Some of us write the novel, some of us live it. – Barker Ajax
Chapter 1. THE STRANGER
I saw the dust he raised before I saw anything else.
We lived at the end of a long dirt road and we didn’t get much traffic up our way except during elk season, which wouldn’t start yet for another couple of months. I was at the front gate by the time his truck pulled up. Which the dogs, burrowing under the barbed-wire fence, immediately circled, like warriors around a wagon train.
The pup Mongo put his floppy paws on the door of the driver’s side and started to stick his head inside the window.
And Mongo suddenly found his head squeezed shut tight.
“Don’t hurt that dog, Mister!,” I yelled, just as Mongo freed his big head with a shrill squeal of surprise.
The window came down as I got the dogs settled. Loud music blared from within. “And if I die before I wake, feed Jake,” was playing, one of my favorites. The driver leaned into view and I found myself almost paralyzed. He looked like something out of an made-for-television mini-series, a red kerchief tied around his neck, handsome like a movie star with a wide smile full of white teeth against a tan chiseled jaw. High cheekbones, clean shaven except for a bold mustache flecked with grey. Mirror-lensed sunglasses shielded the man’s eyes.
I felt threatened.
“Howdy,” he said in a surprisingly pleasant voice. “I hear you’re looking for a hand.”
“That’s true,” I answered, not knowing what else to say.
One of the dogs, Diva, growled low to break the silence.
“What’s your name, young man?” the stranger asked me.
“Zachariah.”
“Well, Zachariah, are you going to open that gate or should we just sit here a spell?”
I wasn’t supposed to let anybody onto the property without permission, but I knew we were looking for some help around the farm. I was still wondering what to do, when the driver’s side door opened and the man stepped out. He was taller than I had imagined.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I warned. “These dogs don’t much like strangers.” All barking up a racket now, Mongo, Diva and Andy, as soon as the truck door opened, they had the man surrounded, pinned against the vehicle.
Suddenly, the animals quieted. As if hypnotized. They sniffed him all over and started to wag their tails like he was a long lost friend. Another member of the pack.
“Good dogs. Good boys.” He bent down and let all three of them lick his face. Mongo knocked the man’s glasses off, so I could see his eyes, and I wasn’t afraid. Everything about him seemed hard, but even a kid could see the gentleness in those eyes. They were a startling pale purple color and somehow reassuring.
“Oh, so puppy wants to play.”
He lifted Mongo up like a cheap stuffed animal and hugged him to his chest. Mongo was amazed.
I was amazed myself.
“I guess it’ll be okay,” I said, as I reached for the key to the padlock. I put the lock on top of the gate post just as the stranger gently deposited the puppy onto the ground.
In the excitement, I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been, and I jostled the green ceramic frog Mom had put on the post – “to keep evil spirits away,” she’d said. The suddenly unlucky little guardian was plummeting to the gravel, and I was already thinking about how Mom would be so disappointed with me for breaking the darn thing, when the stranger’s hand shot out and plucked the frog out of mid-air. He gave the frog a curious but brief glance, then held it out to me.
I put the frog back and opened the gate.
He had remained sitting in his truck until I got down to the parking area between the house and the barn. The dogs were already circling the vehicle excitedly. When the stranger saw I was alongside, he climbed out.
The first thing I noticed were his clothes. He was dressed completely in black, except for the kerchief, but there was nothing dark about him. He was wearing a wool baseball cap with the picture of a wolf’s head on the front and a leather jacket, soft, probably made out of deerskin, decorated with fringe across the chest and down the sleeves. His shirt, with pewter buttons on a full bib, looked like something a cavalry officer wore in the days of the Old West. His jeans were also made of leather and tucked into heavy tanker-style boots which rode halfway up to his knees. He looked overdressed for the time of year.
I could see a long knife hanging in a sheath from his belt. Nothing he wore looked new, it didn’t look old either. Like the man himself. Everything about his clothing seemed uniquely well suited to his person, a part of who he was. Nothing trendy. I started to imagine myself in much the same outfit.
Rhino came out of the barn, quietly closing the barn door behind him.
