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Find my way where, he said. I don’t know where to go.
Anywhere but here, I told him. Pick a direction, any direction, and just keep going.
That was yesterday.
When I woke up today, Buck was gone.
I was glad, but I was also scared for him. Hoping he’d make it. Afraid he wouldn’t.
I was taking out the infirmary trash today when Cockroach called to me from across the yard. Come on over here, boy, he said, I need you to haul something to the dump.
Will it fit in this trash can, I said. Its only about half full.
Hell no it wont fit in that trash can, he said. Set that down by that tree there, I need you to come do this first.
Yessir, I said, putting down the can. What is it?
Youll see soon enough, he said. Come on.
He started walking toward the beating shed. I had a bad feeling in my stomach, like a buzzards claw was wrapped around it and was squeezing. Mr. Cochran, sir, am I in some kind of trouble, I said. He turned and looked at me, his eyes squinting narrow the way they do when hes thinking about getting mad. Not yet, he said, but you are fixing to be if you dont hurry up and do what I say. Yessir, I said. Im coming right now.
I followed him into the shed.
It smelled real bad in there, like puke and sweat and piss and shit and rotten meat all mixed together. It smelled like something had died in there.
With his one hand, he pointed to the iron bed beside the far wall. Get that mattress off that bed, he said. It’s a mess. Haul that down to the dump, then come on back up here.
Yessir, I said, and went to get the mattress. It was covered with blood, spatters of blood all over it, and then a big dark spot in the middle, where it looked like a puddle of blood had soaked into the mattress. It was still wet and shiny. I said, what happened, sir? A boy asked me too many damn questions, he said. Now get that out of here before I make you lie down on it and take a strapping.
I grabbed the foot of the mattress by one corner and pulled it off the frame and dragged it across the floor toward the door. Well, shit, said Cockroach. I looked around and saw that the mattress had left a smear of blood on the floor where I had dragged it. There was blood under the middle of the bed, to, where it had soaked clear through the mattress and dripped on the floor. Im sorry, sir, I didnt mean to make a mess, I said. I thought sure Id get a hiding now.
But he let me keep dragging the mattress across the floor and on out the door. I had just got down the steps when he stepped outside. Wait a minute, he said. I held my breath. That things liable to attract all sorts of varmints. Buzzards and rats and what-all. Youd best burn it. You ever burned brush or trash before, boy? Yessir, I said. You ever used gasoline to do it? Yessir, I said. Alright. Heres some matches. Theres some gas over in the tractor shed by the lawn mower. Its in a gallon glass jug. Use some of that to get it started. Dont use much, just about a cup of it. Be sure you cap that jug and set it way off from the mattress before you strike that match. Strike the match and throw it while its still flaring. You dont want to be leaning over that mattress when the gasoline catches fire or youll burn up. Understand?
Yessir, I said, Ill be careful.
I drug the mattress down to the dump, just like I had the other one. It was heavier than that first one, because of all the blood that was in it. I laid it on top of the burn pile and went back to get the gas. The glass jug was nearly full, and it looked just like apple cider, so I unscrewed the cap to make sure it was gasoline. The smell nearly knocked me down when I took a sniff. The day was hot and I could see the fumes swirling up out of the neck of the jug and into the air, like smoke only it was clear. I took the jug down to the dump and poured gas onto the mattress, trickling it all around the edges and then pouring more onto the bloodiest spots. I didnt pour out but about a cup, on account of Cockroach had warned me not to use much.
Then I screwed the cap on tight and set the jug way over behind a pine tree before taking the box of matches out of my pocket. I could see fumes swirling up from the mattress, making the air shimmer. I lit a match and held it while it flared, then threw it at the mattress. But it went out before it ever got there. I tried another one, and this time I threw it as soon as I drug it across the box. But I was nervous, so I didnt press hard enough, and the match just flew through the air without lighting and plopped onto the mattress and lay there. The third time I pressed harder. I heard the match scraping as I drug it across the sandpaper and flung it away from me, then I heard it sputter as it started to catch. It flared up in midair with a bright flame, and even before it hit the mattress there was a whoosh and a wall of heat hit me in the face and knocked me back. I think maybe it burned my eyebrows and eyelashes some, but I wasnt hurt, just surprised that so much heat could come from so little gasoline.
As the mattress burned, I thought about Buck laying there bleeding to death, and it made me sad. Then I thought about Cockroach beating him, and it made me mad. I wished that Cockroach was the one on the mattress, not Buck. And thats when I got the idea. I thought about it the whole time I watched the mattress burn.
I poked around the edges of the dump and pretty soon I found an empty bottle. Jack Daniels Tennessee Sipping Whiskey. There was a few drops left in the bottom of the bottle, and it was the same color as the gasoline, but it smelled different. Apple cider, gasoline, whiskey. Hard to tell them apart by looking. Easy by smelling.
I wedged the empty whiskey bottle down between some big roots then brought the jug of gas over and started pouring, I had to pour real slow because the mouth of the whiskey bottle was a lot smaller than the mouth of the jug. But I didn’t spill much, and pretty soon the bottle was full up to the bottom of the neck. The gallon jug was about half empty now, I hoped Cockroach wouldnt check to see how much Id used. I capped both bottles and headed back from the dump. I started worrying about how I could hide the whiskey bottle. So I took off my t-shirt and held it in my hand so it hung down and hid the bottle. Up close, you could tell I was hiding something, but if somebody just saw me from across the yard Id probly be okay.
Just as I got to the tractor shed, Cockroach yelled at me from across the yard. Hey, boy. I set down the jug and hid the whiskey bottle and my shirt behind a post. Let me see that jug. I held it up for him. Bring it on over here. I walked across the yard with it. Shit fire, boy, did you pour half a gallon of gasoline on that mattress after I told you not to use much?
Nossir, I said. The jug tipped over and some of the gas spilled before I could catch it. Im sorry, sir. I didnt mean to spill any. I didnt use too much, I did just like you said. Just enough to make that mattress burn good.
He looked at me like he was trying to decide whether to believe me. Wheres your shirt, boy? Did you burn that up?
Nossir. It was hot with that fire, so I took it off. I just laid it down over there in the shed. Ill get it when I put this gasoline back where it goes.
He frowned at me. You was best friends with that boy run off last night, wasn’t you?
You mean Buck, sir? We got along okay.
You a faggot too, boy? He licked his lips when he said it, and I felt the buzzard claw grab my stomach again.
Nossir, Im not a faggot.
You look like a faggot to me, boy. Maybe we need to find out if your telling me a lie.
Nossir, I said, I wouldnt lie to you, Mr. Cochran.
He didnt say anything for a while. Just kept looking at me. Alright, go on now. Its almost dinner time.
Yessir, thank you sir, I said. Ill just put this back and get my shirt and go get cleaned up for dinner.
I took the glass jug back to the shed and set it down beside the lawn mower. Cockroach had walked away, so I picked up the whiskey bottle of gasoline and covered it with my shirt again. Then I walked back to the dorm. But first I stopped at the chapel to pray. Please god, I prayed, help me kill Cockroach. Then I hid the whiskey bottle behind the radiator.
Does god answer prayers? He never has answered any of mine before.
Put wings to your prayer, the preacher said in chapel last Sunday. What that means, he said, is work to make them come true.
