Saturday, September 30, 2017

Apocalyptic Moons





Many scientists had predicted that humans would provoke their own extinction. They also said that global warming would trigger other tragedies. Skeptical politicians ignored all warnings and did nothing to prevent the fast approaching Armageddon.

Other contributing factors were: Overpopulation, nuclear wars, and pandemics. The unnecessary exploitation of energetics forced a harmful climate change. Then, a few nations trying to control what was left of the world initiated wars launching attacks with biological warfare and other weapons of mass destruction. The increasing madness had devastating consequences for Mother Nature. 

Sadly, (or gladly) humans were the only species disappearing from our planet. 

The human race turned out to be a resilient kind of animal; they could be compared to cockroaches. Nuclear wars were not destructive enough to exterminate humans. Pandemics further decimated humankind, but neither of those completely eliminated the global population. It had to be a combination of all catastrophes known to man.

The animal kingdom realized that humans were the culprit of such bizarre phenomenon. Therefore, they turned against humans. Mankind had always underestimated animals, but the equilibrium of nature invariably succeeds. Sometimes, certain species had to perish in order for others to survive.

All animals in the world began to grow in physical size, and their brain capacity increased too. Rats grew to double their size every hundred years. Human flesh became part of the animal diet. Animals had found a logical solution, ‘kill and feed’. Get rid of the enemy by consuming it.

The total eradication of humans from the face of the earth appeared impossible at first. 

We knew that if unattended, a house could be devoured by an infestation of rats, cockroaches, and termites in less than fifty years. Humans not only had left their houses unattended but the entire world. They had totally cooperated to their own destruction. They had complete knowledge of that possibility five hundred years before. All powerful nations were blaming each other. And kept generating new wars that accelerated their deserving fate. 

They had reached their final goal. They fused the past with the present and canceled the future.


*****


Lucius Night and Katana Luna were the last survivors, they were the last vestige of humankind. And there was no one left to cheer for their success. Adam and Eve didn’t have such an impossible task. 

When population began to decline, life expectancy for humans had been from a hundred and fifty to two hundred years. Many illnesses had been eradicated. Alcohol, tobacco, sugar, and animal fat were rarely consumed. That period had been the peak of human excellence. Body and mind at their best. Then things rapidly deteriorated. 

Lucius Night had a superior mind than most scientists from the twentieth-first century. Katana Luna had a JCN chip implanted before she was born. They were human computers. They were taller and stronger than their human counterparts from five centuries before. But they were still vulnerable to the rest of the animal kingdom, where a rat was as big as a cat. From year to year the size increase could not be noticeable but in five hundred years the difference was humongous.

Having a common enemy, animals had become allies among themselves to fight against humans. The animal kingdom had significantly reduced killing each other; half of them had adopted a semi-vegetarian diet. The other half was consuming human flesh, which seemed to be addicting, judging from the amounts they were ingesting. And the supply seemed unlimited.  

The animal kingdom had indeed become the King. It appeared that history could repeat itself.

Lucius and Katana didn’t know they were the only humans left. They had not seen other people for a long time. The last time Lucius saw his parents was soon after his mom had delivered Katana Luna. Many months had passed since their parents had left the cave. And there was no need to pretend they were still alive. 

Lucius knew there was a slim chance for him and her sister to survive. He had promised himself to never give up for Katana's sake. The main purpose in Lucius' life was to protect his little sister.

It was hard to guess Lucius Night’s age due to the change in human life expectancy. Whatever his age was he was far more intelligent and stronger than he appeared. 

Every single day was going to be a struggle to remain alive. Indeed, Adam and Eve didn’t have such an impossible task.

Just like Adam and Eve, Lucius and Katana were responsible for the future of mankind. Adam and Eve did their best, but they did not succeed. From the story of the Tree of Knowledge, it all went down in a disastrous decline. But their decline had lasted thousands of years. If Lucius and Katana were pretending to avoid the complete eradication of human life, first and foremost they had to implant one thing into the minds of future generations: They had to respect their home. Humankind was one People, and Planet Earth was their only home. They had to take care of it constantly, mainly by leaving it alone.

God had never intervened since Adam and Eve, and Lucius and Katana were not expecting His help. 

God had probably left already. After all, there was nothing to supervise anymore.

If there was anything certain in the Bible, it had to be Armageddon. The end of times scenario had been worse than anyone could have predicted. But since humans began to disappear, the planet’s landscape had improved greatly. The big metropolises like New York, Tokyo, and Rio de Janeiro became the most beautiful jungles in the world. The deserts began to shrink as soon as humans started to vanish. The same way humans had underestimated animals, they had also underestimated Mother Nature's healing powers. All damage done by humans had started to reverse after the first signs of human extinction. Nature was finally getting rid of a grave illness: humanoid overcrowding.

Lucius and Katana had only two weapons to defend themselves. Katana Luna had the paralyzing waver. A handgun designed to send airwaves in all directions, capable of paralyzing all animals in a radius of a hundred feet; the effect could last from two to six hours, depending on the animal size. It was a non-lethal weapon. Lucius had the invisible laser-blazer. An accurate ray-seeking weapon powerful enough to disintegrate a whale in a fraction of a second.

Most of their knowledge had been implanted or absorbed during their twelve-month gestational period. Knowledge especially prepared by their parents, knowing in advance that a human extinction was approaching. They had specific training in survival skills. Their food source and diet were contained mainly in pills rich in artificial nutrients and proteins, including water. Each pill had a slow energy release that lasted a week. They had a little over a thousand units to last about five hundred weeks or approximately ten years. 

Communication between Katana and Lucius had been telepathic for the most part. Katana wasn’t able to talk yet, and this was a concern for Lucius, since he began to talk at a younger age. But he thought it was because he was the only person who could talk to her. After all, he spoke to her very little and rarely using complete sentences. Katana used hand signals. She loved to hear her name spoken by Lucius and every time she wanted Lucius to pronounce her name she would tap her right temple with her right hand. In those instances, Lucius would begin to sing . . . 
  
"Katana Luna, Katana Luna, my sweet moon
Brighter than the sun
Stronger than a monsoon
Katana Luna, Katana Luna, 
I'd go insane without you . . ."


And every time Lucius finished singing, Katana would end up with a big smile on her face, and Lucius with tears in his eyes, for that was the song her mom used to sing to make her fall asleep.



*****


The place chosen by Lucius' parents for a shelter was a cave on a mountain range less than a mile from the ocean. The animal invasion to the cities was an amazing collaborative operation in which several animal species had participated. With no apparent leader, the animals had to be communicating telepathically or in another mysterious way.

During the day, diverse animals, including former house pets organized the attack. Dogs, cats, mice, spiders, ants, cockroaches, birds and snakes had been avid participants. The size of dogs and cats had increased so much that they could not be kept in homes. Around that time, Lucius' dad had to get rid of his dog because he suspected the dog had attempted to eat Lucius. The dog had been named Kepler after the planet humans had been trying unsuccessfully to colonize for centuries

Domestic animals didn't exist anymore. House pests could only be controlled by professional exterminators. Weapons were created especially to get rid of these pests. At night, another kind of animals emerged, including rats, bats, wolves, and coyotes. But it was insanely dangerous, day and night.

The military began to help, but soon, they were ordered to withdraw because they were causing more damage than help. Besides, American people were well armed, but they were overwhelmed by the enormous amount of attackers.

Due to the constant contact with such horrific carnage, people began to lose their sensitivity at the sight of human loss. Even if their own children were devoured in front of their eyes they had to continue the struggle to take care of themselves, there was no time for crying. They had to be in constant flight.

Other tragedies began to occur, with toxic waste new viruses appeared, causing pandemics of such virulence and infectiousness that decimated human population even furthermore. To fight for their survival they had to abandon their jobs and as a consequence famine showed up, and it was unmerciful. 

Of all possible extinction causes only pandemics were selective enough to eliminate humans since wildlife was left relatively unscathed.