The stranger spun around at a sound I didn’t hear. He relaxed when he saw Rhino approaching.
“My name is Barker Ajax,” he announced, holding out his hand for Rhino to shake.
“Yeah.”
Rhino let the man’s hand hang there too long, I thought, before offering his own. The stranger didn’t seem to notice.
“Rhino. What can I do you for?”
“As I told young Zachariah here, I heard at the feed store in town you might be looking for some help.”
“Could be.”
“I’m a fair hand.”
Rhino took his time sizing up the stranger, taking his measure.
“You mind if I let my partner out of the truck? He could probably use a bit of a run.”
I hadn’t even noticed. There was a dog sitting in the passenger’s seat.
“Go right ahead,” Rhino answered, “although Diva thinks she’s the lead bitch around here.”
Just then Mom came out of the house.
Diva followed the stranger as he walked around to the other side of the truck and opened the door. His dog didn’t jump out immediately, like he was waiting to be invited.
“Gang, out,” the man commanded.
And a giant dog leaped right over Diva and raced across the lawn. He was black and beautiful. Diva, Mongo and Andy gave chase, yapping, but they couldn’t catch him.
“Ma’am,” Barker acknowledged Mom, taking off his cap, a full mane of dark curly hair cascading to his shoulders.
My mother’s round face lights up when she smiles and she was smiling now.
“Hiawatha Moscowitz.”
“Call me Barker. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
She took his hand and held it. Mom was staring at the stranger with that look she used on me when she thought I might have been getting into trouble. Like she was trying to get inside his head.
Barker Ajax didn’t seem worried. She had his complete attention. Heck, even I was aware of her beauty. She had a face someone else’s son would love. My mother was, well, voluptuous – I think that’s the word – with a narrow waist and a generous chest, a baby’s soft, unwrinkled skin and a not quite untangled mass of shimmering red curls. Like a maraschino cherry on a vanilla sundae.
As Mom concluded her inspection, the stranger turned to watch the four dogs frolic in the fields. He took the opportunity to conduct an examination of his own.
There wasn’t much to see, but what there was we were proud of. Mom wouldn’t have it any other way.
When we’d bought the place, the twenty acre triangle – half cleared, half woodland – was without improvements except for a three-bedroom, two-bath ranch-style manufactured home sitting on a concrete slab. Mom and Rhino reshingled the roof before the first winter and covered up the unsightly aluminum siding with cedar shakes. A greenhouse was soon tacked onto the south side for Mom’s herbs. Rhino had added a small porch on the front and a wide, covered deck in the back with a panoramic view of the valley below and in the distance the snow-capped peak of Mt. Hood. In the center of the deck was a hot tub Mom had insisted upon; she’d put the tub in herself.
Rhino didn’t like to soak.
The two of them had built the pole barn all by themselves, as well as the carport. They’d built sheds for the goats and the donkeys. Barb-wired fencing secured the property’s boundaries and separated the house from the stock’s pasture, through which a year-round stream flowed. Mom’s vegetable and flower garden, she loved to feel the rich warm dirt, dominated the spit of land behind the house that would someday be our lawn.
Rhino didn’t like yardwork.
I had helped all I could, which wasn’t much. I was too little then, although I’m much bigger than that now. I always seemed to have plenty to do.
Rhino was examining the stranger’s truck.
I have to admit the truck was something special. Vibrant red, with a glistening white top. One of those classic Ford four-wheelers built long before I was born, maintained so well, it could’ve rolled off the showroom floor late this morning.
“You run a 351 in this?,” Rhino asked, as if to get the man’s attention away from Mother as much as to get a response.
“Good choice. But, no,” he answered. “‘Shane’ – that’s what I call her – came with a 302 V-eight. Actually, she’s a Baja Bronco, one of 600 made special by a legendary racer name of Bill Stroppe. A 1973 factory hot rod of sorts.”
“Is that right.” Rhino tried hard to sound unimpressed.
