“The Old Dead Tree”

Vernon sat back down and the metal chain holding the swing restarted the same squeaky tune again. With the same blank stare, he watched Carl Ketner’s truck and trailer, which held the stump grinder, pull out and make the left turn towards town. He tilted his head back and breathed out a slow wispy breath as if a truckload of tension leaked from his body. He closed his eyes, his glass of whiskey sour sat on the small wooden table beside him; the ice melting quickly into tepid water and sinking lower than the alcohol in the glass. Another sigh passed across Vernon’s lips. “You can’t haunt me no more now, Mae. Your cheatin’ memory is buried in the ground along with your rotted corpse. And to think I once loved you with all my heart.” His words came out barely more than a whisper.

Vernon had slowly whittled the old pignut hickory tree limb by limb because the memory of that violent event so long ago kept coming back. “Ain’t nothin’ left to amputate no more, Mae. Old hickory is dead and gone forever. Just like you and your whorin’ ways. You can’t come back now and show your temptress body and lust-filled eyes to taunt and intimidate me. That tree is as chopped up as your fornicatin’ body is. The pieces of you and it’s sawdust lay in the ground to mix and melt into the dust and bone you’ve surely decayed into.” Vernon’s eyes remained closed, and the tune of the squeaks from the porch swing’s chains continued. The only other sounds were the ice cubes melting and toppling into the now watered-down drink. Vernon’s words of contempt for his deceased wife dribbled away quietly to a hush as a broken snore began to take the place of the venomous words that seconds ago dribbled from his mouth.

Sawed-off chunks of the old dead tree lay in sporadic piles across his front lawn, scattered about from the violent carnage that just took place. It seemed a fitting metaphor today to the afternoon of carnage so long ago. An afternoon every bit as hot then, as this one was today.

At some point, Vernon must have awoken, and gotten up from the swing, putting himself to bed even though he retained no memory of doing so. He did, however, wrestle back and forth from one side to the other, unable to attain a position of comfort that would last long enough to get the deep sleep his body truly needed. His mind kept him busy in his stupor that resembled slumber. The memories hadn’t left completely just because the hickory tree was nonexistent anymore; having been vanquished by death from his property.

Vernon’s eyes began to twitch, first one and then the other in random waves. His breaths became heavy and full at times, then quieter and more labored at others. He was dreaming. But in his world—this was no dream at all—instead a recollection of the sins from his past. Mae had come back despite the actions brought on this afternoon with the help and efforts of Carl and his equipment. Efforts he’d bought and paid for.

*****

Work was slow at the cabinet shop today. The heat was horrible. It had been for days. Humidity was heavy in the air, so swampy one felt like they were sucking saltwater with every breath drawn. People became agitated and quick to ignite their fuse of bitterness because the temperature was not letting up. Even at home during an evening, the temperature still hung over them in the torrid lower nineties. Breaking points of anger grew from the frustration of the pattern that refused to let up.

The Red River, just off highway ninety-one—was west of the Union Baptist Church and shrinking in its banks because of the lack of rain. This spot of land which overlooked one of the narrowest parts of the winding waterway is where Vernon and Mae settled their little homestead. The ten-acre plot of land with an old white clapboard two-story farmhouse which sat in the middle of the acreage. Land Vernon purchased, so he would be a property holding gentleman; a far better catch for a young lady back in those days than a wandering soul working as a temporary farm hand would be. Hell, Billy Hill, the man in question, could never afford to purchase and offer property to Mae or any other girl, not that he would have wanted to plant roots for too long, anyhow. He may have been a dark handsome man with a chiseled chin and physique of a Greek god, although Vernon never saw it; he did, however, realize Billy would never amount to nothin’ as far as providing a vivacious woman like Mae, anything of consequence. Nothing anything more than a tryst in the bedroom. Mae was a gorgeous treasure. She was far more valuable than just a naked fling-filled romp. A treasure Vernon was not ready to relinquish his aspirations of marrying her. Sure ‘nuff though, he’d seen Mae talking to Billy, and to him she appeared too close to succumbing to those sexual desires of that fuckin’ gypsy who was only out to satisfy his own desires. On occasions he did witness these flirtatious meetings of theirs and it angered him deep down to his core. A hate he never knew he held inside. It heated him up far hotter than the temperature of the current sweltering heatwave. He wasn’t going to allow Billy to taint the girl he soon held hopes of obtaining for a lifetime. Sweat and frustration grew within. He’d put everything he owned on the line and then a hefty loan note from the bank. He wasn’t gonna lose Mae and his life savings to any wandering bastard. He’d by God be marrying Mae. They were made for each other. Some stranger move-in type, come into town and spoil his treasure? No fuckin’ way. He’d kill him if need be.

