Cuyahoga Read online

  A broad paw grabbed up the back of my shirt.

  Come with me to Handerson and Panderson’s, little brother

  * * *

  At Big’s direction, grasshopper Handerson dove into the jungle and brung out a handsome set of the latest readymade clothes. Big tossed some of his money on the counter and flung his blankets into the depths of the emporium. A leap into his new suit – he did cut a style in the looking glass. The shine even crept back into his hair some.

  Handerson examined Big’s banknotes and took on a sheeped look. YOUR MONEY IS NO GOOD, BIG

  Big took this to mean the merchants was making him a present. Mr Handerson I am terrible obliged  These britches will always hold a kind thought for you

  NO NO, WE ARE NOT MAKING YOU A GIFT  I MEAN YOUR MONEY IS SPOILED  IT IS NOT GOOD

  Big stared at the greensuited merchant without malice or understanding. My money is spoiled, he repeated like it were a school lesson.

  EVERY LAST ONE OF THESE BANKS HAVE GONE BUST, Handerson explained.  THEIR NOTES ARE NOT WORTH THE PRINTER’S INK  YOU WILL HAVE TO GET OUT OF THOSE CLOTHES IF YOU WOULD

  Big did not quarrel. His pride had bumped its ass considerably, and promptly stepped out of the pants. Brother help me find my blankets again

  Panderson hollered from somewhere in the deeps of the emporium. LET HIM HAVE THE CLOTHES, HANDERSON  I HAVE GOT A PROPOSITION

  * * *

  The advertisement were modest as such matters gone. TAKE IT FROM BIG SON  IF HANDERSON HASN’T GOT IT, PANDERSON DOES!! spelled in cheerful red on the backside of Big’s new shirt. All the SONs was writ out in larger letters. As we walked to Dog’s, Big judged he would never see his own back anyhow, and so had the better of the swap. The fact that his money were worthless did not seem to bother him much, although he said some cross words about Mayor Frawley.

  * * *

  In the thin light of the grocery Big looked at my rumpled papers with pride and fear mixed together. This were the first he had seen of my labors.

  You are making an almanac  out of me? He whispered it like secrets.

  Yes  I have collected stories out of folks I had not much considered whether Big minded being in a book, although the idea did suit his vanity.

  What all have you got in there?

  I greased my answer some. Your feats and comic adventures mostly  I did not mention the various demises.

  Big watched the papers intently – like they was racing roaches or a hand of cards.

  What happens in the end?

  * * *

  Our family time ended when Mr Tom Tod busted through the door of the grocery in the company of none other than Mayor Frawley. The newcomer were changed into a suit the color of cider and stunk of toilet water to sting your eyes. His hands were busy slicing at a peach with a pearl-handled penknife.

  For his part Mayor Frawley was holding his greasy hat and jawing that  this foolishness you hear about bridges will pass  Ohio city is destined to be the greater of the two cities—

  Frawley!  My brother threw the name like a brick.

  The mayor put on a show for Mr Tom Tod. He sniffed some like he did not quite remember the name of this large, angry citizen what greeted him.

  Yes  Hulloa  Ah Big yes good to see you returned  Now Mr Tod as I were saying what this place needs more than bridges is investm—

  Frawley

  Beg patience Big  I am conversing with Mr Tod

  The money you paid me for that bridge is useless

  The money were sound when I paid it to you  it is only as useless as your bridge

  A good squabble were wasted without an audience – this one were witnessed by Dog sat on his stool – a sleeping Barse Fraley – myself – the cats of the grocery – the many ancient weapons hung from the wall – and by Tom Tod, whose whole face seemed to light up at the prospect of soured tempers.

  You knowed that money were hollow Frawley  said Big.

  I knew nothing

  Dog screeched from his perch that this were the first honest thing you ever said Frawley

  As Big and the mayor gone back and forth over whose wrong were worse, Tom sat down next to me on the bench.

