Demon Box

I opened my little pretties and doodads the kids had made me and gave them all a big hug. Buddy rolled some logs up to the fire. We sat about and sung a few songs while the kids roasted marshmallows. Frank Dobbs stamped around playing the mouth harp while the big black fellow with the beard patted at Mr. Keller-Brown’s drums. Devlin strummed the guitar (though he never could play worth sour apples) and the fire burnt down and the moon come up through the new ash leaves. Betsy and Buddy’s wife took their kids up to the house. Mr. Keller-Brown took Toby into the bus, him still hugging the kitty. He brought out a jar of little pellets that he sprinkled into the embers. Real myrrh, he said, from Lebanon. It smelled fresh and sharp, like cedar pitch on a warm fall wind, not sickening sweet like other incense. Then he brought out some pillows and the men settled down to discussing the workings of the universe and I knew it was time for me to go to bed.

“Where’s that giant purse of mine?” I whispered to my grandson.

He says, “It’s in the cabin. Betsy has made the bed for you. I’ll walk you up that way.” I told him never mind; that the moon was bright and I could walk my way around this territory with a blindfold on anyway, and told them all good night.

The crickets were singing in the ash trees, happy that summer was here. I passed Emerson’s old plow; somebody had set out to weld it into a mailbox stand and had apparently give up and just left it to rust in the weeds, half plow and half mailbox. It made me sad and I noticed the crickets had hushed. I was taking my time, almost to the fence, when he was suddenly in front of me—a sharp black pyramid in the moonlight, hissing down at me.

“Backdoor! Don’t you never come backdoorin’ on me or my little boy again, understand? Never! Y’ understand?”

Of course I was petrified. But, truth to tell, looking back, not utterly surprised. For one thing I knew immediately who it was behind that black pyramid and that hissing gutter drawl. For another, I knew what he was talking about.

“The motherfuckin necklace I let pass ‘cause I say ‘She old. She just old. She don’t know.’ But then to pull the same shit about the motherfuckin cat… that’s backdoor!”

Two big hands from somebody behind grabbed both sides of my head, forcing me to look up at him. Fingers came all the way around over my mouth. I couldn’t holler or turn aside or even blink.

“White angel white mother angel, my ass! I show you white angel!”

And then O sweet Savior it was like he pulled back the dark blouse of his face. Two breasts came swirling out toward me dropping out and down until the black nipples touched my very eyeballs… giving suck… milking into me such thoughts and pictures that my mind knew at once not to think or look. Let them slide, I said in my mind, sli-i-ide… and I made a picture of rain falling on a duck. This duck splattering around must have come as a shock to him because he blinked. I felt the invisible hands drop from my head and I knew there hadn’t been nobody behind me.

“So don’ let me catch you—”

The duck run out a great long neck and quacked. He fumbled and blinked again.

“I mean y’ better don’ try no secret influence on my son again, is all I wanted to tell you. Y’ understand? A dude, a father’s got to look out for his own. You understand?”

And was gone back in the bush before I could catch my breath to answer. I hotfooted right on up to the cabin then I hope to tell you! And without slowing one iota pulled the shades took two yellow pills got in bed and yanked the covers up over my head. I didn’t dare think. I recited in my mind all the scripture I knew, and the words to “My Country ‘Tis of Thee” and “O Say Can You See.” I was into bread recipes before they took effect.