The Right Side of Wrong Read online

  A couple of weeks earlier, me and Pepper brought a card from school to get filled out at home. One of the five questions on the card asked that if there was an atomic attack, did they want us to run home, or stay at school.

  Miss Becky checked the “stay at school” box, because she didn’t want me running the mile from our school to the house through no bombing or fallout.

  Grandpa went to his car and cranked up the volume on the Motorola a little more, to hear if there was talking about Russian troops marching through Chisum.

  The ice cream was starting to harden when Miss Lizzie in her house across the pasture completely lost her mind.

  She and Uncle Harold lived in a ragged house about six hundred yards away. Mr. Bell was talking about what job he was doing on his house, when a strange wail floated to us on the still air.

  Let me tell you, it raised the hair on my neck. At first I thought it was that River Monster folks liked to talk about late at night. There were stories about an eight-foot hairy monster with big feet down in the bottoms, and that it hollered at night with a loud, long wail.

  “Goddlemighty, what’s that?” Uncle Cody asked.

  Miss Becky came to the door. “I know that voice. It’s Lizzie, poor ol’ soul. Something’s happened, Ned, you better run me over there.”

  “But the ice cream is almost ready.”

  “It’ll have to set a spell to harden up. We’ll be back here by then.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Norma Faye dried her hands on a cup towel.

  “All right, hon.”

  “Can we go?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Grandpa said. I imagine he was thankful for the company.

  “Are you crazy?” Pepper was appalled at the question. “What do you want to go over there for?”

  “You want to sit here in the dark and worry about Russians and wait for the ice cream to get hard?”

  Miss Becky came out, so it was all of us, except for Mr. Tom.

  “I believe I’ll stay right here and guard the freezer.” He rubbed his flat stomach and frowned for a second. “No telling what them Russkies might do if they come rolling through here and find an unguarded bucket of fresh banana ice cream.”

  Harold’s house was close enough to hit with a .22, but the road meandered around pastures, pools, and Miss Becky’s little frame church, so it took a minute or two to get there.

  It was pitch black in the yard, except for the light from one little ol’ oil lamp on a little table beside Harold’s rocker on the front porch. Our headlights lit things up and threw harsh shadows behind a ragged lilac bush, an upside-down wash pot, and a pile of rusting tin cans.

  Pepper and I slid out of the back seat and followed the adults to the edge of the porch where we pulled up pretty quick, because Harold’s body odor was the worst I’d ever smelled. It was rancid lard and armpit sweat.

  Grandpa stopped at the steps. “You doin’ all right tonight, Harold?”

  Harold was sharpening his pocketknife. He spat over the rail and went back to rubbing the blade on a whetstone in his hand. Most men in Center Springs kept a sharpening stone close at hand, if they didn’t already have one in their pocket. Grandpa carried a small, flat Arkansas stone in his overalls to touch up the blade on his own knife, whenever he needed it.

  “I’m all right, but if you’re here about Lizzie, well, there ain’t nothin’ we can do for her.”

  A scared voice came from the dark insides of the house. “Help! Who’s out there? My legs is gone and I can’t find my eyes! I cain’t hardly see nothing’.”

  Uncle Cody went on up the porch with a silver flashlight in his hand. “I’ll go check on her if it’s all right.”

  Miss Becky was up the steps like a shot. “My lands, poor thing.” Norma Faye trailed right behind.

  Grandpa stepped back all of a sudden. I figured he’d gotten good whiff of Harold. “She’s hollerin’ pretty good.”

  Harold spat again. “Don’t matter to me none. She don’t know any of us anymore. Her mind is as gone as gone gets.”

  Pepper leaned over to me. “That man is crazier than a shithouse rat, and he smells like one, too.”

  Grandpa stood there in the yard, visiting like all the electricity in the county wasn’t off and there wasn’t a crazy lady with Old Timer’s disease in the house. “Why’n’t you go in and calm her down?”

