The Madman of Piney Woods

  “What do you suppose happened there?”

  He glanced at the spot I pointed out and started walking again.

  “Looks to me like a rock is leaning against a tree.”

  The only time I was absolutely sure he wasn’t pulling my leg was when he talked about being a newspaperman. Unlike the forest tales, his eyes burned when he spoke of the press.

  “Do you read the newspapers, Red?”

  “Every morning, Father and I read the Chatham Times and the Toronto Globe.”

  Benji scoffed. “Sorry to tell you, they’re not good papers.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Really. I find them to be very dry. When I’m editor of my own paper, I won’t make the same mistakes they do. Those big-city papers don’t do anything to snatch the reader’s attention, to force you to read more.”

  “I never noticed.”

  “If you saw the way it’s supposed to be done, even someone like you would notice the difference.”

  “What is the difference?”

  “Another one of my books says, ‘Always remember, if you don’t sock a newspaper reader right between the eyes with your first sentence, don’t waste your time writing a second one.’ ”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Benji very patiently explained to me, as if he were talking to a four-year-old. A very dense four-year-old.

  “Let me give you an example, and it’s not really fair because this is something I practice a lot every day.”

  The air changed. It became heavier, and it wasn’t only the increasing darkness caused by the thickness of the woods. We were getting near water.

  “I’m listening.”

  “OK. What I practice is writing headlines, or what we newspapermen call leads, for everything that I see around me.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “For example, to show you how using the right words can make all the difference in the world, why don’t you pretend you’re writing a headline about you and me meeting this afternoon, then I’ll do the same, and we’ll see which is better.”

  “But who shall be the impartial judge? What’s to stop you from saying yours is better and me from saying mine is?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Mine will be so much better that even you will have to admit it.”

  I laughed and took the challenge.

  “All right, let me see.”

  Through the thick trees, I could see a pond maybe twenty yards away.

  I thought for a moment, then said, “Here we go; my headline for today’s events would be ‘Two Lads Meet at Forensics Competition, Go for Cooling Swim.’ How’s that?”

  Benji said, “Not bad. But don’t forget this competition isn’t fair, so I don’t want you to be crushed when I give my headline.”

  The only thing that stopped him from being completely insufferable was that he always smiled when he made his questionable comments.

  I said, “I promise not to be crushed.”

  “Good. Here’s the real headline, and you tell me which story you’d rather read.”

  Benji cleared his throat and punctuated each word by jabbing his finger in the air as if he were reading something there.

  He said, “ ‘Overheated Chatham Boy Not Heard From in Weeks. Last Seen in Company of Stranger from Buxton. Has the Young Hatchet Cannibal Struck Again?’ ”

  He tilted his head to the side, widened his eyes, and made chomping sounds with his teeth. His right hand was hidden behind his back as though he were carrying a …

  For a moment, probably not even that long, I admit the same jolt of electricity that I’d experienced when I met the South Woods Lion Man ran through my veins. Grandmother O’Toole had told me if I wandered away from the church, I might be murdered and carved up by one of the people from Buxton, and now I realized I was totally lost in the woods and at the complete mercy of this terrifying growling and snarling Buxton boy.

  It all stopped when Benji shouted, “Last one in has to marry his own grandmother,” and, pulling off his shirt, jumped from a rock and disturbed the calm waters of the beautiful swimming hole.

  I was embarrassed that I’d had even a moment of fright, but I was almost nauseated from the thought of being trapped in wedlock with Grandmother O’Toole. I kicked off my shoes, folded my clothes, and threw myself in the water after Benji.

  The coolness was shocking. All of the clamminess and closeness and heat of the day that clung to me so stubbornly was stripped away the moment I hit the water.

  This is how a moulting snake must feel after it has shed its skin. I was so reinvigourated that it wouldn’t have surprised me if I saw my old, hot sticky skin walk out of the lake and disappear into the forest.

  I knew Benji would be able to track it to the end of the earth.

  We swam and splashed about for maybe an hour, then sat on a rock with our legs dangling in the water.

  Some of the time, it’s as easy to read white people as it is to read the forest floor.

  Red wanted to ask me something but didn’t know how. That meant it had something to do with my skin colour or my hair or some other difference between us. I was surprised since he was friends with the Holmely boy. Most often, white people act like this only if you’re the first black person they’ve met.

  I let him wiggle uncomfortably for a bit, then said, “So what is it you want to ask me?”

  He stopped swishing his legs in the water.

  “What? I didn’t want to ask anything.”

  I waited a second and said, “Except …”

  He looked at me, hesitated, and finally said, “Well, I was sort of wondering if you’d been injured in some type of explosion?”

  “What?”

  “I hope you don’t take offense, but when you pulled off your shirt, I noticed how your arms and face are so much darker than the rest of you. The only time I’ve seen anything like that was when Miles Dennis was blasted by a fireball at the smithy and his arms and face, anything that wasn’t covered by his clothes, remained much darker than the rest of him ever since. I thought maybe you’d had the same misfortune.”

  Some of the time, you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I was going to come up with a tall tale but then stopped. I supposed it was an honest question.

