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Eddie appeared again shortly and slid into the back seat. He’d toweled himself off and put on a soft cotton shirt with palm trees all over it. He was carrying a paper bag and immediately he pulled out a Hamms beer. “You see the light?” he asked Bunny, as he opened the can and a mist of beer squirted out. He was talking about church.
“It was very nice,” said Bunny. “The sermon was about the KTD.”
“That don’t sound very religious to me,” said Eddie. “I mean, I’ve heard of heaven and hell and the Garden of Eden, but I never heard anyplace in the Bible where it mentions the KTD.” He smirked at me. That’s typical Eddie Boggs. He won’t come right out and say hello, like any normal person. He’ll act as if you’re not there until he wants you to laugh at a wisecrack.
Mason’s Farm is a swampy piece of property about five miles south of Katydid, along the Little Carp River. Nobody knows anymore who Mason was. All that’s left of his farm is a grassy pile of stones where the barn used to stand and a few old wagon paths. The rest of the place is overgrown with reeds. If you follow the most worn-down path, you cross a field and come to the Little Carp and to a grassy stretch shaded by a few big willow trees. The river—it’s really not much more than a creek—makes a sweeping turn there, and the bank has been pushed up into an overhang. People from town have been picnicking at that spot for years, supposedly since Katydid was founded, over a century ago.
Bunny parked the car along the side of the road, near the start of the main wagon path. Just ahead, someone had left a pickup truck. “I hope nobody’s beat us to the spot,” said Bunny.
She gave me the bag of food, and Eddie carried his beer. The path was dry and scuffed down to the cracking, gray earth. Bunny still had on her high heels. She walked on the balls of her feet for a while, but pretty soon her ankles tired, and her heels started spiking into the ground, leaving long, thin holes, the way a planter would. Finally, she stopped. Resting one hand on my shoulder, she took off her shoes and her stockings. She stuffed her stockings into her purse, and dangled her shoes from the fingers of her left hand. Then she continued barefoot.
The path was just two parallel wheel ruts carved in the ground. No wheels had rolled over them in years, but wagons had once driven that route so regularly that even the thick marsh grasses couldn’t quite erase the markings. There was no breeze, so the air along the path was thick and heavy with the strange, sweet fragrances of a swamp. Eddie walked on ahead, leaving Bunny and me to trail behind, walking side-by-side along the path. “We’re each in our own rut,” I said, and Bunny laughed. I was still angry about Eddie being there, but I could see how his presence reassured Bunny.
The yellow stand of willows rose like a golden oasis at the end of the path. Farther up the river, two men were spearing carp. Otherwise, we were alone. Bunny spread the tablecloth on the ground and dumped the sandwiches, potato chips, and apples in a pile in the middle. Eddie found a place in the Little Carp beneath the overhang to set the beer and a few bottles of Coke he’d brought along for me. Then we all stretched out. The ground was spongy and coolly damp.
Bunny undid a few buttons on her blouse and slid her skirt up to just below her hips, for comfort. She’s got great legs with curved, muscled calves. She says they got that way because Grandmother’s house in Indian Falls was on a hill, and every winter, when the pump froze, Grandmother would make Bunny haul water up from the stream at the bottom.
“Damn!” said Bunny, slapping at her neck. “I forgot the bug stuff.”
“Too hot for bugs,” said Eddie. He took off his shirt—Eddie takes off his shirt every chance he gets. He rolled the shirt in a ball and stuck it behind his head for a pillow. He’s learned to drink a can of beer lying on his back without using his hands, just by holding the edge of the can in his teeth. Something went wrong this time, though, because a little stream of beer trickled down his cheek and dripped onto his chest. Bunny mopped it up with a napkin.
After a while, I passed out the sandwiches. “This is just like a regular family,” said Bunny, smiling at Eddie and me.
Eddie took a couple of bites of his sandwich and then heaved it into the river. “Maybe the carp will eat it,” he said. Bunny had made the sandwiches using some baloney that hadn’t been covered right and one edge of it had turned dry and leathery. She must not have noticed. She’s not too interested in cooking. Eddie ate some potato chips.
“You know, I read yesterday that the last Union Army veteran died, from the Civil War,” said Bunny. “He had a funny name, Wolfson, or something.”
“How old was he?” I asked.
“One hundred and nine,” said Bunny. “He joined when he was seventeen. He was a drummer boy, and he signed up after his father was killed in a big battle.”
“Gee,” I said. “Imagine.”
“He’s the last Union man, but three Confederate vets are still a
live,” Bunny added.
“I guess that means the South won after all,” said Eddie, pleased with himself.
“Very funny,” said Bunny.
The shrill buzz of a swamp bug got fiercely loud and intense, then faded away to nothing. “Adlai is coming to the fair next week,” said Bunny. “It’s a campaign stop.” She didn’t seem to be speaking to either of us in particular.
“Big deal,” said Eddie, after a couple of seconds.
“I like him,” she said. “I feel sorry for him.”
“He’s an egghead,” said Eddie.
“How about you, Martha?” asked Bunny. “Who would you vote for if you were old enough?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I don’t follow politics or sports much, but to help Bunny out with the conversation I added, “Mr. Vernon likes President Eisenhower. He has a sticker on his bumper.”
“Walter Vernon?” said Eddie. I nodded. “That’s quite a statement for him. That’s practically an entire conversation. Whooo-eee. I worked next to him one night on the power press, and he didn’t say a goddamn thing the whole shift. He just stood there scratching his ass all the time. He must have hemorrhoids.”
“Eddie!” said Bunny. “Not in front of Martha.”
“Well, it’s true. He just stood there all night with one hand on the press and the other on his butt, like some kind of statue.” Lying on the ground, Eddie rolled over and demonstrated what he meant.