But it seemed Mae was in love with Vernon after all, just as much as he was in love with her. Billy moved on to some other town and Vernon and Mae married. Life was good. The money was good, the hours were long, but the cabinet shop kept the property payments to the bank on time, food on their table, and a little extra each payday for the savings account. Vernon was on track with his life’s plan. Mae ended up working at the Union Baptist Church which wasn’t a far walking distance from their new home. Her job wasn’t out of necessity; it was from boredom. She wasn’t meant to be just a housewife, not until they had kids.

Vernon hadn’t ever been a Baptist before. Hell, he ain’t ever been any religion at all. But Mae convinced him to come to church and see what he was missin’. The two became regulars every Sunday and it wasn’t long before the preacher seemed to hit it off with Vernon. They became good friends and confidants. Vernon answered the Lord’s call and became involved by volunteering to be a deacon. He enjoyed helping the preacher draw in new families to the flock. It gave him even more stature. He finally felt as if he were somebody in this world and making his mark, building his legacy. Maybe a child or two would be next.

This is what life God chose to give us. A good livin’ with fortune to boot. These were the feelings inside Vernon’s thoughts. Just rewards for livin’ life in service to those less fortunate. Little did Vernon realize what life truly held for his future.

As Vernon spent more and more hours away with Preacher Tommy Gibson, his mentor, his time between work and churchin’ left less and less for Vernon and Mae. What had started out a raging fire in their bedroom, soon began its twist into a single smoldering coal about to choke to a staggering ember left in the cold night air. Their physical world together fizzled and burned out. What made it worse was the fact Vernon never saw it coming. Even though he’d witnessed the spark she’d shared with Billy back before he left those years back, he now took Mae for granted so badly that he never imagined what could take a calm summer’s day, and blindly usher it into a popup storm turned ravenous tornado.

*****

It was hot at the cabinet shop on the day Vernon’s life began to change. Work was slowing down. People were having to spend their money in other ways than buying cabinets. Home sales suddenly plummeted. The heat draining not only their will to spend money, but their abilities to make as much. Prices soared while future inflation caused shadows of layoffs to hang overhead. The economy became tight about the time Gerald Ford took over for Nixon. Cash-money became very tight in New York City, the financial heart of the country. It passed down quickly to people living in the country. Trust in the government became shattered with Nixon resigning under scrutiny and threat of impeachment.

Southern Arkansas on the Red River was part of the country slower to feel the immediate struggle, but trouble was on the move and headed everywhere. The heat was on in more ways than just temperature. Vernon now faced a layoff of his own. He’d just been told by his foreman, John Wilkey, to gather his personal belongings. The goddamned owner and president, Olin Grahm, was too chickenshit to tell his employees. This set Vernon’s mood off-like a bull being stabbed at a bullfight. From the minute the word layoff stumbled and tripped across John Wilkey’s lips, Vernon began his transformation into someone he himself didn’t recognize.

“Why the fuck didn’t Grahm tell us this shit?” Vernon demanded. “I got a house and land payments to make. Fuckin’ Grahm owns land everywhere, cars, retreat home—and he’s gonna lay me off and watch me lose everything while he’s too big a pussy to tell me to my face? Bullshit!” Vernon stormed out with clenched fists, turned a table saw over to the floor as he passed through the doorway to the parking lot. He wanted to go see Grahm himself, face to face. Let the prick know how this would hurt him and his wife, but somehow, through either fate or will, Vernon headed home. He couldn’t wait to ask for Preacher Gibson’s advice of how to handle things. And just as soon as he got home and changed out of his sweat-soaked t-shirt and jeans full of sawdust and grit from Grahm’s Cabinet Shop, he’d go to the church and consult him. He just hoped Mae wouldn’t see the fear of losing everything that flushed his face and made him feel it was stamped into his eyes. Vernon felt rage. It wasn’t the first time, but this was the harshest.

