Internecine

By E. Angelina Johnson

www.fabulousconfabulation.blogspot.com

Growing up I heard whispers about Cary. Folks in town would say he was “strange”, “not right in the head”, and even worse, “not right with God”. Even my own father had warned me about him, which was perhaps the only time he remotely resembled a parent. One night, during the summer I turned ten, I came home from crawdad fishing to find dad on the porch waiting for me. “Davey, I seen you down at that freak's yard today. You best stay away from that house. You hear me boy?” I nodded and tried to kick over his tall boy as I went inside.

Cary always seemed harmless to me. When I'd pass by his house he'd give me a kind of nod before shyly casting his eyes to the ground or wave me over to help him unload stuff. He always paid me too. When my father died later that summer, Cary was the only person in the whole town who offered to take me in. And though I was scared, I was grateful.

It's been seven years since I first moved in with Cary and while I'll agree he has some strange habits, I still want to believe he is harmless. “I'm going on a dig tonight, Davey and I need you to run to the store for some flowers after supper,” Cary said. My stomach churned as I swallowed down a mouthful of green bean casserole.

“All right. Will you sign my progress report before you go? I can't go on senior skip day if it's not signed.” He looked down at me. For a second I thought he could see my insides struggling with thoughts I wanted so much to push out of my mind. There's an awful lot you can look past when you love someone.

“You bring that English grade up?” he asked. I looked away and concentrated on the beads of condensation swelling on the sides of my tea glass. “I got a B now.” He studied my face then turned his eyes toward his shaking hands. “I'll do the dishes when I get back Cary. Don't you worry about 'em.” Cary's hands always shook before a dig. Dishes would end up cracked or broken, his hands cut from fishing out shards of glass from the drain.

The first time I saw him like this was the summer I came to live with him. I had only been living with Cary for a few months. I struggled at first to feel at home with a stranger. I was afraid any wrong move would find me homeless, out on the streets. I swept the floors before he woke up, scrubbed the counters clean after he'd fall asleep at night. I tried to make my presence known without changing a thing. It was towards the beginning of September, when the skies still hold no hint of fall and I awoke tangled in the sheets of my bed from a feverish nightmare. My eyes opened to a darkened room. I couldn't remember the details of the dream, but I had an overwhelming urge to not be alone. I needed to see Cary; if for nothing else than to give myself proof that I was awake.

My feet fell on the wood floor, avoiding all the squeaky boards that I made a point to learn over the months. Cary's door was open but he wasn't in his bed. Fear rose inside my chest. Was I still asleep? Was my nightmare going to jump out of the shadows and engulf me in terror again? Out of Cary's window I could see the light from the shed shining. His outline eclipsed the light as he passed by the window. Seeing his form gave me hope. Like he was home-base for my nightmare, that after I tagged home it would be over. I took a big breath and held it in as I ran down the stairs and out the front door. The dewy grass made the bottom of my pajamas wet and I could feel the dirt gumming between my toes as approached the barn. I opened the shed door only a crack before I stopped and saw Cary on his knees sobbing and praying. I wanted to run to him but he stood up quickly and wiped his eyes. He walked to the work table and I saw a man lying on it. He was completely motionless as Cary draped a handkerchief over his face. Cary reached up to wipe his eyes again and I saw that he had a pair of needle nose pliers shining in his hand. Cary bumped the table and the man's arm swung down, lifeless and grey. My nightmare must still be happening. I wanted to scream but I couldn't. I watched as Cary used a box cutter and those pliers to peel long strips of grey flesh from that man. With each strip Cary let out a big sigh. He seemed relieved; his body became less tense and his tears stopped completely. He piled the strips in perfect stacks. Cary bent down for something and he saw me. Our eyes locked for an instant and I starting running. I ran away from the house toward the pasture with the dairy cows.

I could hear Cary's feet behind me; their pace much quicker than my own. When I felt his hands on my arms I started to scream. “Davey! Stop! Let me explain,” Cary said. “Let me go! Please!” He fell to his knees pinning my thrashing arms to my sides.

“Davey, I'm so sorry you had to see that. I'm so sorry,” tears were welling up in his eyes. I could feel tears falling down my own face too. I stopped struggling. “Why did you do that?” I asked.

“I don't know. But I wish so much that I did,” he said. “I need you to know that I did not kill that man. I swear on my life. He died a few days ago. I would never kill another living thing.” I lay on the wet grass thinking about all that I had seen and heard. Could what Cary did really be all that bad. The man was already dead so he couldn't feel any more pain. Cary did good things for people that were still living. He took me in. He gave old Mrs. Kendall all the milk she needed and helped her with things as she needed them. “I had a nightmare,” I said, changing the subject. “I was scared and came looking for you” I told him. I would ignore completely this part of Cary. And it was easy at first. He only went on digs a few times a year.

But as the years went by I watched Cary's digs become more and more frequent. I couldn't ignore the frequent requests for flowers, which he'd put on the graves once he re-buried his temporary confessors. Watching the shed light flip on in the middle of the night now brought a sense of resentment in stead of unwavering forgiveness that it once did.

“I'm proud of you, Davey. I new you could get that grade up if you worked on it. Grab some money out of my wallet and hurry on to the store, I need those flowers here pretty quick. Drop this milk off at Ol' Mrs. Kendal's too please. I forgot to do it this afternoon.” I nodded. “I want a glass first. I spilled our milk this morning and have been craving some all day,” I said. Cary grabbed the milk jug from me “No. That's not for us. Don't drink her milk, it's a gift. Leave it be. Go milk a cow when you get home if you want some milk.” I had never seen Cary so stern looking.

When I was leaving the store I grabbed a paper to see who he might be digging up. I flipped to the obituaries but it was empty. Instead there was an ad for used tires down at Buck's Trucks. I hadn't heard of anyone dying around town either. I guess he might have to go over to the next county. He had to do that from time to time. When I got home Cary was waiting on the steps for me. I could tell he was anxious to get going.

“I left the flowers in the seat, here's your change” I stuck my hand out to give him the money. ”Nah, You keep that, it's your service charge,” He pushed my hand away and I could see his hand trembling. “Ol' Mrs. Kendal say anything? She's not been feeling too well I don't think.” He looked down at the ground. “Her garden has gone to the weeds. We should stop by some day and see if we can't help her.” He looked down at his feet.

“All right, but I don't think she'll let us.”

“Yeah, she's stubborn as a mule that one.” I watched him climb into his truck and pull away.

The night was cool and the house was hot, so I decided to go for a walk. Up ahead I could see the flowers I bought for Cary laying in the side of the road, gleaming in the moonlight. They must have fallen out of the truck, I thought to myself. Cary has never in all these years changed his routine. I scooped them up and walked back towards the shed. Leaning up against the shed was Cary's shovel. The same shovel he uses every time for a dig. I racked my brain, straining to remember if I could recall him buying a new one. Wanting more than anything to realize that I had just forgotten about it. Wanting to silent the question swirling in my brain. How can Cary go on a dig without a shovel? I placed the flowers on the worktable before going inside wait for him to come home. When I heard him pull up I went to his room and from his window I watched him get out and slam the door on his truck. He collapsed against side of the truck bed. His hunched shoulders were bobbing up and down and after a few moments he reached into the bed of the truck and pulled up small female figure. I stepped away from his window and sat on the edge of his bed. I guess Mrs. Kendall won't need out milk anymore.