Communities were evolving in isolated tribes, people fled in search of natural shelters, caves in mountains, open fields and deserts, forests, and underground tunnels. But there was no escape and no solution; animals were bigger and more dangerous outside city limits. You could be eaten by a thousand ants, or by a single bear.

Lucius rarely dared to venture outside the cave to hunt for food. He evaluated the risk of leaving Katana Luna in the cave or taking her with him, and most of the time he preferred to leave her behind. Sometimes he would return with fish or birds, the only kind of animals that Lucius considered safe for human consumption, and Katana’s favorite food. 

One day when Lucius came back, he found two paralyzed wolves in the cave. After he took them outside and shot them with the DD (disintegrating device) gun, he decided never to leave Katana alone again. If she had been asleep, there wouldn’t have been any traces of her left. That night, he was convinced that if that would have been the case; he’d kill himself for sure. The reason Katana had chosen the paralyzing gun was that she was against any animal killings unless it was done for human feeding. An extreme stance, considering the current situation. She certainly was the last pacifist amidst the turmoil of the final Armageddon. 

The results were catastrophic. Nearly eight billion people perished in the last five hundred years. And all the world contained began to thrive without humans. The apocalyptic images had been erased. Earth’s heart was beating at a lower speed, the world was happy. Nature didn’t need men. The world had no use for mankind.


*****



From the beginning, one of Katana’s dearest passions had been contemplating lunar eclipses. Only two things were important in her life, Lucius was definitely the number one. Lunar eclipses would have to be second place for sure. If it was up to her, she would never miss any of those celestial events. She would sit for hours, ignoring all risks and hazards. She would remain captivated in delight, hypnotized by the phenomenon and oblivious to any external actions. In remarked contrast, during those moments, Lucius had to remain on constant alert, ready to defuse any dangers that might appear. Moments like that would have made God reconsider His hope for mankind. Brotherly love of such high purity could not be ignored by any god in any Universe. 

The first lunar eclipse Katana had experienced was in the peaceful darkness of the backyard in their humble house, while mother sang her favorite lullaby and rocked her in her arms.

"Katana Luna, Katana Luna, my sweet moon
Brighter than the sun
Stronger than a monsoon
Katana Luna, Katana Luna, 
I'd go insane without you . . ."



The worse day in Lucius’ life had been the day Katana was attacked by a cat twice her weight. Lucius neglected his attention from her for a few minutes while hunting for birds. Lucius killed the aggressor, but only after the cat had badly scratched Katana’s leg. Katana was able to shoot her gun while the cat was mid-flight aiming in her direction, but couldn’t avoid the cat from landing on her leg. She was a brave girl, without a doubt.

That day was the second time Lucius has seen her cry. The day he found the two wolves inside the cave was the first. 


Several nights later, Lucius had a dream with his dad in which dad advised him to search for the “crystal wall”, and to be ready for departure. Once in a while, he would dream with Dad, and invariably he would give him some kind of guidance. He would always recount all those dreams to his sister, and their happiness would last for days. 

Lucius found the dream hard to interpret, nevertheless, the following day they would search for that mysterious crystal wall.

The last few days he had noticed a little change in the sky. The clouds were not clear, they had a blurry look, wavy and foggy. As if you were looking through a crystal glass.

The following day, Lucius took Katana along and began to search for the crystal wall. For the first time, he was dubious about the purpose of his dream. He had never doubted his dad’s advice. Still, he was uncertain about the “wall” or what to do if he'd find it. Lucius also couldn’t figure out what his dad meant by ‘departure’. He felt excited, but he knew they would encounter high risks and unwanted danger.

Early in the morning, they began to climb the mountain’s peak above the cave. Katana’s injured leg had not completely healed yet, her leg was still bandaged, but Lucius knew she was strong enough for the task. With weapons in hand, they began the trek. Climbing the mountain was not an easy task, but Lucius was glad they were well-rested and full of energy. Katana was hiking a few feet ahead of Lucius, that way; Lucius thought, he could catch her if she slipped. 

And she did when a menacing yellow spider crossed her path. The spider was half her size; it seemed that the arachnid could be able to not just kill her but to eat her. Swift and hostile, the spider stunned Katana and made her lose her balance. Lucius, fearless and ferocious, shot the spider while catching Katana in his arms.

After walking for two days, Lucius considered returning to the cave, when he literally crashed into the wall a few yards past of what appeared to be the end of the luscious vegetation and thick forest. He never thought the world could have an edge or an end. 

Beyond the glass wall, he could see the sky all around him, even below his feet. It seemed so odd and bizarre. 

It appeared to him that the fifteenth century explorers were right . . . The Earth was flat after all. His inquisitive mind couldn’t find a logical explanation. And as he tried to find the purpose of the wall, he hit it with a rock as hard as he could, but he couldn’t even scratch it. He wondered if the wall was enclosing the space outside, or if they were in some kind of a cage. Seeing the enormous void of space in the exterior, he guessed the second part was right.

They kept exploring what appeared to be a new world within the old world. It seemed like a dream. The place could definitively be described as utopian . . . or dystopian. 

Changes in the surroundings included the animals, he thought they looked smaller. Or was it that he and Katana were growing bigger? In the end, he concluded that all animals were returning back to their normal size. They seemed less ferocious too. They also began to appear in pairs. It was probably the mating season. But it couldn’t be mating season for all species at the same time. Lucius had also noticed that lately the animals had gone back to their herbivorous diet. But since humans had disappeared there was no other choice. He figured.

And when they ventured into the ocean waters, they noticed that the water tasted less salty. Things were surely changing. He then recalled the time he saw a pod of gigantic whales that caused a huge tsunami and pushed the sea water close to their cave, almost a mile away and a hundred feet above sea level. But that was a long time ago. The ocean now looked more like a lake. It was serene and placid, and as beautiful as ever.

For the next three days, he carried Katana on his shoulders along the glass wall. One night, something strange happened; the night seemed longer, way too long. It seemed that their internal clock malfunctioned because they woke up and it was still dark. Katana and Lucius went back to sleep three times before the sun reappeared. 

Then, something even stranger occurred; two moons appeared on the horizon. It was a beautiful moon rise. It was peculiar and freakish, but extremely beautiful.

Unbeknownst to them, they had arrived at their destination . . .  "The New World”. A world so big, it would take seven days to go around its own axis. A day on this planet was equal to seven days on Earth. And the crystal walls surrounding Katana and Lucius’ world was, in fact, a spaceship created by their father. It also functioned as an ark to transport animals to the new world, an empty world . . . until now.

“Look Katana, look!” Lucius screamed in excitement “Look Katana, two moons! Katana Luna Luna!” and he repeated 'Luna' for he knew 'Luna' meant 'moon'.

And he proclaimed, “This is the real beginning of Eternity. This is our new home Katana."



Edmundo Barraza
Lancaster, Ca. Nov-28-2015


An Accidental Dream






I don’t remember how I ended up in this hospital. I was probably riding my bike, either going down a straight, steep road or standing up on the main horizontal frame of my bike or maybe, I was doing my most daring trick: going fast and straight, ignoring a stop sign to cross the widest boulevard in my small town. I only perform this trick at night, when there’s not a lot of traffic. I have fun taking risks, but I’m not stupid.

At the moment my entire body hurts, according to my pain level; I guess I was run over by an eighteen-wheeler. I can’t move, my body feels numb. I think my body’s still scared of what happened in the accident but I’m only guessing. I still don’t know why I’m here. My thoughts are not clear at all. I can’t even remember my name but that doesn’t worry me a great deal. I’m alive and complete, I think. 

The room is cold and clean. Like a room that was made to last a hundred years, and everything in it too. I wonder how many people have died on this bed. I hope I’m not one of them. I don’t have any experience on this, but I think I won’t die this time, or anytime soon. I can barely move but I have enough energy to bend my head to check if I still have my four extremities, thank God, I do. I just found out another thing, I believe in God. In the present situation, I guess that’s good. I guess I’ll be doing a lot of guessing in the next few days, which is good because that means I’ll be alive for at least a few more days, I guess. 

