Old Josh, In: the Halfwit ((Part Two to 'Buckboard to Ozark') (1863-64))
Old Josh, in: The Halfwit ((Part Two to ‘Buckboard to Ozark’) (1863-64))
Clayton McAllen was a farmer, twenty-six miles outside of Ozark, Alabama, he raised and sold hogs, and mules, and did some planting, and had three sons, Thomas, who he often called the halfwit, being the oldest of the three, and Jessie, and bat. They didn’t take any of the boys in the Confederate Army, they were too aggressive, unpredictable, and never stood still, I suppose if they were to see a psychologist nowadays, they would have been diagnosis as manic, depressive, with borderline necroses, and sent to anger management, and a tinge of antisocial behavior, and Thomas with an obsession to sex; a palmist would have said he had a strong sex drive, and would life a short live, and endure a horrid death. His father overlooked most of this, but now he was in his later twenties, and all these symptoms were becoming pronounced, and more activated, to where the were costly, and out of control, for both his father and Thomas himself.
But to Clayton, what Josh did was almost unforgivable, it was cause for a hanging, but because he protected a white woman, especially Charles Hightower’s daughter, the townsfolk’s were willing to look the other way for once, but it still bothered Clayton that a nigger dared to put his muscle and hand on his boy. He felt it would come up sometime with his neighbors, so he was aiming to go kill Josh.
No one would prosecute him for killing a nigger in wartime, not down south anyhow, not in Alabama, and if they did, he’d only get a light sentence, he knew the judge in Ozark, even in Dothan if they took him there, in any case, he’d shoot him, in the night, and no one would be the wiser, you needed a witness, and he’d be sure there were none. So he kind of had a plan, not a great one, just one he felt would be good enough to satisfy the Judge, to put doubt if need be into the jury’s mind.
Clayton sold several hogs and mules, and stashed the money in his pockets, in case he needed to bribe someone, while on his journey to kill Josh, got his wagon ready, two horses, food for a week, night gear, some blankets, and water in two canteens, and was on his way to Ozark, and then up a ways to the Hightower Plantation.
Thomas, the halfwit, followed behind his father for a few hours without him noticing him on horseback, then got ahead of him, figuring he knew were he was going and would show his face when the time came, he wanted to make sure everything went as planned for his father, however he planned it: he was a mile or two ahead of Clayton, it was near noon, and he was hungry, and had other ideas on his mind, he got thinking of a Spanish couple that lived in a small farm off the main road (from South America), she was a young newly married woman, perhaps twenty, and the husband was near thirty, and he remembered him saying when he and his brothers had stopped their once or twice to water the horses, offered him something to eat, and that if he might be gone, and if he’d be, and she was alone, well, who knows.
He rode up to the small cabin, it was quiet all about, he looked around for Mrs. Maria Duran’s husband, he didn’t see her husband not outside anyhow, Juan was his name.
Maria was in the bedroom with her pajamas on yet, looked out the small open window, saw Thomas McAllen, on his horse, looking about, as if he was searching for someone or thing. Then he caught her eyes, he had taken a few shots of whiskey he brought along, to build up his courage in case he needed it to confront Maria alone.
It was a hot and muggy day, and he had dust all over him, dirty like the hogs his father sold, smelled like a hog.
“Hello,” said Thomas, getting off his horse by the window, “I was headed on to Ozark, wanted to see if I could water my horse, was looking for your husband to ask him.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, she noticed that, matter of fact he was looking at her as if examining her; she was small, with long black hair, very shapely, with a very lovely, cut soft round looking face, very feminine.
The more he looked, the more Maria got scared, it even seemed his eyes got a yellowness to it, like a wolf, he was unshaven like a wolf also.
She quickly shut the window, latched it as in locking it, went to the dresser drawer, for a pistol, as Thomas came barging through the front door like a madman, she pointed the gun at Thomas, “Senior, you leave or I will shoot you!” she was trembling.
With his craziness, he didn’t seemed to care, and she shot a bullet in the air, and he still came on to her like a train with no brakes. When he grabbed her he almost knocked the wind out of her.
He picked her up off her feet, the gun dropped from her hands, and threw her down on the wooden floor, ripped her cloths off, wild eyed, and told her to spread her legs or he’d cut them wide open. And she did as he said, with tears and crying, and a prayer.
In the meantime, Clayton was passing by, had heard the gun shot, stopped his wagon, saw the little farm, knew Maria, but not well, and saw a horse. He turned his wagon and horses to the side road, and rode down it; the girl was screaming and crying, he could hear her, in Spanish. Then he noticed the horse and saddle it was familiar, and jumped off he wagon ran into the cabin, Thomas had penetrated her, he told him to stop, “Shut up pa, I’m going to finish this first,” and then Clayton, knowing he was not going to listen to him—him being almost to a point of climax, he hit him over the head, with the butt-end of his gun, and pulled him out and off of her.
She, Maria, sat up; he could see her inner thighs were bruised. He stood there a moment, thinking on what to do, remembering the sheriff said he would put Thomas in jail, and this would be a good enough reason to, along with trying to rape Emma Hightower.
He pulled out all the money he had in his pockets, $120-dollars,
“It’s all I got Mrs. Take it, and never mention this to anyone, I’m sorry about this, but what can I do, I can’t deliver him to the sheriff, and I can’t kill you, but I will if you report this. Take the money, and I’ll be sure he never returns.”
He left the money on the table, pulled his son to his feet, and walked outside.
“We going to go kill Josh Jefferson now pa?” asked Thomas.
Clayton looked at him oddly, as if he must had forgotten already that he just rapped a girl, and if it wasn’t for him, he’d be going to jail.
“No, we’re not going to kill Josh, or anyone (his anger had subsided) we’re going home, and we are never going down this road again, and never will you see Ozark. I got enough trouble just keeping you out of jail.”
