The Blue Between the Clouds Read online

  “Come on, son,” said Pa. “Let’s get her hooked up.”

  “What?” I said.

  “Let’s get her hooked up, ready to tow home,” he said.

  “We’re keepin’ her?”

  “Ain’t no use to me,” said old man Hawkins. “That good-for-nothin’ son of mine thought the city could build a monument out of her. Crazy pot-licker.”

  “What else goes?” said Pa.

  “Well,” said Hawkins. “Them baler parts, and those busted-up barrels. That old stove and that trailer axle.”

  “The lumber?” Pa asked.

  “No,” said Hawkins. “The lumber stays. But take that old trunk. It was Terrence’s, and I don’t think the boy is comin’ back for it.”

  Right there, in the dust, with the sunlight bustin’ in through the slits and knotholes of that crooked barn, old man Hawkins looked like an angel to me. I swear I even saw wings comin’ out of his back and a ring of light just above his head—you know, a halo. Folks can say whatever they will about the old guy, but to me he was like one of them princes in the fairy-tale book Ma read to us.

  “Grab those baler tines, son,” my father said.

  It didn’t take long to load everything onto the truck. We tied the plane on with a stiff piece of rope.

  “Make sure you bring my rope back,” Mr. Hawkins said.

  I hopped into the truck beside Pa and got ready to go home.

  “What you doin’ up here?” said Pa.

  “We goin’ home, ain’t we?” I said.

  “Sure, but don’t you want to ride in the plane?”

  I couldn’t believe he said it. Then he handed me his cap and told me to put it on backwards. He was still wearin’ his Christmas smile, the same one he wore when he gave me my first jackknife. I jumped into the cockpit and Pa started slowly for home.

  When I touched the stick, it pulled me into the clouds. I circled Hawkins’ place slowly, givin’ the thumbs-up to Mr. Hawkins. Then I was off, cruisin’ just above Main Street, tippin’ a wing as I passed the hardware store, pullin’ a barrel roll above the playground, and altogether ignorin’ Miss Prudy when I passed the newspaper.

  Pa went through the ditch in front of our place a little too fast and I almost bounced out of the seat. Two Moons and Esther came runnin’, and Ma watched from the kitchen. Two Moons flapped his one good arm like a big bird and Esther climbed on the back of the truck and held her arms out like she was glidin’ in an airstream.

  6

  SIMMONS’ POND

  Pa backed the plane up and set it down just behind the barn. The nose pointed out toward the field, toward the foothills that gradually became mountains. I’d sit there for hours watchin’ the clouds change, watchin’ the mountains for Fokkers. It was glorious in the spring sun, soarin’ above the barn, over the fields. I musta lived in that plane for a week. Pa would sometimes sit with me, teachin’ me how to fly. Ma even brought my supper to me there. She was a French widow. Lost her husband to the war and now aided an injured American pilot. “Bonjour,” I said.

  “Bonjour, brave one,” she said. Then she handed me a lunch bucket. “Don’t stay out too late,” she said. “School tomorrow.”

  I gave her the thumbs-up. The sun was a blazin’ ribbon on the tops of the mountains. I wanted to glide through it with my mouth open, feelin’ the heat in the back of my throat, the wind in my face. I watched the ribbon turn a fiery red, then fade to dark blue. I lay back in the pilot’s seat like I was settlin’ in for a long flight. Next thing I knew it was light again. I was wrapped in the blanket from my bed. I looked around and realized that I had flown straight through until morning. Ma must’ve come back for me and found me sleepin’ and covered me with a blanket. I rubbed my eyes and looked at the sun comin’ up in the distance.

  “’Bout time you woke up.”

  It was Two Moons. He was lyin’ down beside the plane.

  “You sleep here too?” I said.

  “Your pa sent me out. He didn’t want you out here by yourself.”

  I stood up in the plane and stretched. “Could be a good mornin’ if it weren’t so cold.”

  “It ain’t cold,” Two Moons said.

  I laughed. Nothin’ is ever anything with Two Moons. It’s never that cold or that hot. Even Miss Alexander’s pies weren’t that delicious. I climbed up near the propeller of the plane and stood. My arms were out like we were flyin’ at seventy miles an hour, like I was the Swan. “Like to be flyin’ right now,” I said.

