ARCIES GUN

There was a time that we all thought was grand. Happy times, prosperity, and silly laughter at the stairs. The house was open and life was abundant. We lived on the side of a mountain. The river that flowed below us at the end of the yard was full of a boy’s idea of fun, danger and movement. The train tracks above us followed the road in an easement too close to the house, someone else’s decision. Papa lost his lungs and his will from working the coal mines. with every hard days work, breathing stagnant air of coal dust and smoking, he gave up his ghost, hacking away his moments in time. Mama worked hard and took care of him and us and followed, shortly after. I was afraid to look at him in his bed, as hollow as the caves he worked in. Still, time went by. The river was constant and the older I got, all I could think of was leaving. Things don’t change much, I think, sittin’ here holding this gun. Stuck. After all I found out there, just to wind up here. With my sisters, in this drafty house full of cats and kittens. Curtains hung between rooms to keep in the heat. Getting rattier as I speak. Steeped in tradition and architecture. The smell of fried this and that, pungent to the nose. Okra, cornbread, beans and hocks. Fried chicken, tomatoes green and red from the vine. Hot sauce, catfish I caught, and wild game brother Jack killed from the mountains. Greens from the garden with fat back. All those things gone. Nothin’ but people looking around for something they thought they’d saved for a rainy day, eternally lost in mountains of necessaries. My sisters one weak, one strong, float through the house already ghosts. Outside on the porch Olive lays and rests on a chaise between pillars of nostalgia and progress. A beauty, and frail, scared most men away. Such grace she had. Or maybe it was Annie who chased the men away to protect her from something she would never have. Olive could have been a film star, you know, with her poise, she could light up a room. But now, well, she’s still, and there, she began to write. I didn’t ever see her writings. I’m not sure anyone did, and I couldn’t tell you what ever happened to them. I bet Annie knows just that. But I know she did write ‘cause she would hide them if I came up on her unexpected. Even though she’s dead and gone she still lies on her chaise on the front porch writing, worried I might sneak a peek and see, She would have a fun little smile for me and look away. Funny, I never even questioned her haunting. it all just seem so natural to me. I stay in my room most of the time now. When I came back I wasn’t surprised. I saw Olive every day but we never spoke. She was up and down the stairs, out in the garden, down by the river so fierce, unafraid. She was always afraid, but no more. Rain didn’t drench her clothes in the garden. She’d walk the halls of the house, glorious and beautiful. Glide the stairs as nothing, although in life she couldn’t move. We would watch the sunset together, no words between us. My life? I knew people once, or thought I did……. When I chose to escape, I chose the river, the Kanawah. It flowed south and barges moved coal from the mines and were always looking for workers. I didn’t stop and wonder I just put my name in to start my journey. They hemmed and hawed about my age, but brother Jack talked to the Captain ‘cause he knew him and I was let on, trial basis. What a day that was and I looked forward to gettin’ on board. Out of Sister land and on my own, truly on my own. I hooked up in Charleston at the dock office Jack dropped me off so I could go it alone. Looked better that way but I was scared to death and made sure I wouldn’t show it. Guess those boys I got to know in time had a big old laugh when they saw me. They looked at me like I had seven heads. Sixteen I was. I was willing to do what I had to do, to get the heck away. and away I went. What would you expect though with the lot I fell in with a young sixteen year old with a bunch of river rats. These men tested me all the time and I stood well in their eyes. A more agreeing bunch I would never find again. Hard livin’ and drinkin’ sort, my Ma would sit up in her grave. I didn’t care. I seen some come on same as me, but get gone, no one said a thing. I never felt such close ties as with these fellas. Family? I have to wonder what that is. It weren’t my sisters or my parents, Jack was always gone. It was this boat and what I had to do. My mates let me make my mistakes, which I did over and over. But, they saved me from overboard or getting crushed between floats. The boat doesn’t go back and get ya. I was becoming a riverboat man. The river was more than I could imagine. It raged at times. Sand bars and crooked reels, stumps and debris, made the Captain who he was. A hard man, as you might guess, a cussin’ man.A man true to his word and refined in his judgement of what needed done. And for the first time, I felt alive. I did every job the Captain gave me to do, I didn’t care what it was. We’d float them barges down the Kanawah to the Ohio and back. Slept when we could, laughed all day, and felt a brotherhood I can’t explain. There were those that got hurt and those that died. We became closer, all through that tide. When we got to our destination we’d all go a bit nuts. I learned things that I never knew before there too. I lost myself amongst the town and those who lived there. Never caring to stay but wanting their company , given or not. But as time would move we’d get our call, “ On board ya Bastards” and we’d follow through. Most of us found ourselves back at the dock already, snoozing by the ship, bored with the town and the town not sorry to see us go. Like I said there were accidents, unexplained. Most of us knew the reasons but never said anything. Men would be lost over night, not show up the next day. Their lockers would be sent to their families, marked : Tragedy on board. The Sheriff would come to the dock and sit with the Captain in the wheelhouse. He’d leave with a head full of tales and whiskey. It was then when going through the late Ned Tussoues’ I found this .38 caliber pistol. It was a cumbersome thing and the action was hard to move the trigger. I decided I’d keep this gun and not say nothin’. There was some trouble goin’ on and well, maybe I might need this. But my mates were standing behind me. All the same it wouldn’t be missed. Not too long after, I started having dreams of folks I’d never seen before, Music was there, some foreign some not, disturbing sounds. Peoples voices crying out. I just thought I was drinkin’ too much and would get up and have coffee and work another shift. I thought one night at the rail of the bow, when we get to our port I’ll sell this gun for another, better one. And the fog swirled in and made images before my eyes and wisped away. The paddle kept turning. Next stop we dropped our floats and for a couple of days go crazy. Everywhere I went the store owner would shy away from the gun. It wasn’t pristine by any means, markings on the butt I’d never noticed, I just thought it was a signature of another owner. I didn’t give it much thought and decided to keep it and get it set up right. The gunsmith did the work begrudgingly, Gave me a cold stare when I collected it, He handed it to me wrapped in a cloth and didn’t charge me, and left the counter immediately. I got back to my room at the hotel where we all stayed. All the boys were at the bar already. I sat down on this broken bed and took out the .38. It worked so smooth, it slipped, as I fumbled to catch it, I never felt the bullet. Annie was beside herself, but then what’s new. The Captain brought me home and my mates carried my locker. She stayed away from my room for a long time. I watched Olive as Annie fussed about the house. The house was up for sale. Jack came down as much as he could and he was the one who went through my locker. He found the gun and kept it, he didn’t say anything. It was late evening, Jack stood at the river with his son. The fog gathered in and swirled, made images before their eyes and wisped away. Jack took the gun home with him and never said a thing. He thought to himself, This isn’t fair, but then, nothing is fair. .