I must have hit my head and lost a million brain cells or more. I hope I still have some left. I’m so confused, I don’t even know my age, or even worse, I don’t even know whether I’m a man or a woman. Now, that’s a scary thought. Instinctively, and with great effort I decide to investigate. With my right hand, I go down to investigate. Since I can barely move it gives me time to analyze what I wish to find. It feels like a great privilege, like being born again, but this time I have a choice. When I reach my object I feel happy to find a dick. I immediately decide that I’m not a vulgar person and instead I call “it” a penis. I wonder what I would have done if I had found a vagina in there. I would probably have touched it for a long time. Oh, this is so absurd, even for a dream this is confusing. But I’m a man and that makes me happy, I’m glad I’m not a woman.

The nurse still doesn’t know that I’m back, awake, or that I just regained my consciousness. My guess is that she is Hispanic or Latina or Mexican. She is young and cute. She’s checking on some plastic bags with liquids in them, hanging from a metal stand next to the bed. I was going to say “next to my bed”, but it isn’t mine. Then a person wearing a white robe opens the door, I guess he’s the doctor. He begins to talk to the nurse, but they ignore the most important person in the room, which is me, the patient. And I decide to leave the room and fall in deep unconsciousness.

My confusion keeps increasing. I’m in another world, and I guess this is the real world, but I don’t like it either. Somebody is chasing me. It feels unreal like I'm part of a story inside a book, or like I'm in somebody’s dream. It could be my own dream. 

Right after I fell from my bike, the asphalt road turned into a jungle. And someone who seems to be a Spanish conqueror is after me, chasing me, and he doesn’t seem to have good intentions. It appears that for some reason he's trying to kill me, and if he’s a Spanish conqueror, I might be an Aztec warrior. I decide to call him Cortez. And if he’s Cortez, I might be Moctezuma. And I like the idea. As soon as I decided to be Moctezuma my fears disappear. Cortez, despite his name, is not polite, and also despite his cannons, his soldiers, and guns, he will not conquer me, because this is my jungle, my Empire, and my dream.

The doctor, who by the way has a nice red beard, asks me to tell him, from one to ten, what level of pain I’m feeling. I say seven because I prefer to be sedated and remain here, instead of being chased by  Cortez and his horses. Then, the doctor increases the IV drip rate that controls the morphine, or pain killer medication, or anesthesia, or whatever it is that keeps me unconscious and sends me to dreamland. The liquid runs straight from the plastic bag to my weak and vulnerable brain and immediately gives me hallucinating images.

Then, as if somebody pressed the pause button, I got transferred to la-la land and found Cortez behind my tail.

If I remember the story right according to the Spanish conquerors Moctezuma was killed, stoned by his own people on a balcony in his palace. On the other hand, the indigenous accounts claim that he was killed by the Spanish. Either way, Cortez will not succeed on his attempt to kill me this time. Just in case, while I run almost unconcerned, (now that I remember the outcome of the story) I pick some coca leaves and place them in my mouth to put more distance between Cortez and me. If I’m carrying the effects of the morphine or hallucinatory drugs from the hospital bed to my dream, I might be also able to carry the effects of the coca leaves from the jungle to my hospital room. Does it make sense? Yes, it does. This is the best movie I’ve seen all year. I wish I could remember the whole thing and be able to write it all down when this is over.

I only hear the usual noises from the animals in the jungle, I think I lost Cortez. The chase was in my favor from the beginning. Cortez didn’t have any advantage riding his mighty horse in this thick vegetation. I don’t know why Cortez is so persistent to kill me; we already gave him most of our gold, which is useless to us. In exchange, they gave us some cheap trinkets and mirrors, which are also useless to us. But I wish I could keep this beautiful medallion hanging from my neck. It feels good bouncing on my chest; it seems that my heart and the medallion are having a conversation while running to escape from the villain in my dream.

For a moment I wonder if my temporary demented mind is confounding the reality with the dream. Could it be that the jungle is real and the hospital bed is my dream? But it can’t be because if I’m Moctezuma, I can’t have any knowledge about hospitals and hallucinatory drugs. But actually, the Aztecs did have these two things too. Can you hallucinate about things that don’t exist? I guess you can. But can you imagine an Aztec warrior riding a bike? I need to discard these absurd thoughts; they’re too bizarre, even for a nightmare.

Digging in the archives of my mind while trying to refresh my knowledge about Cortez and Moctezuma another character shows up, “La Malinche”. I think that by thinking about my dreams when I’m not dreaming I’m feeding more material to my brain to continue dreaming. If I’m not wrong, La Malinche was an indigenous native who acted as an interpreter, advisor, and lover to Cortez, she was also known as Doña Marina.

The chase finished abruptly when I reached the end of the Jungle at the shore of the lake. I wasn’t afraid because I knew that wasn’t the place where I would die. But I wished that nobody would change the history. Because Cortez died before Moctezuma.

Conquerors and villains are never alone. Cortez had many men with him and I was alone. But I knew that if the fight would be between him and me, I would destroy him.

He brought me back to Tenochtitlan, to my palace and my people. Along the way I kept hearing voices from the hospital, mixing the dream with the reality, unable to concentrate on neither of them. I could hear the doctor and the nurse, while at the same time I was listening to Cortez leading me to my palace. Cortez was trying to persuade me to talk to my people and convince them to give up our arms to avoid more bloodshed. While on the other scene the doctor was chasing the nurse around my bed trying to convince her to give him a kiss. It was obvious that the amorous relationship had started recently.

It was hard to concentrate. If I can be a little dramatic, I thought I was fighting for my life on two fronts at the same time. Without knowing which one was my real life. It might be very clear to you, but it was very unclear to me. If I had a choice, I would prefer to be left alone.

But I enjoyed the fact that I was (semi) unconscious most of the time. And that I had the ability to jump from one place to the other. If I was in pain I could medicate myself and go back to the jungle. If the drug wore off, I could return for more. I didn’t have any idea how long I had been there. I had no notion of time or space. 

I returned chained and ashamed to my palace and my people. I felt ashamed because I was captured without a fight. La Malinche bows to Cortez and ignores me, and I feel abandoned by my people too. When Cortez pushes me to the main balcony of my palace, I know the end is getting near. And I disappear from there hoping to never come back. The pain is too painful.

Back in the hospital, I decided to take the pain the natural way. I asked the doctor if he could remove the painkillers, and he agreed. 

Then, he called the nurse.

“Marina, please remove the IV unit away from him.”

“Yes, Dr. Cortez.” she answered.

Then, it all made sense to me.




Edmundo Barraza
Lancaster, Ca. 01-14-2015


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Thursday, September 28, 2017

An Angel in Disguise



Author:  



Idleness, vice, and intemperance had done their miserable work, and the dead mother lay cold and still amid her wretched children. She had fallen upon the threshold of her own door in a drunken fit, and died in the presence of her frightened little ones.

Death touches the spring of our common humanity. This woman had been despised, scoffed at, and angrily denounced by nearly every man, woman, and child in the village; but now, as the fact of, her death was passed from lip to lip, in subdued tones, pity took the place of anger, and sorrow of denunciation. Neighbors went hastily to the old tumble-down hut, in which she had secured little more than a place of shelter from summer heats and winter cold: some with grave-clothes for a decent interment of the body; and some with food for the half-starving children, three in number. Of these, John, the oldest, a boy of twelve, was a stout lad, able to earn his living with any farmer. Kate, between ten and eleven, was bright, active girl, out of whom something clever might be made, if in good hands; but poor little Maggie, the youngest, was hopelessly diseased. Two years before a fall from a window had injured her spine, and she had not been able to leave her bed since, except when lifted in the arms of her mother.

"What is to be done with the children?" That was the chief question now. The dead mother would go underground, and be forever beyond all care or concern of the villagers. But the children must not be left to starve. After considering the matter, and talking it over with his wife, farmer Jones said that he would take John, and do well by him, now that his mother was out of the way; and Mrs. Ellis, who had been looking out for a bound girl, concluded that it would be charitable in her to make choice of Katy, even though she was too young to be of much use for several years.

