ࡱ> Y[X [bjbj"" .l@i~_@i~_SVV$ $rDDDDD$h!`DD,uuuFDDuuuu#]e:uB0ru~!~!u~!uhuur~!VX : KILLING TIME By Cat Pleska 2020 West Virginia Fiction Competition, 2nd-Place Winner Selected by Dorothy Allison Dorothy Allison wrote the following review about Cat Pleskas award-winning story. I think I was in my early twenties when I picked up a magazine and read a story by Madison Smartt Bell that bothered me so much I had to go find other stories by him. Who does he think he is? I was wondering. Where is he from? I found out. I wrote him, and we have corresponded off and on ever since. Bell knew what he was writing aboutthat fall season when animals are murdered and rendered with families out in the yard, the uncles drinking and cussing and telling nasty stories just loud enough that all of us cousins could hear them. Reading Bell was the first time I had read a story that so evoked my childhood, all that mix of pride and fear and confusion. It gave me permission to write my own storieswith no need to clean up details or disguise the nastiness. It changed me utterly. Clearly you have read something that has given you a similar license. Killing Time has a measure of that same approach. Not a clean version, I think the story could benefit from just a bit more of the sheer nastiness of being nine or ten years oldthe coldblooded way the mind looks out at the world at that age. The mind that reflects on grandpa saying Pieces of him scattered all over the county. Pieces. Uh huh. Even the most innocent child feels a certain shiver at the thoughtterrible yes, but at nine or ten I took great sustenance from thinking in mean angry ways. But your girl is not me, and you are coming up in a world remade in ways I can barely imagine. But oh! Damn! I want to imagine your world, and you give me so much of it. Details that resonatethe party line, Poppaw and Mommaw, Stinker, blue curls and a retired plow horse. I recognized the secretive way the parents and grandparents obscure things from the children, the way the children get to the details anyway. I love your complicated family dynamics and the shape of the story. Mommaw wont divorce her husband but she will never back away from the simple fact that he killed a man, even if our narrator does not entirely seem to realize the weight of that act. My people moved away from farm life to work in farms, diners and textile mills. I think I was seven the last time we went to a hog killing but even in my twenties I watched my Aunt Dot kill a chicken with one hand, snapping its neck over the back of her wrist while shouting at my Cousin David to get his ass out of his daddys truck. I miss her to this day and sometimes I read stories trying to find an echo of her in the world today. Thank you for giving me a little bit of that. Dorothy Allison Daddy drove me to my grandparents Monday of Thanksgiving week, and I was excited. Besides not having to deal with my fourth-grade teacher, Miss Grimm, all week, it was also hog-killing timenot to be missed! Later, my parents would come on Thanksgiving Day. Most Thanksgivings, I spent at home eating baked steak or chicken and dumplingsMommy never fixed turkey. Id read a Nancy Drew novel and Daddy would watch a football game. It was cold the morning we headed out, and the car heater didnt work. I spent the trip in the back seat of my dads old 62 Chevy writing my name over and over in the sweat on the car window. Once we arrived, Mommaw talked with Daddy a few minutes then he drove off without saying goodbye. He had to go out on swing shift that afternoon. Mommaw didnt seem to want to talk. I wandered through the house, digging in dresser drawers, looking for old photos of dead relatives. The phone rang. Odd that someone was calling my grandparents. The bunch of different rings for other people on the party line rang through most often. I followed her into the living room to the phone, but it had rung her ring of two shorts and one long four times before she tugged off her plastic gloves and answered it. I couldnt learn much from what she said. I knew it was about Poppaw, but not him talking. Oh no! Mommaw suddenly sat down hard on the couch arm. Good Lord! She laid her hand to her hair and shoved her bangs off her forehead. She closed her eyes. I played with the glass horse-head bookends on the mantel but I kept my head turned, listening. When Mommaw hung up, she sank from the arm of the couch down onto the cushions. I sat on the arm of a nearby chair. Her eyes suddenly popped open, Hon, go in the kitchen and get me my cigarettes. I ran out just as I saw her pick up the phones receiver. When I returned, it was clear Id missed news. She mostly mumbled yess and nos. She lit a cigarette, listening to whoever was talking. Her yellow-tipped fingers flipped ashes into a blue ashtray: last years Christmas gift from me. She finally hung up, and I scrambled after her as she hurried into the kitchen. She plopped down at the end of the table where Poppaw always sat and lit another cigarette. She ran her fingers through her blue curls over and over. When she stopped long enough to tap the ashes into an ashtray, she missed sometimes and the ashes fluttered to the table top. What did they say on the phone? Is Poppaw all right? I stood