  “No, Red. I haven’t been in an explosion. I spend a lot of time working and playing outdoors. Just like white people, our skin gets darker the more it’s in the sun.”

  He looked surprised. “Really?”

  I rolled my eyes and said, “OK, since we’re asking stupid questions, it’s my turn.”

  “Go ahead, but Father says there’s no such thing as a stupid question.”

  “He was being kind to you, probably because you ask a lot of them. What I want to know is are your mother and father such … well, such big redheads like you?”

  “No. Father says his hair used to be dark brown and Mother was quite blond.”

  The word was really stuck out. But now wasn’t the time to ask.

  Red sounded sad. “I guess it’s just genetics that I turned out this way.”

  There was a long silence before I tried to move the conversation on to something else.

  “So what on earth made you want to be a scientist?”

  It worked. He got some starch back in his sails. He gave me a pitying look and said, “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps Father was just being kind. That really is a stupid question. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to be a scientist?”

  “Well, I’d say half of the people at this swimming hole, for a start.”

  My words caused a flood to pour out of the redhead boy. He started talking about science the same way Stubby and Patience talk about carpentry, probably the same way I sound when I talk about newspapers. Or the woods.

  He said, “Can you honestly tell me any other vocation or even avocation that gives one an infinite number of mysteries to wonder about? You say the forest is your classroom and you can read it; have you thought about why it’s so
predictable that you can make an accurate guess as to what each thing means? You’re studying and reading patterns. That’s what scientists do. If I were given time and a bit of forest in which to conduct experiments, I would eventually be able to read the forest as well as you do. It may take many years, but I could do it. Science gives one that power.”

  I didn’t say anything because he sounded like he was talking about religion or something, but truth told, there’s a lot more to knowing and loving the woods than that.

  * * *

  “So what’s the headline going to be for today?” Red asked.

  “I don’t know yet. I’m debating between two.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. The first one says ‘Sympathetic Ace Newspaperman Pities Doltish Chatham Boy and Befriends Him.’ ”

  He said, “How kind of you. What does the second one say?”

  “ ‘Best Swimming Hole in the North Woods Mysteriously Evaporates When Red-Hot Chatham Boy Dives into It! Many Fish Left in Great Distress.’ ”

  Red said, “How about this for a third choice? ‘Lonely Buxton Boy Found Drowned in Pond Filled with His Own Sarcasm and Hubris.’ ”

  We laughed. He talked too much like a grown-up. I had no idea what hubris meant, but I knew it wasn’t a compliment.

  I didn’t say anything, but the more we talked, the more I knew what the day’s headline would really be:

  UNUSUAL FRIENDSHIP BLOSSOMS BETWEEN STRAPPING BUXTON NEWSPAPERMAN AND CARDINAL/BEET ABOMINATION.

  That old adage that time flies when you’re having fun has never proven truer than it did on the day of the forensics competition.

  It felt as though Benji and I had been talking for only a few minutes, but I realized how much time had actually passed when Benji said, “Well, Red, it’s got to be around four o’clock. I don’t know about your folks, but if I don’t show up for supper, mine don’t have any problem in sentencing me to time in the Amen Corner, and that’s not something I’m looking forward to after I did my last stretch.”

  “The what corner?”

  Benji explained a punishment his parents had designed where he or his siblings had to sit in a corner for days on end and read the Bible.

  I said, “That seems odd that they’d make it a punishment to read the Bible.”

  He said, “See! That’s just what I thought. I tried explaining it to them too, but it didn’t work. Father told me, ‘You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink, but you can sure make him stand there looking at the water for a long time.’ Mother said she knows we probably wouldn’t be doing much reading while we were in the Amen Corner, but she hoped being in the same general area as the Bible might cause something good to rub off.”

  As we gathered our clothes, Benji said, “What can a person do? The competition should be over soon. I hope we’re back in time for the awards ceremony.”

  I became a bit nervous.

  “Let’s move quickly, Benji. If we don’t get there in time, I’ll have to walk back to Chatham. If that happens, I’ll invite your parents over so Grandmother O’Toole can demonstrate the proper way a punishment is supposed to be given. Believe me, there’s no reading involved, but it is very Biblical. It’s full of smiting, striking down, and pestilence raining onto the head of a certain worse-than-a-serpent, ungrateful child with red hair.”

  Benji said, “Don’t kid yourself, Red. The Amen Corner is the gentle end of Mother and Father’s punishments; they can get a whole lot more Old Testament.”

  We started back and I must admit I felt some sadness that I’d probably never see this Buxton lad again. Maybe we’d bump into each other when he came to Chatham to work at the newspaper or when I went to Buxton for Mr. Green’s classes.

  When we reached the church, people were just coming out.

  One of the Buxton lads saw Benji and shouted, “Benji! There you are! Can you believe it?”

  He ran up to Benji, holding a silver bowl attached to a wooden base. He was positively beaming.

  My heart sank. Had Hickman been robbed once again?

  The lad held the bowl over his head and said, “What? You think fat meat ain’t greasy? I did it! I did it!”