"I could do much better, I know," said Mrs. Ellis; "but as no one seems inclined to take her, I must act from a sense of duty expect to have trouble with the child; for she's an undisciplined thing--used to having her own way."

But no one said "I'll take Maggie." Pitying glances were cast on her wan and wasted form and thoughts were troubled on her account. Mothers brought cast-off garments and, removing her soiled and ragged clothes, dressed her in clean attire. The sad eyes and patient face of the little one touched many hearts, and even knocked at them for entrance. But none opened to take her in. Who wanted a bed-ridden child?

"Take her to the poorhouse," said a rough man, of whom the question "What's to be done with Maggie?" was asked. "Nobody's going to be bothered with her."

"The poorhouse is a sad place for a sick and helpless child," answered one.

"For your child or mine," said the other, lightly speaking; "but for tis brat it will prove a blessed change, she will be kept clean, have healthy food, and be doctored, which is more than can be said of her past condition."

There was reason in that, but still it didn't satisfy. The day following the day of death was made the day of burial. A few neighbors were at the miserable hovel, but none followed dead cart as it bore the unhonored remains to its pauper grave. Farmer Jones, after the coffin was taken out, placed John in his wagon and drove away, satisfied that he had done his part. Mrs. Ellis spoke to Kate with a hurried air, "Bid your sister good by," and drew the tearful children apart ere scarcely their lips had touched in a sobbing farewell. Hastily others went out, some glancing at Maggie, and some resolutely refraining from a look, until all had gone. She was alone! Just beyond the threshold Joe Thompson, the wheelwright, paused, and said to the blacksmith's wife, who was hastening off with the rest,--

"It's a cruel thing to leave her so."

"Then take her to the poorhouse: she'll have to go there," answered the blacksmith's wife, springing away, and leaving Joe behind.
For a little while the man stood with a puzzled air; then he turned back, and went into the hovel again. Maggie with painful effort, had raised herself to an upright position and was sitting on the bed, straining her eyes upon the door out of which all had just departed, A vague terror had come into her thin white face.

"O, Mr. Thompson!" she cried out, catching her suspended breath, "don't leave me here all alone!"

Though rough in exterior, Joe Thompson, the wheelwright, had a heart, and it was very tender in some places. He liked children, and was pleased to have them come to his shop, where sleds and wagons were made or mended for the village lads without a draft on their hoarded sixpences.

"No, dear," he answered, in a kind voice, going to the bed, and stooping down over the child, "You sha'n't be left here alone." Then he wrapped her with the gentleness almost of a woman, in the clean bedclothes which some neighbor had brought; and, lifting her in his strong arms, bore her out into the air and across the field that lay between the hovel and his home.

Now, Joe Thompson's wife, who happened to be childless, was not a woman of saintly temper, nor much given to self-denial for others' good, and Joe had well-grounded doubts touching the manner of greeting he should receive on his arrival. Mrs. Thompson saw him approaching from the window, and with ruffling feathers met him a few paces from the door, as he opened the garden gate, and came in. He bore a precious burden, and he felt it to be so. As his arms held the sick child to his breast, a sphere of tenderness went out from her, and penetrated his feelings. A bond had already corded itself around them both, and love was springing into life.

"What have you there?" sharply questioned Mrs. Thompson.
Joe, felt the child start and shrink against him. He did not reply, except by a look that was pleading and cautionary, that said, "Wait a moment for explanations, and be gentle;" and, passing in, carried Maggie to the small chamber on the first floor, and laid her on a bed. Then, stepping back, he shut the door, and stood face to face with his vinegar-tempered wife in the passage-way outside.

"You haven't brought home that sick brat!" Anger and astonishment were in the tones of Mrs. Joe Thompson; her face was in a flame.

"I think women's hearts are sometimes very hard," said Joe. Usually Joe Thompson got out of his wife's way, or kept rigidly silent and non-combative when she fired up on any subject; it was with some surprise, therefore, that she now encountered a firmly-set countenance and a resolute pair of eyes.

"Women's hearts are not half so hard as men's!"

Joe saw, by a quick intuition, that his resolute bearing had impressed his wife and he answered quickly, and with real indignation, "Be that as it may, every woman at the funeral turned her eyes steadily from the sick child's face, and when the cart went off with her dead mother, hurried away, and left her alone in that old hut, with the sun not an hour in the sky."

"Where were John and Kate?" asked Mrs. Thompson.

"Farmer Jones tossed John into his wagon, and drove off. Katie went home with Mrs. Ellis; but nobody wanted the poor sick one. 'Send her to the poorhouse,' was the cry."

"Why didn't you let her go, then. What did you bring her here for?"

"She can't walk to the poorhouse," said Joe; "somebody's arms must carry her, and mine are strong enough for that task."

"Then why didn't you keep on? Why did you stop here?" demanded the wife.

"Because I'm not apt to go on fools' errands. The Guardians must first be seen, and a permit obtained."

There was no gainsaying this.

"When will you see the Guardians?" was asked, with irrepressible impatience.

"To-morrow."

"Why put it off till to-morrow? Go at once for the permit, and get the whole thing off of your hands to-night."

"Jane," said the wheelwright, with an impressiveness of tone that greatly subdued his wife, "I read in the Bible sometimes, and find much said about little children. How the Savior rebuked the disciples who would not receive them; how he took them up in his arms, and blessed them; and how he said that 'whosoever gave them even a cup of cold water should not go unrewarded.' Now, it is a small thing for us to keep this poor motherless little one for a single night; to be kind to her for a single night; to make her life comfortable for a single night."

The voice of the strong, rough man shook, and he turned his head away, so that the moisture in his eyes might not be seen. Mrs. Thompson did not answer, but a soft feeling crept into her heart.

"Look at her kindly, Jane; speak to her kindly," said Joe. "Think of her dead mother, and the loneliness, the pain, the sorrow that must be on all her coming life." The softness of his heart gave unwonted eloquence to his lips.

Mrs. Thompson did not reply, but presently turned towards the little chamber where her husband had deposited Maggie; and, pushing open the door, went quietly in. Joe did not follow; he saw that, her state had changed, and felt that it would be best to leave her alone with the child. So he went to his shop, which stood near the house, and worked until dusky evening released him from labor. A light shining through the little chamber windows was the first object that attracted Joe's attention on turning towards the house: it was a good omen. The path led him by this windows and, when opposite, he could not help pausing to look in. It was now dark enough outside to screen him from observation. Maggie lay, a little raised on the pillow with the lamp shining full upon her face. Mrs. Thompson was sitting by the bed, talking to the child; but her back was towards the window, so that her countenance was not seen. From Maggie's face, therefore, Joe must read the character of their intercourse. He saw that her eyes were intently fixed upon his wife; that now and then a few words came, as if in answers from her lips; that her expression was sad and tender; but he saw nothing of bitterness or pain. A deep-drawn breath was followed by one of relief, as a weight lifted itself from his heart.

On entering, Joe did not go immediately to the little chamber. His heavy tread about the kitchen brought his wife somewhat hurriedly from the room where she had been with Maggie. Joe thought it best not to refer to the child, nor to manifest any concern in regard to her.

"How soon will supper be ready?" he asked.

"Right soon," answered Mrs. Thompson, beginning to bustle about. There was no asperity in her voice.

After washing from his hands and face the dust and soil of work, Joe left the kitchen, and went to the little bedroom. A pair of large bright eyes looked up at him from the snowy bed; looked at him tenderly, gratefully, pleadingly. How his heart swelled in his bosom! With what a quicker motion came the heart-beats! Joe sat down, and now, for the first time, examining the thin frame carefully under the lamp light, saw that it was an attractive face, and full of a childish sweetness which suffering had not been able to obliterate.

"Your name is Maggie?" he said, as he sat down and took her soft little hand in his.

"Yes, sir." Her voice struck a chord that quivered in a low strain of music.

"Have you been sick long?"