  “I think I’ll stay on the ground for a while,” Two Moons said.

  “Got spooked, huh?” I said.

  “Nothin’ spooks me,” Two Moons said.

  “Not even the Wilberg mine?” I said.

  “That’s different,” Two Moons said. “We almost got killed. Besides, I seen you shake in your boots out to Widow Davis’s.”

  “That place is haunted and you know it,” I said.

  Two Moons laughed and lifted his cast up to his forehead.

  “How ’bout we go up to Simmons’ pond, try out that sycamore swing?” I said.

  Two Moons was quiet. We hadn’t been to Simmons’ pond since last summer. It was hotter than blazes. Two Moons and me were out to Judge Taggart’s place whitewashin’ three miles of fence. See, the judge is a big old fat man, hasn’t seen his knees since he was a child. Just walkin’ out to check on us exhausted him. He’d sit down, pull off his straw hat, and fan his huge face. Sweat seeped out of his skin like he was one huge, leakin’ bag of water. “That’s a fine job, boys,” he’d say, strugglin’ to sit on a stump or a rock. “Y’all gettin’ expert.” He’d sit until we had painted a few boards away, then he’d struggle to his feet and waddle back through the dust to the shade of his porch.

  Well, it was late afternoon when we finished Judge Taggart’s fence. He gave us fifty cents apiece. We figured we were underpaid, but we weren’t goin’ to argue about it. No sense gettin’ on a judge’s bad side; you never know when you’ll see him again. We stood there in the hot, dusty sun and knew there was only one place we could go—Simmons’ pond.

  We started on our way, and pretty soon we run into Creighton Eckersley. He was from the city and come out to Thistle to stay with his grandmother for the summer. Poor kid. We must’ve felt sorry for that city boy. He didn’t even own a pair of jeans. He always wore Sunday clothes, the kind that itch awful bad. He begged us to let him go to the pond with us. Shoot, how can you resist that?

  “You can’t go up there and start in to whinin’,” I said. “Old man Simmons come down and shoot your ears off.”

  “Ahhh, I won’t whine,” he said.

  “We hear you whine, we’ll leave you where Simmons can feed you to his badger,” Two Moons said.

  “He got a pet badger?” Creighton said.

  “He feeds it raw meat every Sunday,” I said. “Sometimes he runs out of carcasses. You hear that ol’ badger howlin’ and scratchin’. All the mothers in town pull their children off the street on nights like that. You never know what old man Simmons is gonna do.”

  “Ahhh, I still want to go,” said Creighton.

  “All right,” I said. “But your whinin’ set off Simmons, and it’s every man for himself.”

  “Ahh, you guys,” said Creighton.

  The pond was cool that day. Me and Two Moons pulled off our clothes and jumped in, feelin’ that cold spring water washin’ out the summer heat and dust. But Creighton, well, he takes off everything but this big ol’ pair of boxer shorts. Biggest pair of underwear I ever seen. He just stood there on the edge of the pond, feelin’ the water with his toe. That skinny body of his looked so pale and fragile. I just had to do somethin’ about it.

  “Creighton,” I said. “Y’all can’t come in here yet.”

  “Ahhh, why?” he said.

  “This here used to be an Indian burial ground. Sacred place. Two Moons just reminded me of it.”

  Two Moons looked at me kind of bewildered, then he started to smile.

 
“Two Moons got to give you the ceremony first,” I said. “Like he did me when I first come here.”

  “Ahhh,” Creighton said.

  “It won’t take long,” I promised.

  We swam to shore and stood next to Creighton.

  “First,” I said, “you got to take off those bloomers.”

  “These ain’t bloomers,” he said. “These are the finest cotton shorts Sears and Roebuck makes.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Take ’em off.”

  Without his shorts, Creighton looked like an albino praying mantis without wings. It was all we could do to keep from laughin’.

  “Start the chant,” Two Moons said.

  I started to chant, slowly at first. Then I found two sticks to keep rhythm with. Two Moons reached down and scooped up a handful of black mud and carefully rubbed it on Creighton’s face.

  “It stinks,” Creighton said.

  “Shhh,” said Two Moons. “You’ll frighten away the good spirits.”

