Horrible Harvest

The cracked madness of war puts you high on adrenaline at the start, but as it ticks on and on and on it wears you down to a nub. Ain’t no steal left in your bones. There comes a point when you just want the goddamn thing to end, so you can breathe without the roar of cannons and a hail of minnie balls stinging the air, so you don’t find yourself a day past a battle and listening to confeds and blue bellies screaming out while they die in blood-soaked mud a hundred yards away. The smell of gunpowder, of piss and shit. The landscape of dead soldiers and horses. You just want it gone from your life. Hell of it is that it won’t never be gone. But you won’t come to know that ‘til you’re half dead from all the racing thoughts running you over for the next number of months and years.

Wars don’t end when they end. They fester on. The things you done? They ain’t ever done. They stick to your mind forevermore.

You lose a war, you’re cursed double. Don’t nobody join up to get their ass handed to them. You join to put your dick in it. To go hog-nut wild and run roughshod over another fella just ‘cause he’s got a different way of looking at things. It’s a shit day walking from a fight with your hat in hand and underfed ass whooped silly. Your folks, friends and foes died for goddamn nothing. Try living with that.

By the time we got word Lee up and surrendered, my old company had more desertions than combatants. Most had just plain walked out of camp. Some even strolled past our command all casual-like, tipped their hats, and stepped right out of their military service. Didn’t no one attempt to stop them. No one thought to gun them down. We’d reached that part of crazy where doing nothing was near the sanest thing you could do. We was made numbed by it all. The truth of it is that feeling numb was too damn peaceful to interrupt. Let it go and choose to feel, and hell swallows you whole.

Our immediate command didn’t call us to muster the day the war ended. They just rode out of camp. All of them. Generals to majors headed south as soon as the telegrams hit the wire. Nooses was being made for them. We all thought it. I was looking forward to watching every last one of them swing for what they done. For what they made me do for them. Bastards all.

I walked out of camp with my haversack’s strap cutting into my neck, and Felix in tow. I’d come to using straight opium at this point in my soldiering, but my supply had gone dry, so I was back to laudanum. Problem was I consumed more in a day than I could collect in two. The war give rise to the stuff. The end of the war made it harder to find than a puddle in the desert. 

Two fellas, Evers and Yates, had been with me since our days as Miller men. They hated Cameron Miller almost as much as me, so they used the war to run from him as fast and as far as they could. I expected them to follow after me just because they’d been doing so for so many years by then, but they barely bid their farewells as they vacated the camp ahead of us. They was headed to Oregon. They’d heard-tell it was a haven for whites, and they was anxious to finally profit off the color of their skin. White weren’t white in the South. Not for everybody. Real white was made of money. And the ones who had it, they didn’t much care for spreading it around. Oregon held promise that any white was high white, no matter how much jingle you had in your pockets. With everything equal, they was sure as all hell they’d prosper.

They’d come to know that the promise of Oregon was bullshit. They was more poor than white, and being poor in this world puts you on the outside of most things, including communities that put favor to the color of your skin. They was trash in Oregon just like they was trash in Charleston. Wasn’t no way for them to outrun being poor.

I asked Felix to join me, not because I felt any particular way about him. I just needed a partner. Another fella to help me comb the shattered streets of Southern cities and towns, looking for opium in apothecaries and hospitals.

We hit Chattanooga first, and we found straight away that our Confederate uniforms were not welcomed. Old men growled at us and demanded we leave their town. Women and youngsters spit on us as we passed them on the streets. We’d failed them. Worse still. We’d brought hell on them for no reason. They were a conquered nation, and we was to blame for their disgrace.

Our only course – having no money and no access to the hospitality of our fellow southerners – was thievery. We committed our first robbery on our second day in Chattanooga. A boarding house was left vacant while the woman who ran it left to buy sundries from the local markets. The previous day, she’d refused us a bed in exchange for Felix’s pocket watch and a locket I had pilfered from a dead Yankee. We felt no compunction kicking in her back door and stealing from the old crow.

We rifled through two rooms. Stealing whatever small objects we thought held any value. We entered a third where we found a fella near dead to the world from drink. He lay eyes closed and cradling an empty bottle as he huffed out whisky stank breaths from his pissed-soaked mattress.

He had a shitload of luggage that included two large trunks. I figured right off he was a carpetbagger who packed up his belongings and made his way south before the ink’d dried on the articles of surrender. There was money to be made in towns like Chattanooga, and fraudsters from all over tarnation showed up in droves to fill their pockets.

“Keep an eye on him,” I said to Felix. “He moves, run him through.”