fidgeting from foot to foot. She focused her gaze on me. Did you bring your heavy coat? My coat? Why was she worried about my coat? Was Poppaw hurt? Did he get blown up? Was he dead? He was a welder for the gas company. Lines could blow up. Hed told me it had happened to a buddy of his. Pieces of him scattered all over the county. Maybe Poppaw was coming home all bandaged or in a body cast. Mommaw stubbed out her cigarette, sighed real loud, and headed into the living room and this time shut the door. I heard her dialing, talking to someone, then hang up, dial again. I was sure she was crying even though I couldnt hear well through the thick door panels. I adored Poppaw. I couldnt stand the thought he might be dead. I was his favorite and followed him around. He let me slop the hogs and ride Old June, the retired plow horse. I salted his beer and rolled his cigarettes in a red, humpbacked machine specially made to roll your own. Hed puff on one and declare it El supremo. Hed laugh at my jokes, and wed sit side by side on the couch on Sunday evenings and watch Gunsmoke. When I was smaller, Id sit on his lap, and he bearded me on the cheek with his whiskers. The smell of beer on his breath made me dizzy. Mommaw headed back to the kitchen again and sat at the table, this time holding her head with both hands. I watched her for a few seconds then decided not to ask anything. I ran outside and wandered into the smokehouse. I was petting a new litter of kittens when a car pulled up in the driveway. It was my Uncle Ray with my cousin Gerry. After ruffling my hair, my uncle went inside. Gerry and I decided to hang out. He was eleven, which is two years and nineteen days older than I. I thought of him as a brother, rather than a cousin. I had no brothers or sisters. I asked him if he knew what was going on. He didnt, which was a surprise. He liked me to believe he knew everything. We played spotlight after dark with a heavy black flashlight we had found in the cellar, and when it got too cold, we went in. I noticed there was no food on the stove or table. While Gerry was in the bathroom, I tiptoed toward the living room because I could hear my uncle and Mommaw talking. I stopped and stood at the doorway, not turning the corner yet. My uncle was saying hed put Gerry in the third bedroom because he and his brother, Gary, fought all the time. Mae aint got nowhere to put anybody what with moving into that small apartment over Deweys Grocery. Her extra bedroom aint no more than a closet. Youd never fit in there. I expect Ernest is crowded out too, what with Eugene moving in for the winter to work at the gas company. That is till he can find his own place. There aint nowhere for you to go, Ma . . . Why were they talking about Mommaw leaving? I stepped around the corner and waited for them to notice. They both stopped talking and looked me. I felt as if I were on a stage. Me and Gerry are hungry, I said. Neither answered. Finally, Mommaw spoke. Theres some bologna in the refrigerator. You two fix yourselves a sandwich. Her eyes were puffy, and she had shredded the tissue in her hand. My uncle seemed calm, though. He puffed on a Marlboro and blew the smoke in a long stream toward the ceiling. I went to the kitchen and gave Gerry the news: Wed have to fix food ourselves. I was slapping three slices of bologna on a piece of bread when I asked, Do you think Poppaws dead? No. He aint dead, Gerry said as he smeared mustard onto a slice of white bread. How do you know? I reached for the mustard knife, but he snatched it and licked it, a sure way of making me find a clean knife. He laid his sandwich down and walked over to the chest freezer that had sat on that side of the kitchen forever. A huge glass bowl of fake fruit sat on top of it, along with an ashtray in the shape of praying hands. He took those off and lifted the lid. Hed be in here by now. His blond head disappeared as he leaned into the freezer and a frosty mist swirled up from inside. What? Why would Poppaw be in there? He straightened up. His eyes grew round and his voice wavered like a ghosts. This is where they put people until the dead people-takers can come and get them. He leaned and plunged his arm down in the freezer and moved frozen packages of meat as if he were making room for our grandfather. Dead people takers? I could feel myself scrunch up my nose. Whered you hear that? Mommy said that Gerry could tell the best whoppers of any kid she knew. When Great-Grandpa George died. It snowed so deep they couldnt get up here to take him to the funeral home. They put him in here until the snow quit. Youre lying. Am not. He slammed the lid which suddenly looked like the lid of a coffin. He laughed, sticking his tongue out at me. His dad walked in. Uncle Ray grabbed Gerry by the collar of his jacket and yanked him toward the door. From the look on her face, Id say youve been up to something. Gerry pulled himself away from his dads grip to grab his sandwich. My uncle reached over and gave Gerry a noogie on the head and winked at me. They left for home and Mommaw shooed me off to bed after I ate my sandwich alone. I put on my nightgown and snuggled under the covers. It took me a while to fall asleep. Long after Mommaws bedroom