  I had to keep chantin’ just to keep from laughin’. Two Moons covered Creighton’s entire face with mud. Then he slicked his hair back with it so that his head looked like one of the black cannonballs in front of the courthouse.

  “Now lay down,” Two Moons said.

  “Ahhh,” Creighton said as he slowly laid down in the mud.

  “Roll around,” Two Moons said. “Please the good spirits of the pond.”

  Creighton rolled in the mud until he was completely black. Two Moons started chantin’ with me. Finally we couldn’t stand it anymore.

  “Stand up,” Two Moons said. “The spirits are pleased.”

  Creighton stood up and smiled. That’s when we heard the gunshot.

  “It’s old man Simmons!” I shouted.

  Me and Two Moons grabbed our clothes and started down the trail. But poor Creighton. He was so frightened he just stood there.

  “C’mon!” we shouted at him. “Get your clothes and run!”

  Creighton stood there shakin’. Carefully he pulled on his big white shorts like it was Sunday morning. We ran back and each of us grabbed an arm.

  “Run!” I shouted. We stumbled down the trail, tryin’ to hold our clothes and drag Creighton.

  Another shot rang out. Buckshot pelted the leaves above our heads. Creighton fainted.

  You never really expect someone to faint. It’s the darnedest thing. They just crumple up like all the electricity in their body is shut off. That’s what Creighton did. He went limp and slipped right out of our hands, landed flat on his nose in the middle of the trail. We picked him up and hauled him off into the underbrush. Pretty soon old man Simmons came along. He walked past a few steps, cursed a blue streak, then walked back up the trail.

  About that time, Creighton started to come to. It was like he was wakin’ up from a long sleep. His head kind of bobbed, then he stood up and started to whine.

  “Ahhh, ahhh, you guys.”

  I think he would’ve been okay if he hadn’t seen the blood. It was only a trickle, and seeped out of one nostril. He put his hand up to his nose and felt the warm blood on his hand. Then he did exactly what Ma would’ve done: started jumpin’ around in circles, flappin’ his arms. I rushed to him, but he slugged me right on the lip. Then he was off, runnin’ madly down the trail like a rabid dog.

  It wasn’t until that night that we found out where he went. See, it was Saturday night and his grandmother was over to the quilting bee. Creighton charged right into Widow Parker’s parlor and started wavin’ his arms and stompin’ his feet like a crazy man. Must’ve been some sight, covered with black mud and wearin’ nothin’ but Sears and Roebuck’s finest underwear. I don’t think that quilt ever got finished.

  Anyway, Two Moons and me sat there with our airplane, laughin’ about the last time we were up to Simmons’ pond.

  “I s’pose we could go up there,” Two Moons said. “Maybe we can invite Creighton.”

  We laughed about that for a long time before we started out for the pond.

  Simmons’ pond, you see, has this rope hangin’ off a giant sycamore tree. It’s the biggest flyin’ thrill I could think of at the time. It was the next best thing to bein’ a bird. That’s why I thought of it. I just had to fly, had to find some way to get into the air. The swing would have to do until I found a better way.

  We moved slowly up the trail toward the pond. It was still pretty early in the morning. The sun wasn’t hot yet, just bright. Old Simmons would be up, that’s for sure, but he’d probably be seein’ to some chores, we thought. I didn’t really care much if he did catch us anyway. I mean, it wouldn’t be too hard to run away again. So I wasn’t even thinkin’ about it. I had airplanes in my head: swirlin’, divin’, climbin’ biplanes and triplanes. They buzzed down close to the trail and tipped their wings. They flew straight up above us, stalled, then came roarin’ back to earth. The smoke from their engines floated down and surrounded me like a dense fog. I coughed.

  Two Moons looked at me. “Shhh,” he said.

  The swing looked like a baby toy to me after seein’ loops and barrel rolls. I knew that after a swing or two I would be bored. Two Moons climbed on first and sat on the knot. His cast waved over his head like he was in a rodeo. He jumped out of the tree and swung out over the pond. He rocked back and forth, then finally dropped to a grassy bank. He gave me the thumbs-up and threw the rope to me.