Felix nodded. If possible, the war had changed him more than me. Gone was any sniff of innocence. He was as sour as a man three times his age. Unlike me, he maintained his youthful appearance, so his brackish demeanor did not fit his sweet, albeit dead, smile. As he was a foot shorter than me, he would – over the course of our travels together – be mistaken for my son on more occasions than I care to count.

The drunkard was mid-sized when in comparison to me and Felix. So, the suits we took from him didn’t fit neither of us. Even still, they was better than the Confederate rags we was wearing. Felix held more sentiment towards his uniform because it was collected from our dead comrades over the months he served. Each piece of his uniform belonged to a fallen Reb that died for a shit cause, which in my mind made it a shit uniform not worth shedding a tear over.

The man had trinkets a-plenty, but as far as I could tell, he didn’t have nothing of real value. We was just about to exit his room when he rolled over and groaned.

Felix motioned toward him with his knife in hand when we heard the distinct sound of a revolver being cocked coming from the doorway.

“You boys lost?” the man holding the firearm asked. He was of the same build as the drunkard in the bed, but he lacked the gray hair, rancid smell, and stewed state.

The drunk propped up on his elbows and held us in a squinted stare for a beat. “Well, I’ll be goddamned.”

“You whisky’d yourself into an ambush, Bobby.”

“Where’s the old lady? I got complaints,” the drunkard said, sitting all the way up.

“She’s gone,” Felix said.

“That my suit?” Bobby asked, with only one eye open.

“Don’t know. Probably,” Felix said.

“It don’t fit. You’re swallowed whole in it.” He turned his attention to me. “And you – You scrawny giant – You look like you been stuck in a sausage casing and somebody’s squeezing you out both ends from the middle.”

The man with the gun examined our discarded uniforms. “Confeds.”

Bobby snickered. “Well, this is the south. We were bound to run into a few of those. You talk, giant?”

“When obliged?”

“My brother has a gun on you. I’d say you are so obliged.”

“I just come from a place where an army entire had guns pointed at me. The appearance of one ain’t much of a bother.”

Bobby laughed. “I suppose that’s true. Lower your weapon, Bert. We’re in the presence of veterans. Let’s show some respect.” Bert did as ordered.

The drunk reached for a small leather bag on the nightstand and pulled out some rolling papers and a pouch of tobacco. “Either of you boys equipped with the aptitude for rolling cigarettes?”

Bert stepped forward. “I can do it.”

“You roll for shit. I’m asking our guests.”

Neither Felix nor I answered.

“Tell you what. Roll me a cigarette and you can keep the suits.”

We still didn’t respond.

“All right – Okay – How about this? One of you Confeds roll me a cigarette, and I’ll buy proper fitting attire for you.”

Felix and I shared a glance.

“Why would you do that?” I asked.

“Because I really need a smoke, and my brother can’t roll for shit.”

I hesitated before I grabbed the papers and pouch from him.

He smiled. “Bunning’s the name. Both of us. Bobby and Bert Bunning. Brothers.”

“From?” I asked, as I rolled his cigarette, working like the devil to control my chronic shakes.

“Nowhere and everywhere. Just come up from Bolivia. Dabbled in nitrate mining for a time. Missed the whole entire war because of it. There is lots of money to be had in nitrate, boys. Lots of money, but there is a gnarl of geopolitical bullshit that comes with it. Bert and me – Well, we just got tired of it. Figured we come back home and get involved in something a little less violent – Like the war, but you boys called it off by the time we crossed into Tennessee.”

I handed him a perfectly rolled cigarette.

Bobby took it with a smile. “Well done, Johnny Reb. Well done.”

“Augustus,” I said, with a scowl.

“Augie and the boy – What’s his name? What’s your name, boy?”

“His name is Felix,” I said. “And mine ain’t Augie. It’s Augustus.”

“Really?” he said, striking a match on the bedpost. “The whole name? No nicknames for you?”

“Augustus.”

He took a drag and held it for a beat. Blowing it out, he said, “Fine. Augustus – You got a last name?”

“Tennyson.”

“And the small one – He’s a what?”

“Jeffries.”

Bobby Bunning stood with a great deal of difficulty, still dealing with a slosh of whisky in his belly. “So, Augustus Tennyson, and Felix Jeffries. Two Johnny Rebs. Lost and searching. Searching and lost. You’ve marched from soldiering to thieving in no time, have you?”

“Opportunities is limited,” I said.

He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and dropped to a knee. “Well, that’s a sad thing to hear coming from an ex-military man.” He reached under the bed and pulled out a large leather bag. Opening it, he said, “Makes sense, I suppose. War’s left things a bit rambled up around here. Guess they ain’t figured out how to straighten things up after all that fighting.” I peeked inside and saw silver and gold coins, bank notes, a Sisterdale revolver, and ammo. He grabbed some silver coins and stood. “Take this, Bert.”

