The old man died in the doorway of the Fish Shack as we were coming in from a late day of harvesting grapes. The tractor-trailer rig had broken down on the way back from Altus, and we had had to wait for it to get back before we could load for the next day. So it was dark as we made our way out of the vines. Lonnie was loading the last vat into the back of the 18-wheeler rig and tying it down. Normally, I would’ve stayed to help him, but I had school in the morning. So I was getting ready to head home.<\/p>\n
The old man looked back at the vines and then stumbled once. I reached to catch him but down he went; his head thudded on the gravel.<\/p>\n
“Mr. Brasher?” I said, following him down. I reached down and shook him.<\/p>\n
Somewhere behind me I heard Lonnie’s truck start up, heard the tires crunching gravel. I ran out into the road beside the Fish Shack yelling, “Hey, now! Lonnie!”<\/p>\n
He pulled up to me. “What are you doing, running out in front of me at night like that, boy?” he said.<\/p>\n
“Mr. Brasher,” I said. \u201cHe’s hurt.”<\/p>\n
We worked the vines in the afternoons, after school and during holidays. The old man had been a cutter. Local folks, the cutters, came and cut grapes during the day. Daddy or Uncle Shug or Uncle Lonnie doled out snippers to them, and paid them a quarter per bushel basket, when I was younger. By this time, it was up to fifty cents.<\/p>\n
When the baskets were full, somebody would back the tractor down the rows carrying a big round vat on the back and we’d dump the baskets in the vats. Daddy or Uncle Shug would pull a load up to Altus, up in the mountains. The truck got back usually in the afternoons, so we could load it back up after school. When it was full, they parked it and took the load first thing in the morning.<\/p>\n
Of course, a small portion of the grapes were set aside for our own brewing purposes.<\/p>\n
When I was a kid, I had to distribute the baskets along the rows before school, me and some of the cousins. We had to estimate how many plants it would take to fill the baskets up, when we set them out. This is something we got better at as we gained more experience. By the time Mr. Brasher died, I was to the point where I could make a dollar an hour, picking. I don\u2019t know what he made, but it couldn\u2019t have been that much more.<\/p>\n
The day after he died, it was more subdued than usual in the vines. It was hard work, something you can do when you’re sixteen, but I didn’t know how an old man could have handled it. In August, when we did the brunt of the work, that Arkansas sun would just perch on your shoulder and stay there for the rest of the day. Even just getting to be eighteen, I was tired out after a couple hours.<\/p>\n
A couple of boys I knew were working that afternoon, old Crow, for one. Me and him were pretty close. And Tommy was working. Tommy was about as poor as Solomon\u2019s supper. He was thin and he always smelled like death warmed over. We hated working with him and Crow always did his best to run him off, but it didn’t matter. He always came back.<\/p>\n
“How’d he go?” Tommy asked.<\/p>\n
“Said he was probably dead before he hit the ground. Blood vessel in his brain popped or something.”<\/p>\n
“He probably got a sight of you coming after him in the dark, thought you was getting frisky,” Crow said. “Man, we had some kind of eating last night,” Crow added, after a little while, sneaking me a look. “The Old Bastard made steaks.” Crow pronounced his nickname for his father in capital letters. “Had baked potatoes, corn on the cob,” he said. “How about you, Goodyear?” Some folks called me Goodyear because of my weight.<\/p>\n
“We had fried chicken,” I said. “With cornbread and mashed taters.”<\/p>\n
“How ’bout you, Tommy? What’d you have for supper?” Crow asked.<\/p>\n
“I had a fucking bologna sandwich. With mustard,” he said.<\/p>\n
We had a good laugh at that.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell it\u2019s the mustard that makes it a meal,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