As Vernon pulled into his gravel drive and up the hill, he parked in front of the detached garage. The driver’s side door swung open, and he climbed out. His temper settled to a simmer as the door closed with a clunk. The side view mirror which had begun to recently rattle, fell to the gravel when the door banged closed. He stopped and looked at it as the now cracked mirror shined a bright shattered reflection in his face as if to goad him with one more thing gone wrong on this miserable day. The indignation the mirror gave him pushed his anger back up and he reached out and kicked the door of his 1969 gold Ford Galaxy 500 with a black vinyl top, a car he’d been proud of the day he and Mae drove it off the lot. His rage had caused a large dent that would now need tending to. He suddenly remembered his job and source of income was now absent. “Goddammit!” Vernon swiftly kicked the door again increasing the indentation in depth. When he saw what he’d done, he threw his closed fist onto the top with a deep resounding thud. He saw the top was now concave from his loss of control and the blood spilling from his fingers.  He turned while his fist remained clutched as he stiffly walked toward the porch. He stopped just short of stepping up onto the first step.

It was quiet. An odd hush seemed to fall over the entire yard. Not a single bird chirped, nor even the slightest of a breeze blow through the leaf-filled branches of the now large hickory tree in the yard. The hickory remained silent as if Vernon’s angered temperament would cause its broad trunk to shudder. And then a sound caught his attention. A distant sound, like maybe an animal groaning softly in pain, but then slightly overridden by the distant squeal of a tire on pavement. Vernon stopped and slowly turned one-hundred and eighty degrees, attempting to decipher where the sound was coming from.

Vernon gazed out to the highway to see if a dog had been hit by a car. There had been several dumped dogs out his way, dumped by the damned townsfolk lately. The sound now grew to become small shrieks followed by groans. He turned toward the screen door, sensing the sound was reverberating from inside. Muffled, but clearly not a sound emanating from the outside as he’d surmised a mere ten seconds earlier.

Vernon slowly took the steps to the porch and reached for the screen door handle, dreading to pull it open, now suddenly leery of what he may stumble into inside. Quick reflection of the times he’d seen Mae and Preacher Gibson share glimpses back and forth. He’d seen what he imagined could be a look of lust between them. He loved Preacher Gibson so much that he avoided believing Gibson would betray him, especially in that unchristian way.

Vernon knew when he and Mae were first married—he’d been able to satisfy Mae’s hunger for the flesh that he saw in her eyes, but now after all these years, he now doubted himself. He’d been busy with work and Mae had remained busy churchin’ with Preacher Gibson. Could it be possible the two could have been sneaking out together on the sly behind his and the preacher’s wife? His stomach suddenly felt nauseous. Now the thought of losing not only a wife and companion but also his friend and mentor on this horrible day, added to the mix brewing in Vernon’s mind. Looky-loo now, what to do, what to do, entered his thoughts.

Vernon slowly made his way to the closed French doors. The entrance to his and Mae’s bedroom. He looked across the floor now remembering the trail of clothes they’d peeled from their bodies on their way to pleasure each other in the bedroom; to consummate their marriage and vows to each other those fifteen years back. Forty-five years old now, his wife almost ten years the younger. Had her hunger stayed potent while his suffered in virility?

The room even looked different today. Not only the fact that there were clothes scattered around again that weren’t his. But as he looked at his home, his mind wrestled with decisions needed to be made. The walls now yellowed with age and smoke from the fireplace used to warm the room in the harshness of winter, instead of the brand-new white-painted rooms when they crossed that same threshold all those years back. The furniture showing age much like the wrinkles which turned his taut skin, loose. The once empty room now cluttered with trinkets neither one needed nor took notice of anymore. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror which hung above the fireplace mantel. He wasn’t as young and handsome anymore. His clothes filthy from a job he no longer held. Big reddish-blue veins bulging from his temples from the pent-up anger this day had brought so far. Nasty sweat dripping from his pores and leaving trails in the sawdust still housed on his skin.

