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"The Timely Death Of Black Joe" Copyright November 4, 2024 by Gary E. Andrews.
I have one of those scented Christmas tree shaped thingies people hang from rear view mirrors.
It says, "Black Ice" but I read, "Black Joe".

There are several mens in our... community... by the name of Joe.

Old man Joseph; his is his last name though. I rund into him on the road one day, admired his walkin' stick and he give it to me. Said, "Hit ain't a walkin' stick. Hit's a dibble stick, case you see somethin' on the ground and don't wanna put yo' hand down lest they be a snake there you ain't seen." Good advice; good stick. Carry it when I'm walkin' an' I'm always walkin'.

Then they's Young Joe Paul. I don't know his last name. His people call him Young Joe Paul so e'r'body els' do too. He's a smart young fella. E'r'body glad to see him coming, been knowin' him since he's a baby, now a teenage man. Them; not me. I don't know nobody no more. All the folks I know'd died off one by one. Went to twenty-eight funerals in one year.

Young Joe Paul works at the sawmill with me and... Well... I don't work no more. They won't let me on account of me bein' old and needin' to sit and rest too often to suit 'em. I can still work; just not so much.

I carry a walkin' stick and sometimes I leans on it, but I can walk without it. It's a dibble stick, for pokin' at things you see but don't wanna put your hand down there. We gots two pisoness snakes here in southern Ohio; timber rattlesnakes with pison that wreck your nerves, and copperheads what wreck your blood. Doctor Watchendorf tol' me that years ago when... when Young Joe Paul's daddy, Old Joe Paul, got bit and near died. They's cuttin' wood on Milldale hill and he got bit. They say he cut hisself and asked Young Joe Paul to suck the pizen out. He did. Doc said it probably didn't help but s'ho didn't hurt.

Young Joe's mother is proud of him. She raised him up right in the way he should go and I think he's cleavin' to his raisin'.

I tell you that to tell you this; my name is Joe too, Gary Joe Andrews. Momma tol' me she didn't make me a Joseph because she didn't want to hold me to Biblical goodness; "Too hard for a man to live Biblically until he get older and comprehend," she'd say, more than once't.

I was... pretty... free and easy... growin' in life. I kissed the girls, stayed clear of fights mostly, didn't get the Law on my trail, but... I bought liquor and drank it, laid drunk in the woods, forgot myself and goin' to work sometimes, more than once't. They let me come back, more 'n once't, work on Mr. John's farm, work in the sand and gravel quarra, then at the sawmill.

Wasn't because not showin' up wasn't so bad, they let me come back. It took me hearin' it again at the sawmill for me to straighten myself up. "I needed you!" the boss men said, ever' one of 'em. "I couldn't get the work down without you. I need your head and hands, your body here pullin'!" they'd say. I... me and other men, bodies on the job, was what made all the other stuff 'work' to make profit. The rest of it, buildings and machines and raw materials just sat there until we laid our hands to it all. Then... then it made money. They needed us to bring ourselves and be them extra heads and hands and bodies, multiplyin' their own.

I finally felt bad about myself and vowed not to let people down. I's lettin' myself down. Hell, I missed my money too. I thought, "How much fun is gettin 'toxicated and layin' drunk in the woods compared to money in hand, money in the pocket, money in the jar for necessaries when they necessary? Stay sober damned fool! Have a drink. Have two! Don't have three! Don't drink four! That ain't fun! That's not knowin' nothin', layin' drunk, lucky nobody stole'd your shoes, pissed on your belly, went through your pockets layin' there not knowin'.

Besides, Miss Emily Caine wouldn't let me kiss her with liquor on my breath. And I wanted to kiss her ever' chance. After two years of not... not not drinkin'... just not layin' drunk and missin' work... she took to me again. I could buy her things, take her to the picture show, bring fixin's for a meal, birthday present, Christmas present, unexpected present at an unexpected time. She married me. We made life together, sent our girl to college, first ever from aroun' hereabouts to get out and go.

I lost... Emily after forty years. Doc 'Dorff' tol' me why. Some infernal internal concern he said he didn't understand hisself.

I lost my religion, drank some, too much but not like when I's young. Hurt too much. Drank on Friday, was no good Saturday, still hurt on Sunday, Wed'ns Day I run a stop sign, 'cause my brain was still addled. I knew why. Couldn't fix that car. Been walkin' since. Quit drinkin' and don't have none 'cept maybe Thanksgivin' if someone's got it and offers. I sip it, taste it; don't drink it. Man got to keep his head about him for dealin' with the world without and the world within. Preacher said that.

So anyway, Black Joe. We di'n't call him that because he was black. We all black. But Black Joe, e'r'body say, "...has a black heart."

Black Joe has a black heart.

Black Joe'd stand by ya at the bar, wait for ya to look away, and snatch your change off the bar and walk away. By the time you realized your change was gone he'd be shootin' pool over at t'other end of the room. People'd warn people, 'There's Black Joe comin' in. Put your money away!' E'rbody had a Black Joe story and none of it praise.

Black Joe was born here. His folk took to Cleveland, came back, went Cincinnati, came back, years away at a time. They'd come back with more people, men with women, women with men they'd met and maybe married, more young children, without children who left here as children, growed up and had lives of they own, families, jobs, Cincinnati, Dayton. A parcel of 'em 'd light out again, come back, stay a while, off again, take some with, leave some behind.

