The Anything Box

"Okay," I said. "Won't be long till I can throw these things away." So we
piled in the pickup and headed for the East Pasture.
We were ambushed at the pump corner by the kids and were killed variously
by P-38s, atomic bombs, ack-ack, and the Lone Ranger's six-guns. Then we
lowered our hands which had been raised all this time and Dad reached out and
collared the nearest nephew.
"Come along, Punkin-Yaller. That blasted Holstein has busted out again. You
get her out of the alfalfa and see if you can find where she got through this
time."
"Aw, gee whiz!" The kid—and of course it was Thaddeus—climbed into the back
of the pickup. "That dern cow."
We started up with a jerk and I turned half around in the seat to look back
at Thaddeus.
"Remember your little red wagon?" I yelled over the clatter.
"Red wagon?" Thaddeus yelled back. His face lighted. "Red wagon?"
I could tell he had remembered and then, as plainly as the drawing of a
shade, his eyes went shadowy and he yelled, "Yeah, kinda." And turned around
to wave violently at the unnoticing kids behind us.
So, I thought, he is outgrowing it. Then spent the rest of the short drive
trying to figure just what it was he was outgrowing.
Dad dumped Thaddeus out at the alfalfa field and took me on across the
canal and let me out by the pasture gate.
"I'll be back in about an hour if you want to wait. Might as well ride
home."
"I might start back afoot," I said, "It'd feel good to stretch my legs
again."
"I'll keep a look out for you on my way back." And he rattled away in the
ever present cloud of dust.
I had trouble managing the gate. It's one of those wire affairs that open
by slipping a loop off the end post and lifting the bottom of it out of
another loop. This one was taut and hard to handle. I just got it opened when
Clyde turned the far corner and started back toward me, the plow behind the
tractor curling up red-brown ribbons in its wake. It was the last go-round to
complete the field.
I yelled, "Hi!" and waved a crutch at him.
He yelled, "Hi!" back at me. What came next was too fast and too far away
for me to be sure what actually happened. All I remember was a snort and roar
and the tractor bucked and bowed. There was a short yell from Clyde and the
shriek of wires pulling loose from a fence post followed by a choking
smothering silence.
Next thing I knew, I was panting halfway to the tractor, my crutches
sinking exasperatingly into the soft plowed earth. A nightmare year later I
knelt by the stalled tractor and called, "Hey, Clyde!"
Clyde looked up at me, a half grin, half grimace on his muddy face.
"Hi. Get this thing off me, will you. I need that leg." Then his eyes
turned up white and he passed out.
The tractor had toppled him from the seat and then run over top of him,
turning into the fence and coming to rest with one huge wheel half burying his
leg in the soft dirt and pinning him against a fence post. The far wheel was
on the edge of the irrigation ditch that bordered the field just beyond the
fence. The huge bulk of the machine was balanced on the raw edge of nothing
and it looked like a breath would send it on over— then God have mercy on
Clyde. It didn't help much to notice that the red-brown dirt was steadily
becoming redder around the imprisoned leg.
I knelt there paralyzed with panic. There was nothing I could do. I didn't
dare to try to start the tractor. If I touched it, it might go over. Dad was
gone for an hour. I couldn't make it by foot to the house in time.
Then all at once out of nowhere I heard a startled "Gee whiz!" and there
was Thaddeus standing goggle-eyed on the ditch bank.
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Something exploded with a flash of light inside my head and I whispered tomyself, Now take it easy. Don't scare the kid, don't startle him.
"Gee whiz!" said Thaddeus again. "What happened?"
I took a deep breath. "Old Tractor ran over Uncle Clyde. Make it get off."
Thaddeus didn't seem to hear me. He was intent on taking in the wholeshebang.
"Thaddeus," I said, "make Tractor get off." Thaddeus looked at me with thatblind, unseeing stare he used to have. I prayed silently, Don't let him be tooold. O God, don't let him be too old. And Thaddeus jumped across the ditch. Heclimbed gingerly through the barbwire fence and squatted down by the tractor,his hands caught between his chest and knees. He bent his head forward and Istared urgently at the soft vulnerable nape of his neck. Then he turned hisblind eyes to me again.
"Tractor doesn't want to."
I felt a yell ball up in my throat, but I caught it in time. Don't scarethe kid, I thought. Don't scare him.
"Make Tractor get off anyway," I said as matter-of-factly as I couldmanage. "He's hurting Uncle Clyde."
Thaddeus turned and looked at Clyde.
"He isn't hollering."
"He can't. He's unconscious." Sweat was making my palms slippery.
"Oh." Thaddeus examined Clyde's quiet face curiously. "I never saw anybodyunconscious before."
"Thaddeus." My voice was sharp. "Make—Tractor—get —off."
Maybe I talked too loud. Maybe I used the wrong words, but Thaddeus lookedup at me and I saw the shutters close in his eyes. They looked up at me, blueand shallow and bright.
"You mean start the tractor?" His voice was brisk as he stood up. "Geewhiz! Grampa told us kids to leave the tractor alone. It's dangerous for kids.I don't know whether I know how—"
"That's not what I meant," I snapped, my voice whetted on the edge of mydespair. "Make it get off Uncle Clyde. He's dying."
"But I can't! You can't just make a tractor do something. You gotta runit." His face was twisting with approaching tears.
"You could if you wanted to," I argued, knowing how useless it was. "UncleClyde will die if you don't."
"But I can't! I don't know how! Honest I don't." Thaddeus scrubbed one bare foot in the plowed dirt, sniffing miserably.
I knelt beside Clyde and slipped my hand inside his dirt-smeared shirt. Ipulled my hand out and rubbed the stained palm against my thigh. "Never mind,"I said bluntly, "it doesn't matter now. He's dead."
Thaddeus started to bawl, not from grief but bewilderment. He knew I wasput out with him and he didn't know why. He crooked his arm over his eyes andleaned against a fence post, sobbing noisily. I shifted myself over in thedark furrow until my shadow sheltered Clyde's quiet face from the hotafternoon sun. I clasped my hands palm to palm between my knees and waited forDad.
I knew as well as anything that once Thaddeus could have helped—Whycouldn't he then, when the need was so urgent? Well, maybe he really hadoutgrown his strangeness. Or it might be that he actually couldn't do anythingjust because Clyde and I were grownups. Maybe if it had been another kid—
Sometimes my mind gets cold trying to figure it out. Especially when I getthe answer that kids and grownups live in two worlds so alien and separatethat the gap can't be bridged even to save a life. Whatever the answer is—Istill don't like kids.
Walking Aunt Daid
I looked up in surprise and so did Ma. And so did Pa. Aunt Daid was moving.
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