The Heavenly Table

13

UNBEKNOWN TO COB, his brothers had already decided his fate and theirs by the time they sat down that evening and proceeded to eat up everything in the shack: a quarter of a hog and several dozen mealy potatoes and a partial bag of buggy flour and two rusty cans of peaches they found in Pearl’s winter coat. Using Bloody Bill as inspiration, the plan they’d quickly put together while Cob was out fetching a bucket of water involved stealing three of the Major’s horses, then riding to Farleigh, the nearest town, and robbing the bank there. After that, they would head north to Canada and start over. Cane wasn’t sure — hell, he’d never even been inside a bank before — but he guessed the haul would be worth a few thousand dollars at the very least. But for it to work, they needed to leave tonight, before Tardweller discovered that Pearl was dead and they lost what Bloody Bill called “the element of surprise.” On all of these things, Cane and Chimney had been in total agreement.

However, deciding how to deal with Cob had been a different story. Chimney believed that, because of his thickheaded nature and his obsession with all that heavenly table bullshit, he would prove to be a liability when it came to taking a bank, or even stealing a goddamn horse for that matter. As dumb as he was, he might get killed, or even get one of them killed. “He’d be better off with some farmer,” Chimney said. “Hell, he wouldn’t mind, long as they feed him. We could even send for him once we get to where we’re going.”

Cane realized, of course, that what Chimney said made sense, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t leave either of them behind. Though he had never mentioned it, not once in all the years they’d been together, Lucille had called him to her bedside when she was sick and made him promise to look after his brothers. “Especially Cob,” she had said. “He’s always going to be slow.” It was just a day or two before she passed, and as far as he knew, it was the last thing she ever said to anyone. “We can’t do that,” he told Chimney. “For Christ’s sakes, he ain’t some dog you can kick out when you get tired of takin’ care of him. He’s our brother.”

Yearning to get started, Chimney decided it best not to press the issue, at least for now. Besides, he figured Cane would realize his mistake the first time Cob fucked up. “Well, if you say so, but how the hell you going to talk him into it?” he asked. “He’s not gonna like it, you know that.”

Cane got down on one knee in front of the fireplace and lit some kindling under a couple of pine logs, then replied, “The first thing we do is get his belly full.”

And that they had, even holding themselves back, as hungry as they were, so that Cob could have more. When all that remained was a greasy potato or two, Cane casually suggested that they take an inventory of their inheritance.

“Inheritance?” Cob said. “What’s that?”

“Everything Pap’s left us.”

“Why ye want to do that?” Cob asked a little suspiciously. He already had a vague feeling that something was up. Why else would they have let him have a whole can of peaches to himself? And nearly half the pork that was left?

“Just to see what kind of shape we’re in, that’s all.”

“Oh.”

Lighting the lantern, they laid everything they owned out on a blanket: a 12-gauge shotgun with a busted stock and three slightly damp shells, seven dollars in gold pieces along with the change from Pearl’s pocket, their mother’s Bible and The Life and Times of Bloody Bill Bucket, a nearly full bottle of Morning Dew whiskey that Pearl kept strictly for medicinal purposes, a straight razor, two pots and one blackened skillet, their bedrolls and a cracked mirror, a hammer, a butcher knife, four plates and three tin cups, their coats, and a pencil stub.

After that, they sat silently for a while, resting with their backs leaned against the wall. Cob still didn’t understand the purpose of dragging all their junk out into the center of the room, but it didn’t matter; he felt more contented than he had in a long time. No wonder people had a big supper after a funeral. It occurred to him that this was what he would feel like all the time once he got to heaven. An image of Willie the Whale stuffed to the gills with crawdads floated through his head, and he yawned. Though there was still a little light left outside, the smoke that lingered in the shack from the cook fire, along with the shadows cast across the room by the sputtering lamp, created the illusion in his mind of it being later than it really was. He reached over for the last potato in the skillet and stuck it in his mouth, then said with a sigh, “Well, fellers, if we’re gonna get any work done tomorrow, we better be gettin’ some sleep.”

Cane looked over at Chimney and winked, then pointed at the trash heap that was their earthly possessions. “Just look at that,” he said. “You ever seen such a sad sight? We been working like dogs our whole lives and I bet the poorest cracker sonofabitch in Georgia’s got more in his poke than we do.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cob said. “Like Pap always said, it could be worse.”