But Black Joe... Black Joe kept comin' back long after the rest of the family seemed to... not to no more.

Black Joe would come to me to find liquor. I knew who. I knew where. He knew I knew. Until Preacher Creech's still got busted up I did. Creech was the last bootlegger I knew.

But I never cared for Black Joe. I's glad not to know where to get liquor any more. I'd get him to the bootlegger, Creech or any other, and he want to... act mad as he tried to haggle for price. Them 'd look at me like, 'Why'd you bring this motherfilcher to my house?' and tell me later, "Don't bring that one to me no more or don't come yourself for him."

I'd tell him 'fore we went how much and ax him if'n he had the money. Always yes. Don't remember wondering where he got the money. He had it. We went. I got a drink or two, a scary ride in his car, called him 'Non-drivin' Joe'. He'd go away then, car and liquor, leave me out. I'd hear trouble later, fightin', flirtin' with other men wives, pawin' after their children. People still 'sociated with him, because he had money I figure, came with a car. Some them folk got black-hearted too, lost family, people run 'em off, trouble with the Law, bad stories.

Young Joe Paul... he tol' me he was upstairs in the sawmill, heard voices in between the buildings, looked out and down, and saw him, Black Joe, reachin' open hands up, Joe Paul showed me, toward a young boy passin' through that shortcut from the river, and heard Black Joe say... "Ya wanna [naughty word removed]?" to a young boy. Seemed he was with women or men. I never saw nothin' but... that's the story. Young Joe Paul said, "The boy squeezed by him, holdin' up a stringer of fish to block him, back him off, Black Joe reachin' and grabbin' and touchin' and clutchin', laughin'...," Young Joe Paul said.

So word spread that Black Joe was not trusted with woman, man, boy nor beast. But he allus had money so he could eat at Mrs. Stanley's, drink at the saloons and public houses, anywhere black folk was welcome.

Then, one day, he be gone, not seen for months at a time, maybe gone south for winter, nobody knew, or cared to know. "Good riddance to bad rubbish," I heard said more than once't.

Little Carol. Watched her from a baby to a youngster, on into a lovely girl, a fine young specimen of womanness. She and Young Joe Paul were the same age. Young Joe Paul tol' me she's what kept him comin' to school, goin' to church. Of late, when I's still at the sawmill, Joe Paul, talkin' like to himself with me there listenin', lookin' off up the hills to'rd where he imagined her at home, said, "She's what's kept me breathin'." Didn't shout it. Wasn't tellin' me. Was tellin' hisself, was knowin' she was his destiny. I felt... I don't know... privileged to know it.

I told him, I told him twice, maybe three times, to get it in his head, put what I's thinkin' in him to think too, "I think..." like I had any right or soothsayin' powers, "I think the time is right. The time is right for you. The time is right for Carol."

Ca'int call her 'Little' Carol no more. She five foot nine, and a fulsome bodied woman, lovely to look upon. She commands respect. Don't know nobody disrespect her because she ain't afraid to call a man "worthless, shif'less, with no redeemin' values, virtues," she'll say, "nothin' to offer the world but fertilizer!"

Make me laugh out loud! I heard her say that an' I stepped across behind her, in line of sight with the man who had drawn her ire. I looked him in the eye, showed him with my left hand that he should go that way, get out of her way, go... lick his wounds somewhere. He went. She went on in the store 'thout lookin' back. I respected her that day.

I lust for her beauty too. I jus' old! I ain't dead! But I know that ain't proper and I don't say out loud to me or nobody else or let myself believe I think I could be her man. I'm older than her daddy's daddy.

So I told Joe Paul, gesturing with my walking stick in hand, toward him, "I think the time is right for you." I gesture with the stick off meaning Carol, out there somewhere, say, "I think the time is right for Carol." And I sweep my stick across in front of me, saying, "I think the time is right for the world."

I was meanin' time for him to ax her to marry. I don't know why I thought that was my b'idness. But I spoke it.

I's thinkin' about the seasons. I's thinkin' about work and politics and life and time and... like I say, I don't know why I thought I had soothsayin' to express an opinion on them children... but I did. I noticed thereafter Joe Paul takin' better care of hisself, his clothes, his groomin'. I'd see them together goin' to and fro', movie house, church, shoppin' together for his mother, her mother, lady and gentleman. I console myself that, maybe, I wasn't speakin' out of turn, hoped I'd done some good for his thinkin', for her.

Somewhere... somehow... somewhere... they had troubles, a falling out, the ladies speculated. I heard 'em. Yeah, I heared 'em at the store, talkin' on they porches before they hesh up while I walk by. I can hear.

Then they'd be in the same places but not together, Young Joe Paul, Young Carol. Made me sad. It showed on him worse than on her. She jus' hid it better. Her pretty face was sullen sometimes now, not bright-eyed and cheery like her lifetime. His looked like he'd been been put down in the mud and left sittin' to dry out! I wanted to know, but dare'snt ax, stickin' my Big Government Nose in his business. Wouldn't dream of axin' her. She stayed kind to others, smile, laugh, talk, but not to Joe Paul.

Then one day she did ax me, "How..." she stopped, there passin' on the sidewalk, went on, "is my Joe Paul."