After we finished picking, I went over to Crow’s dad’s trailer, over by the tracks, and listened to records. He’d picked up The Who, Live at Leeds<\/em>.<\/p>\n “That’s some long-haired, dope-smoking, devil-worshiping music, right there,” he said.<\/p>\n He had a little room back behind the trailer, in a shed. Crow had an old box fan he kept in the door, but it still got to be a might toasty in there during the day. In the evenings, after working out in the sun, though, with the heat fading from the day, we sat back there and listened to music and drank soda pops. It was fine.<\/p>\n \u201cKeith Moon\u2019s a wild man.\u201d I mimicked his beat on my leg with my sticks.<\/p>\n \u201cYou got Moon. You got Entwistle. You got Daltry. I wish Townshend was better,\u201d Crow said.<\/p>\n \u201cTownshend\u2019s a thinking-man\u2019s guitarist.\u201d<\/p>\n Crow picked up his guitar\u2014we called it The Veteran because it was so battered\u2014and picked out the riff to \u201cYoung Man Blues\u201d and then \u201cMy Generation.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019ve got some good stuff, but we should play some Blackmore.\u201d He plinked out \u201cSmoke on the Water.\u201d I accompanied him with the sticks.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about the Animals?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cEh,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cNot their commercial stuff,\u201d I said. \u201c’Girl Named Sandoz?’\u201d<\/p>\n He fiddled around and worked out a couple riffs. \u201cMaybe,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cCouple more weeks, and I\u2019ll have enough to get a drum set,\u201d I said. \u201cDid you talk to your cousin about playing bass?\u201d<\/p>\n The trailer door slammed open against the side of the trailer.<\/p>\n “Oh hell,” Crow said.<\/p>\n The Old Bastard came clumping in, carrying a plastic cup that might have once been red. It was full of something it shouldn’t have been.<\/p>\n “God damn McGovern,” he said. \u201cWallace should\u2019ve had the nomination.\u201d He spit on the floor. \u201cYou pansy-asses back here listening to your bumpty-bump music?” he said.<\/p>\n “Oh hell,” Crow said again.<\/p>\n \u201cGoddamned McGovern on the goddamned radio talking about pulling out of Nam if he gets the presidency. I can tell you Wallace wouldn\u2019t let America get its ass kicked by a bunch of VC.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe you should vote for Nixon,\u201d Crow said.<\/p>\n \u201cShit.\u201d The Old Bastard walked over to the wall where Crow had put up a poster for Hendrix, ripped it off, wadded it up, and turned back to us with it in his hand, sloshing his drink on the floor. \u201cYou two cock-suckers ought to man up and get your asses over to them rice paddies, instead of wasting your time listening to this jungle music.\u201d He threw the poster down.<\/p>\n \u201cThey won\u2019t take you till you\u2019re 18, sir,\u201d Crow said.<\/p>\n TOB spit. \u201cI signed up when I was 17. I ain\u2019t got a couple pussies on my hands, have I?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo sir,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cMade a man out of me. Lord knows, you two could use it.\u201d TOB was rocking on his feet a little. His face was nearly the same faded red as his cup.<\/p>\n \u201cYes, sir,\u201d Crow said.<\/p>\n TOB puttered around, making sure we knew about his disgust with everything we represented and finally left. We sat in silence until Crow finally spoke.<\/p>\n “It’s Truman’s birthday this weekend.”<\/p>\n Crow’s little brother, Truman, had died years ago, run over by a train. He and Crow were playing with a ball at the rail yard, and it rolled under a car. The train car wasn’t moving, so Truman reached under for the ball and got stuck. Then it started moving. Crow was just feet away.<\/p>\n I got up and put a new record on. The opening chords to Mountain\u2019s \u201cFlowers of Evil\u201d filled the shed. Crow and I sat and listened to it, not saying a damned thing.<\/p>\n In the vines the next day, I kept thinking about what The Old Bastard said about going to Nam. Probably a third, maybe more, of the Crowley\u2019s Ridge High senior class from the year before had enlisted in some way or the other, either by draft or by choice.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cBut what do I know about Vietnam?\u201d I said to Crow. \u201cI never been further north than St. Louis.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t believe Vietnam is north,\u201d Crow said.<\/p>\n \u201cAll right, smart-ass.\u201d<\/p>\n “Just go to college,” Crow said.<\/p>\n “He ain’t got the brains to go to college,” Tommy said.<\/p>\n “Well he ain’t got the looks to wear a dress.\u201d Crow turned to me. \u201cLooks like you’re out of luck, my friend,” he said.<\/p>\n \u201cAt least I won\u2019t be alone.\u201d I patted Crow meaningfully on the arm. \u201cBut in the words of Yosemite Sam,\u201d I said, \u201c\u2019I ain\u2019t a goin\u2019.