WARNING: This tale may offend you. It contains scenes of murder, rape, incest, and extreme animal cruelty. Please don’t read it if you have a tender heart.

GRADY'S DUMPLINGS

I shot Daddy before I ate his cat. Me and Daddy was in the kitchen. The bulb hanging from the cord in the ceiling swung back and forth shining light and then dark on Daddy’s face. The shot from Granddaddy's shotgun took off the top of his head. Brains, blood and skull flew all over Mamma’s rose curtains, the ones she embroidered last spring before the cancer took her. I begged her to stop smoking, but she wouldn’t listen. Now there was a bloody mess all over the last pretty thing she made.

Daddy fell and began flopping around – making a real mess. I held him down with the gun barrel while I put a slug in his chest. Maybe it hit his heart. Maybe not. But he stopped flopping.

My hands got bloody as I wiped down the kitchen real good. Mamma always taught us to clean up our own mess. Then I drug Daddy outside and wrapped him in the old tarp we used to cover the tractor with in winter. I went looking for Grady, Daddy’s big orange tabby. He hurt my only best friend, Cindy. If Grady had clawed Cindy once he had clawed her a thousand times. Daddy just laughed when Grady did it. Sometimes he pulled Grady's tail to make him even meaner. Them days was over now.

I found Grady crouched down behind the washtub next to the barn. He didn’t mew or nothing when I picked him up. He just hung there - a big fat cushion with his legs dangling loose. I carried him to the back porch. His ears went back and he yowled just before I whacked him with a piece of firewood. I sat on a step and skinned him while I watched the sun come up – dark blue, purple, pink then golden. Cindy always said there wasn’t nothing prettier on God’s green earth than sunrise. Sometimes she would stare at it so long I worried it would blind her.

I cut Grady up like a squirrel – hindquarters, front legs, neck and ribs. I stacked the meat in a dishpan and rinsed it off with the garden hose. I put the head, skin and guts in a pail out by the garage. Mrs. Ashcroft’s dogs would have a treat.

Grady barely fit in Mamma's Wearever pot. I filled it with water and turned the heat on low. Grady was tough, but an hour or two in the pot would soften him up just fine.

While Grady cooked, I mixed up some dough for dumplings. When I had a good sized ball, I floured the cutting board, rolled out the dough and cut it into little squares. I hummed the Tennessee Waltz while I worked. Mamma would always smile and twirl whenever she heard that song. I left the dumplings to dry while I washed and cut up the greens.

I put the greens in the Dutch oven. For seasoning, I cut up an onion and some salt pork and put it in the pot. Some vinegar and a dash of sugar would make the greens taste just right.

I froze. What was I doing? Was I crazy or what?

Two of Mamma’s main rules was to save salt pork for when all you had was beans and to never, never, ever use her Dutch oven for greens. Too late now. Salt pork was in the greens, they were in the Dutch oven, and Grady was in the Wearever. A real mess. I was glad Mamma wasn’t here to see it.

I went back outside and drug Daddy out to the dogwood at the back of the lot. I dug as far down as I could manage and then rolled him in. The dogwood was a good place for Daddy. He would smile every spring when the dogwood bloomed. He’d sit on the back porch smoking a Pall Mall and stare at the flowers. I’d sit watching. Waiting.

Finally, after ever so long, it would come - the tiniest little wrinkle at each corner of his mouth. Then he’d look down at me and his face would turn back to stone. That was my signal. I’d run and get the whiskey and he’d pour a little in his coffee. After a while, he would smile again. This time his store-bought teeth would shine and his eyes would crinkle. Sometimes, he’d reach out and run his hand over my head.

“You sure are a looker, Danny. Yes sir, a real looker.”

Mamma would call us in to breakfast. She made the best biscuits you ever tasted, Mamma did. They were just like on television. Steam really did come out when you busted’em open. The insides was soft and fluffy, perfect for sopping up eggs, red-eye gravy, and cane syrup. Daddy only ever ate the crust. He always pulled the insides out and left them on the side of his plate. Watching his strong fingers crumble up the biscuit and drop it in the juice from his eggs always gave me a funny feeling in my stomach. His Adam's apple would bob up and down as he swallowed. He would lick bits of egg from his fingers and smack his lips.