That might bee the sweetest thing I ever heard, 'my Joe Paul.'

"Mis'able," I tol' her. "Mis'able as a dog ain't got no reason," I tol' her. "Sufferin' ever' day all day."

She watered up her eyes and went on. I felt maybe I'd said too much, said wrong, about none of my bid'ness, but... I'd said it and it was done and I couldn't unsay it. I decided them was inspired words that maybe could put them right. It didn't. Carol began dressin' nice and goin' out at night, the drinkin' places where she didn't drink but men was very attentive to her, tried to win her favor. She just laughed, played card games for fun, no money, and talked loud and had fun with 'em. Then she's get up and go home before dark, usually with two fightin' to walk her home while another'n would walk off with her. She's leave 'em at the end of her street, shake they hand, send them back, don't let 'em come far's her house.

She look more like a grown woman than ever. Mmm! Mmm! Mmm! Beauty and brain all in one package.

Joe Paul. Oh! What a mis'able dog. He's work his body tired, take it home and lay it down and not come out the house. He quit goin' a church where she still go. Couldn't stay if he saw her in the street. Go down the alley around the block to avoid passin' close by her. I know there was tears in his eyes. Love do that. Love you can't quit. You know mos' time, you stop lovin' somebody they a good reason. You know the reason and you stop lovin' em. It ain't hard to... to will to do. It's hard; you suffer. It might be hard but you go on and do. But when they stop lovin' you, or tell you to stop lovin' them 'cause they don't loves you back, then... then.. you gotta stop yourself from lovin' them, pure act of will. An' that ain't... easy to do. You gotta work at it 'cause you don't wanna stop. Your love was... sincere, deep in you, not a... not a thing you just... was practicin' of a choice. It... love comes and gets you. You don't go get it. It comes and gets you. Love comes and gets you.

So there we is; Joe Paul, Young Carol, and along come Black Joe.

Carol got... was she a man I'd say, 'Too big for her britches'. She got too... bold, too confident in those drinkin' places, too confident aroun' these local boys she grew up with, the older men whose families she know, see at church or at the store. Carol been workin' at the store a while now. E'r'body see her, get smiles and laughin' and the goods and services they come lookin' fer. And that's where Black Joe began sniffin' aroun'. He knew he could fine her there, knew when, where she'd be, and could come in with... a legitimate... you know... pretense.

Well, either he behave hisself there because other people can see him, or he genu-winely behave in courtesy to Carol, but she treat him with the same respect any customer come in get. I think that encouraged him to come back. He come in, buy penny candy, offer her some. She decline, polite, smile, friendly, apparently accept his compliments.

One day I'm walkin' and she comin' t'ord me and stop. She say, good evenin' and how you and all the usual. I'm thinkin' she want a new report on Joe Paul, but... she cross her arms, say, "Mr. Gary Joe, Black Joe says he wants to take me to Columbus."

I don't hear the detail much of what she go on sayin', how nice it is there, good weather, good people, good food, good music, e'rything good, good, good and more gooder.

"Don't go," I say. I punctuate my words, gesture with my walking stick, say it again. "Don't... go."

She look at me and I'm thinkin' that ain't the answer she want. I say it again;

"Don't go. Don't you go nowhere with Black Joe. Black Joe can't be trusted. Don't let him give you money. Don't let him buy you things. Don't let him serve you a drink or make you a sandwich or hold you dancin'. Don't go nowhere with Black Joe. They reasons why we all call him Black Joe. Black Joe..." I tell Carol, "got a black heart."

She say, 'Oh!' somethin' somethin' about he ain't that bad, and ask, "Is he?"

I say, "Yes. He is. Black Joe that bad. And worse. I don't know the worse but I know what I don't know got to be worse than what I do know and what I do know is bad enough. Don't trust Black Joe..." I picks my words, "with your virtue, with your..." I wanna say body, I say, "fate."

I go to the Courthouse sometimes, listen to lawyers argue for the complainer and against the complainee. I know about 'character ass'ination'. Well, I had done as complete a job of ass'inatin' Black Joe character as I could think without repeating more than I have. She thank me, talk about the weather, keep a troubled look in her pretty little face. No wonder that boy in love. No wonder Black Joe after her. She just a wonderful person with wonderful... everything a man want. But she go on then, an' I don't know if I said enough. I know I ain't said too much! Black Joe got a black heart. I should have repeated all of it through one more time, get it in her head. I hope... I know... I console my doubts... she don't need me soothsayin' and philosophizin' and devisin' and advisin'. Carol is smart, smart as they come, smart as a tack! I... I... hope Carol smart.

But... you can't give other people the caution you've learned for yourself. Carol... was seen in the drinkin' places, entertained by Black Joe, playin' cards, laughin', bein' her beautiful self, him frequentin' the store and not buyin' nothin'.

So Joe Paul has got his face back, the same smart and bright spirited... boy and man he used to be, but still that cloud of... I don't know... of growin' that come from experience. I didn't tell him she ask about him. Don't want to jinx it. He knows somethin' of the world now, of love and loss and that... if it don't kill ya... make ya stronger.