"Yes, sir." What a sweet patience was in her tone!

"Has the doctor been to see you?"

"He used to come."

"But not lately?"

"No, sir."

"Have you any pain?"

"Sometimes, but not now."

"When had you pain?"

"This morning my side ached, and my back hurt when you carried me."

"It hurts you to be lifted or moved about?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your side doesn't ache now?"

"No, sir."

"Does it ache a great deal?"

"Yes, sir; but it hasn't ached any since I've been on this soft bed."

"The soft bed feels good."

"O, yes, sir--so good!" What a satisfaction, mingled with gratitude, was in her voice!

"Supper is ready," said Mrs. Thompson, looking into the room a little while afterwards.

Joe glanced from his wife's face to that of Maggie; she understood him, and answered,--

"She can wait until we are done; then I will bring her somethings to eat." There was an effort at indifference on the part of Mrs. Thompson, but her husband had seen her through the window, and understood that the coldness was assumed. Joe waited, after sitting down to the table, for his wife to introduce the subject uppermost in both of their thoughts; but she kept silent on that theme, for many minutes, and he maintained a like reserve. At last she said, abruptly,--

"What are you going to do with that child?"

"I thought you understood me that she was to go to the poorhouse," replied Joe, as if surprised at her question.

Mrs. Thompson looked rather strangely at her husband for sonic moments, and then dropped her eyes. The subject was not again referred to during the meal. At its close, Mrs. Thompson toasted a slice of bread, and softened, it with milk and butter; adding to this a cup of tea, she took them into Maggie, and held the small waiter, on which she had placed them, while the hungry child ate with every sign of pleasure.

"Is it good?" asked Mrs. Thompson, seeing with what a keen relish the food was taken.

The child paused with the cup in her hand, and answered with a look of gratitude that awoke to new life old human feelings which had been slumbering in her heart for half a score of years.

"We'll keep her a day or two longer; she is so weak and helpless," said Mrs. Joe Thompson, in answer to her husband's remark, at breakfast-time on the next morning, that he must step down and see the Guardians of the Poor about Maggie.

"She'll be so much in your way," said Joe.

"I sha'n't mind that for a day or two. Poor thing!"

Joe did not see the Guardians of the Poor on that day, on the next, nor on the day following. In fact, he never saw them at all on Maggie's account, for in less than a week Mrs. Joe Thompson would as soon leave thought of taking up her own abode in the almshouse as sending Maggie there.

What light and blessing did that sick and helpless child bring to the home of Joe Thompson, the poor wheelwright! It had been dark, and cold, and miserable there for a long time just because his wife had nothing to love and care for out of herself, and so became sore, irritable, ill-tempered, and self-afflicting in the desolation of her woman's nature. Now the sweetness of that sick child, looking ever to her in love, patience, and gratitude, was as honey to her soul, and she carried her in her heart as well as in her arms, a precious burden. As for Joe Thompson, there was not a man in all the neighborhood who drank daily of a more precious wine of life than he. An angel had come into his house, disguised as a sick, helpless, and miserable child, and filled all its dreary chambers with the sunshine of love. 




Written by American author. Timothy Shay Arthur. (June 6, 1809 - March 6,1885) -- Known as T.S. Arthur.






A Good Man is Hard to Find



















Flannery O'Connor



The grandmother didn't want to go to Florida. She wanted to visit some of her connections in east Tennes- see and she was seizing at every chance to change Bailey's mind. Bailey was the son she lived with, her only boy. He was sitting on the edge of his chair at the table, bent over the orange sports section of the Journal. "Now look here, Bailey," she said, "see here, read this," and she stood with one hand on her thin hip and the other rattling the newspaper at his bald head. "Here this fellow that calls himself The Misfit is aloose from the Federal Pen and headed toward Florida and you read here what it says he did to these people. Just you read it. I wouldn't take my children in any direction with a criminal like that aloose in it. I couldn't answer to my conscience if I did." 

Bailey didn't look up from his reading so she wheeled around then and faced the children's mother, a young woman in slacks, whose face was as broad and innocent as a cabbage and was tied around with a green head-kerchief that had two points on the top like rabbit's ears. She was sitting on the sofa, feeding the baby his apricots out of a jar. "The children have been to Florida before," the old lady said. "You all ought to take them somewhere else for a change so they would see different parts of the world and be broad. 
They never have been to east Tennessee." 

The children's mother didn't seem to hear her but the eight-year-old boy, John Wesley, a stocky child with glasses, said, "If you don't want to go to Florida, why dontcha stay at home?" He and the little girl, June Star, were reading the funny papers on the floor. 

"She wouldn't stay at home to be queen for a day," June Star said without raising her yellow head. 

"Yes and what would you do if this fellow, The Misfit, caught you?" the grandmother asked. 

"I'd smack his face," John Wesley said.

"She wouldn't stay at home for a million bucks," June Star said. 

"Afraid she'd miss something. She has to go everywhere we go."

"All right, Miss," the grandmother said. "Just re- member that the next time you want me to curl your hair." 

June Star said her hair was naturally curly. 

The next morning the grandmother was the first one in the car, ready to go. She had her big black valise that looked like the head of a hippopotamus in one corner, and underneath it she was hiding a basket with Pitty Sing, the cat, in it. She didn't intend for the cat to be left alone in the house for three days because he would miss her too much and she was afraid he might brush against one of her gas burners and accidentally asphyxiate himself. Her son, Bailey, didn't like to arrive at a motel with a cat.

She sat in the middle of the back seat with John Wesley and June Star on either side of her. Bailey and the children's mother and the baby sat in front and they left Atlanta at eight forty-five with the mileage on the car at 55890. The grandmother wrote this down because she thought it would be interesting to say how many miles they had been when they got back. It took them twenty minutes to reach the outskirts of the city.

The old lady settled herself comfortably, removing her white cotton gloves and putting them up with her purse on the shelf in front of the back window. The children's mother still had on slacks and still had her head tied up in a green kerchief, but the grandmother had on a navy blue straw sailor hat with a bunch of white violets on the brim and a navy blue dress with a small white dot in the print. Her collars and cuffs were white organdy trimmed with lace and at her neckline she had pinned a purple spray of cloth violets containing a sachet. In case of an accident, anyone seeing her dead on the highway would know at once that she was a lady. 

She said she thought it was going to be a good day for driving, neither too hot nor too cold, and she cautioned Bailey that the speed limit was fifty-five miles an hour and that the patrolmen hid themselves behind billboards and small clumps of trees and sped out after you before you had a chance to slow down. She pointed out interesting details of the scenery: Stone Mountain; the blue granite that in some places came up to both sides of the highway; the brilliant red clay banks slightly streaked with purple; and the various crops that made rows of green lace-work on the ground. The trees were full of silver-white sunlight and the meanest of them sparkled. The children were reading comic magazines and their mother and gone back to sleep. 

"Let's go through Georgia fast so we won't have to look at it much," John Wesley said. 

"If I were a little boy," said the grandmother, "I wouldn't talk about my native state that way. Tennessee has the mountains and Georgia has the hills." 

"Tennessee is just a hillbilly dumping ground," John Wesley said, "and Georgia is a lousy state too." 

"You said it," June Star said. 

"In my time," said the grandmother, folding her thin veined fingers, "children were more respectful of their native states and their parents and everything else. People did right then. Oh look at the cute little pickaninny!" she said and pointed to a Negro child standing in the door of a shack. "Wouldn't that make a picture, now?" she asked and they all turned and looked at the little Negro out of the back window. He waved 

"He didn't have any britches on," June Star said. 

"He probably didn't have any," the grandmother explained. "Little riggers in the country don't have things like we do. If I could paint, I'd paint that picture," she said.

The children exchanged comic books. 

The grandmother offered to hold the baby and the children's mother passed him over the front seat to her. She set him on her knee and bounced him and told him about the things they were passing. She rolled her eyes and screwed up her mouth and stuck her leathery thin face into his smooth bland one. Occasionally he gave her a faraway smile. They passed a large cotton field with five or fix graves fenced in the middle of it, like a small island. "Look at the graveyard!" the grandmother said, pointing it out. "That was the old family burying ground. That belonged to the plantation." 

