supposing he was to stay with me through the week and I brought him here on the weekends? What I want to do is stop trouble before it has a chance to start.”
Sammy Sue barely whispered. “Alright, Miz Bentley.” Ailey started to protest.
“Ailey, you do like Miz Bentley says. She’s right, I cain’t do as good for you as I should no more.” She chuckled, not one to stay sad. “Boy, I get tired just watchin’ you. Don’t you worry none, Miz Bentley be quality folk, she’ll look after you proper. You come home Saturday and Sunday, I make you greens and chicken, maybe even a big batch of ‘lasses cookies. We can sit on de poch and listen to WNEW New York. I swear, ah’m gittin so I like that music.”
So Ailey went to live with Miss Iris Bentley during the week, and each weekend she drove him to his grandfather’s farm.
Ailey needed the forest and fields. They were as much a part of his existence as his music. When he wasn’t practicing or eating all the things he missed during the week, he walked in the forest on the mountain. There was a pond half way up the south side full of catfish and bream.
Perfect Indian Summer; air crisp as a new dollar bill, and leaves just beginning to change. Ailey went to the farm for his weekend.
He walked through a stand of cattails and the squishy black mud was cool on his feet. He carried a cane pole and an old tomato can full of worms. Near the edge of the pond he waded to a flat rock close to the cattails. Line in the water, worm working hard down there on the bottom, bobber making small circles on the mirror-like surface, Ailey sang in a loud voice.
This was life as sweet, and right as it ever got. A half mile up the mountain in a stand of ash and maple, Luther moved quietly, as comfortable in the forest as the deer. A buck had been hanging around the area and there wasn’t much meat left in cave behind his cabin. Luther was partial to venison.
Squirrels chattered, and the click of their claws on tree bark fit well with the other sounds of the forest. Faintly in the distance Luther heard singing. At first he thought some fool had brought a transistor radio into the forest. People did that from time to time, though for the life of him he couldn’t understand why.
He moved in that direction then realized it came from the pond. He didn’t hurry, he didn’t need to. He sensed the source wasn’t going anywhere.
Luther came out at the edge of the pond a hundred yards from Ailey, who leaned back resting on his elbows and sang at the top of his voice. Loud as it was, it seemed natural in the amphitheatre formed by the pond and the surrounding trees.
Luther stayed back out of sight in the trees. He sat down and took an apple from his pocket and cut chunks from it with a bone-handled Buck knife. He watched Ailey lazily in the afternoon sun.
Ailey was oblivious. He didn’t even notice the twitch in his line. Luther smiled and whispered.
“You are about to get a surprise, boy, an’ you don’t even know it.”
Something tugged the line once, hard, then headed for the other shore with no intention of stopping. Ailey was so surprised he dropped the pole and the fish dragged it into the water.
Ailey dived for it and fell into the pond sputtering and thrashing. He grabbed the pole and tried to stop the fish.
“Whoa, you dang fool fish. Where you goin?”
In the trees Luther laughed out loud. Ailey had a hold on the pole and wasn’t letting go. The water was up to his waist. Ailey grabbed the line and pulled it in as fast as he could.
Luther realized he must have a real granddaddy of a catfish on the line, might go ten pounds or more. All of a sudden Luther stopped laughing, dropped the apple, and ran through the trees toward the edge of the pond. He’d been in there a year ago stalking a bear. By that same rock, he’d stepped in and sunk into the mud over the top of his boots. Like to never got out. Boots were still there as far as he knew.
Through the trees he saw the boy sink in deeper; couldn’t go forward or back, but he wouldn’t let go of the pole.
From the edge of the rock, Luther leaned forward, hands held out to Ailey.
“C’mon boy, gimme your hands or your gonna sink right on down to China.”
Ailey reached out one hand, he wouldn’t let go of the pole. Luther pulled slow. He could feel Ailey coming free, still clutching the fishing pole. Once Luther got him up on the rock he sat him down.
“Now, pull that fish on outa there before he pulls you in agin’,” he laughed.
Ailey pulled with all his might, muttering dark threats all the while. He got up and stepped backward off the rock to the shore. Once there he dragged a fat catfish, close to ten pounds after him. Still towing the fish, he walked back through the cattails onto solid ground. He thumped the fish six or eight times on the head with a rock until it quit wriggling.
“Boy oh boy,” -- his eyes were big -- “that’s the biggest one I ever caught. Must weight...” he had to think about it for a minute, “twenty or thirty ton.” Ailey hadn’t been paying that much attention when the class learned about the weight of things.
Luther didn’t correct him. “You got a knife so’s you can clean him?”
Ailey frowned. “No, sir, ah don’t. I’ll take him on down to the house.”
Luther took out his Buck knife and opened it with what Ailey thought was a very satisfying snap. He handed it to Ailey haft first.
“It’s real sharp, so have a care.”
Ailey looked at it longingly, then gutted the fish. He took it down to the edge of the pond and cleaned it and the knife carefully. He figured out how to close the knife, then brought it and the fish back to the where Luther sat.
“You must be Little Joe Barkwood’s boy. I knowed your Daddy many years ago. Hear your granddaddy passed a year back. I am Sorry to hear it, I liked that man, though he could be some stubborn. Reckon you got some of that from him.”
“Are you the cr--the man that lives up top the mountain?” Ailey asked.
“I am. You think I’m crazy, boy?”
Ailey wound the fishing line around a piece of cardboard. He looked directly at Luther, considering.
“Nope.” He went on rolling up the fishing line. “Is your name, Cole?”
“Uh-huh. I’m Martin Luther Cole. What’s your name?”
“Ailey, Ailey Parkman Barkwood.”
“Well Ailey, you ‘n me are first cousins. ‘Cept for some distant folks over by Elkins, yore my only kin.”
Ailey thought about it for a minute, then smiled.
“Aren’t you too old to be a cousin?”
“Nope, but you can call me Uncle Luther if it’d be more comfortable.”
Ailey guessed Luther meant to have fun with him, but he didn’t mind. He’d already