One day I'm in the store for coffee and he come right in, Joe Paul himself, walk right over to Carol, her face wide eyed, like the beautiful child she always was, and he say somethin' quiet, and she get her face back, and she smile, and she throw her hand up over her mouth and body bounce like she laughin', take her hand down and talk, lookin' down so he can see that face all he want, and them eyes flip up and love-regard him. I see it. Does he? And I'm slippin' up this aisle, down that one, holdin' my walking stick instead of lettin' it click on the floorboards, tryin' to hear or see and know. Hopin' for folk you care about is... emotional, stings my eyes. I pass the end of an aisle just in time to see her reach her hand 'cross the counter to him, him take it, shake hands like two men on a contract, hold a little longer, one or both of them, which I don't know. Joe Paul turn. I hear his boots on the floor, go to the door and out, close the door behind him, quiet. I get my coffee, pay the man, and go.

Now, I ain't tell Joe Paul nothin' 'bout Carol, what she tell me about Black Joe, what I see, what I hear. I think he know. People talk. I think that why his face hurt so bad, hurt so long. Do folk know, tell him, about Black Joe talkin' about Columbus? I worry.

Another day, I see Carol comin', take my hat off we get close.

"Good evenin' Miss Carol!" says me. "You look lovely today." And she axes me,

"How's Joe Paul?"

"Come to work every day," I say. "He could run that sawmill all by hisself," I tell her. "Must be savin' his money 'cause I don't see him spend it. Bought new work shoes t' other day." All that's all I know. He don't tell me personal feelin' details.

"I invited him to church but he hasn't come yet," she tell me. "You tell him I'm expectin' to see him tomorrow.

Well I ain't see Joe Paul today before tomorrow to tell him. Go down through the river bottoms road up by his house but nobody there. Whole family must go somewhere. I can read and write but I ain't got pencil or paper. Daddy told me, "A good man always has a pencil." Here am I not a good man. So I go on and... I don't go to church... listen to them preachers... they seem to be found out too regular... run off with the money... run off with the piano player... leave her bass player husband cryin' behind. So... I don't know nothin' 'bout them two.

But then, see Carol still runnin' where them liquored up dogs run, bein' wooed and pursued... by Black Joe.

Well, Joe Paul start talkin' one day when we turn off the saw. Just sudden, say,

"I'm worried about Carol."

I listen, don't ask. Don't ask no questions and folks'll answer 'bout ever' question you had but didn't ask. Just shut up and listen.

"She thinks... we all don't know Black Joe... like she know Black Joe. She say, 'He ain't that bad!' and 'He's nice to me!' He bought her shoes and hank'erchiefs with her initials."

'Damn it Carol!' I thinks, don't say nothin'.

Well, I tell him, "You know that's just the dog that bites ya. The one you thought you could pet, maybe did pet before, and one day he shows his true self."

Joe Paul goes quiet. I should'a stayed shut up. He talks some more.

"I need to spend... some time with her, have... a chance to talk sense to her. Black Joe..." He stops there, don't start again, sweepin' the floor, eyes down, thinkin' I can tell, for himself. I finish his sentence in my head, '...got a black heart.'

Well, Joe Paul began regular tellin' me. He went to church. Sat apart from Carol 'til she see him and come to sit with him. Bring him back to say hello her mother and people after. Treat him like same old good friends before. And he tell me like it all... meaningful. Little details and things said and still... I don't think they... 'together' again... just 'friendly' again.

Well, one day... this take a turn, a black-hearted turn.

I don't mine tellin'... it hurt my heart... it scared me for Carol... it hurt me for Joe Paul. Why do life have to be so shitty?

And I hate Black Joe.

I hate that grinnin' son of a... I start to say dog but ain't no blamin' his momma unknown for what her son become.

Joe Paul... tell me... and now I tell you... don't gossip... please... this terrible.

Joe Paul tell me Carol let Black Joe invite her to supper his cabin.

His family own a cabin up a holler, own that holler, name for the family. You don't know them. I ain't tell you the family name.

And she go.

She tell Joe Paul she think she in charge, in control like at the store, even the drinkin' places.

But alone, his cabin, he cook fish, serve a good meal sittin' at a table with a white table cloth, a lady and a gentleman, and... Black Joe finish eating, get up take his plate and glass and fork and knife and spoon and bowl away. Carol still finishing, and he come back, move his chair out from between the table and the wall... and Carol watchin', wonder why... and Black Joe... get behind her, jerk her chair away and shove her right onto the table, front of her dress, right in her plate of food, spill red wine on the white table cloth, push her and the table against the wall, and... Joe Paul tell me Carol say, "Joe Paul he... snaked me! He snaked me!"

I ain't never heard nobody say that... a way of sayin'... sex. But I understand.

Joe Paul, he dark.

He... hide himself right in front of me.

I think I see a man who would kill a man. It such difference in Young Joe Paul who been a bright mind, bright spirit, for long as I know, and now, a... a... a darkness, a coldness, a matter of fact. I'm burdened! I would not have chosen to know this! I wish I didn't know but know and... hate Black Joe too.

He tell how she cry and cry, pull at her hair, worry, 'What I get pregnant? What if he gave me a disease?'

Young Joe Paul look like Old Joe Paul, tired, old man.

"What if she get pregnant, have Black Joe's baby? What if he gave her a disease?" Joe Paul repeats the questions Young Carol had asked him. He's askin' me. 'What if...' I don't know what if.

