“Storm tear you up boy,” Fable said. “It like one dem comic book monster. I know. I seen it befo’. Tear you up.”
“That jus a lie,” Vern said. “He don’t know.”
I pushed again against the door. It made a sucking sound and gave way. Muddy red water rushed in over the floorboard. It stretched away and out over Moses’ yard.
“We all gone get a whippin’ now,” Fable said.
I splashed in up to my knees. The water was ice cold.
“What you gone do, boy?” Fable said.
“I’m going,” I said. “It’ll be too late.”
“You nutty as a fruit cake,” Vern said, his fuzzed up hair tinted with green light.
Willis said, “Twista blow you away, boy.”
“Don’t call me that, Willis. Come with me. Vern, you and Fable too.”
They all three just stared at me; three black ducks hunkered there on the front seat. I turned and sloshed my way around the door toward the hill, got to where the road started up and ran to the top. There was a bad smell. A dog lay dead up there, covered with hailstones that were already melting. Dead birds were scattered everywhere, killed by the storm.
From the hilltop, I could see down to Harlan’s Crossroads, how Bounty Road went down and up again to a bigger hill on the other side. I could see the graveyard and part of Old Man Harlan’s store. Across from it, Granny and Granpaw’s house, Momma’s car, the trailer and the chicken yard.
A twang began over the hills, like a row of piano keys played all at once, low and sustained, then in seconds rising up until it was blaring louder than a steel mill, making it almost impossible to move or think or do anything but listen. I could see black funnel clouds, coiling and uncoiling above Granny and Granpaw’s barn, monster snakes, three of them, slithering downward out of the upside down floor of clouds, black and whirling, circling, passing each other like partners at a dance. One reached, curling toward the barn, making itself long and shrinking back. The barn stood like always, a black skull laughing at the day. The snake reached again, this time touching the barn, sucking the roof away — whirling the walls around and over the field, busting them to smithereens. The snake shrunk back and disappeared. The other snakes disappeared too. The thundering twang went with them.
“Ole Gooseberry!” Willis shouted. He was standing a little ways in back of me, walking stick tucked under his arm — potato foot, a glob of mud. “Blow dat barn, kingdom come!”
I was so glad it was him I almost laughed out loud. “God A Mighty, Willis, come on! Momma and Missy’s down there.” I turned and started running, slogging and splashing my way down the hill, down the middle of the road, to the house. Willis did a fast hobble with his stick, not far behind. If I could go around under the house to my secret place, I could get the knife and the skull. I could save Momma from Victor and the storm.
I stopped at the crossroads. The rain was starting up again. Mud had splashed up along my legs and onto my shorts. “Go there behind the well, Willis. Don’t let anybody see you!”
“Wha-What you gone do?” Willis said.
“I don’t know yet. Go behind the well. Wait for me.”
I ran up Nub Road a ways and climbed the bank. Fat cold drops of rain smacked against my legs. I ran around to the back of the house to the porch, crawled under there next to the steps and over to the board that went over the hole where I kept the shoebox. I took out the knife, Grandpaw’s pouch and the Rain Skull. I looped the leather cord of the pouch around my neck, gripped the knife and crawled out. Granny’s washtub lay upside down on some boards by the steps. Raindrops thumping across the bottom. I looked up the path toward where the barn had been. The trailer had blown sideways — had mashed through the fence into the pig yard. Black planks and splinters of wood were scattered everywhere all over the chicken yard. I ran around to the front of the house. Momma’s Ford sat near the fence with its trunk raised. Momma was there too, inside the car on the passenger side, eyes closed, her head thrown back against the seat. “Momma!” I yelled, running up to the car. Her hands were tied together with clothesline. Missy sat holding onto Momma’s arm, eyes wide open, trembling like a bird.
“Momma! Wake up Momma!”
“No Victor, don’t,” Momma said, her eyes still closed.
“Momma? It’s me Momma.”
Momma’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at me. “Oh no. No. Orbie, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice raspy as sandpaper. “Orbie, you got to get away from here. Victor. He’s… What you said about him. Honey…” She closed her eyes then and went back to sleep.
The rain was coming almost straight down now. My tee shirt had soaked tight to my skin. I looked around the yard. There was the Jesus Tree, the picture of Jesus, hanging with his belly against the cross. There was the well with its round roof full of flowers tilted back in the rain. Willis peeked out from behind it. I hurried over. “Victor’s got Momma tied up in the car, Willis.” I looked up the road. “Where’s Miss Alma?” Up on the porch I could see Victor’s green file box had turned over, its papers scattered and stuck to the wet floor.
…spirit’s robbed away! Ain’t it? In ‘at box!
All at once, the screen door opened and out stepped Victor with Momma’s blue suitcase. He set it down on the porch and went back inside. In a minute the screen door opened again. I ducked back behind the well. “Stay down, Willis.” Victor stepped out with my army tank and Missy’s baby doll under his arm. He stopped and picked up Momma’s suitcase. The whole front of his shirt was soaked dark pink with rain. His hair was soaked too. One black curl fell like a hook down the middle of his forehead.
He stepped down off the porch; talking out loud to himself now. Crazy talk like before. “It’s the only thing. Yes. I know it is. No! Don’t say that! Just get everything in the car. Then we’ll see. Then we’ll be on our way. Florida? Forget Florida. We can go anywhere Momma. Tucson. Yes! That’s right Momma! No, goddamn it! Just do what I tell you to do!” He walked to the car, put the suitcase, Missy’s doll and my tank in the trunk. He took up a jar and started back toward the house. He stopped next to the Jesus Tree and unscrewed the lid. Green black clouds circled overhead. He drank from the jar and looked up in the sky. In a big booming voice he yelled, “The falcon cannot hear the falconer! Things fall apart!” He tried to stand straight, staggered backward and yelled, “The centre cannot hold!”
I put my hand over Granpaw’s pouch and squeezed. If Victor were a cloud I might could melt him away. I’d have to do it with love though, and nothing seemed more unlikely than that.
Granpaw’s station wagon, with Granny driving, suddenly sloshed up into the yard behind the Ford and stopped. In the back seat sat Vern and Fable. In the front, on the passenger side, sat Granpaw. He stared out the window zombie-eyed. Granny got out and slammed her door, opened a black umbrella over her head. “What is all this? Victor? What you think you doing?” Victor didn’t even turn around — went on to the porch and inside. The screen door slammed behind him.
Granny walked around to the side of the Ford and saw Momma. “What in this world!” She opened the car door. I could just see her, trying to untie Momma’s hands.
Willis and me ran over to the station wagon, to the other side where Victor couldn’t see. I tried to get Granpaw’s attention, but he just sat there frozen.
“Where Miss Alma?” Willis asked Vern.
“In dat Reverend car,” Vern said.
“Had ‘nuff a her ole mouth,” Fable said. “Dey gone electricute her now.”