“She’s got a four-barrel carb, a C4 automatic transmission with a column-mounted shifter, Dana 44 front axle, a Ford 9-inch rear axle, power steering, dual shocks on all four corners, fender flares wrapped around 33 inches of rubber, a frame-mounted rollcage and a tow hitch.”
You could tell by the way he clicked off the truck’s features, the man was trying to be friendly. Maybe just a little proud, too.
Like I said, he was tallish. Rangy. With particularly large hands and generous feet. Well-built but lean, sleek and slender, so he seemed almost delicate beside the hulking bulk of Rhino. He moved with a natural grace that suggested a wiry endurance, a dancer’s flexibility, an acrobat’s agility. Effortless power and balance. Smooth and unhurried.
Nothing seemed to escape the man’s notice. He appeared inherently attentive, habitually alert. His high forehead tracked back and forth, around and behind, like a man who was used to traveling through dangerous territory, ever vigilant for a possible ambush or sneak attack. Kinda spooky actually, the way he managed to be so at ease, yet so tense at the same time.
The dogs were still running around the yard. The stranger whistled once, long and loud, and a moment later his dark sidekick was seated at his feet. Mongo, Diva and Andy followed shortly, flopping down in a small semi-circle of exhaustion.
The stranger pulled a large plastic container from his truck and gave his dog a drink of water.
“Will you be staying for dinner, Barker?,” Mother asked.
“I certainly hope so.”
Rhino didn’t say a word.
“Oh, please,” I begged.
“Sure,” Rhino said with a shrug. “Stay for dinner.”
“I’d be much obliged.”
Chapter 2. DOG CABIN
Nobody cooks better than my mom.
She can cook fancy or she can cook plain, but what she’s proudest of is cooking cheap. I can’t tell you how many times there’d be nothing much at all in the refrigerator and in the cupboards, but she always managed to come up with a meal that was filling and tasty and good for you, too. I don’t know how she does it. Like magic. She’d use a recipe, but substitute whatever was on hand.
“Don’t ask,” she’d tell me when I’d question her about the ingredients. “Just something I threw together.”
Rhino never asked. “Don’t want to know,” he’d say. Then he’d ask for seconds.
Mom had cooked my favorite dish that night, spicy chicken. With green beans, savory rice and spinach salad. And her special homemade dinner rolls. Washed down by mint tea. With any luck, there’d be rocky road ice milk for dessert.
Delicious as everything was, I was too busy watching the stranger to give my food much thought. He didn’t seem to have the same problem. He ate and ate and he ate some more, stopping only to smile and compliment my mother on her “culinary skills” before heaping another serving onto his plate. He seemed to have excellent table manners, too, although I was not much of an expert on such things.
Usually there was a big pile of leftovers, but not tonight. One breast left was all.
“That was, I sincerely mean this, ma’am, that was some of the best home cooking I have ever sat down to,” the stranger said, finally easing his chair away from the table. “Truly a feast.”
Mom brightened. “I hope you saved room for dessert.”
“I think I could find a vacancy,” he said, as he stood up and cleared his plate and his utensils.
“Oh, please, you don’t have to do that,” Mom said.
“It’s the least I can do.” He stopped alongside my chair.
“Are you finished with your supper, Zachariah? There’s another piece of chicken left.”
He looked at me patiently; his eyes always focused and steady when he talks to you. Like he really cares about what you have to say.
Before I could make up my mind, Rhino’s hand pulled the last piece of spicy chicken up to his bearded face.
My eyes met those of Barker Ajax and I could swear I saw a smile in them. I handed him my plate.
“Keep your fork, smells like pie to me,” he said in that gentle voice of his.
And it was pie, too. Raspberries I’d picked with Mom late last summer and apples we’d gleaned from an abandoned orchard in the next valley. Yes, with rocky road ice milk to boot.
After dinner, the grownups sat around the table and talked about the things grownups talk about, while I washed the dishes and set them out to drip dry. I could hear every word that was said. Mom seemed most interested in knowing where the stranger was headed next, while Rhino appeared anxious to learn where he’d come from most recently. Practically giving this fellow the third degree they were, without being too obvious about it, yet he didn’t seemed bothered by the interrogation at all.