"I'm gonna kill Black Joe."

Boy say that with a deeper voice than I ever hear from him. Growl it. I hear it in my head again, still hear it after Joe Paul gone.

I talk against it.

"Joe Paul," says me, "don't get crazy. Don't throw away your life... your soul... to take the life of that worthless prig!"

I want to say, 'Let God take care of this.' But I ain't a God man. I don't believe God takes care of things like this. God wouldn't let it happen if there was a God! Would he? Why would he?

My voice go up, louder, higher, without my intention. I hate Black Joe, do this to these children, tryin' to find each other again, almost gettin' there, and Black Joe doin' exactly the kind of thing I would think Black Joe would do. Damn him! If there's a Jesus, damn Black Joe Jesus! God? Damn Black Joe. My mind is a terrible place to be. I counselin' Joe Paul to stay reasonable, rational, mindful of consequences, to... find him way back to hisself, and in my head hate and wanna hurt Black Joe.

Think long about Carol. Sex. Something... more private, more... intimate than should be thought about or talked about in public or with strangers. Private. Personal. Gifts between people who love each other. Loved my sex with my woman, forty years.

More important... I told him,

"It is more important to Carol that you stay her friend, her support, than you avenge her honor, or vent your hate for yourself thinkin'. More important that you don't do worse... do as bad to him as he's done to her and you. Stay straight. Stay whole. Stay sober. Think this through. Don't lose more than has already been lost to Black Joe. Don't let him take more than has already been taken. That girl, she always ask about you. I don't tell you I see her on the street, at the store. She kinda like a kid kickin' at the gravel and finally ask what she want to know... the only thing she want to know... 'How my Joe Paul?' You stay calm. Stay reasonable. Don't throw yourself away. You'd be throwin' Young Carol away too."

The boy look the same. I don't think I change his mind. He gone and I'm worried. All the while I's talkin' him I'm thinkin' how I hate Black Joe and I'm gonna beat him down when I see him, stick my walkin' stick up his ass and then down his throat!

And even think, 'I'm gonna kill Black Joe.' 'I'm gonna kill Black Joe.'

Carol ain't in the store a couple days, then she back. I shop, get salt I don't need, and black pepper. You can alway' use stuff like that so don't hurt me to spend ahead, have it, don't need it. Won't need no more 'til next Christmas. She come to the counter to take my money, the man out front talkin'. Nobody in the store but us and the potatoes. I wonder can we talk. I want to say somethin', ask everything, do somethin' for this child. She so beautiful, smiles that face like nothin' wrong, strong woman. I hear the boy's words, Carol's words, 'He snaked me!' I hear the boy growl, 'I'm gonna kill Black Joe.'

I hem and haw, stutter. I cain't say nothin' to this chile about these troubles, these slings and arrows that done come upon us all, her, him, and me.

She's... alright. She's strong. She's the master of her face and self, her emotions. She's bidness as usual. I try to be.

"Tell Joe Paul..." she starts, stops... stutters like me. "Would you tell Joe Paul to come and see me?"

"Yes ma'am," I say, tip my hat. I go to the door, lay my hand on the knob, want to say something and don't know what. I twist the knob and go. Damn you Black Joe. I'll kill you on sight!

It's horrible! It says it in my head without me havin' to. I've said it so many times it says it back to me! I'm worried for myself. It's what he deserves! I'll kill him and they'll kill me. That's alright. I'm done here. I ain't gonna make a new life and live it on. Too old and mean for to find another woman and make a life.

I try to get reasonable again, mock my logic in my head, tell myself how stupid I'm thinkin'. I argue my case. 'Yo honor', says me, 'I plead justified homicide! That man Black Joe deserved to die and I died him... killed him.

I imagine Black Joe layin' there dead at my feet and that... thinkin'... Damnedest thing... seems to get me back to rational thought. I can't kill him. Then what? He dead. There I stand. Then they put me up on the wall and shoot me, hang me from the oak tree outside the county courthouse. He's dead. I'm dead. And these children have to figure from there on their own. Ain't nothin' I can do about that, I argues back.

So... I need... Joe Paul needs... to hear from me. That... alive... I can do. He can do. Dead I cain't he'p nobody, me nor nobody else. He cain't help the living by dying. Young Joe Paul need to hear from Young Carol, 'Joe Paul, come and see me!' Hell! I'd swim the swollen Ohio River if a woman like that asked me to come and see her. Even in these circumstances. I got to go tell Joe Paul.

"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!" I say out loud. Look around after to see if anybody hear.

Rain begin to fall. It been rainin' a lot of days. I wore my rain hat, slicker. I knew it goin' rain. Creeks is full. I know the road through the bottoms t'ord Joe Paul house be under water, that low ground at the sheep ranch. So I go to the railroad track and walk the track around. They a trestle over the Little Scioto River. Good. Give me time to get my mind back in my hands and out the devil's! Hah! I don't believe in god nor the devil. I figure if you 'believe' in God and that means you worship Him and then you 'believe' in the devil, does that mean you worship the devil too? I'm an old man. I don't believe in supernatural hobgoblins and demons and gonna getcha monsters from the movies. I've been alone and on dark roads many a time, with sins worthy of strikin' a man down... I wasn't always old. I had my share of womens. I've stole. I've coveted wives. I've taken the Lord's name in vain, got graven images on my wall right now. I've 'worshiped' my own free livin' get what'cha want while the gettin's good lifestyle. If they was somethin' like the devil in this world he would'a got me a long time ago. Maybe he did! I laugh at the notion.

