All of the chicks had grown up into hens, so Dad had brought home a rooster in June. It was hideous. None of the pictures Jimmy had ever seen of roosters had looked anything like it. The pictures were of strutting, broad-chested birds with bright red combs and gold and green feathers. But this rooster waddled like a duck, had a dull pink comb that was torn, and feathers the color of old cornbread. It dragged its tail in the dirt. The hens often ganged up and pecked the hell out of it. It had lost a lot of feathers in the past two months, and the bare patches were scabby. It waddled over and gobbled a few mouthfuls of the feed Jimmy dropped for it, and then three of the hens ran it off.
Jimmy went into the plywood coop and gathered the eggs. There were ten that weren't broken. That was better than usual. He cleaned up the rest as best he could and took the ten to the well pump to wash them.
Ten. Farm eggs sold for thirty cents a dozen in Tuttle County, when people bothered to stop and buy them. Most folks just spent the extra dime to get them at the store with the rest of their groceries. Where Dad had gotten the idea that chickens would make money, Jimmy didn't know. Someone had lied to him. Or maybe things had been different when Dad was a kid, and he hadn't been able to figure out that the world had changed. The chicken feed alone cost more than the eggs brought in, never mind the trouble of dealing with the chickens themselves. Jimmy wondered what was wrong with Dad's brain.
He took the eggs into the house. Dad was eating toast in the kitchen.
"How many?" Dad asked.
"Ten."
Dad shook his head. "Don't know what's the matter with them." He eyed Jimmy. "You been chasing them?"
"No, sir," Jimmy said. He put the eggs into the bowl in the refrigerator.
"You been breaking any?"
"No, sir."
Dad put more bread into the toaster. "Want breakfast?"
"Sure." Dad gave him a look. "I mean, yes, sir."
The toast popped up. Dad rubbed each slice with a stick of oleo and handed one to Jimmy. Jimmy said thank you and sat at the table to eat.
"I'm going into Wichita," Dad said.
"Can I come?" Jimmy asked. Once in a while Dad would take him along to the hardware or auto parts stores. Jimmy liked the men who worked there. They were the kind of men who would say hi to a guy even if he couldn't drive yet.
"No," Dad said. "And don't go into Wantoda either. I want you here when your mother gets home. You tell her I'm checking on a machine shop job. I'll be home for supper."
"Yes, sir," Jimmy said. "Would it be okay if Ernie came out?"
"Long as he doesn't eat anything," Dad said. "I work hard enough to feed my own kids." He left the kitchen. The front screen door opened and banged shut. The pickup started and drove off.
Jimmy finished his toast, then put a pan of water on the stove. When it was boiling, he took an egg from the refrigerator and dropped it in. It hit the bottom of the pan and cracked, sending white streamers through the bubbling water. Jimmy let it boil until the water was almost gone. Then he shut off the stove and took the pan to the sink. He ran water over the egg and tried to peel it. It was still hot, and it stung his fingers. A lot of the white came off with the shell. He ate what was left. The yolk crumbled hot and dry in his mouth. The August day was heating up outside.
He phoned Ernie, and Ernie asked his mother for permission to ride his bike out. Jimmy heard Ernie's mom say that she guessed it was all right. Ernie's mom had a quavering voice and always sounded as if she were about to cry, so Jimmy could never tell how she felt about what she said. His own mother's feelings were always clear. She laughed when things were good, and she bawled when things were bad. She bawled too much.
Jimmy took his BB gun outside and shot at sparrows to kill time until Ernie showed up. There was a hot wind, and his shots curved wide. Sometimes he could see the BBs swerving as they flew, going into orbit like tiny golden satellites. Some of the chickens came running, expecting more feed, and he shot one of them in the rump. They took off squawking. Dad would switch him to within an inch of his life for an offense like that, but Jimmy sure as hell wasn't going to tell him about it. The stupid chicken wasn't hurt, anyway. Jimmy would have liked to put one through its head, in one eye and out the other.
Between shots, he looked down the Potwin road toward Wantoda. Finally he saw Ernie. Ernie was coming slow despite having the wind at his back. Jimmy took his BB gun to the porch and rode his bike out to meet his friend. He put his head down and stood to pump against the wind. The pavement was oily, cooking in the sun. His bike rattled.
When he came within fifty yards of Ernie, he charged him as if to collide head-on. Ernie yelled and stopped where he was. Jimmy whizzed past, then turned and coasted back, letting the wind push him.
"Hey, pussy," he said, coming alongside.
Ernie's wavy red hair was damp, and his face was flushed. He was wearing a blue nylon backpack that made his narrow shoulders look even narrower. He was wheezing. "Pussy yourself," he said. He was hoarse.
"What's the matter?"
"Dust or something. Can't hardly breathe."
"Come on and get a drink." Jimmy pumped ahead and waited in the driveway until Ernie arrived. They went into the house together and made Kool-Aid lemonade, then drank it with ice and ate the bologna sandwiches and Cheez Curls that Ernie had brought. They discussed the Spider-Man comic book that Ernie had given Jimmy and agreed that the Green Goblin was not a worthy adversary. He acted like a queer.
When the food was gone, they went outside and took turns shooting at the sparrows. They had trouble hitting within a foot of their targets.
"Too much wind," Jimmy said.
"You should do it at night, anyway," Ernie said. "You put a flashlight on them. They get hypnotized and can't move. We can try it tonight, if you want."
"Maybe. My Dad'll be home."
"So?"
"So I don't know if he'll want us to."
Ernie took a shot and hit a tree branch a few inches from a sparrow. The bird took off. So did every other bird in the tree. The boys waited for them to come back.
"Your mom and sister at the store?" Ernie asked.
"Maybe. I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
Jimmy stared up into the tree. "I mean I don't know. They took off yesterday while I was at your place. They aren't back yet."
"Oh." Ernie handed Jimmy the BB gun, then picked up his lemonade and took a drink. "Family troubles, huh?"
"I guess."
"Don't worry about it."
"I think they just went to see my grandma in Oklahoma."
"Where in Oklahoma?"
"Tulsa."
The birds were starting to come back, so Jimmy and Ernie lowered their voices.
"That's where Oral Roberts University is," Ernie said. "That's where my mom wants me to go to college. They have a great basketball team."
"I wouldn't go to a college named after a goddamn preacher," Jimmy said.
Ernie made a face, as if the lemonade were sour. "I didn't say I was going to go. I said my mom wants me to. She's big on that prayer tower they have with the eternal flame. You can call in with prayers, and guys'll go up in the tower and pray them for you."
"For how long?"
"I dunno. Until the prayers get answered or the guys have to poop."
They both laughed, and the returning birds spooked.
"Hell," Jimmy said, "there they go again."
"Wait until night and put a light on them," Ernie said. He took another drink of lemonade. "You believe in God?"
Jimmy shrugged. "I guess. But I don't think preachers know any more about God than anyone else. Churches are a racket."