Seemed to be enjoying himself, in fact.
Mom and Rhino wanted to know more about the man. He knew what they were up to, simply human nature to be curious. Most folks are. This Barker fellow answered all their questions readily, and as courteous as you please. Seems like he’d been everywhere. He talked pleasantly about many of the places he’d been, but not what he’d done there. Never volunteered anything personal about himself. To his credit, he didn’t try to pry into our private affairs either.
By the time the dishes were done, I knew Barker Ajax loved his dog, whose name was The Black Gang, and the two of them drifted around the country, with no particular place to go, enjoying the sights, taking each day one at a time. As simple as that.
Finally, sensing they weren’t going to get the information they were seeking, Rhino changed the conversation.
“So, you’re looking for a job?”
“This is unspoiled country,” Barker explained by way of an answer. “The air is clean and the scenery’s pleasant. Couldn’t get any deeper into the woods and continue to call yourself civilized. A man might stay a spell if he could find himself a place to hang his hat. Like I said, I heard you were looking for some help.”
“Yeah? Where’d you say you heard that?”
“Stopped into The Feed & Weed in Carlaton to pick up a bag of dog food for The Gang. Fellow there said you might be hiring.”
“Ever done any farming?”
“Enough to know it’s hard work.”
“You a good worker?”
“I have always managed to pull my weight,” the stranger said, “and I’m heavier than I look.”
Rhino just stared at him, as if he didn’t know what to ask next. “You got a record?”
“You talking Top 40 or prison?” Barker Ajax answered with a easy grin. Then he turned serious. “I did two hours in a drunk tank once when I was old enough to know better. That’s all, and it was more than enough.”
“You got a drinking problem?”
“No,” he said simply. You could tell he meant it.
“Good,” Mom said. “We surely do need some help around here. There’s always so much to do, even on a little spread like ours. Zac’s a big help, of course….”
Darn. Rhino interrupted her just when she was starting to build me up.
“I’ll show you where you can bunk for the night. We can take a tour of the farm in the morning. See what you think of the place. Maybe we can come to an understanding. “
“Sounds like a plan.”
I got to the front door first and stopped in my tracks as soon as I opened it. The Black Gang was sitting on the porch, looking straight into my eyes. He was even more impressive close up. As big as I was. Oh, much bigger, for sure. Different than your normal yard pouch, with his abnormally large head, he reminded me of the wolf in the fairy tale Little Red Riding Hood. Only this was real life. Fully loaded muzzle, teeth fit for a cannibal’s necklace. The dog yawned and it looked like the movie poster from “Jaws.”
“Ah, Mr. Ajax….”
“Gang, truck.” The dog disappeared. “Zachariah, I want you to know this right up front. No reason to be afraid. That animal is your friend. He told me already he likes you.”
“He told you?” I didn’t see how that was possible.
“Yes, sir. The Black Gang is an impeccable judge of character. He can see you have the makings of a fine man.”
Well, now… “the makings of a fine man.” That sounded good to me. Even coming from a dog.
So, I walked right up to the truck where The Black Gang was patiently resting and I patted him on his huge head and he started to wag his long tail and then he rolled over on his back and I scratched him on his fuzzy belly and I was convinced right then and there the two of us would become great friends.
He didn’t speak a word to me, however. He didn’t have to; his message was clear.
Barker Ajax opened up the back of his truck. He reached in with one long arm and pulled out a weathered duffel bag, while I, just trying to be helpful, grabbed for a grey carrying case the length of a baseball bat. It was surprisingly heavy. In the same instant, without so much as a word, Barker took the heavy grey case from me and handed me his sleeping bag instead. I started to object, but thought the better of it when I saw those soft lavender eyes harden, just the littlest bit.
“This’ll be your place,” Rhino said as our little convoy reached the spare trailer nestled in a dense stand of trees behind the pole barn. “If you decide to stay on.
“If we agree on things,” he added.
“Looks cozy enough,” Barker offered, as Rhino opened the trailer door. “What do you think, Gang?”