  Mr Meed, said Tom, his smile like soft wax. Who is your compatriot?

  It is my brother Big

  Tom chucked his peach, though it had plenty of good flesh left. So this is the famous Big Son

  That evening, after Mr Job’s scripture time, Cloe elbowed me and gestured at the smoking of a pipe. A quarter hour later we met up behind the barn. I were eager to know where she had been and what she had seen on her ramble, but she had another topic in mind.

  You are collecting stories of your brother   she said. It were not a question.

  A snikpf and the lucifer made a reflection in her eyes. Seemed to stick there some even as its fire passed into the tobacco.

  I have got one for you  she said.

  * * *

  There is no Big Son at all  There is only a sort of actor’s costume  A shining wig and a neckerchief  And all those feats are just different folks  Regular folks, not spirits, dressing up in the suit

  But how would the strength of a spirit find them?

  Folks forget themselves when they put on the costume  Spiritedness hides in everybody but can only come out when you pretend

  But  who is wearing the costume right now?

  The fire of her pipe glowed orange and fristled.

  It is only a story, Meed

  There is no finer time than autumn. The very air is a refreshment – a washing out of your heart. But you cannot stay washed and autumn will not stay in place. Before long the bathwater grows cold.

  Before long autumn will send you looking for warmer dress.

  * * *

  Ancient Dog kept the stoves of the grocery roaring at all seasons, on account of his hide being threadbare after seventy years of cussedness. The very air inside smelled burnt, but burnt were not warm enough for Dog. He were sewing up a winter coat such as Handerson or Panderson could never offer.

  It was not a lie that Dog served in the rebellion against King George. Only he had not exactly fought but were a chore boy in an army camp. I do not know how he came to own a Continental Army coat, as he had never worn it in any battle. He only hung the mangy red-and-blue thing on the wall, pegged out like a pelt, and brought it down for parades and holidays.

  I did not know what holiday he were expecting in early October but he took down his patriot skin and went after it with a sewing needle. I were back at the grocery working at the almanac, and Big with me, on account of he had no better use. I would scribble and try some of the stories on the ears of cats and loafers. Big – still gray hearted – would cheer some to hear his own feats. Dog sat at his mending and we made a regular family circle.

  * * *

  When I took a rest from my work, Big always liked that I read the news papers out loud. He had an idea that the papers would carry notice of troubles that might want Big’s prodigy. I did not say that by the time a crisis has washed up in the ARGUS or ADVERTISER or EAGLE there is nothing left but a mess to tidy, but I done the looking-out all the same. A Friday noon brought the latest of the ARGUS – ink still wet on the page – I set aside the almanac to read—

  MOBS GENERAL. A season of disorder across the nation. At Cincinnati an unlawful assembly attacked the abolition society in that place. In Boston a convent is attacked. In St Louis the land office and a news paper office. In Troy banks and courtrooms.

  We are not so wild here, considered Dog, the exploder of bridges.

  BOY WANTED. Luke Oakly is seeking an apprentice at cabinet making.

  Big scorned the idea of a life spent making cabinets. I felt a small offense – coffins is only cabinets for bones. Does no one want spirit work? Big asked.

  Professor Thompson will visit to talk on TEMPERANCE at the Sessions House hotel.

  Dog shook h
is head some as if he were disappointed at this professor.

  Kreosote.

  FOR CURING THE TOOTH ACHE.

  This substance of a recent German discovery comes highly recommended. It destroys the sensibility of the nerve without causing any pain.

  Rely on Dr STRICKLAND for all matters relating to the health, preservation and beauty of the TEETH.

  Will you be back to Dr S for more kreosote? I asked Dog.

  He looked up from his sewing and grinned – his teeth calicoed green and brown with spots of white left over from his treatment.

  ACCIDENTS.—YL Honey, a citizen of Ohio city employed at the iron foundry, had one hand blown off and the other sadly mutilated by carelessness in that place yesterday.

