Elijah of Buxton (5 page)

He came back and drawed his mystery pistol out of its fancy holster and said, “When I say ‘go,' you hit the five on the right and I'm going to hit the five on the left.”

I got my rocks ready.

“Go!”

The loud way the pistol exploded right next to me throwed me off and I missed the first piece of wood but quick knocked down the others. By the time I'd finished, the Preacher had only shot three of the wood hunks and was sighting in on number four.

He stopped and looked at me like he's puzzling, then said, “I'm going to have to do some more contemplating over this. On the one hand this might be an act of conjuration.” He put his right hand out like he's expecting something to drop in it. “On the other hand …” His left hand came up. “… we might be witnessing a gift from Jesus Himself!”

He brung his hands together like he was fixing to pray. “I'm not ready to come right out and say whether this is conjuring or the Lord, but whatever it is, it sure is unnatural for a boy to be tossing stones like that.”

A few days later, the Preacher let me and other folks know it had been showed to him that my rock chunking was gave tome as a gift from Jesus!

He told folks my arm and my eye were so true that I could knock the spots off a ladybug without harming her atall if I took the notion to do so.

He said what happened to a stone after I chunked it was like a ball shot out one n'em old muzzle-loader rifles. It waren't the quickest thing getting to where it was aimed, but once it got there, all sorts of who-struck-John busted loose.

I believed the Preacher when he told me what I got was a gift from the Lord, but that didn't mean I didn't have no doubts 'bout it from time to time. I'd been meaning to ask our Sabbath school teacher, Mr. Travis, if it was blaspheming to say this, but seemed to me if this rock chunking really was a gift from Jesus, it would be the sort of thing that would be there forever, and for me it waren't atall. This was a gift that needed lots of practicing else it went away.

Ma and Pa waren't too impressed by the Preacher saying these things neither. When I told Pa what got showed to the Preacher, he asked, “How come Jesus only choose certain folk to talk di-rect to? And how come they's always the ones what ain't got nothing atall in common with the Bible?”

 

Maybe I'd started dozing, I was surprised when Old Flapjack slowed down and I felt sticker bushes snatching at my brogans. He'd started picking his way through some blackberries and I knowed we'd just 'bout reached our secret lake.

It was these bushes that Old Flap spent all his time in whilst I fished.

I hopped off his back and walked down to the water. I went clean over to the other side of the lake and laid down my two pouches and my tote sack and net-basket and pulled off my brogans and all my clothes.

I divide this lake into two parts. First there's the fishing part, which was on the side where I came in at, by all the cattails and lily pads. Then there was the swimming part, which was where I'd walked to now.

I jumped in and let all the sweat from choring and riding Flapjack float off of me. I don't know how long I spent bathing, but after 'while I saw splashes and waves coming from the other side of the lake and I knowed the fish had started feeding.

I pulled my clothes back on, 'cepting for my brogans and stockings, picked up my sack and two pouches and net-basket, and walked back over to the fishing side of the lake, right near where Old Flapjack was still eating blackberries. I could hear him snorting and chawing and going at 'em pretty good.

There was a perfect spot for rock fishing just afore where the cattails got thick.

I opened the “dead” fly pouch and picked out 'bout four of 'em that had a good amount of juices leaked out and I tossed 'em right into the spot near the cattails. This would get the little fish riled up, they'd bump at the flies and try to pull 'em under and would raise a ruckus that'd make the big fish wonder what the commotion was for.

I moved till the light was just so that I could see the flashing of the little fishes' scales. I went into my tote sack and picked out two good stones, one for my right hand and one for my left.

Next I reached into the “live” fly pouch and plucked out two that had a good bit of fight left in 'em. I tossed these flies at the fishing spot and one of 'em still had enough life in him to fly 'bout a little, but that didn't last long and he soon plopped into the water. Both of these flies waren't accustom to being wet and started whirring and splashing and skimming 'cross the top of the lake.

