Kenneth Tingle - Strangeville (6 page)

Biff lived on a side street close to downtown. As far as I could tell, most of the neighborhoods in Strangeville looked the same—small houses, tin roofs, a garbage can here and there, and sometimes a bathtub or other strange object sitting alongside a house. Klemm spoke to Biff briefly at the diner, and he was all too eager to let me move in. The three of us drove over together in Klemm’s Thunderbird.

When we pulled up to Biff’s place, he beamed with pride, and boasted, “They says a man’s house is his castle.”

“That’s what they say,” I cordially agreed.

  Klemm popped the trunk and pulled out my suitcase. I was really hoping Biff had a closet for me so I could finally stop lugging this thing around.

“Best of luck ta ya,” Klemm said as he patted me on the shoulder.

“Thanks for everything, Klemm. You’ve been a big help.”

“Ah reckon it’s been ma pleasure.”

He hopped back in his car, somehow managed a U-turn on this narrow road, and waved to us as he drove away.

  I took a good look at Biff’s place. The house was white, although houses here were only white or yellow, nothing else. Perhaps painting your house any other color was illegal in Strangeville, and with a mayor who told them who to call and what to drive, I figured anything was possible.

His grass was almost up to my knees, so obviously it hadn’t been cut in awhile. It was just a plain white house that blended in with a bunch of other plain houses. Biff opened the small wooden gate, and I followed him down a short brick path to his front door.

“Woof, woof,” barked a dog somewhere behind us.

I turned around and saw that three-legged dog heading toward us, running surprisingly fast on only three legs.

“Aw heck, there’s ma dog, Tripod.”

“Tripod,” I chuckled. “That’s pretty clever.”

“One day um at the mines, an this feller sets up some kind a stand fer a drill er somethin’. Ah sees the stand only gut three legs. So ah asks the feller, ‘What’s that?’ an the feller says, ‘It’s a tripod.’ So when ah found this here rascal diggin’ in the trash fer a meal, ah took him into ma home. Then ah wonders what ta name him. Ah figures the tripod only gut three legs, he only gut three legs, so that’s what ah named him—Tripod,” Biff said as he scratched the dog’s head between the ears.

He opened the door without a key and I followed him inside.

“You don’t lock your door?” I asked in a surprised tone of voice.

“Lock it? How in the devil am ah gonna git in?”

“With a key,” I laughed.

“What fer?” he asked, like it was the stupidest question he had ever heard.

“So no one goes in and steals your stuff. Or comes in and hurts you.”

“John, folks here in Strangeville ain’t the sort ta do that stuff. C’mon, ah’ll show ya to yer room.”

We went up a narrow, creaky staircase that was right in front of us as we walked in. Tripod followed behind and stuck his nose in my ass all the way to the second floor, looking for some critical information that can only be obtained between the cheeks of other living creatures. On the second floor, Biff opened a door.

“Hope ya like it,” he said.

It was a small room with a twin bed and a four-drawer bureau.

“It’s perfect,” I said gratefully.

“Aw shucks, glad ya like it.”

“Biff, would you mind if I used the shower? I haven’t had one in a few days.”

“Help yerself, ” he politely said. “Bathroom’s right here next ta ya room.”

He walked back down the stairs.

“Ah’ll fix us some vittles,” he hollered up from the kitchen.

I threw my suitcase on the bed and clicked it open. There were still enough clean clothes for a week, considering I hadn’t changed since I left Massachusetts. I neatly placed things in the drawers and put my deodorant, toothpaste, and shampoo on top of the bureau.

I looked at my dead cell phone and hid it below some underwear. It’s funny how you take the little things in life for granted; it was an old bathtub with those clawed feet, the pipes rattling as they worked, but the hot water felt like a miracle as it beat against my skin and washed two days’ of sweat and grime off my body. I dried off in front of a small mirror that hung above the sink. Being outside in the Southern sun had tanned my face a little, and I liked the way it looked.