  General sorrow at YL’s misfortune. He come in for more than his share of trouble in this life.

  ON THE BRIDGE TROUBLE.—

  Self-protection is a great law of nature, implanted in the human heart for wise purposes, and is a principle which will, and must be, called into exercise, not only in defence of life and limb, but also in upholding, what is in many instances, equally important, our dearest rights and privileges.

  It gives us pain to have any thing occur, calculated to excite ill-blood between these young and thriving cities. Their interests are nearly identical. Their prosperity—

  Gasbagging over the bridge were the chief occupation and diversion of news papers on both sides of the river, always using ten cents of talk where a penny would suffice.

  BOULDER TROUBLE—From Hinckley. The improved road to Medina is stricken. A collection of large and obstinate rocks tumbled from Whipps Ledges and efforts of draft animals and man are ineffectual in remov—

  My brother grabbed the news paper and slapped his eyes to the bulletin.

  I could hear Big’s mind chewing the news from Hinckley. His hair glinted some touch in the slanted grocery light. I seen a mood rolling into his mind – from familiarity I known how certain of his tempers troubled the air just before busting loose.

  Dog hopped down from his stool, his bones clacking together.

  Finished with the f____r

  Every eye turned to see the wormy soldier coat, held up with mean pride. It looked just the same as before, though we complimented Dog’s work anyway.

  Same as Big pulled the newspaper from my hand on Friday, he yanked me from sleep on Saturday. The sun were still abed and only a few birds discussed the day ahead. The bird talk were joined by my brother, who clucked Up up up even as he drug me down down down out of the attic to the yard.

  In the scrambled mind of waking, I thought to find Mrs Tab and her corncakes – drink a ladle of water – do some stretching and scratching. But Mrs Tab and the cakes were still abed too. Before I could do anything at all, Big shoved a mattock into my hands and hopped on Agnes. He grabbed the back of my shirt and sat me behind him. I wondered if Agnes shared my same fogged brains.

  * * *

  A galloped mile clears the head, and after the sun begun its climb, Big explained his haste.

  The news paper said there is Boulder Trouble out Hinckley way

  He did not say any more. I could mark his thinking plain as Handerson’s writing on the back of his shirt – a road choked with rocks were appetizing work. It were a happiness to see my brother puffed up, and I were glad to ride as deputy, though I were not certain what I were wanted for besides witnessing.

  A dozen miles up and down gentle slopes, through thick woods speckled with farms and stump-stubbled clearances. As we thukked along I were sure that the very leaves of the trees was blushing from green to gold to crimson as we passed. Agnes came up a rise and I saw around Big’s shoulder and out over the treetops. The land went forever. You felt awful small in such a wide country.

  A dozen more miles to the tidy, tiny village of Hinckley, then a mile more to a churned-up place where great shale rocks broke through the soil and made a devil’s playground. Our ride ended at a narrow pass, where stones the size of wagons had busted loose and bowled into the road.

  Big leapt from Agnes without slowing and dashed toward the boulders like they would run off on him – leaving me to catch at the bridle. Agnes were lathered and somewhat cross at the extent of the ride. As I gone to tie her up she chomped at me and I cussed her. But our quarrel were forgotten when the thuks of another arrival boomed.

  We scampered up the stones to meet a man thick as a chimney, climbing off a gray draft-horse. This new man had no neck – no narrowing at all between skull and shoulder, only ropes of muscle lashing brains to body. His galvanized hair were silver and his shovel-shaped beard were silver and his clothes were mossy – like they had grown on him. His great gray horse surely had an elephant in its family tree. The pair of them made ferocious stares at Big.

  Hidy stranger  hollered Big.

  The man nodded sternly.

  Would you be the Stoat?  my brother asked with a hungry grin.

  A second nod, sterner than the first.