  I had no idea what that meant.

  Benji said, “You won, Spencer? I can’t believe it!”

  “I know! I’m shocked!”

  Benji said, “Spence, I want you to meet someone. His name …”

  I interrupted. I’ve found it’s always better to beat the other person to the punch. I said, “I bet you a wooden nickel you can’t guess what my nickname is.”

  Spencer said, “You can keep the wooden nickel, Red.”

  He handed the beautiful silver trophy to Benji. Benji read the inscription.

  I looked to the door of the church just as Hickman Holmely was coming out. He was surrounded by people patting him on the back and saying those horrible words people say to someone who’s been cheated. “Great job, Hicks!” and “You should be very proud!”

  Under Hickman’s arm was another silver bowl, this one twice the size of the one Spencer had handed to Benji.

  I didn’t understand, and as he read his friend’s bowl, Benji appeared to be just as perplexed.

  He said, “Wait a minute, Spencer, I think you got so excited you picked up the wrong bowl. This one reads ‘Upper Canada Forensics Competition 1901. First Runner-Up.’ Does that mean first runner-up as in second place?”

  Spencer looked up to the porch where Hickman was accepting more congratulations and back slaps. True admiration filled his eyes as he said, “Are you kidding me? That’s Hickman Holmely. The only real competition was who’d come in second.”

  Benji and I looked at each other and laughed.

  Hickman ran over to some new friends to great cheers and huzzahs.

  Benji reached his hand out and said, “Red. It was a lot of fun meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you in Chatham or when you’re coming to school in Buxton.”

  “I’d like that, Benji. I was thinking the same thing.”

  I walked to the wagons that would return to Chatham.

  I was pleased and surprised when I heard, “Hey, Red! Wait a minute.”

  Benji ran toward me.

  “I was thinking. You know how you feel so jealous because you don’t have brothers or sisters?”

  It was true, but I’d never said that to Benji.

  “I don’t recall saying –”

  “You don’t have to recall. You get that same look that Spencer gets when I talk about those brats. An expression of Ooh, it would be so nice to have siblings. Ooh, I’m so lonely being all alone comes over your faces.

  “I’ve done my best to correct Spence, and I think it’s only fair I do the same with you. Do you think your evil grandmother would let you come over for supper with us one day?”

  She never would if she were to find out I was going to Buxton, but I know Father would consider it fine. He’s always suggesting to me I need to be more open to making new friends.

  I said, “That would be great!”

  Benji said, “OK, I’m in Chatham on Tuesday at Miss Cary’s shop. If you come by then, we can make all the arrangements. We don’t live far from the station.”

  “That would be wonderful. I’m really looking forward to meeting your brother and sister.”

  He said, “You say that only because you don’t know Stubby and Patience.”

  I said, “We’ll see.” I’d heard that some of the Buxton people had unusual names, but “Stubby”?

  Benji said, “One more thing, Red. Did you know the word gullible is not in the dictionary?”

  “What?”

  “Seriously, it’s a real mystery. Gullible is nowhere in the dictionary.”

  “Why, I’m quite sure you’re wrong, Benji.”

  “I’m not. Take my word and don’t waste your time looking it up.”

  I didn’t say anything more, but as Benji walked toward Buxton, I couldn’t wait to get home and prove him wrong.

 
What a grand day this had turned out to be. Hickman hadn’t been cheated this time, and I’d soon be going to Buxton to have supper with my new friend!

  We sang and laughed all the way back to Chatham.

  We were so proud of Hickman that we could have collectively burst.

  “… and finally, Lord, make certain that Benji’s friend Alvin is comforted and at ease whilst he is under our roof. We ask that You let Your love fill his heart as abundantly as it has filled ours.”

  Mother finished with “Amen.”

  All the Alstons and Red echoed, “Amen.”

  He kept his head bowed for a second as his right hand danced across his chest and his face.

  Stubby and Patience exchanged a confused look.

  I wish Mother had said a word or two to Jesus for me. I could use a little help to feel comforted and at ease too. Bad things had started today at the newspaper when Miss Cary hadn’t mentioned my article about Spencer’s second-place victory.

  I’d said, “Miss Cary, do you think my article will come out in the paper?”

  She’d said, “We’ll get to that in a moment, Ben-jamin, but first, do me a quick favour.”

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Go out onto the front porch and check the skies for me.”

  I already knew there wasn’t a cloud in the sky but went anyway.

  When I came back into her office, she’d said, “Were any hogs or sows zooming about up there?”

  Hogs or sows? Had Miss Cary lost her mind?

  “In the sky?”

  “Um-hmm.”

  “Why, of course not, ma’am.”

  “That’s what I thought. Now, to answer the question about your article, let me know when you look to the sky and do see pigs flying about, because the way you’re writing, that will be the day one of your articles appears in my paper. Now, off you go!”

  I’d left her office beat up again, but this time there wasn’t any cake.

  I also needed Mother’s prayers because I couldn’t shake the feeling that this dinner Red was sharing with us was bound to end in catastrophe.

  I’d spent the night imagining everything that could go wrong.