  “Won’t do no good. She’ll squall ’til she gets tired of hollerin’ and then she’ll settle down. I had to tie her in the bed.”

  “That why she’s hollerin?”

  “I reckon, but I tied her up day before yesterday, so I’d imagine she’d be over it by now.”

  “You kids get in the car,” Grandpa snapped, quick as a snakebite. I’d heard that tone before, and knew he was mad. Pepper and I took off like a shot to stay out of his way.

  Pepper held her nose. “He smells like something died in his britches.”

  Grandpa moved a little upwind. “You had her tied up since day before yesterday?”

  By the light of the oil lamp, Harold tested the sharpness of the blade by shaving the hair on his left arm. “Once.”

  Uncle Cody slammed the screen door open and came out on the porch like thunder. “Damn you Harold, stand up!”

  The sharp crack of his voice jolted Harold from his chair. “I didn’t have no choice.”

  The flashlight spun across the porch as Uncle Cody pitched it to Grandpa, who caught it and shined the beam onto Harold. “Put that knife down.” Harold carefully folded it and laid the knife on his rocker.

  Uncle Cody spun him around and snapped a pair of cuffs on his dirty wrists. “I wouldn’t treat a hog the way you’ve done Miss Lizzie. You’re headed for jail, and she’s going to the hospital.”

  “I did what I knew to do.”

  “You could have fed her, and changed her, and cleaned her up.”

  “I been doing that for years, but when her mind went, I figured she wouldn’t know. I’s just gonna let her drift on and off and hoped that medicine Little Ben had would do some good.”

  “Little Ben Winters?”

  “Don’t know no other Little Ben.”

  Uncle Cody studied him. “What medicine?”

  “We tried that new stuff to get her to calm down, and it works pretty good, but she can’t hardly hold the smoke in her lungs for it to do any good.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Why Cody, that stuff that Little Ben sold us. Said it was good for Old Timer’s disease and would ease her at night so she could sleep.”

  “You talking about marijuana. You give her dope?”

  “Sure ’nough. The medicine Doc give her ain’t working, and it’s dope, too. I bought some papers and rolled her a couple of cigarettes and she tried it. It works for a while, but I’ll be damned if I can afford much of the stuff. You reckon I should have made her just chew it like tobaccer? You know she dips Garrets Snuff pretty regular, so it shouldn’t be any different.”

  Cody squinted at Harold. “You been smoking that dope, too?”

  “Yeah, right smart since it cost so much and I didn’t want to waste it. I’ve felt pretty good the last day or so. I don’t know why they outlawed it.”

  “Because it’s dope, Harold.” Grandpa rubbed his bald head beside the car, standing in the half-open door with his foot propped on the edge of the floorboard. “What you did wasn’t right.” Grandpa picked up the microphone on his Motorola and called for an ambulance.

  The lights flickered as the power came back on, and a dim glow filled Harold’s living room.

  Miss Becky and Norma Faye were rushing around in there, and I knew then we’d finally eat our ice cream, but much later and that was all right.

  I needed to get the stink out of my nose first.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The Parkers ha
dn’t been gone but a minute when a new sedan came over the creek bridge and rolled sedately down the straight mile of two-lane highway before reaching the house. Tom Bell heard the tires change tone when it slowed. He’d blown out the kerosene lamp on the porch and propped his chair back on two legs in contentment, waiting for everyone to come back.

  His ear perked when the car slowed even more on the highway, and almost rolled to a stop down by the drive.

  Its headlights were off.

  It was dark on the porch, and impossible for anyone to see from below. Tom didn’t move. The dim glow of the coal oil lights in the house gave little illumination to the outside.

  Giving the car a quick glance, Tom slipped his hand into the small of his back and slipped his .45 automatic free. Instead of concentrating on the car below, he raised the pistol, aiming along the side of the house, to the porch steps on his right.

  He waited.

  The silent car idled below.

  The wind laid for a moment. He heard the commotion at Lizzie’s house.