light went out, I decided Poppaw couldnt be dead. My uncle wasnt upset, and Daddy said women took on fits if people died. Mommaw was upset, but she showed no signs of fainting or nothing. When I got up in the morning and came into the kitchen, Poppaw sat at the end of the oak table. I stopped in my tracks and stared. His eyes were puffy underneath, what Mommy called having suitcases under the eyes. His iron-grey hair stood up and his beard whiskers looked longer than usual. His green work clothes looked rumpled. I didnt run to hug him. I thought maybe I was too old now. I sat in a chair at the other end of the table. Mommaw was nowhere around. It was plain to me that Poppaw had been out drinking again. A hangover, Mommaw called it. He drank all the time. If it wasnt beer, it was Old Crow. If it was payday, he splurged on Jim Beam whiskey. Sometimes I found Mason jars of clear moonshine in the refrigerator door, which I was told never to touch. But she would not be this upset if it was only his drinking. He smiled at me. Hey, Stinker. He lit a cigarette with his Camel lighter. Hey Poppaw. Before either of us spoke again, the door opened and Daddy walked in, followed by Mommy. I knew something real bad had happened to bring my parents here so soon. Mommy had what grownups call high color. I didnt know what that meant, but it was cold outside, and her face was red. Maybe from that. She was wearing a pair of green plaid pants and an orange sweater under her wool coat. She wore black loafers and no socks. Her curly blonde hair was uncombed. Mommy never left the house without looking fresh as a daisy, shed say. Daddy apparently hadnt had time to Brylcreem his dark hair, but his tan work shirt and pants matched. Mommy kissed me then moved toward the stove and the coffee pot. Dad, my daddy said as he sat down, Is there anything left to do? Are they through with the questioning? His fists were clenched as he placed them on the table. I couldnt see his face because it was turned away, but I noticed a muscle jerking in his jaw. Mommy was pouring coffee from the silver pot for daddy and herself. I let my legs swing as I listened, but she frowned at me because my feet were thumping against the chair rungs. Its over. Shes not pressing charges. The police aint. She backed me up. As far as I know, thats it. Poppaw offered his cup for Mommy to refill. Damn, Dad, I hope theyre through. How in the Hell did this happen? Poppaw rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head, making his cheek jowls jiggle. Mommy handed a coffee cup to Dad and then turned to me. Youd better go get dressed, Mommy said. What? Go on. Wheres Mommaw? I asked, hoping shed give up and leave me alone. Shes still in bed. Poppaw answered. Go on. Mommy said. Get dressed. Then Ill fix you some breakfast. I walked slowly out, listening for more details, moving toward the bedroom where I slept. I dressed in flannel-lined jeans and a sweater, because I knew theyd send me out to play. I walked back into the kitchen to hear Poppaw say, She swore they were through. They had divorce papers. I wondered who she was or what she had to do with what had happened to my Poppaw. They all puffed on cigarettes, making the whole house smoky. Mommy finally noticed me and asked me what I wanted to eat. I told her cereal and that Id fix it. I had been fixing my own cereal for three years. No, you go on in the living room and turn on the TV. Ill fix your cereal and bring it in. I was on the couch watching cartoons when she brought in my Cheerios. Maybe she would answer some questions, but I was afraid to ask. This was big stuff, I could tell. I watched Jerry outsmart Tom again. More aunts and uncles arrived later along with several cousins. They ordered us cousins outside so that we couldnt hear the grown-up talk. None of them seemed to know any more than I did. We played tag, football, and army up in the woods. I kept thinking that at least Poppaw was alive and not in a freezer somewhere. Every time a cousin ran inside for food or drink or to warm up, wed listen to the grownups talk and try to figure out what happened. We all gathered around then to tell what wed overheard. Then the adults caught on to what we were doing and made us stay outside until supper. I went to bed that night tired from playing in the cold. The next day was hog-killing day. Several cousins would be there, and wed each find a stick so we could poke the hog guts they threw over in the field. The guts looked like white, fat ropes, and the tummy part was puffed up like hed just eaten a big meal. The butchering was going to be at my Uncle Eds who lived a mile up the road from my grandparents. My daddy, Poppaw, another uncle and a couple friends would help. Id arrived there with Daddy before any other cousins and decided to stay in the barn until I was sure they had the hog killed. I never watched after seeing it the first time. In the quiet of the barn, Id always wait to hear the BLAM of the gun before I came out. Id imagine the hog falling over. He wouldnt suffer from the gun shot, at least I hoped. Daddy said not to worry when Id complained about the whole thing. You like bacon, dont you? I had to admit I did. But still, the hog hadnt done anything wrong. So