The Road to Memphis (8 page)

The Hunt

The thing about going on a coon hunt was that a body had to be totally prepared, and that included taking along every item of importance. Before we left the house, we made sure we had ourselves a goodly size bag of peanuts, some potatoes for baking, a couple of jugs of cider, a kerosene lantern, matches, a flashlight, hunting knives, hunting bags, a rifle, and an ax. Then we set out for the cane field, where we chopped ourselves some cane. Now that we had all the essentials, we were ready. With three hound dogs along and with Stacey carrying the rifle, we set off for the woods.

The hunt had begun.

Clarence Hopkins led the way into the moonlit forest. The
day had cooled considerably and was no longer miserable. A slight wind stirred. When we reached the Caroline, I slipped off my skirt, folded it lengthwise, and hung it neatly on the branch of a pine. The boys paid no attention and walked on. I had done this same thing plenty of times before. I rolled down my pants legs, then ran to catch up with the boys.

Wearing rubber boots to protect our feet from the damp of the forest floor, for some time we walked single file along the trail. Finally we came to the ridge leading down to the Rosa Lee and stopped. Earlier Harris and Clarence had baited several traps with fish, covered the traps with leaves and brush, and secured them to tree roots at the edge of the creek. We decided to wait until later to check them. We left the ridge and moved back into the forest to set up a camp that would be far removed from the traps, so that the dogs wouldn’t be drawn to them. Then the hounds picked up a scent and we released them to track the coons. Now we got down to the fun part of the hunt. We gathered some wood and built ourselves a fire, then roasted our peanuts and potatoes, peeled our sugarcane, and settled back around the fire to await the barking of the dogs.

“Won’t be long now,” predicted Harris, sipping at a cider jug. “Ole T-Bone gonna soon be on the scent.”

The rest of us laughed. T-Bone was Harris’s dog and had lost whatever hunting skills he was supposed to have practically the day after he was born.

“Ah, man,” said Little Willie, “that ole T-Bone couldn’t smell a coon if you put it right up under his nose.”

“Shoot, I don’t even think he know what his nose is for!” declared Clarence.

“Excepting to get him into trouble,” I contended. “Remember that time we came down hunting with Mr. Morrison and
old T-Bone was stupid enough to follow that coon down to the water and that coon near to drowned him—”

“Would’ve too,” said Little Man, “Mr. Morrison hadn’t’ve come along! Old coon just sitting there in the water, holding T-Bone’s head under!”

Christopher-John shook his head. “Poor ole T-Bone,” he uttered; then he couldn’t keep from laughing.

We all laughed again, and Harris took our teasing in stride. He even smiled himself. He was accustomed to our ridiculing his dog. “That’s all right,” he said. “Y’all jus’ keep on talkin’ ’bout T-Bone ’cause he gonna make y’all eat y’all’s words. Y’all jus’ wait and see. He gonna be the first dog down there barkin’. Why, even Mr. Morrison said he had a nose—”

“You know, Harris,” said Stacey, joining in the fun, “even Mr. Morrison could be wrong. He said so himself.”

“But he wasn’t often, was he, now?” asked Harris.

Stacey looked at him for a long moment while we all were silent, thinking on the giant man, Mr. L. T. Morrison. Mr. Morrison had come walking along the road one day with Papa years ago when we all were very young, and had stayed. He had become a part of our family and a part of the community too. He had been special to all of us. Now he was gone. Stacey answered Harris quietly: “Naw, Harris, naw, he wasn’t often.”

“Yeah, but he was that time!” cracked Little Willie, and laughter came back. “He was here, he’d tell you so!”

We all laughed on, and that included Harris. Then we were merciful and let the subject of poor ole T-Bone rest. For some time after, we ate and laughed and drank our cider, told stories about days past, about hunts with Papa and Uncle Hammer and Mr. Morrison, and hunts with Clarence’s papa, J.D., and Willie’s papa too. We talked and teased each other about days present, including everybody’s love life—or lack of it—and
gave little thought to raccoons. Then Clarence turned to Stacey on a sudden and said: “Stacey, like to get me a ride up to Jackson with y’all tomorrow. There room?”

“What you wanna go to Jackson for, boy?” inquired Willie. “You gonna get a job?”

Clarence grinned. “Gonna join the Army.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Y’all remember my cousin El live over the other side of Strawberry? He come down here a few summers back.”

“El,” said Stacey. “Yeah, sure—”

“Well, he done joined the Army!”

“That a fact?”

“Uh-huh, and he come down here on leave couple weeks ago, and we got to talkin’ ’bout the Army, and he say it’s all right. He talked so good ’bout it, I been figurin’ maybe I’d join up myself. What you think, Stacey?”