No. Ain't no monsters but people. An' you gotta stay alert to keep from bein' one or bein'... snaked by one. I gotta get to Joe Paul and make sure he got his head on right. Go see Carol and be alright.

I turn my collar up, hold my head to make that rain fall off my hat down my slicker coat, eyes on the crossties so I don't slip and fall out here all by myself, train come and turn me into pork chops! I laugh, out loud. Oh! What a life. What a world. Make ya believe in God, want somethin' all powerful to... to rescue ya from your woes, from the ways of the world. I look ahead, stop and look back. Be my luck the devil come drivin' a train and get me right now. Nothin' comin'. I walk on. Rain's steady, drizzle, general rain like when I's a boy, start drizzlin' and rain all day, all night too, and maybe still rainin' the next day. Oh! Listen. I'm almost at the Little Scioto River, hear it rushin' under the train trestle ahead. Sound like a train! I...

Off to my left is old man Furche's garden, full of water now from the backed up river. It's a low spot between the built up railroad track and their house higher up the natural hill. I helped him dig it up first time. It had been a garden but let go a couple years before he bought the place and moved in. Paid me fifty cents for work from mid-morning to late afternoon, good money in those days. Mr. Kegley, a white man, told me he got fifty cents working farm work from before sunup to after sundown, told me that was good money. Mr. Furche had me back each spring until he died.

Oh! There his wife. Standin' in the lit porch. They didn't use to have windows all around. Do now. I think to wave but doubt she can even see me this distance through the steady rain, or know who I am anyway. I wave. Rain goes down my sleeve. I can't see her wave back, if she do.

She was standoffish back then. I don't think she liked me bein' on the property. She brought him a glass of lemonade that first year, didn't bring me nothin'. With her standin' there he handed it to me instead of drinkin' it himself. I took it in my two hands but was lookin' at him, at her, unsure to drink or not to drink. She glared at him. He grinned at her. She whirled away. He tol' me, "Drink it. Drink it." I did. We stood, restin', shovel handles leanin' on our chests. He told me, "Finish it," reachin' to get the glass when I's done. I did.

He took the empty glass and went to the house. I went back to workin' and looked up just in time to see the glass come hurlin' back through the air down the hill and stick in the dirt at the edge of where we'd dug. I didn't see her. He came back grinnin', laughin' to himself, worked and worked me just like always. Pay'd be better each year. I liked him, stayed away from the house.

That's how I found out where the trestle was, how I could get around the high water if I wanted to, needed to. There was a girl over... Well... never mind about that.

Oh! Who's here? Somebody... comin' through the rain from the other side of the trestle, walkin' the railroad tracks in this rain. He smart enough to have a hat like mine, a rain slicker. Only fools and madmen be out here in this. I reckon I'm one or the other. Or both. Ooo! That make me worry about this other one. Fool or madman, it's not a good place to meet him. This walkin' stick is ash. I'll crack a head!

I keep comin'. I see he steppin' on every other crosstie, makin' better time than my old ass, steppin' on every one. He not fool enough to be caught out here without proper rain gear. He...

Oh God!

It's Black Joe!

It's Black Joe!

I see his face, that grin! He lowers his head again, steps off onto the platform there on the trestle, here at this edge of the river, a platform where folks can get off the track if a train comes while they out on it. They another platform out in the middle. Cain't har'ly see it for the rain. He stands there on the platform, both hands on that wet, rusty angle-iron railing, lookin' down in the river, down the river, back at me. The river near roars, so much muddy water, churning white, rushin' carrying debris from wherever it been layin' up the river, up the banks.

I come near, and he hollers, "Ain't this some rain!" He say it like a statement, not a question. I don't answer then. I need to look down, step a few more crossties, look up, closer now, see that face I knew well enough to dislike before I came to hate it. He grins. His eyes are red. He looks drunk, acts drunk.

"You got any liquor, Gary?" he yells over the river and the rain. He knows who I am."

"No!" I yell back. '

Keep walkin', I say in my head. 'Just keep goin', leave this devil behind.' I imagine myself with a gun, pulling it out and putting it in his belly, pullin' the trigger. I've done that imaginin' a few times. Then him dead, layin' there and me asking, 'Now what?'

'Keep walkin', I think again. 'Go on now', I think, like talkin' to a mule.

"Ain't seen't you in a while!" he yells. "How you been?"

I'm out in the middle of the tracks. He's against the outer rail of the platform, turning, stepping to the corner, to the right, turn, back to the left.

I say, not as loud as him, "I'm takin' care of myself. How about you?"

I'm thinkin' if he knew how black my heart is in this moment we'd be akin!

"Yeah, me too!" he yells, still lookin' down in that water, steppin' back corner to corner like he's lookin' for somethin' lost. Maybe his soul. "I won six dollars at poker!" he yells, stops pacin', leans in the left corner, grins, puts his hands on the railing, left and right in that corner. I hate him grinnin'. "I bought myself a steak, baked potato, collards, black-eyed peas. And drank seven beers! I'm 'bout as happy as ever I been and twice as successful!"