"Where's the plantation?" John Wesley asked. 

"Gone With the Wind" said the grandmother. "Ha. Ha." 

When the children finished all the comic books they had brought, they opened the lunch and ate it. The grandmother ate a peanut butter sandwich and an olive and would not let the children throw the box and the paper napkins out the window. When there was nothing else to do they played a game by choosing a cloud and making the other two guess what shape it suggested. John Wesley took one the shape of a cow and June Star guessed a cow and John Wesley said, no, an automobile, and June Star said he didn't play fair, and they began to slap each other over the grandmother. 

The grandmother said she would tell them a story if they would keep quiet. When she told a story, she rolled her eyes and waved her head and was very dramatic. She said once when she was a maiden lady she had been courted by a Mr. Edgar Atkins Teagarden from Jasper, Georgia. She said he was a very good-looking man and a gentleman and that he brought her a watermelon every Saturday afternoon with his initials cut in it, E. A. T. Well, one Saturday, she said, Mr. Teagarden brought the watermelon and there was nobody at home and he left it on the front porch and returned in his buggy to Jasper, but she never got the watermelon, she said, because a nigger boy ate it when he saw the initials, E. A. T. ! This story tickled John Wesley's funny bone and he giggled and giggled but June Star didn't think it was any good. She said she wouldn't marry a man that just brought her a watermelon on Saturday. The grandmother said she would have done well to marry Mr. Teagarden because he was a gentle man and had bought Coca-Cola stock when it first came out and that he had died only a few years ago, a very wealthy man. 

They stopped at The Tower for barbecued sand- wiches. The Tower was a part stucco and part wood filling station and dance hall set in a clearing outside of Timothy. A fat man named Red Sammy Butts ran it and there were signs stuck here and there on the building and for miles up and down the highway saying, TRY RED SAMMY'S FAMOUS BARBECUE. NONE LIKE FAMOUS RED SAMMY'S! RED SAM! THE FAT BOY WITH THE HAPPY LAUGH. A VETERAN! RED SAMMY'S YOUR MAN! 

Red Sammy was lying on the bare ground outside The Tower with his head under a truck while a gray monkey about a foot high, chained to a small chinaberry tree, chattered nearby. The monkey sprang back into the tree and got on the highest limb as soon as he saw the children jump out of the car and run toward him. 

Inside, The Tower was a long dark room with a counter at one end and tables at the other and dancing space in the middle. They all sat down at a board table next to the nickelodeon and Red Sam's wife, a tall burnt-brown woman with hair and eyes lighter than her skin, came and took their order. The children's mother put a dime in the machine and played "The Tennessee Waltz," and the grandmother said that tune always made her want to dance. She asked Bailey if he would like to dance but he only glared at her. He didn't have a naturally sunny disposition like she did and trips made him  nervous. The grandmother's brown eyes were very bright. She swayed her head from side to side and pretended she was dancing in her chair. June Star said play something she could tap to so the children's mother put in another dime and played a fast number and June Star stepped out onto the dance floor and did her tap routine. 

"Ain't she cute?" Red Sam's wife said, leaning over the counter. "Would you like to come be my little girl?" 

"No I certainly wouldn't," June Star said. "I wouldn't live in a broken-down place like this for a million bucks!" and she ran back to the table. 

"Ain't she cute?" the woman repeated, stretching her mouth politely. 

"Arn't you ashamed?" hissed the grandmother. 

Red Sam came in and told his wife to quit lounging on the counter and hurry up with these people's order. His khaki trousers reached just to his hip bones and his stomach hung over them like a sack of meal swaying under his shirt. He came over and sat down at a table nearby and let out a combination sigh and yodel. "You can't win," he said. "You can't win," and he wiped his sweating red face off with a gray handkerchief. "These days you don't know who to trust," he said. "Ain't that the truth?" 

"People are certainly not nice like they used to be," said the grandmother. 

"Two fellers come in here last week," Red Sammy said, "driving a Chrysler. It was a old beat-up car but it was a good one and these boys looked all right to me. Said they worked at the mill and you know I let them fellers charge the gas they bought? Now why did I do that?" 

"Because you're a good man!" the grandmother said at once.

"Yes'm, I suppose so," Red Sam said as if he were struck with this answer. 

His wife brought the orders, carrying the five plates all at once without a tray, two in each hand and one balanced on her arm. "It isn't a soul in this green world of God's that you can trust," she said. "And I don't count nobody out of that, not nobody," she repeated, looking at Red Sammy. 

"Did you read about that criminal, The Misfit, that's escaped?" asked the grandmother. 

"I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he didn't attack this place right here," said the woman. "If he hears about it being here, I wouldn't be none surprised to see him. If he hears it's two cent in the cash register, I wouldn't be a tall surprised if he . . ." 

"That'll do," Red Sam said. "Go bring these people their Co'-Colas," and the woman went off to get the rest of the order. 

"A good man is hard to find," Red Sammy said. "Everything is getting terrible. I remember the day you could go off and leave your screen door unlatched. Not no more." 

He and the grandmother discussed better times. The old lady said that in her opinion Europe was entirely to blame for the way things were now. She said the way Europe acted you would think we were made of money and Red Sam said it was no use talking about it, she was exactly right. The children ran outside into the white sunlight and looked at the monkey in the lacy chinaberry tree. He was busy catching fleas on himself and biting each one carefully between his teeth as if it were a delicacy. 

They drove off again into the hot afternoon. The grandmother took cat naps and woke up every few minutes with her own snoring. Outside of Toombsboro she woke up and recalled an old plantation that she had visited in this neighborhood once when she was a young lady. She said the house had six white columns across the front and that there was an avenue of oaks leading up to it and two little wooden trellis arbors on either side in front where you sat down with your suitor after a stroll in the garden. She recalled exactly which road to turn off to get to it. She knew that Bailey would not be willing to lose any time looking at an old house, but the more she talked about it, the more she wanted to see it once again and find out if the little twin arbors were still standing. "There was a secret:-panel in this house," she said craftily, not telling the truth but wishing that she were, "and the story went that all the family silver was hidden in it when Sherman came through but it was never found . . ." 

"Hey!" John Wesley said. "Let's go see it! We'll find it! We'll poke all the woodwork and find it! Who lives there? Where do you turn off at? Hey Pop, can't we turn off there?" 

"We never have seen a house with a secret panel!" June Star shrieked. "Let's go to the house with the secret panel! Hey Pop, can't we go see the house with the secret panel!" 

"It's not far from here, I know," the grandmother said. "It wouldn't take over twenty minutes." 

Bailey was looking straight ahead. His jaw was as rigid as a horseshoe. "No," he said. 

The children began to yell and scream that they wanted to see the house with the secret panel. John Wesley kicked the back of the front seat and June Star hung over her mother's shoulder and whined desperately into her ear that they never had any fun even on their vacation, that they could never do what THEY wanted to do. The baby began to scream and John Wesley kicked the back of the seat so hard that his father could feel the blows in his kidney. 

"All right!" he shouted and drew the car to a stop at the side of the road. "Will you all shut up? Will you all just shut up for one second? If you don't shut up, we won't go anywhere." 

"It would be very educational for them," the grandmother murmured. 

"All right," Bailey said, "but get this: this is the only time we're going to stop for anything like this. This is the one and only time." 

"The dirt road that you have to turn down is about a mile back," the grandmother directed. "I marked it when we passed." 

"A dirt road," Bailey groaned. 

After they had turned around and were headed toward the dirt road, the grandmother recalled other points about the house, the beautiful glass over the front doorway and the candle-lamp in the hall. John Wesley said that the secret panel was probably in the fireplace. 

"You can't go inside this house," Bailey said. "You don't know who lives there." 

"While you all talk to the people in front, I'll run around behind and get in a window," John Wesley suggested.