No: 66 8-13-2008
Clayton McAllen was a farmer, twenty-six miles outside of Ozark, Alabama, he raised and sold hogs, and mules, and did some planting, and had three sons, Thomas, who he often called the halfwit, being the oldest of the three, and Jessie, and bat. They didn’t take any of the boys in the Confederate Army, they were too aggressive, unpredictable, and never stood still, I suppose if they were to see a psychologist nowadays, they would have been diagnosis as manic, depressive, with borderline necroses, and sent to anger management, and a tinge of antisocial behavior, and Thomas with an obsession to sex; a palmist would have said he had a strong sex drive, and would life a short live, and endure a horrid death. His father overlooked most of this, but now he was in his later twenties, and all these symptoms were becoming pronounced, and more activated, to where the were costly, and out of control, for both his father and Thomas himself.
But to Clayton, what Josh did was almost unforgivable, it was cause for a hanging, but because he protected a white woman, especially Charles Hightower’s daughter, the townsfolk’s were willing to look the other way for once, but it still bothered Clayton that a nigger dared to put his muscle and hand on his boy. He felt it would come up sometime with his neighbors, so he was aiming to go kill Josh.
No one would prosecute him for killing a nigger in wartime, not down south anyhow, not in Alabama, and if they did, he’d only get a light sentence, he knew the judge in Ozark, even in Dothan if they took him there, in any case, he’d shoot him, in the night, and no one would be the wiser, you needed a witness, and he’d be sure there were none. So he kind of had a plan, not a great one, just one he felt would be good enough to satisfy the Judge, to put doubt if need be into the jury’s mind.
Clayton sold several hogs and mules, and stashed the money in his pockets, in case he needed to bribe someone, while on his journey to kill Josh, got his wagon ready, two horses, food for a week, night gear, some blankets, and water in two canteens, and was on his way to Ozark, and then up a ways to the Hightower Plantation.
Thomas, the halfwit, followed behind his father for a few hours without him noticing him on horseback, then got ahead of him, figuring he knew were he was going and would show his face when the time came, he wanted to make sure everything went as planned for his father, however he planned it: he was a mile or two ahead of Clayton, it was near noon, and he was hungry, and had other ideas on his mind, he got thinking of a Spanish couple that lived in a small farm off the main road (from South America), she was a young newly married woman, perhaps twenty, and the husband was near thirty, and he remembered him saying when he and his brothers had stopped their once or twice to water the horses, offered him something to eat, and that if he might be gone, and if he’d be, and she was alone, well, who knows.
He rode up to the small cabin, it was quiet all about, he looked around for Mrs. Maria Duran’s husband, he didn’t see her husband not outside anyhow, Juan was his name.
Maria was in the bedroom with her pajamas on yet, looked out the small open window, saw Thomas McAllen, on his horse, looking about, as if he was searching for someone or thing. Then he caught her eyes, he had taken a few shots of whiskey he brought along, to build up his courage in case he needed it to confront Maria alone.
It was a hot and muggy day, and he had dust all over him, dirty like the hogs his father sold, smelled like a hog.
“Hello,” said Thomas, getting off his horse by the window, “I was headed on to Ozark, wanted to see if I could water my horse, was looking for your husband to ask him.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, she noticed that, matter of fact he was looking at her as if examining her; she was small, with long black hair, very shapely, with a very lovely, cut soft round looking face, very feminine.
The more he looked, the more Maria got scared, it even seemed his eyes got a yellowness to it, like a wolf, he was unshaven like a wolf also.
She quickly shut the window, latched it as in locking it, went to the dresser drawer, for a pistol, as Thomas came barging through the front door like a madman, she pointed the gun at Thomas, “Senior, you leave or I will shoot you!” she was trembling.
With his craziness, he didn’t seemed to care, and she shot a bullet in the air, and he still came on to her like a train with no brakes. When he grabbed her he almost knocked the wind out of her.
He picked her up off her feet, the gun dropped from her hands, and threw her down on the wooden floor, ripped her cloths off, wild eyed, and told her to spread her legs or he’d cut them wide open. And she did as he said, with tears and crying, and a prayer.
In the meantime, Clayton was passing by, had heard the gun shot, stopped his wagon, saw the little farm, knew Maria, but not well, and saw a horse. He turned his wagon and horses to the side road, and rode down it; the girl was screaming and crying, he could hear her, in Spanish. Then he noticed the horse and saddle it was familiar, and jumped off he wagon ran into the cabin, Thomas had penetrated her, he told him to stop, “Shut up pa, I’m going to finish this first,” and then Clayton, knowing he was not going to listen to him—him being almost to a point of climax, he hit him over the head, with the butt-end of his gun, and pulled him out and off of her.
She, Maria, sat up; he could see her inner thighs were bruised. He stood there a moment, thinking on what to do, remembering the sheriff said he would put Thomas in jail, and this would be a good enough reason to, along with trying to rape Emma Hightower.
He pulled out all the money he had in his pockets, $120-dollars,
“It’s all I got Mrs. Take it, and never mention this to anyone, I’m sorry about this, but what can I do, I can’t deliver him to the sheriff, and I can’t kill you, but I will if you report this. Take the money, and I’ll be sure he never returns.”
He left the money on the table, pulled his son to his feet, and walked outside.
“We going to go kill Josh Jefferson now pa?” asked Thomas.
Clayton looked at him oddly, as if he must had forgotten already that he just rapped a girl, and if it wasn’t for him, he’d be going to jail.
“No, we’re not going to kill Josh, or anyone (his anger had subsided) we’re going home, and we are never going down this road again, and never will you see Ozark. I got enough trouble just keeping you out of jail.”
No: 66 8-13-2008
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 9:30 PM
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