“John, come an git some vittles while it’s good an hot,” Biff hollered up the stairs.

The pajamas I packed were on top so I threw them on and went down the squeaky stairs to his kitchen. He had one of those Philco refrigerators with a big silver handle like Leatherface. Otherwise, things were much cleaner—no stack of dirty dishes, no raw chicken being chopped up, and no flies hovering around the table. There were two plates with pork chops and mashed potatoes; utensils and water sat neatly to the side of each.

“Dig in before it gits up an runs off,” Biff chuckled.

“Looks great. Thanks, Biff. I’ll pay you for everything as soon as I get a chance.”

“Ah forgit all that foolishness. Ya don’t owe me a doggone thang,” he said with a cheek full of food, like it was the silliest thing he had ever heard.

I cut the pork chop into pieces and took a bite—it was soft and tasteful, just like the mashed potatoes.

“Biff, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure thang.”

“What can you tell me about Delilah?”

“Aw shucks….” he grinned, “…Klemm says ya ain’t in no hurry ta leave no more. Now ah knows why, ah ha ha ha.”

“Seriously, Biff, I want to know all about her. Do you know much?”

“Aw, heck, ah watched her grow up from a lil’ girl ta a fine lady. Ain’t a prettier woman in all of Strangeville. No, sir, there jes ain’t.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

“Reckon she don’t as far as ah know.”

I tried to hide how happy I was to hear this, but I couldn’t help smiling. Biff shook his head; both cheeks full of potatoes, almost choked, and then washed it down with a gulp of water.

“John, ya look like ya just found a trunk full a gold!”

I grinned again.

“Was she ever in love? Married, engaged, anything like that?”

“Naw, nothin’ like that. Fellers been chasin’ Delilah as long as ah can remember. A few of em gut a date, maybe two. One feller who works wit me in the mines took her out a few times. Ah reckon he was head over heels in love wit her an did his best ta win her over. But all he ever gut was two dates. No feller ever gut more than two dates wit her. Ah reckon he even asked her what she was waitin’ fer, an she says, ‘The right feller.’ So ma friend says, ‘If ya never lets a feller take ya out more than twice, how ya gonna know if he’s the right feller?’ An she tells him, ‘Ah’ll jes know when ah sees him.’ Ah reckon that’s what she done told him.”

“Wow, no one ever got more than two dates. This isn’t going to be easy.”

Biff wiped his plate clean with a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth,

“No, sir, ain’t gonna be easy at all.”

“I guess not,I sighed, “…but thanks for the great dinner. Folks in Strangeville sure can cook.”

Biff changed into some long john-type underwear and those long pencil legs of his just looked so bizarre underneath his big round body as he came down the steps.

“Hey, John, let’s watch a lil’ tel-e-vision.”

He clicked a knob on an old television. It had wooden sides and wood legs like a big piece of furniture, a glass screen in the middle, and a wire going from the back all the way up the wall into a hole in the ceiling. It reminded me of visits to my grandparents’ house when I was a little boy.

Granddad would be sitting in his recliner eating a pot pie and always made me change the channel for him. When we told him they now had remote controls he said, “What will these lazy bastards come up with next? A remote control toilet flusher?” I wanted to ask Biff where he got it, but I figured this was just another luxury the mayor furnished to the people.

The picture tube lit up, but it was all static and fuzzy.

“It’ll be on anytime now,” Biff reassured me. “Reckon it’s right about six o’clock.”

I sat on an old fluffy couch across from him. The picture cleared with an alarm type sound, like there would be a public service announcement, and a man sitting at a desk appeared.

“Good evenin’, Strangeville. We gut a heck of a show tonight. We’ll have the weather fer y’all a lil’ later. But first we gonna interview our very own music man, Billy Bob Jenkins.”

A lanky man with long blond hair and a hat walked out and sat behind the desk across from the host.

“Billy Bob, so good ta have ya on,” the host said, shaking his hand.

“It’s ma pleasure, Wade.”

