Watertown, Chapter 6, Gerry

“I need to go see my ma, right away” Jack said in between bites of eating Mr. Pope’s pork chop. Mr. Pope placed a bowl mixed of grease, pig’s ears, sorghum and bones on the floor. Charley buried his snout. “I'm gonna go back tonight," Jack said as Mr. Pope shoved a bowl of applesauce towards him. He pushed a spoon towards Jack."So tell me again what happened," Jack said as he moved the bowl next to his plate and dug into the applesauce.

"What's this talk about moving everyone off the ridge.”

“How come you didn’t call ahead nor write, son?" Mr. Pope gently asked, folding his hands together as he sat across from Jack at the opposite side of the table. "Your fingers don't look broke to me."Jack waved him off with his spoon in hand.

"Nah," he said while swallowing, "I guess I'm bad about that sort of thing. I wrote home I was coming back a while ago. Then I get this letter at this downtown YMCA where I was staying at in Chicago. That was last Tuesday so I up and left. Caught a train and here I am. Nobody said nothing about my mother taking sick and nonesuch."The old man drew back and rubbed his hands."Visiting hours would be over just about now, and you've come a long way," Mr. Pope said. "You need some rest, my boy. When tomorrow arrives, you gotta get back and see yer ma. Not tonight, son. Believe you me, there ain't nothing worse than a crossed up nun in a sick ward late at night. Those clucks can be meaner than a bug up yer shorts. Better to go in the daytime. And I mean that, too."“All right. So tell me about damning up the North Fork." Mr. Pope whistled softly.

"Well see, they's got their sight set on making some sort of big lake around here," Mr. Pope said. "Dunno why, but everybody's been made an offer to move out and they get a place here in town, gov’ment relief or such. Some-ump about flood control, they said. All of this is gonna be some kinda big lake, like a table of water - a resev...a resev, some kind of lake, from here to the old James River. Yer ma is the only one who didn't want to sell out. When the guv-ment boys swung by to tell her what’s what, well, you'll be proud to know, she held her ground. She's one damn strong woman, that mother of yours."

But, I gotta tell you, son, she went off madder than a bull seeing red - and then right in the front yard, and yeah, I was there, I saw her turning colors and then she collapsed from arguing and yelling and cursing and...she just fell down clutching her left arm."Mr. Pope stopped for a moment, gazing out the window into the blackness. "Me," he went on, "I just signed that damn piece of paper. So did everyone else. They had their guns drawn, see. So, well, we just all get about three months or so to get out.

Come July, they say they're gonna bulldoze everything to raze down everything to get ready."Jack continued eating. Charley finished, rubbed up against Jack's leg and soon after began roaming the house. The dog finally settled down to a spot next to the wood burning stove, curled up and went to sleep.Mr. Pope, arms folded across his chest, leaned back in his wire woven chair, watching Jack eat, and slowly spoke, “Yep, that's how it all happened.""Okay,” Jack said, spooning up the applesauce. “What did they call that now?”“Eminent domain,” Mr. Pope said. “Em-i-nent do-main,” Jack repeated. "I have no idea what that is supposed to mean. So, anyways, at least she put a fight. Good for her."“Well, son, like I said, she done went crazy though and came out to where the surveyors were, and the sheriff and some kid from the army corps of engineers were tagging her trees and saying that this was going to be long gone and under water and if you don’t sell, the state would move you off the land and nobody could a damn thing to stop them and if they..."“If they was smart," Jack interrupted, "they’d take that state money, clear out and move to St. Michaels.”“Yep, that be it. I've lived here all of this life and my pappy was born here in this house just like me and my four brothers and sisters. I've seen lean times but never this mean.”