After breakfast, Daddy would go on out to the shed to sharpen tools or clean his guns. Me and Mamma would go to the garden. Sometimes Cindy would come over to help. Weeds seemed to come up overnight. We had to keep at them if we wanted to eat. We lived mostly on the garden along with the deer, rabbits and squirrel that Daddy and me killed. Sometimes Mamma would get us a piece of pork or beef from Piggly Wiggly. But mostly we did just fine with what we could raise or catch. We never went hungry. They was always beans and cornbread.

Most days, after he spent a little time in the shed, Daddy would go on down to the domino hall. Least ways that was where he always said he was going. One time I followed him to see. He caught me at it and his face turned to stone. He gave me the belt so hard it left welts on my legs and back. I never followed him again.

He mostly came home around dark. Sometimes he didn’t come back til morning, sometimes not for two or three days. Those were the bad times.

Mamma would start in as soon as Daddy opened the door,“Eustus Tucker – you son of a bitch. Where the hell have you been? You expect me to just sit here like a bump on a log while you go off gallivanting around?”

Daddy would pour himself a whiskey, carry the bottle over to the kitchen table, and sit down.

The longer Mamma shouted the louder she got.

“You think I'm your slave or something? You got a woman in town or what? You know my Pappy would have killed you if I hadn’t of stopped them. My folks never wanted me to marry white-trash like you!”

For a while Daddy would stare at the tabletop and swig his whiskey like it was water. Once the bottle was almost gone, he’d raise his fist and slam the table so hard it bounced the salt and pepper shakers. He'd whisper in a midnight voice, “You better hush woman.”

Mamma never did though. She’d just keep on and on while Daddy’s face got redder and redder. Finally, he’d slap her and she’d throw something at him.

Cindy stayed with us a lot of nights to get away from her Daddy. When things got too bad we would run and hide under my bed, hugging each other as the thud of his fists carried down the hallway. Mamma would keep shouting for a bit, but soon there wouldn’t be nothing but more thumping and then the crying. If the crying went on too long, we’d hear the sound of Daddy’s belt whistling through the air to beat her. Her cries was so loud and painful I’d look down to see if my skin wasn’t busted open. Cindy and me would just stare into the dark. Not sad. Not afraid. Not nothing. We'd hug each other tighter and tighter while we prayed to the baby Jesus. After a thousand years, Daddy would pull Mamma down the hall to their bedroom. Sometimes when I peeped out the door I saw him dragging her by her hair.

"No Eustus. Please no! I’m sorry honey. Please no Eustus!”

For a spell, banging and crying would come from their room and then just quiet, like a night with no moon in it. Cindy would sneak on down to the spare bedroom. I’d climb into my bed and lie on my stomach. I never waited long. I’d smell whiskey before the whisper came.

“You awake?”

Never said nothing, just pulled down the covers and pushed my bottom up.

“That’s right. That’s right sugar. You know what Daddy needs. You’re the only who does. The only one who really loves me.”

He’d pull down my underpants and rub my butt. The calluses on his hands scratched and made my skin tingle. I’d go someplace else right about then, maybe to the time me and Cindy found that big ol’ piece of quartz down by Miller’s creek. I could see it sparkle in the sun so clear, bright, and beautiful that I hardly felt it when Daddy shoved into me. Sometimes he used lard but sometimes, like tonight, all he had was spit. It never took long, kinda’ like the way I saw horses doing it over at Sadie Jenkins – in and out a few times, lickedy split and that would be all she wrote. I was used to it. I knew he needed it, and besides, if he didn’t get it from me I worried he might get at Cindy. Truth be told, sometimes I rubbed my pecker and squirted while he did it. I never told nobody but Cindy ‘bout that. She just giggled.

That was pretty much our days and nights. Time is as time was, like they say. Things changed last spring though. Mamma had always prayed for our deliverance. Didn’t seem like Jesus knew our address. He must'a found us last spring cause he took Momma home. Least I hope so.

After Mamma passed, Daddy came at me every night. But he kept away from Cindy - least ’til last night. Last night I wasn’t enough. When he was done with me, he went after Cindy. I snuck behind him when he went down to her room. I peeked inside and watched him yank her up from the bed. She screamed.