Yes, life was different, and he hadn’t even noticed the changes until this very second. Transformations that had crept past his perception because he was no longer focused on them. His desire for his precious Mae had somehow seemed to wane. He felt as if a ghost who owed him harm was hovering around him, scolding and pointing its all-knowing semitransparent fingers at all the regularities time had brought change to. He felt something dark ahead of him—very dark. His urge to turn away and leave met a call too strong to walk away from.

Vernon slowly opened the door that would expose the source of the sounds of debauchery he’d heard and prove to be what he’d expected. The preacher’s faith was not strong enough to resist the urge to fornicate with what Vernon swore was an angel. An age-old sin that could twist its way into any profession, even one of a man of the cloth preachin’ salvation for all.

What course of action should be taken, what reparation or penance should be collected? Today had already brought so much pain and fear of his future. His losses began to drum up a number inside his brain. His job, soon his home, the car, and now his wife. If he did what the ghost inside his mind told him to do—he would also need to chock up his freedom. He’d surely go to jail even if it was a crime of passion. Time stood still as he quietly remained pondering before the crack in the door opened enough for all to be seen. Vernon quickly glanced around the room trying to ignore the screams and moans of pleasure on the other side of that damned door between them, as the opening became wider. The two cheaters still ignorant of his presence and the fact they’d been caught.

Vernon instantly spied the hunting rifle on the rack above the television. It was always loaded and ready for protection against intrusion, and there was an intruder in his home, even if his wife didn’t see it the same way or share the same feelings about Gibson. His friend and preacher who was causing his Mae to cry out in ecstasy. He turned once again back to the screen door he’d quietly entered. The picture window displayed the sprawling pignut hickory tree with its branches filling the view of the clear but dusty pane. Old hickory appeared to be reaching out, trying to wave him from doing anything foolish—something that could never be taken back after being done. A trigger can’t be unpulled past that click of death. Back and forth his head moved, from the tree limbs beckoning forgiveness, to the rifle taunting his manhood and pride, and then back to the widening doorway where his mentor lay balling his wife in an invasion of his trust.

Temptation can invade a man no matter what faith he clings to. Enticement to steal a man’s wife or an inducement to kill him for it. Seldom is there ever a man who sees his life being quickly flushed down the shitter, that chose the high road and walks away from being wronged without attempting to right it. I suppose deep down to the marrow of the bone—the nitty of the gritty, Vernon never truly had a choice to make. It was all just a form of stalling and weighing out the reasons when he should have been planning his strategies of how and when to strike.

When that door finally glided open enough to visualize the two fuckers who were wrapped together in their sweaty bodies, all tangled up and bumpin’ their ugly parts together—eyes wide open with nowhere else to go except wider than a hoot owl’s stare. Well, that’s when the look of shock broke their pleasured smiles into one of fear and terror. Truth is, Vernon’s eyes looked twice as shocked as theirs when he saw the man bangin’ his wife wasn’t his preacher after all. It was that fuckin’ wanderin’ gypsy, Billy Hill. After all these years of bein’ disappeared into obscurity. He’d rode back to town to deflower Vernon’s wife and spoil her goodies. It somehow certainly made Vernon’s lack of guilt much easier to accept. After he drew a dead bead on Billy’s forehead, he pulled the trigger leaving a nice round hole in his sweaty head. Vernon felt comfort because he knew nobody round here would ever miss Billy a minute. Now, Mae on the other hand. He’d need to hold off on makin’ her pay on the immediate. He was gonna lay plans out on how that part of the restitution would play.