There's something 'bout the way those half-wit horse-flies move on the water that scares the small fish away and drives the big fish berserk! If I'd done everything right the big ones wouldn't have no choice but to come barreling out of the cattails and snatch at the flies.

I saw the little fish part 'round one of the flies and all the sudden there was a goldy-silverish flash shooting out of the lily pads. It's hard to explain, but I felt it more than I saw it.

I throwed left.

The rock and the fish and the fly all met up at the same spot at the same time.

It ain't boasting when I say it was a perfect throw. I can say that 'cause for a throw to be perfect, two things've got to happen. One, you got to chunk the fish so's he's knocked senseless right off and stays at the top of the water, and, two, the rock has got to bounce off him and land far enough away that it don't make no kind of splash that'll scare the other big fish.

After this rock got done chunking the fish in the head, it skipped four times 'cross the water and slipped down in the lake quiet as a duck going after minnows.

I throwed my net-basket out and hauled the fish in.

It was a good-size bass. I strunged it up and put it back in the water.

I don't know why it is, but something 'bout that basket don't worry the fish too much and I can toss it in over and over and not scare 'em atall. Maybe it's 'cause fish ain't real smart.

I knowed if I was a fish I'd've looked at it different. If I saw one of my fish friends go after a fly and all the sudden he was floating on the water not moving and had a big knot on his head, I think my appetite would leave me. And even if it didn't, I sure wouldn't have no enthusiasm for the next horsefly that showed up in the water. I'd've been smart enough to put one and one together and would have choosed something off the bottom of the lake for supper.

But I suppose if you're partial to swallowing horseflies whole, it's a pretty good sign that smartness ain't one of the things you been 'specially blessed with.

I chunked four more big fish and missed on two when Old Flapjack quit eating berries and gave a strange snort. I stopped moving and looked in his direction. From knowing this old mule, I knowed he'd seen something. Some folks have watch dogs, I got a watch mule.

He started right back up with his blackberry-eating sounds, but I knowed something waren't right. I could tell he'd seen someone and that it was someone he knowed.

I looked real careful all along the blackberry bushes and the trees but didn't see nothing.

I waited and waited, then went back at the rock fishing. I missed three out of the next five, and I knowed it's 'cause my mind was still wondering why Old Flap made that sound. It seemed like if you waren't paying all your attention to rock fishing you waren't gonna be too good at it.

I tried to quit fretting but still missed on two of the next five stones I chunked.

Then the fish quit biting. I had me seven good bass and three big perch. I summed 'em up in my head as four for me and Ma and Pa, two for Mr. Leroy, two for Mr. Segee, and two that I was hoping to swap with Mrs. Brown since I knowed she was baking today. That totaled up to ten.

I emptied what was left of the dead flies in the water and emptied the live flies on a rock. If those flies ever did come 'round and got their senses back, it only was fair that their lives waren't all-the-way wasted and they'd have a chance to fly away.

Then I thought 'bout how pesty they are and what they eat. I changed my mind and brushed 'em all in the water.

I gathered all my throwing stones in my pouch and started putting my brogans on when a man's voice boomed out from behind me, “Now that was the most amazing thing I've ever seen!”

I whirled 'round and at the same time picked up a stone ready to chunk whoever it was that had snucked up on me.

My left arm went back and the man raised his hands and said, “No! It's me!”

'Twas the Preacher.

My breathing came back to me and I said, “I'm terrible sorry, sir. I waren't expecting no one to be out here.”

The Preacher came out of the bushes and said, “How many of those fish did you stone like that, Elijah?”

I pulled my string of fish out of the water and showed 'em to him.

He said, “Sweet baby Jesus! The boy's out here fishing without line nor hook! Knocking fish in the head with rocks! Well, that really does confirm it, Elijah. You've been given a rare gift from the Lord!