“Ruff,” the dog answered.
‘Rough,’ is what I heard, imagining for just the slightest instant maybe he could talk.
The green and white single-wide trailer, maybe thirty-five-feet long, did indeed look rough on the outside, rust-streaked and caked with mud. Inside, it was dry and basically clean.
Sure, the brown shag carpeting smelled slightly of mildew and a thin layer of dust covered every flat surface. The corners of the kitchen linoleum floor were cruddy, the windows so coated with pollen, sunlight could barely break through. Spider traps full of dead flies occupied most corners of the ceiling. The curtains could certainly use a wash. Dirty dishes filled the sink. Nothing serious.
Wood-paneled cabinets lined a surprisingly generous living room which was open to the kitchen and dining area. A compact bathroom separated a smaller bedroom from the master “suite” which was mostly filled by a queen-sized bed. There was a storage closet partly occupied by the water heater. More wooden cabinets and built-in book shelves filled every available nook and cranny. The place had the feel of a snug cabin deep in the forest.
I had asked Mom if Mongo and I could move in here, but she said she wasn’t ready yet for me to be on my own. Besides, Mongo was only a pup.
“I’m bushed,” Barker Ajax said suddenly, as the summer sun started to set. “Think I’ll hit the sack.” Looking at Rhino. “I appreciate your kindness.”
“Weren’t nuthin,” Rhino muttered.
“Goodnight, Mr. Ajax,” I said. “Goodnight, Gang.”
Chapter 3. THAT OLD DIME RELIGION
I tossed and turned most of the night so excited about the stranger. Dreamt I was dressed all in black, wearing a silver six-shooter on each hip and a cowboy hat pulled low over my eyes. Mongo and I were chasing cattle rustlers and horse thieves and various varmints….
When I woke up, the sun was high in the sky, and Mongo was sound asleep, his puppy breath blowing in my face. Jumped up, looked out the window, saw the little red truck was parked there alright. I hadn’t dreamt that.
Nobody else was around, not even the dogs.
The pup was hungry as usual so I feed him his breakfast. I fixed a glass of juice and a bowl of granola for myself. Then the two of us went to see where everybody was.
We’d no sooner stepped outside when a strange car came down the driveway, one of those indistinguishable Japanese station wagons shaped like a green jelly bean. Rhino got really upset with me when I forgot to close the gate, which was almost never, but he often didn’t close it himself, especially if he was feeling lazy, which was almost always.
A couple of bumper stickers decorated the front. DO YOU KNOW THE WAY?, one sticker asked. I’VE FOUND IT!, answered the other. Whoever it was, they looked lost to me.
The car came to a stop and two men stepped out. Each was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and a flowery necktie. Shiny shoes. One man, the younger one, wore a crewcut. The older man had a bunch of long hairs from one side of his head greased down and combed over the top, clear across to the other side. I figure so he wouldn’t look bald the way he obviously did. Like a basketball with hair on it.
“A glorious morning to you, little brother,” the crewcut said.
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow,” the basketball head recited.
“Amen,” the crewcut said.
I didn’t know whether to pray or hide.
“Are you home alone?” the younger one asked.
“Yes. No. I mean, somebody must be here,”
“Bring’em on out then,” the basketball head said, moving toward the house. Straight at us. Mongo was hiding behind me now, peering out from between my legs. “We have come to share the word of the Lord.”
“Hallelujah,” the crewcut practically shouted, as the dipsy duo advanced toward me. Waving bibles like clubs.
“Nobody’s home,” I blurted.
That stopped them.
“Well, have you taken the Word into your heart? Have you seen the Way?,” Basketballhead said, his hair getting greasier as he got closer.
“You can’t have everlasting peace, if you don’t receive His forgiveness for your sins,” the crewcut said, nearer still. He had bad breath I could smell from an impossible distance and a pimply complexion. “These books will show you how to get to Heaven,” he said, shoving a couple of thin, shiny pamphlets into my hand.
“You want to go to Heaven, don’t you?,” the younger man asked.
