to grab him. A rash of words came flying at him, "There is no way you could not have heard me, young man. God was watching you, and He knows you are lying. Every lie you tell makes a black spot on your soul, Billy. When you die God is going to look at your soul, and if it is black He is going to send you to the Devil." She raved on, telling him again how God saw all the bad things and in the end would punish him for his wrong-doings. Finally, it was over. "Now, go clean out the chicken coops like Mr. Blair told you to do."
There must have been at least a hundred chickens, or so it seemed. The four coops were now all in use. In later years, the chicken population would be greatly increased, and the second floor of the barn where Billy and his boy friends had their rubber gun wars, would be turned into one large chicken coop.
"Don't you scare the chickens, and be careful of the setting hens," called Mrs. Blair from the back porch. Billy turned the nailed-on board serving as a latch to the chicken wire gate. "And," she continued, "don't let the chickens out." She watched until Billy was inside the chicken yard and the gate closed, then she turned and entered the house. Alongside the gate were the leavings of the last cleaning, now a reduced pile of mixed manure and straw used to fertilize the gardens. Billy took notice of the pile, wondering how high it would be when he had finished his unwanted chore. The rake, wide scoop shovel and wheel barrow stood inside the gate against the side of the barn where Billy had hastily left them after the last cleaning. The coops sat in the back corner of the Blair's yard across from the barn and against the Baxter's high board fence. Between the bam and the coops was an open area surrounded by a high chicken wire fence in which the chickens scratched and dusted themselves. Pans of one kind or another, cutoff bottoms of rusted out tanks and other receptacles were strewn about the yard for water containers. The coops were built of salvaged lumber, closed on three sides with flat roofs slanting to the back of the coop. Chicken wire was stretched over supporting studs and a flimsy wooden door frame to form the front of the coops. Wooden strew-filled boxes, formerly fruit crates, lined the walls of the coops providing nesting places for the hens. Resting on the ground and reaching diagonally to the roof was the roosting ladder.
The cleaning procedure Billy was to follow had been told to him by Pop Blair. First the chicken coops, then the yard. Fill the wheelbarrow and dump it through the horizontal split in the chicken wire fence. Keep the gate closed so the chickens don't get out. Billy approached the first coop. The doors to all the coops were standing open. Pop Blair opened them in the morning and closed them in the evening, ensuring that all the chickens were in the coops and safe from the occasional varmint who stalked the area at night.
Entering the coop, Billy took notice of the rows of heaped chicken droppings on the ground which gave evidence of the nightly roosting patterns. It stank. The acrid smell compelled Billy to hold his breath. "I don't want that shit-stuff in me," he thought. He clamped his mouth hard shut, stifling the desire to breath. Quickly, as if in panic, he stepped back outside. "Why do I have to clean the damn old coops, anyway? They aren't my chickens."
He felt the entrapment of his young years. How he had to comply for fear of punishment, and the inability to respond or to alter his situation. The need to escape welled within him. He whirled about, prepared to run from the emotional trauma which was dictating his actions. He stopped short.
Bax was closing the gate behind himself. "Want some help?", he called . .
Billy stood transfixed watching Bax carefully choose his steps across the chicken yard. Billy regained his composure. He was like that. He could be full of anger and hatred one minute, and be laughing the next. His moods were swift and often violent.
"Yeah." Billy responded. "You want to rake, I'll shovel and push the wheelbarrow." He enjoyed making tracks in the dirt, then pretending it was a road to be followed from the coops to the fence and return. It put a little fun into the thankless chore.
"We'll take turns, okay?" Bax was equally interested in pushing the wheelbarrow and shared in Bill's dislike of removing the chicken dung from the coops. While Bax was older than Billy and the larger of the two, Billy's violent temper and his prepared willingness to settle things with an unsuspected punch had taught Bax to avoid disagreements. Bax waited for approval of his suggestion.
"Yeah. Okay. After this coop is done. Then we will take turns. Okay?" Billy countered.
"I can't stay that long. My Grandmother wants me to go to the store for her." It wasn't the truth, but it supported Bax's position. "You rake three wheelbarrow loads and then we'll take turns. Okay?" Billy countered.
"Okay." Bax was not happy with Billy's terms but knew it was the best he was to get.
"But, I got’ta go home after this coop." The two boys set to work. The wooden beam laid on the ground as a foundation for the coop prevented Bax from raking the manure out of the coop and into the yard. A pile was made just inside the doorway from where Billy loaded the wheelbarrow and made his three trips over the circuitous roadway he had created.
"My turn to wheelbarrow." Bax dropped the rake and exited from the coop.
"Okay." Grudgingly, Billy stepped aside to let Bax pass before entering the coop for his unwanted turn at raking. The wheelbarrow became their point of interest. "Bet ya can't go all the way over and back without getting off the track I made," challenged Billy.
"Bet’cha I can." Bax followed the meandering track as it wound its way among the strewn water containers and eventually to the fence. His trip was expertly piloted, never getting off Billy's track. "Did it," reported Bax.
"Bet’cha ya can't follow this one," chided Billy, setting off with another load and making a new, more challenging track. The boys continued taking turns, raking then wheel barrowing, with alternate turns in creating a more difficult and circuitous route for the other to follow. "Thought you had to go," commented Billy as they moved to the second coop.
"I can go later. Anyway, she just wanted a loaf of bread. Bet’cha ya can't stay on this one." Bax moved quickly, pushing the wheelbarrow in several overlapping circles around the water containers imitating the sounds of a racing motorcycle.
Inside the house Mrs. Blair became conscious of the increased cackling coming from the chicken yard. "That boy," she thought aloud, "what is he up to now?" She turned from her stocking darning to look out the large living room window overlooking the backyard. What she saw made her conclude that Bax was chasing the chickens in circles with the wheelbarrow. Quickly, she set aside her darning needle and made for the back porch. "Why, I swear by the Lord Almighty, if that Baxter boy isn't as bad as Billy." She called at the top of her voice. "David Baxter. You stop chasing those chickens and get yourself home. You hear me. Put down that wheelbarrow and get home this minute or I'll put the strap to both of you."
Bax stopped dead in his tracks, dumbfounded by the sudden appearance of Mrs. Blair, and the direct hostile attack. Then, slowly, he began to put the pieces together. Obediently, he set down the wheelbarrow, looked toward Billy, hunched his shoulders in an expression of helplessness and started for the gate.
"He wasn't doin' noth’n"' Billy shouted his anger. "We ain't hurtn' yer God damn old chickens." His temper had taken over. "Bax don't have to go." He screamed the words.
"Oh yes he does." She hollered the words. "And, you best get yourself up here this minute."
"I ain't going to and Bax don't have to go. We didn't do nothn'." He knew he'd gone too far.
"Mr. Baxter, you get home, and Billy, you march yourself up here this minute, you hear me!" Her words blistered Billy's ears. Billy knew from her voice that he was in trouble. Big trouble.
He moved toward the gate, passing Bax who was waiting for him to lead the way. "I'll see ya later." Billy mumbled
