Granny Somer slowly pulled open her creaky front door. Her wrinkled face stared at us with an expression that seemed halfway between amusement and a scowl. She had combed her blue-gray hair into a tight bun, and tobacco juice dribbled from the corners of her pinched mouth.
"Good morning, Granny," Mother said cheerily. "Here's Joey and Sarah. I hate having to go back to work. I got some insurance money when their father was killed, but now it's running low. Anyway, I'll be back about five thirty."
Granny said nothing, nor did she change her expression.
Mother turned to us and pointed her finger. "Now, you two had better mind Granny or I'll have to spank you. Everyone knows her to be a good, Christian woman. Bye now."
We watched mother step quickly up the dirt path that led to the front gate. A high wooden fence surrounded Granny Somer's front and back yards.
Granny spat a stream of tobacco juice into the dirt yard and motioned us into her slightly lopsided, unpainted house with a quick jerk of her bony left hand. We stepped into a gloomy den so dark we could see nothing but the dusty tops of old furniture barely lit with yellow sunlight seeping through grimy shades. I felt a little nauseated from the stench of must and old grease.
We hesitated, but Granny pushed us through a short hall into her tiny kitchen. A little more light streamed through her dingy window here, so Sarah and I crawled onto two cracked chairs at her rickety table.
Granny slammed a black iron skillet onto her rusty old wood burner. Into this skillet, she dumped some greasy, left-over turnip greens and a couple of slices of dried cornbread. She heated this mixture for a few minutes, mashing it all together with a wooden spoon. Then, she slopped this soupy mess onto two chipped plates and threw them down in front of us.
She grunted but two words. "Lunch, eat."
I gagged on the cold slop. Sarah simply stared at hers.
Granny growled. "I guess I'll hav'ta feed you two like babies." She shoved a spoonful of the swill into Sarah's mouth. Sarah stiffened with fear and swallowed hard. Granny then fixed her squinty eyes on me. I thought about pleading for mercy, but I knew that in those cold eyes there was none.
My doom was sealed. "I'm really not hungry," I weakly warbled. Amazed at how strong sheer terror could make me, somehow, I got the stuff down.
When the sickening nightmare called lunch was finally over, Granny pushed us out into her bare front yard.
"Y'all play out here and keep quiet," she snapped. "It's time for my nap."
Granny kept chickens, so I saw only dirt, chickens and chicken litter. I shook my head and whined. "How are we going to play in this mess?"
"There's a pile of sand in that corner," Sarah said, "maybe we could make a sandcastle."
We began to dig into the moist sand with our hands, but soon we gagged on the foul smell of some gooey lumps that kept sticking to our fingers. "Stop, Sarah!" I yelled. "It's full of chicken litter. We need to go into the house and wash our hands."
We pounded on the door for a long time, but Granny never answered. Tiring, we plopped onto the edge of the sagging porch. I dangled my hands over my knees. "I guess we'll just have to sit here with nasty hands," I groaned.
We sat for what seemed an eternity, just staring at the ground. Finally, I got an idea. "Let's go see what's around back," I suggested.
We strolled around the small house. We saw nothing there but more dirt and chickens.
Then suddenly, our ears were struck with a strange sound like the mixture of a creaking door and a high-pitched groan. "Ba-a-a!" was what we heard.
The ground sloped away at the back of Granny's house, leaving room for a small wire pen underneath it. Over the top of the wire, a gaunt, long-faced creature with horns and whiskers stared back at us. "It's a goat!" Sarah exclaimed.
"Ba-a-a," the goat sounded again.
We gazed at the goat. The goat eyeballed us with marked indifference.
"Look," Sarah said, "the goat is chewing something. What is he chewing?"
I knew the goat was chewing his cud, but just to tease Sarah I said, "maybe he is chewing chewing gum."
Sarah's face lit up with that idea. "Wow!" she gushed. "I didn't know goats chewed chewing gum."
I rolled my eyes. I should have told her the truth, but I was just happy that her amusement had lightened an otherwise heavy day.
Sarah enjoyed watching the dumb goat chew his gum, but I soon tired of him. I wandered back and sat on the edge of the front porch again.
Soon, Sarah joined me. We studied the shifting shadow patterns that sunlight cast through overhead leaves onto the ground. We yawned at the sleepy drone of a nearby bumblebee.
At Sarah's suggestions, we went to see the goat three more times. Finally, Sarah looked at me and groaned. "Ya know, this is gettin' kinda boring."