“Billy Bob, let’s talk about yer latest hit,
Her heart t’was as cold as a broken furnace in an ice storm
. Jes how did ya come up wit that one?”

“Aw heck, cuz her heart was as cold as a broken furnace in an ice storm. Ain’t no science ta it. That’s why ah done left her.”

He seemed annoyed by the interview and kept fidgeting with a pencil on the desk.

“Okey dokey, Billy Bob. Anythin’ in particular ya care ta discuss?” the host asked with nervous laughter at the end.

The singer took his hat off, ran his fingers through his long blond hair and put his hat back on. When he spoke, a gold tooth was visible in the front.

“Let’s talk about what y’all gut ta drink in this here place.”

“Ya want a drink a water?”

“Wade, ya know ah ain’t talkin’ about water. What kind a shine ya gut under this here desk?”

  “Hold on, Billy Bob, ya know the mayor don’t want no drinkin’ when folks is on the tel-e-vision.”

The singer looked even more frustrated, as he said, “Who y’all kiddin’? Ah’ll bet the mayor gut himself a big ol’ jug of shine right now, an he’s probably half way done wit it.”

The host’s face was red as he looked behind him nervously. Suddenly one of the mayor’s big thugs came walking onto the screen.

“Mistah Jenkins, we gonna have ta ask ya ta leave.”

The singer didn’t move. He sat there defiantly staring the thugs in the face.

“Ya want me ta leave? Ya invite me ta yer show an don’t even offer me a drink a shine.”

  Biff shook his head, then walked over and clicked the television off.

“Doggone it, ah don’t know why they couldn’t jes give ol Billy Bob a glass a shine, after all he been through an everythin’. Ah ain’t even gonna watch the weather.”

“Biff, was he talking about moonshine?”

“Sure was! Ah gut me a lil’ under the sink. What do ya say we have us a lil’ taste?”

He stood up from the couch with his long pencil legs wrapped in long johns, his large round upper body awkwardly above them, and the insanity of it all suddenly hit me—this town, the people, no way of leaving, and me risking everything for a girl I knew nothing about.

  He crouched down and opened a cabinet door below the sink, pulled out a glass jar with clear liquid and walked back into the living room with a devilish grin, saying, “Don’t tell me ya never had any shine before?”

“Actually, I haven’t.”

Biff poured a little in two glasses and handed one to me.

“Bottoms up, feller,” he said, holding his glass up.

“Bottoms up,” I agreed, tapping his glass with mine.

He took a sip and I did the same. There was the sensation that fire was going down my throat into my stomach. My eyes became watery and I coughed violently.

  “Ah ha ha ha!” He burst out laughing. “Shoot, ah did the same thang wit ma first sip a shine!”

“Wooo, man.” I struggled to get the words out of my spasming throat. “It’s like jet fuel.”

Biff laughed again, and then said, “Ah reckon more than one feller done run his car on this stuff.”

There was a warm sensation throughout my body, and for the first time in months, I felt completely relaxed. It wasn’t just the moonshine. Biff made me feel like I was an old friend that he was so happy to see. Maybe he was odd-looking; maybe nature put the wrong legs and body together, but I didn’t care how he looked. All the beautiful and perfect people I had ever met had always treated people around them like dirt. They’d used them to get what they wanted, and then tossed them away like old trash. Biff was just so genuine. I took to him right away.

  I took my last sip of moonshine and coughed violently again. Biff laughed from the belly up.

“That-a-boy, go git em,” he chuckled.

I grinned back, and whispered, “I hope I can walk after this.”

“Truth is, John, um all worn out. Ah reckon um goin’ ta bed early. We needs ta be up at the crack a dawn. Ya should do the same.”

“Biff, I’m so worn out, I’ll be happy to hit the rack right now.”

He slapped me on the back in a friendly way and then headed up the stairs to his room. One thing about Strangeville was clear now: A pat on the shoulder or light slap on the back was a symbol of friendship, and an induction into their circle of friends.