I did want to go to heaven, but I was hoping to get to high school first. The two men towered above me as Mongo cowered underneath. He started to growl protectively. Ineffectually.
“Now, these books – God’s Okay. How Are You Doing? and Hell Is Just Another Way Of Saying I’m Sorry – are not available in any stores. You can’t go to Wal-Mart and find The Word. Normally, you’d be expected to pay up to $19.95 for them,” the older man said, his words coming faster and faster. Droning over me. “Tell you what I’m going to do. In His Name, for His Glory….”
“Hallelujah!” the crewcut interrupted.
The older man gave him a dirty look but didn’t miss a beat. “I am willing to include, at no additional cost, this revised, abridged version of the New Testament For Teens, The Bible’s Greatest Hits, like I said, at no additional cost, for just $10.”
“Amen,” the younger man said. “You don’t want to go to Hell, do you?”
My mind was swimming. Drowning.
“You do have $10, don’t you?,” the basketball head said. “You can find $10, can’t you?”
Pressing closer.
“Maybe inside the house?”
Closer.
“Leave.
“The.
“Boy.
“Be.”
Startled by the sudden warning, slow hard words spoken with a razor’s edge, the two men jumped back a couple of steps.
Thank God for Barker Ajax.
Basketballhead immediately swelled up with indignation. “We’re here to spread the Word.”
“You’re spreading something alright,” Barker said, moving from around back of the house.
“We wanted only to save this youngster’s soul from the fires of Eternal Damnation,” the crewcut said timidly.
“His soul’s doing just fine, thank you.”
Barker kept walking toward us, growing larger with every step. The intruders kept backing up.
“And yours, sir?,” Basketballhead parried, somewhat plaintively. “Has your soul been saved?”
“I’ve read the good book,” Barker replied as he reached my side. “I’ve seen the movie.” He put his hand around my shoulder protectively. “If I was you, I’d think about saving myself.”
Barker gestured with a slight nod of his head. The two men turned.
The Black Gang, fur bristled, hackles raised, ears flattened, lips curled, tail lifted, teeth bared, stood between them and their car. No doubt about it, the big dog was an above-average communicator.
They got the message. I could see the adam’s apples in their throats bob up and down. Mongo started to bark, feeling brave all of a sudden.
“We meant no harm,” the younger man said.
The older man began to sweat profusely. “Yes, that’s true. We came here on a mission… a mission of….” He couldn’t even talk. His watery eyes met Barker’s. Begging.
“Gang, come.”
The big dog trotted over to us without so much as a glance at the two men, who visibly flinched as he passed by.
“Gentlemen, go.”
Which they did, almost knocking each other over in their haste to reach the safety of the car. Mongo boldly chased after them. The puppy peed on a rear tire, just before it kicked up gravel in a frantic escape.
“Are you okay?,” Barker asked, palming my head, ruffling my hair.
“Sure,” I said, even then a little unsettled. Then, more confidently. “I wasn’t about to give them any money.”
“That’s good. Last I heard, God was free for the asking.”
Chapter 4. TOUR OF DUTY
Diva and Andy came running, followed shortly by Mom and Rhino. Such a beautiful morning, they’d gone for a walk up the road.
Rhino didn’t even like to walk.
“Seems you’ve already got yourself a reputation in these parts,” was what Rhino greeted Barker Ajax with.
“Good morning,” was all Barker said by way of response.
“Oh, Rhino,” Mother cautioned.
“What do you mean?,” I asked.
Rhino laughed, a rare smile changing his face. “Passing the nearest neighbors, couldn’t help overhearing a couple of fellas, real excited about this crazy man with a huge killer dog down the road, run’em off when all they was trying to do was The Lord’s work.”
“Zachariah had the situation well in hand,” Barker replied.
“You shoulda seen it,” I exclaimed. “The Black Gang had them surrounded all by himself.”
“Those boys won’t be bothering us again, that’s for sure,” Rhino chuckled.
“Breakfast will be ready in two minutes,” Mom announced.
By the time I had my hands washed, the two men were already hunkered down over plates piled high with whole wheat pancakes.