"We'll all stay in the car," his mother said. 

They turned onto the dirt road and the car raced roughly along in a swirl of pink dust. The grandmother recalled the times when there were no paved roads and thirty miles was a day's journey. The dirt road was hilly and there were sudden washes in it and sharp curves on dangerous embankments. All at once they would be on a hill, looking down over the blue tops of trees for miles around, then the next minute, they would be in a red depression with the dust-coated trees looking down on them. 

"This place had better turn up in a minute," Bailey said, "or I'm going to turn around." 

The road looked as if no one had traveled on it in months. 

"It's not much farther," the grandmother said and just as she said it, a horrible thought came to her. The thought was so embarrassing that she turned red in the face and her eyes dilated and her feet jumped up, upsetting her valise in the corner. The instant the valise moved, the newspaper top she had over the basket under it rose with a snarl and Pitty Sing, the cat, sprang onto Bailey's shoulder.
The children were thrown to the floor and their mother, clutching the baby, was thrown out the door onto the ground; the old lady was thrown into the front seat. The car turned over once and landed right-side-up in a gulch off the side of the road. Bailey remained in the driver's seat with the cat gray-striped with a broad white face and an orange nose clinging to his neck like a caterpillar. 

As soon as the children saw they could move their arms and legs, they scrambled out of the car, shouting, "We've had an ACCIDENT!" The grandmother was curled up under the dashboard, hoping she was injured so that Bailey's wrath would not come down on her all at once. The horrible thought she had had before the accident was that the house she had remembered so vividly was not in Georgia but in Tennessee. 

Bailey removed the cat from his neck with both hands and flung it out the window against the side of a pine tree. Then he got out of the car and started looking for the children's mother. She was sitting against the side of the red gutted ditch, holding the screaming baby, but she only had a cut down her face and a broken shoulder. "We've had an ACCIDENT!" the children screamed in a frenzy of delight.

"But nobody's killed," June Star said with disappointment as the grandmother limped out of the car, her hat still pinned to her head but the broken front brim standing up at a jaunty angle and the violet spray hanging off the side. They all sat down in the ditch, except the children, to recover from the shock. They were all shaking. 

"Maybe a car will come along," said the children's mother hoarsely.

"I believe I have injured an organ," said the grandmother, pressing her side, but no one answered her. Bailey's teeth were clattering. He had on a yellow sport shirt with bright blue parrots designed in it and his face was as yellow as the shirt. The grandmother decided that she would not mention that the house was in Tennessee. 

The road was about ten feet above and they could see only the tops of the trees on the other side of it. Behind the ditch they were sitting in there were more woods, tall and dark and deep. In a few minutes they saw a car some distance away on top of a hill, coming slowly as if the occupants were watching them. The grandmother stood up and waved both arms dramatically to attract their attention. The car continued to come on slowly, disappeared around a bend and appeared again, moving even slower, on top of the hill they had gone over. It was a big black battered hearselike automobile. There were three men in it. 

It came to a stop just over them and for some minutes, the driver looked down with a steady expressionless gaze to where they were sitting, and didn't speak. Then he turned his head and muttered something to the other two and they got out. One was a fat boy in black trousers and a red sweat shirt with a silver stallion embossed on the front of it. He moved around on the right side of them and stood staring, his mouth partly open in a kind of loose grin. The other had on khaki pants and a blue striped coat and a gray hat pulled down very low, hiding most of his face. He came around slowly on the left side. Neither spoke. 

The driver got out of the car and stood by the side of it, looking down at them. He was an older man than the other two. His hair was just beginning to gray and he wore silver-rimmed spectacles that gave him a scholarly look. He had a long creased face and didn't have on any shirt or undershirt. He had on blue jeans that were too tight for him and was holding a black hat and a gun. The two boys also had guns. 

"We've had an ACCIDENT!" the children screamed. 

The grandmother had the peculiar feeling that the bespectacled man was someone she knew. His face was as familiar to her as if she had known him all her life but she could not recall who he was. He moved away from the car and began to come down the embankment, placing his feet carefully so that he wouldn't slip. He had on tan and white shoes and no socks, and his ankles were red and thin. "Good afternoon," he said. "I see you all had you a little spill." 

"We turned over twice!" said the grandmother. 

"Once", he corrected. "We seen it happen. Try their car and see will it run, Hiram," he said quietly to the boy with the gray hat. 

"What you got that gun for?" John Wesley asked. "Whatcha gonna do with that gun?" 

"Lady," the man said to the children's mother, "would you mind calling them children to sit down by you? Children make me nervous. I want all you all to sit down right together there where you're at." 

"What are you telling US what to do for?" June Star asked.

Behind them the line of woods gaped like a dark open mouth. 

"Come here," said their mother. 

"Look here now," Bailey began suddenly, "we're in a predicament! We're in . . ." 

The grandmother shrieked. She scrambled to her feet and stood staring. "You're The Misfit!" she said. "I recognized you at once!" 

"Yes'm," the man said, smiling slightly as if he were pleased in spite of himself to be known, "but it would have been better for all of you, lady, if you hadn't of reckernized me." 

Bailey turned his head sharply and said something to his mother that shocked even the children. The old lady began to cry and The Misfit reddened. 

"Lady," he said, "don't you get upset. Sometimes a man says things he don't mean. I don't reckon he meant to talk to you thataway." 

"You wouldn't shoot a lady, would you?" the grandmother said and removed a clean handkerchief from her cuff and began to slap at her eyes with it. 

The Misfit pointed the toe of his shoe into the ground and made a little hole and then covered it up again. "I would hate to have to," he said. 

"Listen," the grandmother almost screamed, "I know you're a good man. You don't look a bit like you have common blood. I know you must come from nice people!" 

"Yes mam," he said, "finest people in the world." When he smiled he showed a row of strong white teeth. "God never made a finer woman than my mother and my daddy's heart was pure gold," he said. The boy with the red sweat shirt had come around behind them and was standing with his gun at his hip. The Misfit squatted down on the ground. "Watch them children, Bobby Lee," he said. "You know they make me nervous." He looked at the six of them huddled together in front of him and he seemed to be embarrassed as if he couldn't think of anything to say. "Ain't a cloud in the sky," he remarked, looking up at it. "Don't see no sun but don't see no cloud neither." 

"Yes, it's a beautiful day," said the grandmother. "Listen," she said, "you shouldn't call yourself The Misfit because I know you're a good man at heart. I can just look at you and tell." 

"Hush!" Bailey yelled. "Hush! Everybody shut up and let me handle this!" He was squatting in the position of a runner about to sprint forward but he didn't move. 

"I pre-chate that, lady," The Misfit said and drew a little circle in the ground with the butt of his gun. 

"It'll take a half a hour to fix this here car," Hiram called, looking over the raised hood of it. 

"Well, first you and Bobby Lee get him and that little boy to step over yonder with you," The Misfit said, pointing to Bailey and John Wesley. "The boys want to ast you something," he said to Bailey. "Would you mind stepping back in them woods there with them?" 

"Listen," Bailey began, "we're in a terrible predicament! Nobody realizes what this is," and his voice cracked. His eyes were as blue and intense as the parrots in his shirt and he remained perfectly still.
The grandmother reached up to adjust her hat brim as if she were going to the woods with him but it came off in her hand. She stood staring at it and after a second she let it fall on the ground. Hiram pulled Bailey up by the arm as if he were assisting an old man. John Wesley caught hold of his father's hand and Bobby I,ee followed. They went off toward the woods and just as they reached the dark edge, Bailey turned and supporting himself against a gray naked pine trunk, he shouted, "I'll be back in a minute, Mamma, wait on me!" 

"Come back this instant!" his mother shrilled but they all disappeared into the woods. 

"Bailey Boy!" the grandmother called in a tragic voice but she found she was looking at The Misfit squatting on the ground in front of her. "I just know you're a good man," she said desperately. "You're not a bit common!" 