He was too drunk to notice and too mean to care. He pushed her to her knees and shoved his pecker in her face. She shook her head and turned away. He held the back of her head with one hand and pinched her nose closed until she opened her mouth to breathe. He pushed his pecker in and just held it there. She gagged and beat on his legs. Then he picked her up, threw her down, and pushed into her. His face had a look that would have scared the devil. Spit came from one corner of his mouth. I run over to push him away from Cindy. Saw his fist rise up what seemed a hundred miles, then nothing but white.

When I woke, I was tied to my bed. Daddy stood in the doorway, Light from the hall shined around him, throwing his shadow across my bed.

Some animal I never heard before screamed. “Untie me you bastard! Let me up from here, or I’ll kill you! I swear to God I will!”

Daddy growled. “You ain’t strong enough to kill a piss ant. You ain’t nothin’ but your Mamma’s little ol’ baby girl. Weak as water that’s you. All you ever will be.”

Couldn’t see his eyes but I felt them – burning into me from the doorway. He turned and shuffled down the hallway. I tried to get loose, but he had tied me up good. I pulled and tugged all night bloodying my wrists. Finally, just before daybreak, I got loose.

I crept real careful down to Cindy’s room and poked my head inside. “Cindy?”

She didn’t say nothing. I moved to the side of her bed and touched her - stone cold. Her blankets were bloody. I kissed her, closed her eyes, and pulled up the covers. I wanted to cry, but a deep hole inside me sucked up all my tears. I lay down next to her and stared up at the ceiling, like we used to do. We’d pretend the stains on the ceiling were butterfly wings, fairy tale people, or maybe maps of some faraway place – a place where me and her would run off to someday. But those was just dreams; right now I had things to do.

I eased out of bed and down the hall to the gun case. When I got there, I opened the glass door and got the 10-gauge that Grandaddy Tucker had got from his daddy, who got it from his daddy, on back to a time before anybody could remember.

Light shined on the barrel from the kitchen doorway down at the end of the hall. The barrel glowed light blue, like it was shining through water and wasn’t quite ready to be real. Dark patterns lined the steel from where it had been folded and beaten back on itself maybe a thousand times. I snapped open the barrel and dropped in two slugs. Slugs don’t spread as wide as buck shot but they’re better if you want to knock something down right quick. I cocked the hammers and put the stock tight against my shoulder. If you don’t hold a big gun tight, it can hurt you. The gun had broke the arms of Tuckers before. I wondered if it had ever killed one.

I walked to the kitchen. Daddy had his back to me pouring another whiskey. When I stepped across the doorway he turned. His head bumped the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Light and dark chased each other across his face. His eyes were bloody.

He smiled with thin lips and sat the whiskey bottle down real slow. He never took his eyes off me.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m gonna’ kill you.”

He snorted. “Is that right? What makes you think you can kill me?”

“Cindy,” was all I could say.

Daddy closed his eyes. “I never, I never meant to do that son. It was the drink. You know how crazy it makes me.”

The gun felt heavy. Daddy opened his eyes and watched the barrel weave. He grinned at me and that was enough. I let loose. Like I said, the first shot took off the top of his head. He would never think up ways to hurt Cindy or me again. The last shot blew open his heart. I would never have to feel it beat against my back in the night. Never, ever again.

After I took care of Daddy and Grady, I sat at the kitchen table and took a deep breath of the dumplings and greens. Mamma and me used to sit at the table in the early morning before getting at the chores. Mamma would bring me “cossie” my pretend coffee, mostly cream and sugar with just enough coffee to turn it brown. We’d would sit and talk real quiet, so as not to wake Cindy and Daddy. It was our special time: the time when she would tell me about when she was a little girl over in Star City putting peanuts in her RC Cola; how her family helped take this land from the Indians; how some of them married Indians; and how she grew up to be a big, tall woman who played basketball like nobody’s business. I loved the smell of her cigarettes and how she flicked the ashes into the big green ashtray in the middle of the table. No ashes landed on the table – nary a one. Now the ashtray was empty and Mamma’s smell was so faint I could hardly tell she had ever been here.

I didn’t have no cigarettes so I got up and made cossie. I switched to real coffee last year cause Daddy said it would put hair on my chest. But my chest was still bare, and wasn’t nobody around, so I guessed a little cossie wouldn’t hurt. Yessir, cossie would do just fine.