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey wouldn\u2019t have you,\u201d Crow said.<\/p>\n “Hey Lonnie, you were in Korea, right?” Tommy said.<\/p>\n Uncle Lonnie stopped cutting long enough to wipe the sweat from his red brow. “Yeah.”<\/p>\n “Catch any VD\u2019s?” Crow asked.<\/p>\n “Nah, I’d already caught all those from your Momma.”<\/p>\n \u201cWhoa,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cHe got you!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShut up, Smelly,\u201d Crow said.<\/p>\n “You see any action?” I asked Uncle Lonnie.<\/p>\n “Sure. A bit.”<\/p>\n “Shoot anybody?” I asked.<\/p>\n “Yeah.” He straightened up and eyed us. “How about you kids get to work?”<\/p>\n \u201cYes sir,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n Lonnie\u2019s oldest would work as a cutter sometimes. He\u2019d graduated last May and sort of drifted around town since. I made my way over near him. He nodded at me as I approached.<\/p>\n \u201cDan,\u201d I said and nodded back. I cut a few grapes. \u201cBig plans for the fall?\u201d<\/p>\n He shrugged. \u201cMight try to get on at Halstead\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah?\u201d I was surprised. I guess I\u2019d expected more of a plan from him than factory work.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know. What about you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOne more year.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah?\u201d He brightened up. \u201cEnjoy it, man, it\u2019ll be over before you know it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know. Then I\u2019ll be 18.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah.\u201d He didn\u2019t bite.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s your number?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s high, man. It\u2019s real high.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou worried?\u201d<\/p>\n He stopped cutting and looked out over the field. \u201cIf it will get me the fuck out of this shithole, I don\u2019t care.\u201d<\/p>\n I looked out over the field. The sun was high. Hardly a cloud drifted across the deep blue of Arkansas sky. The vines were heavy with fruit, shaking a little here and there where someone worked. A line of dust rose stark and white to the south as someone drove Killough up from the highway, around the edge of our land. You could usually see fox and deer on the other side of the road, just below the tree line.<\/p>\n \u201cHuh,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cMight sign up, anyway. Dad wants me to.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMake a man out of you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah,\u201d he said. \u201cGot to do something.\u201d<\/p>\n We got paid on Friday, and Crow and I went out and got some blackberry wine from a cousin of mine and took it back to his shed. We listened to Sabbath and took turns swigging. Tommy showed up after a while, and Crow reluctantly let him in. Tommy had a paper sack with him.<\/p>\n \u201cYou got an oven?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d Crow said.<\/p>\n \u201cCome on,\u201d Tommy said. \u201cI need to heat up my burrito. I haven\u2019t eaten all day.\u201d He dug it out of the sack.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, come on.\u201d Crow led Tommy into the trailer, stomping around and sulking like he was being put out.<\/p>\n Tommy put it in the oven. \u201cI need to hit the head.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGod damn, you\u2019re difficult,\u201d Crow said. \u201cDon\u2019t stink it up, or The Old Bastard will have my ass.\u201d<\/p>\n Tommy waved Crow\u2019s warning away and went to the bathroom.<\/p>\n \u201cWatch out,\u201d Crow said. He undid his pants and slid them down.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cWatch for him.\u201d He took the burrito out of the oven, bent over, and spread his ass cheeks. He slid the thing along his crack, and then shoved it in and squeezed his cheeks together like he was holding off a turd. I heard a noise from deeper in the trailer.<\/p>\n \u201cCrow,\u201d I hissed.<\/p>\n He pulled it out, holding it gingerly, and put it back in the oven and pulled his pants up. Tommy reappeared a couple seconds later. A smell like rotten meat came with him.<\/p>\n \u201cGod damn it,\u201d Crow said. \u201cWhat\u2019d I say?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat? I just pissed.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell it smells like death\u2019s ass.