  A soft noise of cloth brushing against the side of the house told him someone was trying to take advantage of the sudden blackout.

  With the pistol still pointed at the corner of the house, Tom spoke, softly. “Don’t.”

  He waited.

  “If I was you, I’d slip back around the house and down the hill there to your friends in the car. If you don’t, I’ll kill you. This forty-five in my hand will blow holes in you big enough to pitch a dog through.”

  Silence.

  “I imagine your friend down there in the sunglasses is getting impatient. You better hurry, and I don’t reckon you better come back here again. Tell him we’ll be waiting.”

  The wind picked up again.

  A minute later, he heard several soft thuds as the prowler high-tailed it down the hill and back to the dark car. When he opened the door, the dome light illuminated the interior. The door slammed, and the car roared away, switching on its lights as it gained speed.

  He’d seen enough to recognize Whitlatch behind the wheel.

  Tom slipped the pistol back behind his belt and continued to lean against the wall, thinking he’d need to keep an eye on Ned’s house for a while.

  He also wished they’d hurry back. That banana ice cream still sounded good.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  We’d been shooting at frogs and snakes with our BB guns, but the sun settling over the trees shoved us on home before it got too dark. Pepper beat me over the hill from the pool. She’s always been able to run faster, even though our legs are about the same length.

  Uncle Cody was standing beside his El Camino. “Y’all go wash your faces, and put on clean shirts.”

  “What for?”

  He gave us a grin. “Well, there’s a tent revival that Miss Becky is gearing up for, and your Grandpa’s in town with Judge Rains. He ain’t back yet, so y’all can either let me carry you to Pepper’s house for the night, or you can go with me and Norma Faye to a powwow in Grant.”

  The offer was like a chance to go to Disneyland. I’d never been to a powwow, and the idea of a revival or an evening with Aunt Ida Belle sounded as good as getting jobbed with a sharp stick.

  With a whoop, we charged into the house, washed our faces, and changed shirts. Miss Becky was in the front bedroom, letting Norma Faye braid her hair up into a bun. Their backs were to us. “I’d a sight rather y’all go with me to hear the preaching tonight.”

  We didn’t say anything for fear that a conversation might suddenly turn into a change in plans. Norma Faye gave us a wink in the mirror over Miss Becky’s head.

  “You and Cody could go too.”

  Norma Faye nodded like she was giving the idea some serious thought. She brushed at Miss Becky’s long, salt-and-pepper hair that reached below her waist. “We could, but I’ve never been to a powwow, neither. I’ve been to tent revivals.”

  Miss Becky sighed. “My mama took me to a powwow when I was little, but she died not long after.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “No, I reckon you didn’t. We don’t talk about it much.”

  “You were born in Grant, weren’t you?” Pepper stepped up beside them to look at herself. “That’s where we’re going.”

  “Sure was, and we lived there until Mama died when I was six, then Papa brought us across the river here to Center Springs.”

  We’d never heard Miss Becky talk about my great-grandmother.

  “We lived in a little holler on a creek, not far from a good spring. Papa was in Tulsa that day with some of the tribal elders, and my sisters and I were helping Mama make soap. It was our job to keep the fire going under the wash pot.

  “I don’t know what happened. Maybe a coal rolled out, or Mama’s dress blew into the fire. She wore dresses that brushed the ground and they were forever getting dirty, or muddy, or snagged on something.

  “Anyways, all of a sudden that cotton material caught a-fire and blazed up all at once. I imagine she’d spilled some lard on it, or had been wiping her greasy hands on it all day long, because that’s what we used to make soap back then, wood ashes and fat, but before we knew what was happening, she was a-fire.”

  Norma Faye listened and slowly twisted three thick stands of hair into a bun.

  It was like Miss Becky was telling a story she’d had bottled up for years, and she didn’t want to stop, all the time looking through her reflection, back to a time long ago.

  I imagined it might be a magic mirror, and shifted to look into the past with her.

