Horrible Harvest

You – You sumbitch setting in your chair or propped up in your bed or wherever it is you crack open a book in whatever time you live – You’re cozy and warm, reading this here tale of my fucked-up life – You’re clever as shit and you know’d right off that I lied to her – Allison Weaver Duffy. I told her that the fella in Baltimore – The one locked up in the mad house – I told her he wasn’t my daddy. He was, and it wasn’t no accident I ended up in his room. I come there to deliver upon him the hell I owed him, but I come to find out hell had already swallowed him, soul, bone, flesh and all.

I entered that room in Spring Grove, still muddled from opium, and near passed out from the sight and smell of it. The walls was smeared with shit and the sour odor of piss rose up off the bare mattress – And there, on the edge of the bed, set Daddy, rocking back and forth – Mumbling. I was tuned into his demented mind enough to make out what everyone else thought was nothing but nonsense sounds. “The no-goods. The whore pollutes them. Secure rate on chattel from Gadsden for harvest come October. June is too late – ” He was haunted by the rice farm he hated, and I couldn’t have been more pleased.

I was what you call gaunt. He was so thin he was near dead – a stack of bones covered in a paper-thin layer of gray skin. He was alive, but he weren’t among the living.

Slits of sunlight beaming through the iron bars on the window cut through the otherwise dead air of the room. A table and chair set on the wall opposite the bed.

Embarrassed, Mr. Kilroy said, “I will send the janitorial staff in here at once, of course –”

“Leave it,” I answered.

Looking shocked, he said, “Leave it? But this is not reflective of the quality of care this institution provides its patients.”

“It’s damn sure reflective of the quality of care Horace Tennyson deserves.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If you knew him, you would . ‘Fore he was this, he was something horrible altogether. I need a moment with him – Alone.”

He give pause. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask, what are you intentions here today, sir?”

“My intentions?”

“Yes, sir. It’s clear that you’re not fond of your father. His safety is our priority.”

“Safety? I fought in a war where men shit themselves to death and other men died from the shit they left behind. There was less shit in that war than there is on these walls, Mr. Kilroy. You ask my intentions, and I say to you back I got half a mind to leave out of this place and head straight to the authorities and tell’em the conditions of this place. Those could be my intentions.”

He give a good clearing of his throat ‘fore saying, “I will give you a few moments alone with your father – Your son, Mr. Tennyson. He’s come to visit you – ”

“Thank you, Mr. Kilroy, but I got it from here.”

The admittance administrator nodded and backed out the room, closing the door behind him.

I turnt to Daddy and stared at him, listening to him mumble about the farm. Only now he had added, “My son – The boys – My lazy boys – Have to clear the tree falls – Hitch the mare to the flatbed.”

I fetched the chair from the table and placed it in front of him. I set. Stared at this rocking collection of bones. I waited. For the hate to build. I waited. I begged for the hate to take me. To put my hands ‘round his stick-thin neck. I grew angry and then angrier and then fire-breathing mad. But not at fucking him. I couldn’t find it in me. I had rights to it. I needed it. At that moment and second and turn of the Earth, I needed the mountain of hate and bile I carried for the man to come out and do what needed to be done. I screamed in my head. Kill him! Kill the sumbitch! Kill him!

I slammed a fist down to my thigh. Kill him! I reached for him but drew back and pounded my thigh again. Kill him! I leaned forward, my face inches from his – His demon breath scorched my nostrils. “Why aren’t you fucking dead?” I asked, my mouth dry and the muscles in my jaw so tight it felt as if my teeth was being gnashed to dust.

I gripped the collar of his blouse and squeezed so tight it felt as if my joints would break at the knuckles. “Die – Please –”

The sobbing begun beyond my control – Surprising me – Breaking me.

I touched my forehead to his. “I can’t never forgive you fer what you made of me. Never – But I ain’t got it in me to carry this hate neither – There ain’t nowhere for me here – Everything’s been took from me, and that everything was but one thing, and he’s gone. He’s gone ‘cause of you. My whole miserable life is what you grow’d on that little pissant rice farm of yours. Least you could do is fucking die. Don’t leave it to me.”

“Augustus.”

Startled, I pushed away from him.

“Augustus – Spread that chicken shit, boy. Spread it.” He give a chuckle.

I stood. “You didn’t get all us. Momma – She fount peace. Away from you, she’s washed clean in it. Douglas and Charles – They fount it, too. Peace. Your touch of evil ain’t got hold of them no more. All you got is me. That’s a horrible harvest, you sumbitch.” I walked to the door and stopped. “The thing is – What makes me different from you – I get to walk out this room.” I pulled the door open and said my final piece. “I’ma say something to you I should have said long ago.” I give a smile. “Fuck you, Horace Tennyson.” I exited the room.