Stacey took his time before he answered, and that was good, because Clarence thought a lot of his opinion. After all, since childhood, Stacey had pretty much been the leader of their small band of friends that included himself, Moe, Willie, Clarence, and at one time long ago, a boy named T. J. Avery. Willie, though, took no time for pondering. “I think you a fool,” he said.

“I ain’t askin’ you!” retorted Clarence.

“Didn’t need to ask me. Was happy to tell you without you asking.”

Clarence turned away from Willie, ignoring him. “Stacey? What you say, man?”

“Well, I tell you, Clarence,” said Stacey, taking the cider jug, “joining up, it’s not something I’d do.”

“Well, you got no cause to!” exclaimed Clarence, defending his action. “Shoot! Your folks always done had somethin’! And
now you up workin’ in Jackson, bringin’ back that paycheck. You makin’ so much money, you can ’ford to go ’head and buy a car! Me and mine, we ain’t never had much of nothin’ ’ceptin’ that plot of land of Mr. Harlan Granger’s! I join the Army, I get me a uniform, then I belong to Uncle Sam!”

“That what you want, Clarence,” said Stacey, “I’m not talking against it. I’m just saying, me, I’d never join. Don’t see the need of it.”

“But you’ll take me to Jackson?”

“Course, that’s what you want.”

Clarence seemed relieved, not only for the ride but that by giving him one, Stacey had also given him his approval. “Well, good, then! Give me a chance for a nice long ride in that new car of yours!”

“What your folks got to say ’bout all this?” questioned Willie. “Or ain’t you told them?”

“I told ’em all right, but you know Papa, he ain’t wantin’ me to go. He wantin’ me to stay on and help him. But I got me a mind for the Army. I like them uniforms!”

“Well, you better be liking them a whole lot,” I advised. “A war break out and you have to go fight, you might end up being buried in one.”

Clarence laughed. “Shoot! I know how to use a gun and I ain’t afraid to fight! Ain’t nobody gonna shoot me!”

“Well, what about Sissy, then?” said Stacey. “I know she can’t be liking the idea.”

“Ah, Stace, that girl, she ain’t even talkin’ to me. Said she ain’t studyin’ me, I go off and leave her. That’s what we was arguing ’bout when y’all come ’cross us on the road today. Said I can just forget ’bout her, I do.”

“But you going anyway?”

“Why, shoot, yeah! Ain’t no woman the boss of me!”

“No woman ’cepting your mama and Sissy,” I muttered.

Clarence glanced over at me and laughed. “Well, we just see ’bout that, Cassie. We jus’ see ’bout that, ’cause I got my mind set. I’m goin’! And, Harris, you can jus’ tell yo’ little ole sister that for me too!”

Harris shrugged. “You tell her. Got nothin’ t’ do with me, and I ain’t wantin’ her comin’ down on my head for telling her what you been sayin’ ’round—” He stopped abruptly and got up.

“What is it?” asked Christopher-John.

“Sounds . . . that sounds like T-Bone done bayed a coon.”

Willie shrieked with laughter. “Boy, sit on down and enjoy these here peanuts! You know that ole hound ain’t got nothin’!”

“He got reason for barkin’,” contended Harris.

“Poor ole dog,” I commiserated. “He probably got reason all right. He probably down there barking because he got himself cornered in that water again.”

Harris frowned, looking a bit worried at the thought. “Y’all jus’ wait on here,” he said, grabbing a flashlight. “Me and T-Bone be back ’fore long.”

“’Ey, don’t you wanna take along a rifle?” called Clarence. “Case you want to shoot down that coon T-Bone got treed?”

Harris glanced back in silence, then, as we laughed again he hurried off as fast as he could without the rifle.

“’Ey, Harris, wait up!” I yelled and got up and followed him. I certainly wasn’t worrying about T-Bone. I just had a mind to go along with Harris because he seemed worried and was so ridiculously crazy about that dog of his. “I expect you’re going to miss Clarence now that he’s going off to the Army,” I said, trailing behind him.

“Yeah. Worst thing ’bout him goin’, though, is Sissy. That girl, she ’bout fit to be tied. Ain’t no livin’ with her now.”

“Suppose not.” We walked on. As we neared the ridge leading down to the banks of the Rosa Lee, Harris stopped. “What is it?” I said.

He was silent a moment, then looked to the north. “Somebody else huntin’ in these woods, Cassie. Listen.”

I did and heard someone too. “Maybe that’s Stacey and them.”

Harris shook his head. “Naw, sound comin’ up from the wrong direction.”

“Well, anyway, whoever it is, they don’t have anything to do with us,” I decided and moved on down the ridge.