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI got a powerful stream.\u201d<\/p>\n We went back into the shed and listened to \u201cFresh Cream\u201d for a while. Tommy smacked his lips with relish as he ate his burrito. Normally, Crow would\u2019ve yelled at him, but he just sat there, grinning.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy you guys listen to this crap?\u201d Tommy said. \u201cDo you got any Bread albums?\u201d<\/p>\n Crow and I laughed. \u201cYeah,\u201d I said. \u201cI think so.\u201d I went over and dug out an album and put it on. Tommy started rocking in place as he finished his burrito and licked his fingers. The opening to Uriah Heep\u2019s \u201cGypsy\u201d started. His face dropped.<\/p>\n \u201cOh,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n Me and Crow and Tommy had a lot of the same classes. Crow did okay, but a source of great irritation for him was that Tommy consistently did better. We\u2019d get a test back, and Crow would turn to me. \u201cWhat\u2019d you get, Goodyear?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c86,\u201d I might say. Crow would hold up his 92.<\/p>\n \u201cHey guys,\u201d Tommy would say, holding up his paper to show us his 95 and nodding with his goofy grin.<\/p>\n We finished the grapes a couple weeks after school started, which gave Crow and me nothing to do in the afternoons but listen to records and plan out the band. We spent a few afternoons like that, until I came over one day to find all of Crow\u2019s albums scattered on the floor, busted. Jagged pieces of plastic and torn cover art were strewn around. Crow was sitting in the folding chair, just staring at it. I went in and sat down.<\/p>\n \u201cThe Old Bastard\u2019s been riding my ass,\u201d he told me. \u201cWants me to get a job.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou just had a job.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPicking grapes ain\u2019t enough for him. Hell, I don\u2019t want to be like that old man, drop dead making fifty cents a bushel.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMitchell\u2019s Grocery might need somebody,\u201d I said. The Mitchells were cousins of mine. \u201cI\u2019ll ask Round Boy.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about you? Got anything lined up on the farm?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot till Thanksgiving when we start selling fish.\u201d I bent down and started gathering the broken records and trash up.<\/p>\n \u201cLeave it,\u201d he said. He had a look in his eyes I didn\u2019t like. I straightened back up and sat down.<\/p>\n \u201cYou talk to your cousin about playing bass?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cHe got drafted,\u201d Crow said. It hit me like a punch in the gut.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s he going to do?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s going to fucking Vietnam.\u201d<\/p>\n We sat there in silence for a few minutes until Crow just got up and left. I followed him out and went home.<\/p>\n I saw Crow in class, and he seemed his usual self, but when I talked about hanging out in the afternoons, he said he had to work.<\/p>\n \u201cI can hang out,\u201d Tommy said.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s all right, man,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n When Thanksgiving rolled around, I had never been happier to start skinning fish. We did a brisk business in catfish and buffalo fish to a mostly black clientele. Dad would joke with them while he worked. Uncle Shug would get in on it, their knives flying through the fish. We had a waiting room set up in the back, but nobody ever waited there; they preferred to stand and watch us work and listen to us bullshit.<\/p>\n In the evenings, Uncle Lonnie would show up after his job at the post office, and we\u2019d sit around and drink and tell stories. Dad and Uncle Shug were forever picking at Uncle Lonnie like a scab.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s that you\u2019re drinking?\u201d Shug asked.<\/p>\n \u201cVodka.\u201d Lonnie poured some in his glass and held the bottle up for Shug to see.<\/p>\n \u201cAin\u2019t that Russian?\u201d Shug asked. \u201cYou some kind of Commie?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI drink it cause it gets the job done,\u201d Lonnie said.<\/p>\n \u201cFucking a sheep gets the job done, but you don\u2019t let anybody see you doing it,\u201d Shug said.<\/p>\n \u201cI ever tell you about old Linwood Taylor?