  * * *

  In Ohio city, we had heard a tale or two of the Stoat from farmers of Richland county. The Stoat’s feats was honest work – useful and sober. Plowing a dozen fields in a day – kicking stumps clear over the horizon – catching up every crow in the county and lecturing them on leaving corn alone. I had worried we might encounter Feathers – the wicked spirit of Hinckley. The Stoat were polite company in comparison.

  Hollering up to us from the road the Stoat suggested they work together, but Big insisted on a contest. The Stoat were reluctant, but with no stakes made and no gamblers around, he allowed there was good fun in seeing who could crush boulders faster.

  Even after Big said Go ahead the Stoat did not move with much haste. He climbed down to his side of the pile slow, and went to fetch his pick-axe slow, and walked up to the rocks slow, like he meant to preach at them. He swung back his pick-axe slow too. That were the end of slow – the tool came down with a ripping snort and kshrik sang off the rock walls around us. Big watched the Stoat go for a few swings before he joined, with his mattock saying fshink back.

  * * *

  It were a strange hymn – the only words kshrik-fshink and again. I do not know what the two meant to praise. I clambered up the slope and found a perch to watch Big go.

  As the sun climbed even farther, the sound of Stoat’s pick steadily chewed boulders to gravel. Big kept pace but his breathing were heavy.

  kshrik-fshink

  Even at noon the day were cool but Big were leaking rivers of sweat.

  kshrik-fshink

  The Stoat’s great gray horse and Agnes mowed the grass on their sides of the boulders – waiting for their masters to finish fooling.

  kshrik-fshink five thousand times.

  Before long I turned my attention to the clouds passing over the blocked road – great white flesh shaped like bread. I considered I were hungry and wished I could eat grass like Agnes and the gray.

  kshrik-fshink

  kshrik-fshink

  kshrik

  * * *

  The Stoat kept at his swings even as my brother went to poor behavior. Big sat down in the dust of the road – gathered up his knees and put his head between. He stayed there long enough for a cloud to pass halfway across the sky. When Big finally stood up, he stared at the boulders for a time, then leapt atop them, with his chin poked out, hair shining, lip quivering.

  Stoat  We might finish the work sooner as a team after all

  I could not see the Stoat from my perch, but the kshriks did not slow at all.

  Stoat  Let us tear down a tree as a clobbering stick and pitch the stones to each other  We will make a new game of who can clobber best

  There were no answer but kshrik  kshrik  kshrik

  I do not know if Big’s pride broke on the work itself, or on being outworked. But it made a sorry mess either way. One of the great bready clouds crossed the sun and a chill leapt into the air like it had been waiting for the chance.

  Stoat


  kshrik

  F___ you Stoat

  I could not see the Stoat but the kshriks finally ceased.

  You heard what I said  Big snarled.  You are invited to offend yourself

  I could not hear the Stoat, but his response were clear enough from the result.

  Big leapt at him from the boulders, diving into a fight like it were water.

  By the time I scrambled to where I could spectate, the Stoat had grabbed Big by the legs and swung his head into the boulders. Big hopped up – shook the ill use from his brains – grabbed a rock the size of a raccoon. Whatever had darkened his heart had restored his muscle some. He fired that rock and a dozen more at the Stoat like cannonballs. The rival spirit dodged and danced splendidly but one soon caught him at the joining of his legs. For a man with no neck the Stoat could sure holler. He let out a sound I cannot properly describe – like a cow at the bottom of a well.

  That were only the first of it. They kicked and hollered and knocked each other to sawdust for an hour or more. A steady tornado of teeth and hair and stitches of clothes spun up around them. They pounded each other to such extents that each flew apart and flew back together with some of the other’s parts mixed in. So wild was their brawl that they fixed the trouble without meaning to. The two spirits smashed each other into the stones over and over that the boulders were soon minced to gravel. Their stupid conduct gone on a while more.

  Once the road was passable the gray wandered over to Agnes and chewed grass near by – the two stood head to head like they was in conversation. I wondered if the great gray horse asked Agnes what made her master so ornery, and whether Agnes might not share Big’s poor mood. She did not act out any though.