She’d be stayin’ down in the cellar with the other rats and varmints until he decided his course of action. He tied her up real good with wire and rope and duct tape across her pretty pitiful face. He’d applied that on the quick after she, of course went to blamin’ Billy and tryin’ to say he forced himself on her. Vernon wasn’t always the brightest bulb in the room, but he also wasn’t dimmest. “Now Mae, you know they say it takes all kinds of people believe stupidity like believin’ that line a crap. Well, it don’t take all kind of people to do the crazy shit that you got caught doin’. But the thing is, there are all kinds of people who will do just that, and you showed yourself as one a the ‘willing kind’ to fuck another man. Another man other than the one you married and promised to love and cherish. I’m a willin’ soul too. Just not one of the kinds to forgive your cheatin’ ways. I know you’d say that’s what the good Lord asks of me, but from what I’ve read in the bible with Preacher Gibson…” Vernon tightened the rope around her leg and looped it to the old, discarded iron bed before he continued with a wicked smile. “…Jesus never took himself a wife during his short days spreadin’ the word…so I…I reckon he can’t speak of the experience of how one should react when their wife gets caught red-pussied cheatin’ on him and then havin’ balls enough to be askin’ to do something like forgive her. Cause he ain’t never crossed that bridge I’m walking alone, and it’s a long way down to forgiveness from where I’m lookin’.”

Mae tried to mumble to Vernon. Problem was, he’d already done somethin’ he couldn’t undo, so now he was in “fix it” mode to make the problem disappear. There just weren’t time to be hagglin’ over sins already committed. He smiled at Mae as he turned to go back upstairs, “Oh, I’ll be back, Mae. That you can count on.” As the last step creaked its final sound, the cellar door slapped closed and along with the sound, almost every bit of light in the basement left along with it. There was nothing but the creepy, crawly sounds of pitter pats across the concrete floor. Varmints scamperin’ around the boxes and bed, reclaiming their digs.

Vernon put one body to rest that night. His arms sore from cuttin’ Billy into pieces and puttin’ ‘em in buckets to take down to the Red River. He fed the catfish under the moon and quiet of the night. Nothing but the stars scattered overhead to watch him finish the chore. Vernon supposed Mae deserved to be interned differently. He’d chop her up and bury her parts around old hickory, the ever-growing tree that had seen so much of their lives, good and…not so.

Vernon did make a final decision on how to kill his wife, Mae. He settled on not making too much fanfare over it. He got up early the next morning and brewed himself a pot of coffee and made some toast and mint jelly, Mae’s favorite. He sat on the porch swing enjoying his breakfast and talking to the hickory branches that stretched toward the porch swing where he sat. “Mae wasn’t able to stick around and give me that child…the child I longed to see swinging from one these limbs with a tire attached by a long rope. Breaks my heart how she just up and disappeared after I told her I got laid off. Said she couldn’t bring a child into a marriage with money troubles, said it just wouldn’t be Christian like to bring a new life into poverty and struggle. Breaks my heart to have seen in her in such sad spirits. Hard enough for me, but to watch the woman I promised to take care of all our lives, I’m afraid she’s capable of self-inflicted harm.”

Vernon practiced his speech as if readying himself for a part in a school play until he had his lines down pat. When he was satisfied and had eaten the last crumb of toast and swallowed his last drink of coffee; he got up and walked inside dropping his dishes off by the sink. His hand opened the door to the cellar, and he walked down into the darkness, and picked up the sledgehammer as he walked by. The sound mimicking a melon being cracked open was the only noise made. The light so dim he wasn’t even able to see the look of question or fear she may have worn, she didn’t even mumble a plea of mercy, not seeing it coming.

Vernon spent the day tidying up, taking care of the days business and then made a chicken salad sandwich along with a lemonade spiked with Old Granddad. His favorite. He took his lunch onto the porch swing and began rocking back and forth as he looked out over the freshly dug-up spots around the pignut hickory. He planted the pots of pretty-colored flowers he’d picked out several days earlier from the hardware store in town. He’d hid them in the shed behind the garage. It was almost his and Mae’s anniversary and he wanted to give her something real pretty that they could put out in the yard and enjoy together, holding hands as they rocked on the swing. Just like old times. He reckoned he now enjoyed the flowers a little more than she as he picked up his whiskey sour and sipped. The ice cubes tumbled to his lips as he swallowed the sweet, spiked lemonade.