The Jordan Tracks

He threw himself from the side at his father’s shoulder, only to be tossed aside by the frenzied creature he no longer recognized. Knocked off when Clarence had sprung from the table, the big wooden-handled bread knife lay on the floor a yard to the boy’s right. There was no hesitation. He clutched the handle in his right hand and covered the distance separating him from his father in two long strides. From the corner of his eye, the man saw his son’s approach, but he did not see the knife. Ernie swung it in a low arc just over the bloodied head of his mother, aiming at his father’s arm. Clarence turned his head toward the distraction, lowering his shoulder in anticipation of another lunge. The long blade sliced into the hollow of his throat. As if outside his own body, Ernie watched the crimson explosion as the metal passed through the leathery neck skin and out the back at the collar of the cotton shirt. The doomed man’s fingers grasped for the unseen  torture instrument, located the handle, but the fingers had no energy and only twitched grotesquely.

For a moment undefined by a clear beginning, Nell’s sobs and the wet, throaty death gurgles consumed the close air of the little kitchen. Life passed from Clarence Bates within seconds. Ernie cradled his mother’s head in his lap and spoke in a calm, soothing voice that he did not recognize as his own.

“It’s all right, Momma, it’s all right now.”

“Why…why’d he stop hittin’ me?” she mumbled, struggling to regain her senses.

“He was gonna kill you, Momma…I swear…he was crazy.”

Nell turned her head, spat a mouthful of blood on the floor, spied the still form sprawled on the floor. “Oh, sweet Lord Jesus,” she cried softly, “sweet Lord Jeeeeesus!”

“Come on now, Momma, I’m takin’ you to the doctor. You’re bleedin’ awful.”

Arm in arm, they rocked slowly on the hard floor. As her brain began to clear, Nell stole another glance at her husband’s body. Her hands, sticky with gore, framed Ernie’s face and she spoke softly, earnestly.

“It was me that did this…you hear me, son? Me! I grabbed the knife, and I was afraid he was gonna kill me…and I stabbed him, you understand?”

“I ain’t afraid to tell the truth, Momma. He’d a killed you sure.”

“Hush, child. I know you’re not afraid, but that doesn’t matter, don’t you see. You’re not gonna grow up with a killing hangin’ over your head…even if it was needed. You’re gonna tell them you were scared to move and that it was over before you could even figure out what to do. Promise me, son. Do it for me…please!”

Her tears mingled with blood and cut tiny pink rivulets down her cheeks, and she pleaded with her eyes. “They won’t do a thing to me…everybody knows how he was. There won’t be any trouble for me…I promise. Look at the mess he made of my face…they won’t fault me. Promise me…it was by my hand!”

He nodded, said: “But I ain’t afraid.”

She embraced him, her hands stroking the back of his head. In the soft twilight, a great hunting owl hooted its low melody, and before the mournful notes faded into the dusk, the tattered remnants of Ernie Bates’ youth passed away forever. The boy sensed it, knew that nothing within his power could halt its passing, and he did not cling to it, did not reach out and grasp with pleading, open fingers. He did not even bid it farewell. Soon, it would be nothing more than the old song of an owl.

The man-child lifted his mother to her feet and steadied her trembling body. “We got to go to town, Momma. We’ll be all right now.”

They took two halting steps before Nell stopped, looked back at the body. “He was a decent man once, son…I swear…a good and decent man…I…don’t…” The sobs shuddered through her small body, but as she slumped toward the floor Ernie gathered her up like a child and swept her from the room.