“Well,” said Jack, cutting into the last of the pork chop. “Makes no sense t’all to me.”“You'd be proud if you had seen yer ma, though. Her standing outside and yelling back and not taking any guff off those fellas. But it wasn’t pretty. She got so worked up it broke up her insides. They had to git the ambulance from Highlandville to come, and then they took her away to the sisters' hospital.”Jack said nothing. He finished his plate and looked about the cabin. A deer head was planted on one wall. The wood stove gave off a glow. Charley was fast asleep. Mr. Pope’s place had one good light bulb hanging over the stove in the two-room house. The house was nothing more than a big sitting room with a sink and oven in one corner and a bedroom attached on the far side. Jack finished eating, and pushed himself away from the table.“Say, you want some rhubarb pie?” Mr. Pope asked.“No offense, Mr. Pope, but I cannot stand rhubarb pie. Don’tcha remember?

Thank you, anyways."“Well, this time you might think twice. It’s fresh, just made it tonight. It’s April picked.”Jack shook his head. “No, no, no, no thank you please. I had it just once from Mrs. Seward and that was enough, no offense to you. And Mr. Pope, that supper was just right. I ain’t got no room for anythin more, anyways.”Mr. Pope got up and walked over to the table and picked up Jack’s plate and went back to the single tub sink. He began washing the dishes. Jack looked up and noticed the old man was shaking and weeping, without making a sound.Jack stood up. He glanced again around the cluttered room. There was an old, tattered floral sofa and a desk along the wall across from an unused fireplace. Books were in piles and some just lay scattered on the floor.

He picked up a book by Ambrose Bierce. “Now, have they shooed all the best boys off the ridge, too, Mr. Pope? Where’s MJ? Where’s K-Todd?”Mr. Pope, rinsing the dishes in the sink, turned back, squinting at Jack. “Those boys are still running around here," he answered. "Now Jack, you can sleep on my couch. if you like.”Jack instead walked over to the door, gently put the book down on the desk, then picked up his rucksack and took a long look around. He whistled softly. Charley rose stiffly.“Mr. Pope.”“Yes, son.”“I’m going up home. Thank you for a wonderous supper, that was right kind of you, sir. Thank you."Mr. Pope wiped his hands with a towel and slowly approached the taller young man.The two remained silent. Charley looked up from one man to the other. Jack put an arm on Mr. Pope’s shoulder, clapped it twice, and walked out the door. Charley followed.Mr. Pope walked with them out onto the porch and watched them go off into the night.Jack and Charley slowly made their way up the road. Jack heard the door close back behind him at Mr. Pope’s house.

Soon he came upon his mother's home. He stared up at the dark, empty, two-story house. He stood there, uncertain as to whether he should go in. The sky was now much lighter against the darkness of the trees and the ground as the skies had cleared. Finally, Jack walked up the porch of his own house. He stood at the threshold and stopped for a moment, listening to the crickets. The house beckoned him in. He walked to the door, twisted the knob, and walked inside. Charley followed.Jack entered the two-story cottage. He slowly closed the door, instantly shutting out the night sounds. Star shine came in through the windows as the lace curtains had all been tied back. Jack could see the outlines of the front room furniture. A high back chair and a simple loveseat braced the wall facing the front room window. A small coffee table stood in front of a large, puffy sofa that backed up against the window. Along one side of the room, next to the fireplace, his mother’s favorite rocker rested on a small, round threadbare throw rug. A hallway led to a small staircase and beyond that to the bathroom, kitchen and the mudroom in the rear of the house.Jack dropped his rucksack and slowly approached the mantle. He stood there and looked up at two oval wooden picture frames of his mother and his father. Even in the dark, he could see his father’s stern face, the black walrus whiskers that drooped over both sides of his mouth and he stared back at the coal black eyes staring out at him. Charley raced around the house, eager to explore and sniffing and madly dashing about.