I imagine him at Mrs. Stanley's, warm and dry, eatin' good, and I imagine the grimace Young Joe Paul made me see on Young Carol's face with her worries, 'snaked', 'pregnant', 'diseased'.

He laughs and I hate him! I hear the growl, 'I'm gonna kill Black Joe!' and don't know if it's Joe Paul's voice or my own or the devil's.

I decide it cain't be the devil's 'cause the devil's standin' right here on this train trestle.

Of a sudden he's climbing up on that angle-iron rail, the lower rung, his knees bracing on that top rail, leanin' with more body above the top rail than below it. I raise both hands t'ord him and yell, "Watch yourself now! You fall in that river and..."

He laughs, climbs on up on the corner of them two top rails!

He lets go with his hands, raises hisself up standin', teeters, balances with his arms!

I feel a literal pain in my ass hole!

Suddenly I'm concerned, charitably concerned for his... well-being. I couldn't kill him. I couldn't kill any man. Life is precious, a great gift from the Great Spirit of the Universe, from your momma, yo daddy, who gave you life and a body to live it in. I pissed mine away for years. Black Joe's pissed his away for a lifetime. But he stands now... on the edge of... death!

He starts dancin'! He's dancin' a jig, rain splattering off him, his hat, his shoulders, his dancin' hands, off the rail and the platform. He's on one foot and then the other, back again! I think he sings a little tune! Rain's runnin' down my arms in my sleeves.

"Joe! Joe!" I yell. "Come down off there before..."

And that's all I get said.

Joe... Black Joe... falls into the river!

I stumble on the iron track, the ties, big rocks layin' where they ain't 'posed to be, get to the platform, look over the rail into that churning swirl around the pier below. If he fell straight down, which he did, he's forty feet down the river by now! Sixty feet! And I don't see him in the torrent!

My God! I want there to be a God in that moment, come and get me, take me out of this trouble!

Lift Black Joe out of the flood!

I look at the wide river, gushing with more water than I've ever seen in it, trees dancin' at the sides of the river, water flowin' through them high up their trunks.

The platform veritably vibrates, throbs with the water gushing through.

I'm... suddenly aware of being alone here, a living man having... slipped out... of this world!

I don't know how long I stand there. I come to myself, see the water rushing, muddy, white, turbulent beyond comprehension, roots and branches and brush and boards and shingles and... somewhere, far down there somewhere... Black Joe with his black heart, served up for a devil's supper... with his... just deserts.

No. No man should die so... so... horribly... so stupidly. What the hell was he thinkin'? Black Joe. I feel sympathy for the poor bastard, that... lonely wasted life, and now... death... like this has... no meaning.

I turn... go back the way I came. I look behind, see no train coming, ahead, see no train. I'm tedious, takin' a step on every crossties, rain splatterin'. I take two crossties at a time, go faster than I thought I could, use my walking stick for a surety. The rain is heavy. The air gives me a chill. I begin to ponder what to tell, who to tell. I should tell the sheriff. I will tomorrow. Not tonight. Tonight I'm... broken. The life is drained out of me like a big hole in a small bucket. They won't go lookin' for him, not tonight, not tomorrow. If he washes up somewhere we might hear of it, but, good god! The Little Scioto River goes to the Ohio not far on down, twists and turns, and it's up to overflowin' too; the Ohio River. Where might they find him? He could be at Maysville this time tomorrow.

Oh, that cold dead body, his slicker, his face rested from its own evil thoughts. I imagine him with his hat on, logically imagine him without it, that slicker twisted 'round him. His face... I'm 'bout as crazy as ever I been!

Oh! Lort! The trouble... The trouble is over. I feel... horror... and relief. And horror again. I don't remember much gettin' on home. I lean my stick on the wall on the porch, pull off my coat, shake the rain off. I'm wet, cold wet from warm wet sweatin' in that slicker, two-steppin' all the way 'thout restin'. My head's wet, inside my hat. I get in. Hang things to dry. I strip off clothes, hang them on my kitchen chairs. I go out in the yard, under the downspout at the corner of the cabin, let that water wash over me, get my naked ass back in the house, stoke up the coals in the firebank with just a couple logs, go on, get in bed, hopin' to sleep.

Black Joe... in that water.

Wasn't no swimmin', no... floatin' on top. He was down in it.

No holdin' his breath 'til he could crawl out somewhere.

I lay awake al long time thinkin'.

Suddenly, someone is knocking on my door, loud! Lots of knocks! Pounding! Not like someone coming who knows it's one big room and a simple knock is heard all over inside. Light in the windows. It's morning. I slept... got sleep... some time, somehow.

I jump up, naked, hope they don't open the door to see my black ass searchin' for underwear. I get 'em on. They're knockin' again. I call out, "Just comin'!" I find socks, get them on, pull on pants, slip on Sunday shoes, get a shirt left sleeve on and I'm at the door.

There stands the Sheriff!

He's got my walkin' stick in his hand. I almost reach for it.

"Gary Joe Andrews!" he calls my name. He knows my name. He ain't askin'.

"Yes sir?" I say. I'm slippin' on my right sleeve, buttonin' my shirt lookin' in his face to see if I can tell what's goin' on. They's two Deputies standin' in the yard behind him, shotguns each one!