“Maybe,” Cane replied, “but I’d hate to think what that would be like.” He reached for the whiskey bottle and twisted off the cap. “Well, at least we got our bellies full for once.”

“We sure did,” Cob said. “Lord, I’m about to bust.”

“And just think, people like that damn Tardweller eat like this every day,” said Chimney.

Cane took a sip from the bottle, then said, “I reckon we could, too, if we put our minds to it.”

“How do ye figure that?” Cob said. “Shoot, we don’t even have enough flour left over for biscuits in the morning. I’ll tell ye one thing, it’s gonna be a long day in the field tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s something we need to talk about,” Cane said. He passed the bottle to Chimney, and then proceeded to explain their intentions. Though he started out aiming to be honest, his own desire to escape, which, after all, was dependent on convincing Cob the plan was a good idea, soon took over, and he ended up greatly minimizing the risks and embellishing the rewards instead. The more he went on, the better it sounded, and by the time he was finished, half the people in the country would probably have been clamoring to join up with them. He ended his spiel, sounding more coldhearted than he meant to, by saying, “Look, we’re not gonna force you to do anything you don’t want to do. As far as I’m concerned, you your own man now. But you need to understand, me and Chimney’s leavin’ out of here tonight.”

Cob looked away toward the window. So it was finally going to happen after all. He thought about all those times his brothers had argued about quitting Pap and taking off on their own. But it was just talk then, Chimney blowing off about all the women he was going to fuck, and Cane dreaming about living like those fancy people that always looked down their noses at them whenever they had to walk through a town. Even he knew that as long as the old man was still alive, he didn’t have to worry about such things. But now everything was about to change, in ways he couldn’t begin to comprehend. It was all too much to take in, Pap dying and the big supper, stealing horses and robbing a bank. A panicky feeling rose up inside him. What the hell did that even mean, his own man? He had never had to decide anything in his life.

“Well?” Chimney said impatiently.

“I ain’t smart enough to be no outlaw.”

“You won’t get no argument from—” Chimney started to say.

“Don’t worry,” Cane broke in. “I’ll watch out for ye.”

Cob scratched his head and tried to think. A sudden urge to sleep came over him, and he fought to suppress another yawn. Oh, how he wanted to just lie down and forget about everything, wake up in the morning and go chop some more brush. Why couldn’t things stay the same? He had always done whatever was required of him, never once questioning or complaining, but nobody had ever asked him to give up his soul before. Why, there probably wasn’t a second went by that the ol’ Devil didn’t make Bloody Bill regret what he’d done. Still, what choice did he have? He couldn’t imagine a life without his brothers any more than he could imagine being his own man. They had never been apart, not for a single night. And that wasn’t the only thing troubling him; now that they’d had their big feed, all that was left to eat was the rat that ran around in the shack at night, and he’d be a hard one to catch. Cob rubbed his hands roughly over his face. “Shoot, I got no idy what to do,” he finally said.

“Stick with us,” Cane said, and after a moment’s hesitation, Cob agreed with a nod of his head, though it was obvious his heart wasn’t in it.

“Okay, at least we got that shit out of the way,” Chimney said, taking another hit off the bottle.

“But why Farleigh?” Cob said. “They some bad people in that town. Don’t you remember what they did the last time we went through there?”

“Sure, I do,” Cane said. “I reckon I remember everything about that goddamn place.” The year before, when they were looking for work, a man gutting a turtle under a railroad trestle had told them about a farmer named Tardweller on the other side of Farleigh who might be hiring. It was a Sunday and they were on their way to talk to him. Just a hundred yards or so before the rutted clay road turned into a smooth graveled street, they passed a corpse hanging from an elm tree, a white man with a piece of cardboard pinned to his bloody long johns that said RAPEST. Some citizens loitering around a fountain in the square, admiring someone’s new automobile, told them to keep moving when Pearl asked if they might get a sup of water. He commenced to preaching to them about charity and the life in the world to come and the heavenly table, and somebody in the crowd bounced a rock off his forehead. By the time they made it out of there, even the women gathered in front of the brick church were hurling stones at them.

“That was a sight, wasn’t it?” Chimney said. “The way they’d clipped that ol’ boy’s pecker off?”

“I ain’t a-killin’ nobody, though,” said Cob.

“You won’t have to,” Cane assured him. “If there’s any trouble, me and Chimney will take care of it. I promise ye.”