His brother snatched the coins out of his hand.

“That’s enough for two new suits, shoes – All the knickknacks that go with looking clean and dapper.”

“Take more than knickknacks to make these boys clean. They need a good scrubbing.”

“That is a fact, for sure. Get’em the clothes they need, and then march’em to that young mare’s place down the piece there.” He turned to us and winked. “She was a good mount, boys. I can give up that much. She don’t buck like a Bolivian lass, but she puts plenty of push-back behind that weight of hers. Hefty gal, she is. Ain’t no other gal worth my conjugal affections than one that’s got some plump in her hips – Well, that ain’t exactly true. I’ll put efforts into any woman who has the gumption to put in efforts with me.

“Now, you two don’t get no ideas. You’ll get a bath and some scrubbing from her, but that’s all I’m paying for. You’ll have to pay for your own ride, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Ride?” Felix asked.

Bobby smiled and lightly tapped Felix’s cheek with the palm of his hand. “You ain’t nothing, but a child, are you, boy? Army sealed in your virginity, did it?”

“I ain’t sure.”

Bobby laughed. “If you ain’t sure, then it most certainly did.” He dropped to a knee and plucked out two gold coins from the bag. With a huff and grunt, he stood back up and held the coins out in the palm of his hand. “Here.”

Felix stared at the coins but made no attempt to grab them.

“Take’em. Their yours. One for you and one for your giant.”

Felix slowly reached out and real careful-like took the two coins.

“That big gal will take you for a good long ride for one of those coins.”

“I – What ride? Where?”

Bobby looked past Felix and locked eyes on me. “You’re gonna have to steer him in the right direction on this thing, Augustus the giant.”

I couldn’t look away from the gold coins.

“Might be you’ll have to jump in first and let him watch, so he’ll get his bearings before he plows ahead.”

I nodded, barely hearing his suggestion. My mind had already shifted to ways I could get my hands on that bag full of treasure.

As dreams of gold and silver danced in my head, Bert directed us out of the boarding house and down the street to Beckwith’s General Merchandise and Provisions, a big as shit store that sold everything from socks to wagon parts. The war had left most their shelves half-stocked, and the prices reflected a high state of scarcity. The one section that had the most plentiful supply was men’s clothing. They had so much to choose from, they lacked the space to display them properly. Jackets, trousers, shirts, ties – everything was just strewn on countertops, shelves, and ill-constructed racks. It was all used clothing. Suits sold to the store by the widows of soldiers who were never coming home. A note at the counter read: “No Confederate notes. Gold and Silver preferred. Trades considered, but not likely.”

Felix was fitted for a suit with all the accouterments in less than five minutes. Nothing in the large collection come close to fitting me. The shop keeper – not wanting to let loose of the idea of collecting the second silver coin – offered to have his largest suit altered to fit me by dinner time. Bert groused  and griped about the delay so much the store owner said, he’d throw in two Boss of the Plains hats for the wait.

“No,” I said.

All eyes turned to me.

“I’ll take the derby hat.”

The owner cocked an eyebrow and looked at the hat in question. “Got that on a trade from a Londoner – Newspaper fella doing a story on the war. It ain’t a practical hat. Boss of the Plains’ll keep the sun out your eyes. They’s brand new, too.”

“I’ll take the derby,” I repeated. I can’t say why I wanted that hat. Don’t know what drew me to it, but want it, I did, and the more the store owner tried to talk me out of it, the more I had to have it.

In the end, he shrugged and said, “Fine. Take it off my hands.”

We left the store – Felix in his crisp new suit and fine-looking cowboy hat, and me in my sausage casing suit and dusty derby. Bert carried his brother’s suit that Felix had been wearing and led the way through an alley to a ramshackle house where a pale, plump gal stood in the front yard beating a rug hanging over a clothesline with a stick. She saw us headed her way, and she gripped the stick like a weapon and waved it this way and that.

“Ain’t nothing for you here,” she said.

“Bobby sent us,” Bert said.

“I don’t care if Jesus himself sent you. I got enough on my ‘get done’ list. Don’t need to add to it by feeding fellas I don’t know.”

“Not here to get fed,” Bert said, holding up a silver coin.

Her posture eased, but her scowl remained. “Wha’choo looking to spend that on?”

“Washings. The boys. This suit.”

“Take more than one of those to do all that.”

Bert pulled out two more silver coins. “Throw in a meal, and I’ll add these in.”

She nodded. “That’ll be acceptable.”