“I'm reminded of Mark, chapter six, verses thirty-three through forty-four, where Jesus fed five thousand people with five loaves of bread and two fish. But instead of turning two fish into food for thousands, Elijah, you've turned stones into fish! Maybe turning water to wine is more impressive and practical, but what you've done is no mean feat either.”

The Preacher put his hand on my forehead and said, “I've been thinking about how we can best use this gift, Elijah, and I think that we can do something with it to help the whole Settlement. You do want to help the Settlement, don't you?”

This was strange talk for the Preacher. He didn't live di-rect in the Settlement, him and a few other escaped people lived just outside our land 'cause they didn't want to follow all the Settlement's rules.

I said, “Yes, sir, I want to help the Settlement, but how …”

The Preacher said, “Now don't you waste a moment thinking about it. All I needed to know was if you were willing to help and now that I see that you're the fine Christian boy I thought you were, we'll work this out together.”

I said, “Yes, sir, but I was wondering …”

The Preacher raised his hand and said, “You know what, Elijah? The Lord has revealed to me that since he has given you this gift I should treat you with a little more respect. I should quit treating you like a child and start treating you like the man you truly are.”

Pa says when someone sweet-talks you like this, you got to be real careful with the next words that come out of their mouth. He says the sweet-talking is like a rattling-snake's rattles, it's like you're getting a warning that you're 'bout to get bit.

The Preacher said, “So I was wondering since you're near full grown, maybe you'd like to come with me yon and see if your eye is as good for shooting this pistol as it is for throwing stones? I haven't forgotten the promise I made to you a while back.”

The Preacher pulled his jacket back and showed me his fancy pistol.

Every thought I had 'bout rattling-snake words and sweet-talking and bites flewed away!

Then I remembered what happened last time, and how when it came to my turn to shoot off the pistol the Preacher'd said he'd run out of bullets.

I said, “You ain't funning me, sir? I'm-a really get to shoot it this time?”

He looked like I'd hurt his feelings.

He said, “Elijah, I'm talking to you man to man and you have doubts?”

I said, “No, sir, I just didn't think …”

The Preacher said, “Good! Let's go on over to that clearing and do some target practicing.”

I said, “Yes, sir!”

But soon's I said it, I started thinking 'bout things, things like what if Old Flapjack didn't want to go no farther, and what would Ma and Pa say if they knowed I was shooting off the Preacher's mystery pistol, and how was I gonna explain to Ma why I was getting back so late? And folks
were
depending on me to bring 'em some fish.

I told the Preacher, “Sir, I don't think I can do it now, I gotta get back. Ma's expecting me to bring some fish home for supper and it's starting to get late.”

The Preacher said, “You're right, Elijah. You're right, and that goes to prove my point about you being more man than child. What you've just done is show responsibility. We can shoot this gun on another day. Now you just go right ahead and take those fish back to your ma.”

The Preacher waited a second then said, “That seems like an awful lot of fish for three people. I was wondering, is your family going to eat all ten of those fish?”

“No, sir. Usually I give some to Mr. Segee and some to Mr. Leroy.”

He said, “A fine Christian thing to do! Now I was also wondering, Elijah, if you know anything about a word called
tithing
?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Travis taught us 'bout that in Sabbath classes. It's giving a tenth of your belongings and your works to the Lord.”

He said, “Yes, to the Lord
through
his servant here on earth. What do you suppose a tenth of those fish is? Three? Four?”

The Preacher might've thought he was the most educatedest man 'round Buxton, but it seemed like he was powerful bad at doing fractions.

I told him, “No, sir, a tenth of these fish is one.”

The Preacher said, “True, if you figure a tenth by numbers, but I was thinking of figuring a tenth by age. Let me hold on to both of those stringers for a minute.”

I handed him all the fish.

He said, “You're good at doing sums, aren't you?”

I said, “I'm tolerable good long's it don't get stretched into geometry.”

The Preacher commenced pointing at each fish and calling out numbers and telling me to keep track of the total.

“This one's about fourteen years old, this one's twelve, this one just turned eighteen, this one's …”