"Nome, I ain't a good man," The Misfit said after a second ah if he had considered her statement carefully, "but I ain't the worst in the world neither. My daddy said I was a different breed of dog from my brothers and sisters. 'You know,' Daddy said, 'it's some that can live their whole life out without asking about it and it's others has to know why it is, and this boy is one of the latters. He's going to be into everything!"' He put on his black hat and looked up suddenly and then away deep into the woods as if he were embarrassed again. "I'm sorry I don't have on a shirt before you ladies," he said, hunching his shoulders slightly. "We buried our clothes that we had on when we escaped and we're just making do until we can get better. We borrowed these from some folks we met," he explained. 

"That's perfectly all right," the grandmother said. "Maybe Bailey has an extra shirt in his suitcase." 

"I'll look and see terrectly," The Misfit said. 

"Where are they taking him?" the children's mother screamed. 

"Daddy was a card himself," The Misfit said. "You couldn't put anything over on him. He never got in trouble with the Authorities though. Just had the knack of handling them." 

"You could be honest too if you'd only try," said the grandmother.
"Think how wonderful it would be to settle down and live a comfortable life and not have to think about somebody chasing you all the time." 

The Misfit kept scratching in the ground with the butt of his gun as if he were thinking about it. "Yestm, somebody is always after you," he murmured. 

The grandmother noticed how thin his shoulder blades were just behind his hat because she was standing up looking down on him. "Do you every pray?" she asked. 

He shook his head. All she saw was the black hat wiggle between his shoulder blades. "Nome," he said. 

There was a pistol shot from the woods, followed closely by another. Then silence. The old lady's head jerked around. She could hear the wind move through the tree tops like a long satisfied insuck of breath. "Bailey Boy!" she called. 

"I was a gospel singer for a while," The Misfit said. "I been most everything. Been in the arm service both land and sea, at home and abroad, been twict married, been an undertaker, been with the railroads, plowed Mother Earth, been in a tornado, seen a man burnt alive oncet," and he looked up at the children's mother and the little girl who were sitting close together, their faces white and their eyes glassy; "I even seen a woman flogged," he said. 

"Pray, pray," the grandmother began, "pray, pray . . ." 

I never was a bad boy that I remember of," The Misfit said in an almost dreamy voice, "but somewheres along the line I done something wrong and got sent to the penitentiary. I was buried alive," and he looked up and held her attention to him by a steady stare. 

"That's when you should have started to pray," she said. "What did you do to get sent to the penitentiary that first time?" 

"Turn to the right, it was a wall," The Misfit said, looking up again at the cloudless sky. "Turn to the left, it was a wall. Look up it was a ceiling, look down it was a floor. I forget what I done, lady. I set there and set there, trying to remember what it was I done and I ain't recalled it to this day. Oncet in a while, I would think it was coming to me, but it never come." 

"Maybe they put you in by mistake," the old lady said vaguely. 

"Nome," he said. "It wasn't no mistake. They had the papers on me." 

"You must have stolen something," she said. 

The Misfit sneered slightly. "Nobody had nothing I wanted," he said. "It was a head-doctor at the penitentiary said what I had done was kill my daddy but I known that for a lie. My daddy died in nineteen ought nineteen of the epidemic flu and I never had a thing to do with it. He was buried in the Mount Hopewell Baptist churchyard and you can go there and see for yourself." 

"If you would pray," the old lady said, "Jesus would help you." 

"That's right," The Misfit said. 

"Well then, why don't you pray?" she asked trembling with delight suddenly. 

"I don't want no hep," he said. "I'm doing all right by myself." 

Bobby Lee and Hiram came ambling back from the woods. Bobby Lee was dragging a yellow shirt with bright blue parrots in it. 

"Thow me that shirt, Bobby Lee," The Misfit said. The shirt came flying at him and landed on his shoulder and he put it on. The grandmother couldn't name what the shirt reminded her of. "No, lady," The Misfit said while he was buttoning it up, "I found out the crime don't matter. You can do one thing or you can do another, kill a man or take a tire off his car, because sooner or later you're going to forget what it was you done and just be punished for it." 

The children's mother had begun to make heaving noises as if she couldn't get her breath. "Lady," he asked, "would you and that little girl like to step off yonder with Bobby Lee and Hiram and join your husband?" 

"Yes, thank you," the mother said faintly. Her left arm dangled helplessly and she was holding the baby, who had gone to sleep, in the other. "Hep that lady up, Hiram," The Misfit said as she struggled to climb out of the ditch, "and Bobby Lee, you hold onto that little girl's hand." 

"I don't want to hold hands with him," June Star said. "He reminds me of a pig." 

The fat boy blushed and laughed and caught her by the arm and pulled her off into the woods after Hiram and her mother. 

Alone with The Misfit, the grandmother found that she had lost her voice. There was not a cloud in the sky nor any sun. There was nothing around her but woods. She wanted to tell him that he must pray. She opened and closed her mouth several times before anything came out. Finally she found herself saying, "Jesus. Jesus," meaning, Jesus will help you, but the way she was saying it, it sounded as if she might be cursing. 

"Yes'm, The Misfit said as if he agreed. "Jesus shown everything off balance. It was the same case with Him as with me except He hadn't committed any crime and they could prove I had committed one because they had the papers on me. Of course," he said, "they never shown me my papers. That's why I sign myself now. I said long ago, you get you a signature and sign everything you do and keep a copy of it. Then you'll know what you done and you can hold up the crime to the punishment and see do they match and in the end you'll have something to prove you ain't been treated right. I call myself The Misfit," he said, "because I can't make what all I done wrong fit what all I gone through in punishment." 

There was a piercing scream from the woods, followed closely by a pistol report. "Does it seem right to you, lady, that one is punished a heap and another ain't punished at all?" 

"Jesus!" the old lady cried. "You've got good blood! I know you wouldn't shoot a lady! I know you come from nice people! Pray! Jesus, you ought not to shoot a lady. I'll give you all the money I've got!" 

"Lady," The Misfit said, looking beyond her far into the woods, "there never was a body that give the undertaker a tip." 

There were two more pistol reports and the grandmother raised her head like a parched old turkey hen crying for water and called, "Bailey Boy, Bailey Boy!" as if her heart would break. 

"Jesus was the only One that ever raised the dead," The Misfit continued, "and He shouldn't have done it. He shown everything off balance. If He did what He said, then it's nothing for you to do but thow away everything and follow Him, and if He didn't, then it's nothing for you to do but enjoy the few minutes you got left the best way you can by killing somebody or burning down his house or doing some other meanness to him. No pleasure but meanness," he said and his voice had become almost a snarl.


"I wasn't there so I can't say He didn't," The Misfit said. "I wisht I had of been there," he said, hitting the ground with his fist. "It ain't right I wasn't there because if I had of been there I would of known. Listen lady," he said in a high voice, "if I had of been there I would of known and I wouldn't be like I am now." His voice seemed about to crack and the grandmother's head cleared for an instant. She saw the man's face twisted close to her own as if he were going to cry and she murmured, "Why you're one of my babies. You're one of my own children !" She reached out and touched him on the shoulder. The Misfit sprang back as if a snake had bitten him and shot her three times through the chest. Then he put his gun down on the ground and took off his glasses and began to clean them. 


Hiram and Bobby Lee returned from the woods and stood over the ditch, looking down at the grandmother who half sat and half lay in a puddle of blood with her legs crossed under her like a child's and her face smiling up at the cloudless sky. 

Without his glasses, The Misfit's eyes were red-rimmed and pale and defenseless-looking. "Take her off and thow her where you thown the others," he said, picking up the cat that was rubbing itself against his leg. 

"She was a talker, wasn't she?" Bobby Lee said, sliding down the ditch with a yodel. 

"She would of been a good woman," The Misfit said, "if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life." 

"Some fun!" Bobby Lee said. 

"Shut up, Bobby Lee," The Misfit said. "It's no real pleasure in 
 life." 






Author:  Flannery O'Connor  
Born in Savannah, Georgia, USA  (1925-1964
http://edbar1952-accomplishedignorant.blogspot.com