“The boys – They’ve got a little deal making they’d like to do independent of our negotiations.”

“That so?”

“It is. Boys?”

Neither one of us followed Bert’s cue. We stood, awkward, staring at the woman who still held onto her stick like it was a club she’d swing at a moment’s notice.

“Start negotiating, boys. Goddamn.”

Felix reached into his pocket, pulled out his gold coin, and showed it to her.

“This is – Bobby Bunning – He said, this will be getting me some sort of ride – I guess.”

The woman’s eyes opened wide. “That it will, boy. You ever take a ride?”

Felix hemmed and hawed before answering, “I have – I – I mean don’t know – I’m not sure what kind of ride you’ve got in store.”

She smiled. “Don’t worry, sweety, it’s bumpy, but you’re going to enjoy the fire out of it.” She sniffed that more opportunities were to be had and turned to me. “What about you? Now, I can’t rightly call you – a boy. You look like you’ve taken a ride or two. You got one of them gold coins?”

“I do,” I said.

“I got room to give you a ride, too. You both can hop on together, or we can get it done one at a time.”

“I’d rather keep the gold.”

“What’s the matter? I ain’t your type?”

She weren’t, but I thought long and hard on it before I said. “I just got more affections for gold. Nothing personal.”

“I am a whole lot softer than gold – ”

“No thanks. My friend here – He’s interested. I’m not.”

“Hold up,” Felix said, turning to me. “Should I not take this ride she’s offering? I mean, I like gold, too.”

“Sweety, you’re gonna wanna take this ride. I can promise you that.”

“I’m not exactly sure what’s going on with this ride business.”

“Goddamn, Felix. Don’t be so thick. It’s sex. She’s offering to have sex with you for your gold coin.”

“Oh – I mean – I guess I was leaning that way – But I wasn’t exactly sure – So, that – You’re a prostitute, ma’am?”

She tightened her grip on her stick. “I’m a widow. Before yesterday, I had two dollars to my name – Real dollars. Bobby – Well, let’s just say, he invested in a couple of my offerings. Got no way to earn nothing except for doing this service and that. Cleaning, sewing, cooking – And giving out rides. That’s only give up for gold. You wanna hop on, fine, but don’t call me no prostitute. Keep your coin, if that’s your attitude.”

“I didn’t mean – I don’t have no attitude – Not on purpose – I just ain’t done anything – I’ve never had – That kind of ride. I don’t know if it’s worth my gold coin or not.”

“It is,” Bert said, with a grin.

Felix looked at him and then turned back to me. “I guess I should – I mean, what do you think, Augustus?”

“Ain’t my call.”

“Evers – He always went on about it. He liked it a good bit, and Yates was fond of it, too – But they were two of the stupidest fellas I’ve ever known – ”

“Honey, brains only get in the way with the kind of ride we’re talking about. It ain’t nothing but milk and honey. Pure joy. I can guarantee that. I may even give you two rides for that gold coin of yours.”

Felix looked at the coin in his hand and then nodded. “I guess I ought to find out what all the fuss is about. I’m not sure what I’m supposed – I don’t know where we start.”

“We start in the house. Upstairs. I’ll draw a bath and get you scrubbed up before we get dirty,” she said, with a wink.

“That don’t make no sense,” Felix said.

“It will.” She give me a dead-eyed look of scorn.  “I’ll draw you a bath, too, but you can scrub up your own self.”

I give her a nod.

“Bert, you got any gold on you?”

He shook his head. “I make it a point to never follow after Bobby.”

“Suit yourself.” She grabbed Felix’s hand and pulled him across the yard and up the front stoop to the door.

I started after them when Bert stopped me.

“You’re the smart one, are you?”

I didn’t give an answer.

“Your boy just give up his gold coin for a minute of fun. Dumb as the day is long, if you ask me.”

“You prodded him toward it.”

“Not my gold coin.”

I shrugged. “He give up his gold for a memory. A fun one at that. If it’s done right. And she strikes me as being well crafted in her business. That ain’t such a bad investment.”

“Then you’re a romantic? This is his keepsake for the day he became a man, is it?”

I considered his question. “I’m practical. We just got done fighting a war. Felix got turnt into a man in a whole different way. What we done, they ain’t keepsakes what should be kept. Good memories have been out of reach for us for a good long while. Can’t blame him for giving up gold for the first decent one to come along. Could be it’ll turn him into a different man than the army made him.”

“And you? You don’t want to buy you a good memory?”

“Paying a widow to have sex with me because she ain’t got no other way to go about earning money – I just don’t think I can mine a good memory out of that.” I continued into the house. How he reacted to my answer didn’t concern me in the least.