“I was worried you were going to miss out,” Barker said between forkfulls dripping with berry syrup.
Obviously, I’d have to be on my toes to get my share if this strange man was staying around. I sure hoped he would. I had never seen anyone like him. Courteous and polite, kind, almost gentle, but somehow… dangerous. Savage. Untamed. Yet I knew I had nothing to be afraid of; I had never felt safer.
“Come on, Barker,” said Rhino, when the pancakes had disappeared and the coffee pot was dry. “Let’s take a tour of the place.”
Life seemed to move at a different pace on Donkey Thyme Farm. Seemed like we weren’t away from the big city so much as behind it, and in no particular hurry to catch up.
Mother had her own theories. She started seeds, for example, not by the calendar, but according to the phases of the moon. Which, of course, irritated Rhino to no end. Rhino operated on mood and whim, while Mom naturally felt guided by the planets and the stars.
She told me once, “time is not linear in a front to back sense. Rather time is a depth measured from top to bottom. Today is not ahead of yesterday, but below tomorrow. The now is just a pebble dropped into the fathoms of the infinite forever. Life is the ripples which wreak havoc in everwidening circles. We don’t get older, we get deeper.”
Something like that.
“Explains this sinking feeling I have,” Rhino had said, before storming out the door.
While she was spiritual, he was mechanical, handy with his hands, so the farm prospered from their complementary skills. The feminine and the masculine working side by side. Soft and hard. Brains and brawn. Torn between the two directions, I somehow managed to appreciate the strengths and weaknesses of each, and how the two combined to make a whole greater than some of its parts.
Some days I didn’t.
Barker Ajax could see all of this, I think. He didn’t seem to miss much.
“You’ve done yourself proud,” he said as we strolled around our property.
“There’s more to do,” Rhino answered. “Much more.”
The two men lingered to look across the pond at the donkeys dozing. Me, I studied the calves as they grazed. So quiet you could hear them chew. At least until Mongo went off to chase goats like the sheepdog he was.
The Holsteins were an unusually decorative trio, sharply contrasting against the rich green grass. “Blacky” was a white-spotted, primarily black animal and “Whitey” was black-spotted, mostly white. Then there’s “Half & Half,” who was, well, fifty-fifty. Every year we’d get some new creature or three, just for the experience.
I thought of The Moos Brothers as my own herd. I’d feed and water them every day, make sure they got their vitamins. When the calves had first arrived, they were spindly, fragile things who’d run the opposite direction at the mere sight of me. Soon they’d begun to tolerate my existence as provider and caretaker, but the timid triumvirate remained skittish.
The plan – which I never did like – was to fatten up the young cattle and sell them at summer’s end at the local stock auction which is where Rhino had bought them. My animal friends were his farm deferments. Every day the three little bulls grew bigger, visibly so, like a school science fair project gone out of control. “Just doing their job,” according to Rhino.
As we walked, Rhino spoke of the work to be done, all the two-man projects he’d put off, the upkeep he’d let slide, the wood to be cut and stacked for the winter, the repairs to be made. Stuff like that. Barker Ajax didn’t say much, being careful to give his complete attention to Rhino’s narration.
Until we got back behind the house along the edge of the woods.
“What’s the story here?,” Barker asked, looking at a vast array of rocks, a immense pile of boulders obviously transported from some other location and dumped like geological garbage. This was the single eye sore on the place and it irked Rhino into periodic fits of depression. There was no credible explanation for the rocks’ presence and there was no ignoring it. Worst of all, there was no easy solution.
Rhino had looked for one, believe me. Mom had suggested a stone wall and he had tried and he had failed.
Rhino didn’t like to fail. He particularly didn’t enjoy being reminded of his failures, and the rocks never let him forget. You could see where he’d made his attempt, a futile file of stones fallen in disarray. Apparently, the rocks had minds of their own and, as powerful as he was, Rhino couldn’t defeat them.
“My worst nightmare,” Rhino said over his shoulder, trying to make light of the problem as he led Barker away.
Lean and heavily armed.