A cat growled far off and ran away.Jack picked up a brush and dusted off his mother’s picture. He swished the dust off. Dust motes lifted up into the night blue air. Jack put the brush down and walked out of the room and down the hallway in the dark. He flicked on the light switch. The light did not come on.Shaking his head, Jack walked into the kitchen, past the Formica table and the iron stove and entered the mud room. He pulled out his Zippo lighter and used the flame to search the little enclosure until he found a kerosene lamp.Lighting it, the lamp reflected double in Jack’s eyes. He went upstairs, gently lifting one foot after the other on the creaking stairs, almost like a burglar sneaking into an empty house. At the top of the landing there were two small rooms and a cupola. Jack entered his mother’s room.He drank in the musty air. It sure smelled of her, he thought. He walked over to the dresser. Lifting the lamp he looked closely at the framed picture of his brother Gerry, smiling wide and dressed in an army uniform. Jack exhaled hard. “You big dope,” he said to himself silently. “You just had to do it. Get killed the day after the war ends. How stupid. Christ in Heaven, kid, were you cheating at Texas hold-em?”He scanned the photograph, holding the light just above it. Gerry's eyes were exactly like Jack's, blue with a hint of gray. These were the eyes that could con you out of your allowance, Jack thought.

Gerry could convince you that pooling your money would double your fun, Jack remembered silently, even if it always ended up that you got bored with the crackerjack toy and your brother got the better of you, you still did it every time that he asked you, Jack said to himself silently.Jack continued to gaze at his brother’s picture. Memories bubbled up. He remembered jumping out of the hayloft out back and nearly breaking his leg. How his brother had appeared in the doorway above, and laughing so hard he fell out and did break his leg. He remembered the time his father whipped them both because Gerry had taken a bite out of the harvest apple, the one apple on the one special tree that Jack’s father always checked to see in the early autumn if time was right for picking the orchard.

That year, as Jack’s father inspected the fruit, still on the tree, he turned the apple and noticed teeth marks of a little boy. But neither Jack nor Gerry ever admitted who had done it. Jack smiled now thinking how his brother had bribed him not to tell by promising him with one year of doing his chores, which he naturally forget about the very next day.Another memory surfaced. Jack saw in his mind two little boys in a washtub in a backyard, being scrubbed by their mother and turning to each other and saying, “hey, let’s make mama mad.” And then both jumped out of the wooden tub just as their mother reached for more soap only to discover two naked little boys running out the yard and down the road. Jack laughed to himself. “Johnny Bad Boy.” That’s what his mother had called him. Gerry never got it. But he was forever “Johnny Bad Boy.”

Jack stopped for a moment, and he carefully placed the lantern on the top of the dresser chest. A great weariness came to him. After the long train ride from Chicago, hitching a ride and then hiking all afternoon and getting zonked by the storm, Jack suddenly felt like a popped balloon. He let himself fall onto his mother’s bed, the springs giving way underneath and making a jerking sound.Charley jumped onto the bed and curled up next to him. Jack shooed him off. The dog was too big for both of them to be comfortable. He also didn't want any dog hair on his mother's bed covers.He dangled his arms off the bed and uttered a deep sigh. Staring up at the ceiling, he knew that even though he was blistered tired, he could not sleep. There were just too many thoughts in his head. Moving his left arm back, his fingers brushed up against a ceramic jug. It was his mother’s stomach medicine, as she liked to call it – actually corn whiskey.Jack drew himself up. He picked up the jug and took the cork out. Then he took a long snort. The whiskey burned all the way down, deep into his belly and shot a jolt right back to his chin, making Jack grimace and shake his head involuntarily. He coughed several times and his eyes watered. This gave him a thought. He stood up, with the jug in one hand, and with the other he dragged the blanket off the bed. Then he went down the stairs, with the blanket and Charley in tow.He opened the front door and went out. The dog followed. Jack laid the blanket and the jug both down on the porch. Charley found a spot down at the one end of the porch. Jack rose and went back inside and brought out the rocker.

He moved it to the front end of the porch, where he could get a clear view of the top of the forest and the little town along one side of it. White nimbus clouds scudded above the dark green hills. Jack sat down in the rocker and draped the blanket over his legs. He picked up the jug and took another snort. This one went down much smoother than the first. A smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. Jack felt good. Slowly, the night was spinning away and a small slice of moon began to rise. A nightingale began singing off in the distance and crickets resumed their drumbeat chirping. Jack slowly rocked back and forth. He began to drift off, singing quietly over and over, “the water of my face, the owner of this place, the water of my face, the owner of this place." He took one more shot, leaned back in the rocker, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.