“The one I ain’t s’posed to never touch.”
“Bring it to me.”
The skinning board was a weathered barn slat scored with a snarl of cuts and stained by various bloods. Sonny laid the board at Ree’s feet and she dropped one squirrel onto the wood and set the others to the side. When Harold returned with the knife, Gail came with him and stood on the porch, sipping coffee.
Ree said, “Hey, Sweet Pea, how’d you sleep?”
“Good as ever.”
Sonny nudged Ree with his elbow, said, “Show me how, huh?”
“I’ll show the both of you—Harold, you stay close.”
She stretched the squirrel lengthwise and drove the blade in at the neck.
“Now, these are harder’n rabbits but still not too hard, really. Think like you’re cuttin’ the squirrel a suit, only you’re cuttin’ the suit off of ’em, not for ’em to put on. Open ’em at the neck, here, cut the wrists free like so and slit the arms, cut the ankles free like so and slit the legs, then split ’em like this down the middle and bring all the cuts together. Their skin sticks to ’em more than rabbits, so you got to pull at it, and help it along by easin’ the blade between the fur and the meat. Harold, put your hand in there’n yank out them guts.”
“I ain’t touchin’ guts!”
“Don’t be scared—the thing’s dead. Nothin’ to be scared of.”
Harold backed slowly toward Gail and onto the porch.
“I ain’t scared to do it, I just don’t want to do it.”
Sonny crouched to the skinning board and shoved his fist inside the squirrel and pulled the guts onto the wood. He scrunched his face and shook his head. The guts made a somber pile of deep reds and pale reds, browns, and blacks. He looked at the guts, then at Harold. He said, “It ain’t no worse’n cleanin’ up puke or somethin’. You should do the next one.”
“But cleanin’ up puke always makes me puke.”
Ree was watchful over Sonny as he split the next squirrel open. She said, “You got you a whole bunch of stuff you’re goin’ to have to get over bein’ scared of, boy.”
Gail said, “Harold, you got the sand for this, ain’t you?” She stroked his dark hair and when his eyes met hers she bent to kiss his cheek. He blushed, leaned his head into her middle, and threw an arm around her waist. “I’ve always known you to be such a brave little rascal.”
“You can’t always leave all the ugly stuff to Sonny, you know. That ain’t right.”
“I don’t mind—he’s my only brother.”
“I mind. Harold, get your butt down here. You don’t wanna make me run after you. You truly don’t. Get down here now’n squat beside me. Close your eyes if you want, but get your goddam fingers in there’n yank out them guts.”
Harold did not move and Ree stood to grab him by a wrist. She pulled him down the porch steps to the skinning board. He crouched on his knees with his eyes held shut and she guided his hand inside the squirrel. He made the sort of face that generally breaks into tears, but squeezed with his hand and pulled and pulled until the guts lay on the board. He stood then, calmly looked at his hand, then at the guts. He said, “That really ain’t no biggie, is it? His insides sure was good’n warm on my fingers.”
Gail said, “Look at Harold! Look who’s still the brave, brave little rascal I always thought he was.”
Harold seemed embarrassed but pleased and stood over the gut piles staring down. “We don’t never eat those parts, anyhow, do we?”
“Nope.”
Sonny and Harold rushed together beaming then and slapped their bloody hands at each other. They stood still giggling for a moment and carefully rolled red fingers across each other’s cheeks to make spotty war paint stripes. They laughed and hopped about the snow-caked yard, swatting away with bloody hands while Ree tossed the remaining squirrel onto the skinning board and bent to cut the suit.
20
FULL STOMACHS brought about a spell of peace and Ree languished on the couch. She stretched on her back with her long legs propped atop the armrest and put a dish towel over her eyes so the pictures playing inside her head would flicker brightly against a darkened space. A tiny purple circle puffed into a large blue circle, an expanding bucket mouth, maybe, and inside the bucket it was like ten gazillion fireflies popped into sparks but their sparking light was of all the colors known to the mind and constantly popping from one color into another. A red cloud of mist grew from the bucket and shrunk into a regular little crooked tree on a hilltop with an old wrinkled sky above. When the wrinkles parted the sky was a blue eye that winked until she was in the tree with her feet hanging from a branch, dangling above a sudden roiling ocean that opened below. The ocean had waves that leapt like dancers. A smattering of cows grazed between dancers in the ocean but many others puffed with bloat and floated foundering horribly on their sides just beyond reach of the waves until pitchfork tines swooping down from somewhere pierced their bloated bellies all at once and the released fart-wind from so many bloated cows knocked her flying from the tree into a fragile green jungle. The jungle shattered into smoke behind her as she ran and held people she knew, sort of, at least she sensed that she did, but they wouldn’t face her or say hello or stop to help with directions. All her feelings were of being lost and her frantic words were shouted in a language nobody else seemed to hear. She ducked under a yellow leaf big as tomorrow and fell against giant time-spanning lips that could smooch her spirit entire from days of girlhood to now with but one knowing pucker. The lips kept smooching on her sweetly like she was yet and forever a child, though, which felt wrong, stunting and stale, then in the measure of a single heartbeat her dress fell open like shutters and she stood revealed, a woman, and…
The dish towel fell from her eyes and the flickering pictures sank beneath light with the lips sinking away last, even as she felt her fingers reach out to grab them for holding near. She opened her eyes to see Uncle Teardrop’s face poised inches above her own, and seen at this distance his melted side looked as big as a continent on a globe. He said, “You think I forgot about you?”
It was a continent with a volcanic history, vast sections of wasteland and rugged brown mountainous zones rained upon eternally by three blue drops. Her eyes took it all in as she rolled off the couch sideways beneath him onto her knees and hurried across the floor. As she crawled she said, “What do you mean, forgot about me? Huh?”
Uncle Teardrop wore a brown leather jacket that had been slashed open in a couple of places and home-stitched back together with fat leather strands, and a camouflage cap meant for green seasons. His dark graying hair was dull, lank. His black jeans had washed pale in patches and his boots were dun lace-ups. There’d be a weapon on him somewhere.
“Forgot about you and everything happenin’ over here.”
She stood near the far window and avoided his eyes.
“That’s your business—forget us if you want.”
He turned to look calmly her way while giving a slight shake of his head.
“Jessup never would smack you. I don’t know why, why he never would, but I always have said someday somebody’s goin’ to pay a price for him not whompin’ you good when you needed it.”
Gail was napping in Ree’s bed, the boys ran loudly about in the side yard, and Mom sat silently in her rocker. Ree edged along the wall so there’d be furniture blocking his way if he made a mean move toward her.