"No kidding," I murmured, in keeping with my mood of being nearly brain dead.
Then without warning, a big, red rooster who had been strutting around the yard, flew at Sarah, flapping his wings and clawing at her with his fast talons. Sarah screamed and crawled quickly toward the wall. Putting her hands over her face, she pulled her knees to her chin, crying and trembling.
As Sarah moved back, I threw myself between her and the rooster. It continued its attack, scratching at me. I yelled and also retreated. I collapsed in front of Sarah, both of us sobbing and wailing.
Thankfully, the bully ceased and started strutting again. Our hope that this torture was over was short-lived. The beast attacked again. I shut my eyes and threw my arms around Sarah. We could do nothing but scream and cry.
When the brute began strutting again, I lept to the door, banging wildly. "Granny! Please! Help!" I cried. "Let us in." Granny didn't answer or come.
The fiend quickened his strut. He had done this just before his second attack. I knew that another one was coming. What am I going to do? I thought. I prayed to the Lord for help.
I closely watched his every move. His strut seemed like bragging to me. So, you're proud of yourself for scaring the life out of us, are you, I thought. Well, I'll show you , you little---. Because of his bragging and from sheer desperation, a slow rage began to boil inside of me. Fortunately, I found a sawed-off piece of a broom handle lying against the wall. I grabbed it, clenched my teeth, and waited.
When the expected assault came, I swung the broom handle hard, whacking the mauler squarely against the side of its head. It crumpled into a pile, barely twitching its wings. I've killed it, I thought.
However, in a minute, the monster staggered to his feet. It reeled off through the yard like a drunk man, throwing out a wing now and then to regain its balance. Sarah and I began to giggle at this silly bird, and also from sheer relief.
Then, the front door creaked open, and Granny Somer poked out her scowling face. "Don't you be a'hittin my chickens," she barked. We blinked as she slammed the door.
"Strange," I said to Sarah. "She could hear me hit her chicken, but she couldn't hear me banging on the door." Sarah just laughed through her tears and swallowed me in a big bear hug.
Eventually, the rooster wandered into the backyard and did nothing but stare at a hole in the ground.
I held Sarah for a long time until she finally calmed down. Then, I began to feel so weary inside that I knew that I could not stay there one minute longer. I had to run away. "Sarah," I said, stroking her brown hair, "let's run away. We'll walk home."
"We can't do that," she whined. We'll get into trouble."
"I don't care," I retorted. "I'm leaving."
"But the gate is high and latched on the outside," she answered. "You can't get out."
"I'll find a way to get out," I replied.
I walked to the gate and inspected it. If only I could get high enough to reach over, I might be able to unlatch it, I thought. I looked around but found nothing that would help me. I went to the back yard, and under Granny's house, I found an old, rusty washtub.
Standing on the tub, I could barely stretch my hand over the top of the gate, so I couldn't reach the latch. On tiptoes, I still couldn't reach it. Then, using both hands, I pulled myself up until my chin reached the top of the gate. Holding myself with my left hand, I reached over with my right hand and released the latch.
I started through the gate, but Sarah grabbed my arm. "Please don't go," she pleaded. "Mama will spank you. Besides, what if that rooster should come back."
I cradled her dirty, little face in my grimy hands. "Getting out of here is worth getting a spanking. And don't worry about that rooster. I think he's pretty much out of it."
Never in my life had I felt such a sense of joy and freedom as when I cleared that gate. I ran the two blocks to home. I climbed the China berry tree in my yard, and played pirate in the crow's nest of a tall-masted ship. I waded in the bubbling creek below the house and caught crayfish. I lay in the sun and daydreamed.
Later, after Mother had come home, I sat on my bed in my room where she had banished me, waiting to get my spanking.
Mother came in with the paddle in her hand. She looked tired and worried. Then unexpectedly, she tossed the paddle onto the bed and plopped down beside me. "Sarah told me about the rooster. I'm proud of you. I can't understand why Granny wouldn't let you in. I'll find another babysitter."
Then, equally unexpectedly, she suddenly jerked and ignited. "Still, I ought to spank you. Joey you know how scared I've been since your daddy didn't come home from the war. What if you should get hurt, and I'm not there to help you?"
I hung my head. "I'm sorry Mama. I promise I'll never run away again." I peeked up at her hazel, sparkling eyes.
She pulled my head against her shoulder, leaned her cheek against the top of my head, and stroked my unkempt, blond hair with her tender hand. "It's all right, my son," she said softly, choking back tears. "It's all right."
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