter. I'm glad to see old Virge here anyhow. Virge, do you know any young nigras that'll come pick my watermelons? I pay five cents a piece if they pick em and load em in the truck."
Virge waited a few seconds like he was thinking it over, and then replied, "No, sa - can't say as I do. I'd do it myself, but I'm eighty-seven years old."
"Well, Virge, if you think of somebody, jes let me know. Rabbit, since you a neighbor and all, you can come down, pick whatever melon you want for 25 cents." With a scowl at Skippy and spittin tobacco juice his way, old man Caruth headed out. Skippy walked over to where his pee dripped of old man Caruth's britches. He proceeded to pee again. People claim that dogs are just animals and basically dumb. I could swear though that Skippy was smiling. The look on his face did all but say, "Dumb damn human."
I waited until he got down the road some, and turning to Virge, I asked, "Didn't you just tell me that Joe Leslie and Sugar Butts were looking for some work?" They were his nephew and niece, and that nickname for her was his, not mine. It came from the fact that even though she was all normal up top, she had about the biggest butt you'd ever see on a person.
"I did say that, Rabbit, but I wouldn't have nobody I know work for dat nasty ol man. Anyhow, most folks pay ten cents apiece, not five. I just don't cotton to dat man. He's what folks call white trash. Next time you see his wife, take a look at her face. She'll powder it up some, but you'll still see the bruises where he be hittin on her. Plus, even though it was before I was born, his granddaddy or someone in his line, used to own my momma."
I tried to absorb what he just said. "Virge, do you mean he used to owe your momma, like money or something?"
"Naw Rabbit, I mean one of his kinfolk used to own my momma. It be like your grandpa ownin dem two mules, or you ownin dat ol dog Skippy. My momma was a slave."
"Virge - I'm just eight going on nine, but I know you can't own somebody!"
"Well Rabbit - you is right, but long time ago, you could. Right here where we standin, used to be all sorts of 'owned' people, working this here farm. They used to grow cotton and de owner used to have slaves to do all de work. Ol man Caruth's family used to own his bottom land and the land across the highway from this place. Look across that pasture. All them terraces used to be part of a cotton field. Them ol rock piles are where they picked em outa the field and throwed em outa the way."
For a eight year old kid, this was a lot for me to process. Looking at Virge, perhaps in a different way, I said, "I want one of them watermelons."
"O.K. Rabbit, when we get done here, we'll walk on down and get us a melon. We can put it in the spring house and let it get nice and cool. Come this evenin, it'll be good to eat."
"Virge - I don't want to buy one. I want to steal one."
"Hey, Rabbit, if you ain't got the money, I'll give you the quarter."
"It ain't the money. I got a quarter. It just seems we ought to steal it."
Virge looked at me with a puzzled look. He eventually countered, "You been to church with me and Sugar Butts, and you know the bible say, 'Thou Shalt Not Steal'. You remember dat?"
"Yea - I reckon I do, but don't it say something about Thou Shalt Not Own Somebody."
Virge chuckled as he said, "Naw, it don't say nothin about that. In fact, them Jews got traded back and forth to all sorts of people and they was slaves themselves."
"I still say we ought to steal a watermelon."
"Rabbit - I jes don't think that's a good idea."
"Virge - if we wait until 7:30 tonight, it ought to be dark enough so nobody sees us. What do you think?"
"Yea - that oughta be about right."
At 7:15 I told my grandma that I was going to walk down to the lake and catch a big ol bass. I just hoped she didn't want to go. I met Virge and off we went to old man Caruth's watermelon patch. We got there and waited for a few minutes. We were about 300 yards away. The porch light was off and there was nobody on the back porch, so we snuck over the barbed wire fence and out into the watermelons. Virge found us a good one, and cut it off the vine with his Barlow knife.
If there ever was a dumb old damn dog, it was old man Caruth's coon dog. It began barking those crazy howls, ooooow, ooooow, oowooow. That back door slammed open with a bang, and there was old man Caruth in his long johns with a gun in his hand. He started yelling, "I know you boys. You best put that watermelon down and get on out of here."
We got on out of there all right, but running, Virge with the watermelon under his arm. First the flash of a double barrel shotgun, and then, KABOOM, KABOOM. Had we had any logic about us, we wouldn't have worried. At that distance and light condition, he couldn't possibly recognize us, much less hit us. There weren't no logic though, just pure wet your pant scared.
I was running as fast as I could and then in a panic, I remembered Virge. I stopped, turned around and looked for him. Oh no, I thought, what happened to him? Then I glanced to my left, and there he was, about ten yards ahead of me. I reckon he must have jumped the fence.
We ran for a few more minutes, and then stopped. It's hard to get your breath when you been running, and even harder when you start laughing like a couple of schoolgirls. We caught our breath and walked on up to Virge's cabin. Joe Leslie and Sugar Butts were there, so we cut that watermelon right up and ate it. It had to have been the best watermelon of all time. And why not? You know what they say about forbidden fruit?
The next afternoon, my grandma told me that she saw old man Caruth at the Farmer's market that morning. "Rabbit, Mr. Caruth told me that two nigra boys stole some watermelons out of his patch last night. He said he took a shot at the two while they were running away. According to him, one was pretty tall and lanky and one real short, almost like a midget. You haven't heard anybody talking about it have you?"
I stopped whittling away at a stick and paused a bit like I was thinking on it. "No Ma'am. I ain't seen anybody this morning but Virge and Carrie and they didn't mention it. According to Mr. Caruth, it couldn't be any of us. Carrie can't run, Virge ain't no boy and I ain't black."
With the slightest of smiles, she said, "No, I reckon not."
I was glad it ended there. I don't like telling lies and when I try, my grandma is real good catching me in one. That's why I like to just tell pieces of the truth. Lucky for me, she just asked if I heard anyone talking about it. "Nope."
 Recognized |
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