I waited until the hog was already strung up from the limb of an oak tree before Id come out of the barn to see the steam rising into the cold air from the warm body. I was playing around on my great-grandmothers huge old rug loom which had sat in the barn forever when Daddy, Uncle Jimmy and another man stopped where I could see them through the cracks in the wall boards. I heard them say Damn and Youre shitting me. I moved closer. Daddy was talking about Kentucky. He was with this ol boys wife. He said she told him she was divorced and her man was long gone. But, hell, she didnt have no divorce. He wasnt gone at allworking in the mines over on Paint Creek. He found out about his wife and Dad. Dad thinks one of the men he works with told on him. Anyway, they was in bed at Marys Boarding house over in Prestonsburg. You know, where he always stays. Her man comes busting in the door, and he yells at Dad, You son-of-a-bitch! The next thing Dad knowed, her husband lunges at him. Theyre fighting all over the place and somehow this ol boy pulls a pistol out. Theyre wrestling and damn, if the gun didnt go off. Slug hit the man in the chest, right through his heart, Dad says. What was that caliber? Uncle Jimmy asked. It was a .22. Daddy said, clapping his hands together. Oh boy, Uncle Jimmy said, scuffing the toe of his shoe in the dirt. That ol woman drops down like shes killed toocarrying on over him. Dad figures his shits fried. But when the sheriff showed up, Dad told him it was self-defense. She didnt tell them no different. The other man said, Well, Ill be damned. My dad laughed, shaking his head. Whatd Mom say? Uncle Jimmy meant Mommaw. Daddy shook his head again, looking off to the hill. What could she say? Not like its the first time. Course this is different. Both the other men nodded. I backed away from the cracks in the boards and plopped back on the bench. I was seeing in my mind guns going off and freezers filled with bodies. Then I did hear a gun. I jumped and my heart thumped against my chest. It was Uncle Ed killing the hog. Later, I grew bored playing with my cousins and the hog guts and decided to walk back to Mommaws by myself, still picturing the scene Daddy had described. I found Mommaw and Mommy baking pies for next days dinner. I watched Mommaw and thought, if she wasnt going to faint or nothing, then maybe shed be plotting how to get even with Poppaw. Id be stomping around, yelling maybe. Id had a boyfriend earlier in school. I was crazy about Walter. He had blue eyes and freckles and made the best race car noises. I was hurt when he dumped me and declared his love for Denise, my best friend. I told them both off. But Mommaw was just baking pies. By Thanksgiving dinner the next day, everybody was acting like everything was fine. We all ate too much turkey and mashed potatoes, and the grownups laughed and talked and drank a lot of coffee, all of them smoking cigarettes. I could hardly see out the windows. Later, Poppaw dug in the buffet drawer, where they kept knives, tape, and other stuff. Ora, we got any twine? he asked. Yeah, its in the junk drawer by the sink. She nodded to the drawer beside her. This one? He moved over to where she was. No, here. They stood side-by-side, close, and both had their hands down in the drawer. He grabbed the twine and left, and Mommaw finished stuffing left-overs in the refrigerator. I wanted to go up behind her and hug her, but I didnt. My cousins and I played outside again the next day. We talked about what had happened, and they all knew the details by then, pretty much from overhearing their parents talk about it. Gerry showed us how the gun probably went off and how the dead man must have twitched. I smacked him on the arm. As they drove off for home, they were griping about going back to school, but that wasnt what stayed on my mind. No one ever talked again about Poppaw killing that man. Finally, it was Christmas break, and I was back at my grandparents house for a day. School was to start the next Monday. I stood on a stool washing dishes, and Mommaw was cleaning off the stove. I wanted to ask her things, but I was afraid to. I raised a rinsed glass and studied Mommaw through it. She was wavy like. She didnt notice, and I put the glass down in the drainer. I took a deep breath. Mommaw? Yes, honey. Do you . . . ever wish you lived somewhere else? She stopped wiping and looked at me. Why do you ask that? Well . . . I mean, if you hadnt married Poppaw, where would you be? Oh . . . she chuckled. I spec I would have married a movie star. Wed live in a mansion, have two cars. Id have a maid and wed have lots of food and money. . . . She stopped talking and stared out the window over the sink. She shook her head. I got to clean this house. Everyone in here during Christmas, messing and gomming. It aint gonna get done by itself. She threw her rag in my dishwater. Directly, I heard the vacuum cleaner. After Poppaw killed that man, nothing changed, not that I could tell. I still rolled Poppaws cigarettes and salted his beer. He still called me Stinker. I didnt tell him no jokes, though. Once, he tried to beard me like he used to do when I was small, but I pulled away. 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