The Front Porch Prophet

It turned out there had been a rash of hog thefts in the area, and Slim had received an anonymous pork tip earlier in the day. He was a man who would not tolerate pig theft, and even suspected pig theft would be dealt with harshly. When A.J. and Eugene pulled up the side road that led to Rabbit Brown’s barn, they had no idea they were under Slim’s zealous scrutiny. When they stopped to relieve themselves, he had vaulted into action. The real swine thief was busy at the time stealing fifteen hogs from Slim.

When Slim attempted to explain the mishap to Eugene’s father, Johnny Mack spoke no word. He simply stepped into the house for a moment and returned with his twelve-gauge and a box of shells. Slim executed a quick retreat as Johnny Mack stood on the porch, slowly loading the pump shotgun. The luckless constable fared no better when he talked to A.J.’s father. John Robert Longstreet was a man of few syllables and spent only one on Slim Neal.

“Git,” he said, pointing to the road. Slim got.

Slim was fired over the incident, but he was reinstated two months later when no one else could be found to take the job for what it paid. The town council extracted his solemn promise to only shoot at confirmed perpetrators in the future. Then they returned his badge after knocking from his wage the price of the new glass in John Robert’s truck. Johnny Mack attempted to whip Eugene over the incident, because the boy should have been home reading the Bible and not out peeing on Rabbit Brown’s pigs. The whipping didn’t go well, however, due to Eugene’s objections over being punished for getting shot while urinating on a dirt road. John Robert didn’t try to whip A.J., but the incident indicated to him that the boy had way too much spare time on his hands. Thus A.J. spent all his free time during the following several weeks replacing rotten fence posts around the back field at the farm.

“If you get to needing to pee while you’re out there, just drag her out and let her rip,” John Robert said, chuckling at his merry joke. “Just make sure your granmama’s not around.”

But those were the old times, long gone and mostly forgotten. Eugene and A.J. stood by the Jeep in the clearing and admired Eugene’s handiwork. Rufus trotted up and flopped down, panting. He seemed tired, and A.J. supposed he had been killing something large. The dog eyed A.J. for a moment, dismissed him, and laid his head on his paws. In the distance they could hear the thrum of a freight train. The haunting sound of shave-and-a-haircut echoed as the engines approached a crossing.

“I guess you need to be going,” Eugene said.

“Yeah,” A.J. affirmed, “I don’t want to get caught in the woods after dark by your dog.” A.J. was feeling an overwhelming urge to place distance between himself and the general vicinity of doom. The clearing held too many problems for him to handle at present. He required time to absorb and consider.

“I need for you to do me a couple of favors,” Eugene said, his halting cadence indicating the difficulty he had asking A.J. for help.

“Sure,” A.J. said. “Anything you need.” It was uncharacteristic of Eugene to request an indulgence. A small dread settled on A.J., a premonition of crisis.

“I would like for you would come back next week,” Eugene said. “I don’t get much company up here, and it gets a little quiet. You can take the Jeep so it won’t be so much trouble getting back up the road.”

A.J. felt bad for Eugene.

“Now, that’s odd,” he said. “I was just about to tell you that I might come up next week and check on you.” He was shaking his head as if he could not believe the coincidence. Eugene couldn’t believe it, either.

“When it comes to lying,” Eugene said, “you really suck.”

“You mentioned two favors.”

“The other one is kind of large.”

“The first one was kind of large,” A.J. pointed out. “What is it?”

“When it’s time, I want you to kill me.” A.J.’s head snapped around as if he had been slapped.

“Run that one by me again.” Maybe it was Eugene’s idea of a joke.

“You heard me,” Eugene said. His tone was so flat A.J. knew it was no jest. They stared at one another momentarily. Then they both looked away. A.J. felt slightly nauseous, as if he had been hit hard in the solar plexus.

“How the hell can you ask me to do that?” he asked.

“I’m asking.”

“You must be crazy. If you want to shoot yourself or blow yourself up, go ahead. But leave me out of it.” A.J. felt like he was breathing mud. “I know ten or fifteen people who would be happy to accommodate you. Hell, Diane’s daddy would pay you to let him do it.”

“I’d do it for you,” Eugene said quietly.

“I’d never ask you to,” A.J. said with certainty.

“Never say never,” Eugene said with a small sigh. “You don’t know what might come up.”

“I’ve got to go,” A.J. said abruptly. He had heard enough. He walked across the clearing to retrieve his bat from the porch. Eugene meandered toward the cabin and met A.J. when he returned. They stood like Lee and Grant at Appomattox. Eugene swayed. His pupils were dilated.