  “If you catch fire, you’re supposed to drop on the ground and roll around, but Mama panicked and ran toward the house. Maybe she wanted to get to the water bucket beside the door, but her hair caught, and her’s was longer than mine, because she was younger and wore it down a lot. She was a-screamin’ and a-screamin.’

  “Before you know it, she was all a-fire, and she fell on the ground and rolled around in the dirt, because that’s all our yard was, but it was too late. Sister threw a quilt on her to put her out, but it didn’t do no good.”

  Norma Faye put down the brush and picked up a thin black hair net that she stretched over Miss Becky’s hair.

  “Mama’s clothes finally went out, and Neva Lou ran to get help, and left me, Geneva, and Wilfred there by ourselves. He was a little baby. Mama was black on one side of her face and moaning, and I didn’t know what to do for her, so I covered her up with a different quilt and bathed her face with cold water, but every time I did, her skin came off on the rag. It was red raw underneath.”

  The house was totally silent. Norma Faye rested her hands on Miss Becky’s shoulders. Great aunt Neva Lou was the only sister Miss Becky had left. Geneva and Wilfred both died before I was born.

  “Us kids wrapped her up right there on the ground and waited with her all by ourselves that night, while she shivered and moaned. We kept giving her water when she called for it, but she was out of her head. Help finally came the next morning, but it was too late. She died that afternoon, not long before Papa got back home. I cried for days after Mama died. It wasn’t long after that Papa left us with some relatives and didn’t come back until I was a teenager. I swore then I’d never leave any family for no reason at all.”

  All of a sudden, her eyes widened. “Well my lands, now why did I go and tell that story when y’all were excited about a powwow. Y’all better get going. Cody!”

  I was startled when I heard him right behind me. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “These kids don’t know what to do. I don’t want them to insult anybody. You make sure they mind their manners, and take some dollar bills for the drum out of that red lard bucket in the china cabinet.”

  Pepper swelled up. “We know our manners.”

  Uncle Cody pulled her toward the door. “You do around here, but powwows have rules, and they’re important. N
ow, clam up because she’s probably just a hair away from making y’all go to that revival with her.”

  ***

  It was dark when we arrived in the little community of Grant, but the powwow was already going strong. Big generators roared and thick cables stretched across the grass, powering floodlights that brightened a pasture full of happy people. They were far enough away to keep the noise from covering the songs and events. It reminded me of only a few months ago at the Cotton Exchange in Chisum where they used floodlights for the lawmen and firemen to help Uncle Cody and Mr. John.

  The whole shebang was set up not far from the lone country store that was doing a booming business. I imagine Neal Box would have loved to have something pop up like this near his store a couple of times a year. This part of Oklahoma was no different than where we lived in Center Springs, except it had Indians everywhere, and for once, a lot of them were dressed the way I expected Indians to look. Kids my age were all decked out in feathers, bells, and buckskin, waiting for their turn to dance.

  Despite the warm weather, a fire burned bright in the center of the pasture. Between the parked cars and the fire, a circle of men surrounded a big drum and were beating the whey out of it with what I took for leather-covered war clubs. I liked the beat, but it didn’t sound like what you heard on television when Indians were singing and doing their war dance.

  BOOM boom boom boom BOOM boom boom boom.

  This one was more of a strong, steady beat I felt deep in my chest. It almost made my lungs tickle, and I was glad my puffer was in my back pocket. They were singing a traditional song, but I didn’t know the words, because they were in Choctaw or Comanche or something.

  Then I recognized one phrase that Miss Becky taught us.

  Chi hollo li.

  Some of the men at the drum were dressed like white people, but a few wore khakis and were shirtless. You never saw a grown man without a shirt on in Center Springs, and at first it didn’t seem right for them to be half naked, but the Indians looked more like what I imagined.

  The drums and music touched something deep inside me, and for the first time in a long while, I felt really, really good. When I caught Pepper’s eye, I knew she felt the same thing and her eyes lit up in excitement. While we walked from the car to the crowd, the drummers quit.