"Where was you four o'clock yestiddy aft'a'noon?"

I don't know. "I don't know."

"Was you out at the railroad trestle!"

"Yes, I was out there. I didn't know what time it was," I tell him. I'm trying to get words to tell him about Black Joe but he asks, "Did you see Black Joe out there?"

"Yes sir, and he fell into the river!" I'm tryin' to get words to tell him about it, but he says,

"Did you push him in?"

"Push him in?" says me! "Why, hell no! He fell..."

"Don't you cuss at me!" the Sheriff says, his voice squealy like a pig, steps backward, says, "Take him!"

The men with shotguns come and get me, got me, pointing the guns, four barrels lookin' big enough to plug with a nickel, gesturing with the gun barrels for me to come out. My hands is up! I don't remember puttin' 'em up but they up.

"I didn't push him!" I'm saying. "Damned fool got up on the rail, and started dancin'." I regret sayin' 'Damned', but the Sheriff doesn't reprimand me, just says, "Let's take him back to the house and interrogate him there."

In our community, you learn to shut the hell up. The less you say, don't speak unless spoken to, and then say as little as impossible, the better your chances are of not getting your words twisted, turned back and stabbed into your own ass with your own words.

They put me in the back of the car. One Deputy pushes me across the seat, climbs in beside me. I'm fixin' to move on over by the other door when it opens and the Sheriff turns his big ass in and plops down, big old hogleg gun in a holster at the back of his hip. He gets in and can't close the door, lurches his big ass against me and moves me bodily against the Deputy. Finally he gets the door closed and the other Deputy gets in front with my walking stick, drives, creepin' down the hollow where the water flows, over roots and rocks, lurching us left and right ag'in each other. The Sheriff smells like fish... or somethin'. The Deputy smells like shaving lotion. He's got that shotgun there, butt on the floorboard, barrels to the roof. I'm lookin' ahead, lookin' down at my hands, squeezed together betwixt my knees. I don't know what the hillbilly hell is goin' on.

How did... somebody had to have seen me and Black Joe out there... at the trestle. I didn't see nobody. Pourin' rain. Ya keep your head down, eyes on the crossties. Who...

Soon I know. When he said, 'Back to the house' I thought he meant office. Folk hereaboutss work in the woods and fields, finish the day, say, 'Let's go to the house!'

No. We goin' the other way. And there's the house, old man Furche's place, porch light on, and Mrs. Furche in the yard.

2.

The Deputy stops the car in a lurch! We's all throwed forward, lurch back ag'in the seat.

He hops out, like in a hurry, leaves his door standin' open. Keys in the ignition swing, clink on the column, get my attention. He goes around the front of the car, wavin' to Miz Furche.

The Sheriff opens his door, struggle to get his left foot to come to enough to get it out, reach with both hands under his leg to lift it out, spin his big self out and use his hands up top of the door to pull hisself up and out. I hear him either grunt or pass gas.

God make him leave the door standin' open. I'm gettin' to be a prayin' man! He does.

Deputy next to me got the door open, gets out, standin' close, holds that shotgun by the barrel, then start walkin' with it like a cane, lift it up, set it down, goin' down to Miz Furche.

Driver Deputy gettin' there ahead of him says, "Hey Mamaw!"

'Hey... Mamaw!'

They's kin!

The Sheriff come behind the car, get on the sidewalk, waddles slow down there, scratch his ass with his right hand, seat of his pants saggin' low, take his hat off with his left hand, reach, shake her hand with his ass-scratchin' hand. They stand talkin'.

Gramaw Mamaw's boy of a sudden come at a run, open the right front door, get out my walkin' stick, barely look at me, go at a run back.

He rolls the stick over in his hands. I guess they lookin' at it. She reaches, touches it, touch the twisted knurl near the top, that white cap. She take it, raise her arms with it in one hand, push her hands up in the air two, three, four times. She give it back to Mamaw's boy and they all turn... and look... at me.

I sit, all the doors standin' open now, lookin' back at them. Don't nobody come an' ask me nothin'. They go on talkin', look at each other, out at me. I finally look away. Don't pay to look at white folk too long. They think they know what you thinkin'.

I see those keys in the ignition.

Finally Sheriff shakes her hand again. She step back, up on first step, cross her arms. He come waddlin', Deputy behind with shotgun. Mamaw Boy walkin' backwards, wavin' at her, turn and come, put my stick in, close the front door same time Deputy come in the back with that shotgun.

Mamaw Boy get around to de front to drive same time Sheriff turn his big ass to plop in. Mamaw Boy in, start the car. Sheriff havin' trouble with his big legs again, lean back against me, big hogleg pokin' my thigh. He in, door close, not quite, open again, slam. We goin'. We goin'.

The road goes by slow. They ain't in no hurry. I see folk along the road, sittin' on porches, walkin'. Everybody stop and look at the Sheriff car. I don't want to let these people know these other people friendly of mine. Don't wanna bring my trouble on nobody. I hope... I hope some of them see me though, there in the back, no hat, Sheriff and two Deputies. Maybe somebody do... somethin'. But I cain't count on it. Do what? I don't know. Do what? I'm on my own in here. I.. stand accused.