“Wait, Cassie.”

I was getting irritated. “Boy, what for?”

“Wanna see which way they headed. May be best not to run into ’em.”

“Harris, come on! Thought you wanted to see if that ole hound of yours got himself a coon.”

Harris seemed uncertain but came on anyway. We reached the banks of the Rosa Lee, and Harris pointed out some fresh coon tracks. “Look at how big they is, Cassie. Gonna have us some fine coon tonight!” I nodded in anticipation for I loved coon meat as much as anybody. Smothered in onions and garlic alongside great, golden-colored yams, baked coon was a grand feast.

Harris, his eyes to the ground, followed the tracks, and I followed him. We were so intent on the tracks that we forgot that someone besides us was in the forest. Then someone yelled: “’Ey, Harris! Cassie! This here ole coon dog b’long to y’all?” We looked around. From down the bank came Statler, Leon, and Troy Aames, and Jeremy Simms. All four carried rifles, and Leon and Troy each were holding on to two hunting dogs. Statler had hold of T-Bone. “Where y’all headed off to in these woods?”

Harris glanced at me and stuttered an answer. “We . . . we doin’ us a bit of huntin’, Mr. Statler.”

“Just you and this gal here? That seems mighty cozy like to me. Thought you said it was you and Clarence s’pose to be goin’ huntin’.” He grinned in that offensive way he had at me. “What? You like fat boys, Cassie?”

Leon and Troy laughed. Jeremy just stood there. I didn’t say anything to them. I just told Harris to come on and turned away.

“Now, wait a minute, wait a minute,” ordered Statler. “Y’all say y’all goin’ huntin’? How’s ’bout we all go huntin’ together? ’Specially since we got your dog here. Always did like me a coon hunt. Harris, tell you what. You be the coon.”

Harris’s eyes grew wide. “S-suh?”

“What? Ain’t you heard me?”

Harris looked at me, then back at Statler. “I . . . I don’t know what ya mean.”

“Sure ya do! We gonna have us a coon hunt, and you gonna be the coon. You make a nice fine fat one too!” He turned. “Leon! Troy! Y’all let them dogs get a smell at Harris! We gonna hunt us some coon t’night!”

The dogs came in close. Harris backed away. Leon and Troy laughed. I looked at Jeremy, wanting him to say something to stop this, but he looked at Statler and didn’t speak. “Harris,” I said, figuring to shoot up that ridge and get back to Stacey and the others, “come on, let’s go.” But Harris didn’t move.

Leon nudged Statler. “Seem like to me, Stat, maybe it be more enjoyable it was Cassie there the coon. Sure would be delightful we was to get her cornered.”

My heart was already beating fast. Now it began to race.
Again I looked to Jeremy. This time he spoke up. “Ah, Stat, leave ’em be—”

“We just funnin’ ’em, Jeremy! They know that.”

I stepped away, and Harris turned to follow. Statler released T-Bone and cocked his rifle. “You hard of hearin’, boy?” he asked as T-Bone ran off into the night. “You actin’ like you don’t wanna hunt with us. I take offense to that. Here I am bein’ all friendly. Second time I done invited you to join our company, and you just walking off—”

“No, suh, I—”

“Offendin’ me and mine.”

“No, suh, I ain’t meant no offense! I—”

“Then you gonna ’cept our invite and go huntin’ with us?” Statler fondled the rifle as if about to use it.

Harris gasped for air. “Yes . . . yes, suh . . . th-that what ya want—”

“Then, run, boy! Go ’head! Run!”

Harris looked at me. “Harris, don’t—”

But Harris, with the dogs leaping dangerously near, backed fearfully away.

“I said run!”

Harris did run. He turned away from the dogs and, his whole body shaking, ran as fast as he could down the banks of the Rosa Lee. But he was too heavy to run far, and he soon began to falter. Leon and Troy and Statler laughed. Harris looked a comical figure, but there was nothing funny about his fear. He fell, and Statler called, “Get on up, boy, and go on! Don’t let the dogs get ya now!”

“Y’all leave him be!” I cried as Harris looked back wildly, struggled up, and ran on, leaving his flashlight behind still shining on the ground.

Statler looked at me. “You know, I’m thinkin’ maybe Leon’s right. We oughta be chasin’ you. You got more fight . . . .”

“’Ey, Stat!” called Troy, drawing his attention. “He gettin’ away!”

I took my chance, turned, and dashed up the ridge.

Statler laughed.

“We goin’ after him?” asked Troy.

“Gotta go after somebody,” said Leon as the dogs strained at their ropes. “Can’t hold these ole hounds here much longer.”