\u201d Dad said. \u201cA while back, his wife decided she wasn\u2019t giving him none anymore. So he went out in the barn to feed the calves. He got to thinking, and he climbed up behind one of them and went to it. Next thing his wife knew, he was hollering for her to come help him cause the calf had backed him up against the wall when it started getting good to it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDid she leave him?\u201d Lonnie asked.<\/p>\n \u201cWent and married a butcher,\u201d Dad said.<\/p>\n Crow showed up one night, a week or so after Thanksgiving. He pulled up as we were cleaning the Fish Shack out and laid on the horn.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re closed!\u201d Shug yelled. Crow kept honking. Shug picked up a knife and headed to the door. Crow got out and stood up. \u201cIt\u2019s that cock-sucker friend of yours,\u201d Shug said. He tossed the knife back in his sink. \u201cDon\u2019t think you\u2019re leaving me to clean this up by myself.\u201d<\/p>\n I went outside. He was standing beside a red, 1965 Ford Fairlane.<\/p>\n \u201cLike it?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cWho\u2019d you steal that from?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cBought it with my grape money.\u201d He was smiling that shit-eating grin. \u201cAnd The Old Bastard loaned me some.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYour grape money?\u201d I asked. \u201cI thought you were going to buy a guitar amp and a microphone?\u201d<\/p>\n His smile faltered. \u201cWell,\u201d he said. \u201cI need a car. What am I going to do with an amp?\u201d<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n \u201cSo do you like it?\u201d<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t know what to say, so I said what he would\u2019ve said. \u201cIt\u2019s the ugliest piece of shit I ever saw.\u201d<\/p>\n His smile spread wide. \u201cCome on,\u201d he said. \u201cLet\u2019s go for a ride.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI got to finish up,\u201d I said. \u201cCan you wait?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, I\u2019ll swing back by,\u201d he said. He got in and spun out.<\/p>\n \u201cWatch the damn rocks,\u201d Shug said.<\/p>\n We finished up and Lonnie showed up. Dad came back from the liquor store, and they all set down to tell stories and pick at each other. I kept an eye on the clock, but by midnight, Crow was nowhere to be found.<\/p>\n \u201cGot to piss.\u201d I headed for the door.<\/p>\n \u201cClose it behind you so the skeeters don\u2019t get in,\u201d Dad said.<\/p>\n I pulled the door to. The stars were out. The vines were a dark mass to my right. I could hear a little bit of breeze rustling through them. This had been one of the last sights Mr. Brasher ever saw. I wondered if that was a bad thing. Dad came out. I about jumped ten feet when the door opened. He went over to his truck.<\/p>\n \u201cGot to clean the tire.\u201d He unzipped his pants and let loose. I was just kind of listening to the wind and looking at the stars. I guess now I was listening to him. He finished and came up beside me. We kind of stood there for a minute, listening to that rustling.<\/p>\n \u201cKind of nice, ain\u2019t it?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cI reckon so.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCome on back in,\u201d he said. \u201cI got a good one to tell you.\u201d He opened the door for me. I went in.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The old man died in the doorway of the Fish Shack as we were coming in from a late day of harvesting grapes. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":16401,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[2332,171,729,142],"class_list":["post-16110","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-70s-rock","tag-death","tag-farming","tag-vietnam","writer-cl-bledsoe"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16110","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=16110"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16110\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16402,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16110\/revisions\/16402"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/16401"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=16110"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=16110"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=16110"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}