  I swung out of the tree and was bored before I was even over the water. I hung there, disappointed, and rocked back and forth. “I got to fly,” I kept sayin’ to myself. That’s when I saw it. Back in the scrub and vines there was a small wooden cross. I jumped down to the bank and started to make my way around the pond.

  “Where you goin’?” Two Moons asked.

  “I saw somethin’,” I said.

  “Simmons?”

  “No, somethin’ that looks like a grave,” I said. “Follow me.”

  The brush was dense and it scratched our arms and faces. When we got to the cross, we were breathin’ hard. We stood there, starin’ at it. If it was a grave, no one had been takin’ care of it ’cause it was overgrown with grass and vines. At the base of the cross there was a long board with writin’ on it. I picked it up and read it.

  ELDON SIMMONS

  BORN 1923

  DIED 1934

  THE GLORY OF THE LORD SHALL ENDURE FOREVER.

  YOU ARE THE GLORY, MY SON.

  Two Moons looked at me. Neither of us could believe that old Simmons had a son.

  “I never thought about dyin’,” Two Moons said.

  “Me neither,” I said. “I s’pose we will someday. Die, that is, I mean.”

  “Yeah, I s’pose,” Two Moons said.

  “Maybe it’s like flyin’,” I said. “Pa says flyin’ took him to the heavens almost—every time he flew it was like he left his body behind and lived with the angels of the sky.”

  “Grandfather says that when brave warriors die they become eagles,” Two Moons said.

  I cleared some of the brush away from the grave and carefully put the board back. When I stood up he was there, standin’ right in my face. His pocked cheeks and stinkin’ breath were inches from my nose. I ’bout jumped out of my skin. It was old Simmons.

  Me and Two Moons froze. We were too frightened to move.

  “So you come back, son,” said old Simmons. “Who’s your friend?”

  We didn’t answer.

  “You taken to the Indians now, huh, son?” he said. “Suits me fine, but your ma would throw a fit.”

  Old Simmons laughed and laughed. He put his hand on my shoulder. It was like a huge paw, cracked and stiff.

  “I still got your room, son, just like you left it,” he said. “Bring your pal along too. You had your breakfast, boy?”

  Two Moons didn’t answer. We followed the old man back around the pond and up through a tunnel of brush. We were too scared to even talk. Old Simmons was even crazier than Emmett. It was a different kind of crazy too, the kind that makes the hair sta
nd up on the back of your head.

  The trail steepened and the brush thinned out. Finally we stood at the edge of his garden. There were a few small apple trees that had been pruned. The branches lay on the ground. The garden had been turned over, but nothin’ was planted yet. It was still too early in the year.

  “I missed you, son,” Simmons said. “I missed you powerful bad. But I kept prayin’ for the Lord to return you to me, let me see you grow until the day I die. It ain’t right for a pa to see his son gone before he dies himself.”

  I guess when his son died, it made Simmons confused, the way a sow gets when you take away her piglets. The old man thought I was his son Eldon, returned from heaven to be with his pa. I’m tellin’ ya, it was the most scared I have ever been.

  We crossed the yard and he opened the back door for us. We stood in the kitchen and couldn’t believe our eyes. On every wall, every piece of furniture, there were pictures cut out of magazines and pasted two or three deep, even on the ceiling. They were all of boys about my age with blond hair and blue eyes. The spookiest thing about it was they looked like me, every one of ’em. No wonder the old man was confused.

  Simmons led us through the kitchen and into the parlor. The hall was plastered with pictures. On top of the piano there was one framed photograph. It must’ve been his boy. There was melted wax all around the frame, on the piano, on the floor. The picture was floatin’ in a river of wax. I moved closer and looked at the photograph. My face was reflected in the glass, and for a moment, I really thought I was old Simmons’ son.

  It was about this time that Two Moons figured out what was goin’ on.

  “Don’t y’all have some chores to do, Eldon?” Two Moons said.

  I was surprised at being called Eldon.

  “Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “Pa, you want me to go on out and clean up them branches from the apple trees?”

  “What a boy,” Simmons said. “Always pleasin’ his papa. Naw, we got plenty of time for that later. I was thinkin’ maybe we could go up to Salt Creek and do a little fishin’. Probably won’t be much runnin’ yet, but we could at least get us some lunch. Your pal can come along too, if you want.”