Chapter 5. ROCKOHOLIC AGRONOMISTS
“Thunk!!!”
The piercing sound reverberated against the far valley wall and echoed back, sending vibrations rippling up my spine. I have felt taller ever since.
“Thunk!!!”
I knew the instant I heard that sound Barker Ajax was no longer a stranger on our land. Although he’d always remain a breed apart. Unlike any other man I’d known.
I understood, without understanding how I understood, a man could become whoever he wanted to be. He could be many things, live his life many ways, go wherever he chose, achieve whatever he wanted. Take his dog with him.
And all the while remain true to himself.
“Thunk!!!”
When Mom and Rhino and I came hurrying down the slope, the dogs were already there, the four of them watching with interest like front row spectators as Barker swung another rock into place.
“Thunk!!!”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?,” Rhino asked, although the answer seemed self-evident. Clearly, the man was building a stone wall and he’d already made quite a start.
Barker paused in his labors, used a bright red kerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He was naked from the waist up, his impressive musculature glistening.
“I was hoping Ms. Moscowitz might invite me to stay for some more home cooking,” he said smiling broadly – happily – before returning to his task.
“I’ll call you when it’s time to eat,” Mother answered, somewhat gaily herself. I watched her walk back to the house and I could swear I saw her lightly skip a few steps like a little girl playing hookey.
Rhino stood with his hands on his hips, undecided about his next move. Barker looked up, a good-sized stone balanced easily on one hip, their eyes locked for an instant, and there was nothing for Rhino to do but pitch in. Me, I sat down next to my puppy and listened as Barker gently shared his expertise.
He aimed his words in my general direction, but the lessons were there for Rhino, too. If he cared.
Someday I will probably want to build a stone wall of my own.
“Thunk!!!”
Imagine the wall is finished, create a picture in your mind, the length, width, height, then fill in the blank space with stone. Visualize the completed job done right.
Think of the stonewall as a puzzle with many pieces, but a single rule: put one stone on two, two stones on one.
Barker wielded a shovel like Mother handled a darning needle, and he quickly had uncovered a place for the first rocks to nest and rest. Rhino saw his initial mistake in a hurry.
A strong wall needs a solid footing. That’s the difference between a stone wall and a long straight pile of rocks, so you start by digging a bed for the bottom stones, preferably below the frost line. The best footing stones usually weigh a couple of hundred pounds. And they don’t come with handles.
Use the heaviest stones at the bottom of the wall, so you don’t have to lift them any higher than necessary.
Dig the hole to fit the rock. Think of the stone as male, the hole as female. The soft accommodates the hard, not vice versa.
“Thunk!!!”
Listen to the rock. Let the stones themselves tell you where they should go.
Barker and Rhino, at first I thought they looked like excavating equipment, chugging away relentlessly. The more I watched, the more I realized that image did neither man justice. No, they were better than machines.
Barker moved with a silken ease no mechanical contraption has yet attained. Each move appropriate to the demands of the stone. Nothing extra. He wasn’t showy, you noticed his fluidity by the absence of apparent effort, by what you didn’t see.
Rhino had his shirt off now, too. Sloping shoulders topped a brawny back so broad you could sell advertising space. Beefy slabs of sinewy muscle strung together by steely ligaments like cables. A human bulldozer. Okay, a machine in that respect, abnormally powerful. But flesh and blood all the same, living, breathing, feeling.
Around lunchtime, I heard a growl, it was my stomach. So, I went up to the house. Mom was pulling a long cast iron muffin pan out of the oven. By the time I’d wolfed down a sandwich, the muffins, made from bananas gone soft, were still piping hot. I took a couple off the top of the pile, stuck one in my mouth and another in my pocket. With Mongo bumping into my legs, begging, I took the rest down to the men at work.
They didn’t seem inclined to take a break, hunger having taken a back seat to the task at hand, but the aroma of the muffins got to them in a big hurry. Besides, with four dogs around, you can’t simply leave a plate of goodies unattended. Wouldn’t be smart.
By the time I got back with a pitcher of iced tea, the pile of muffins had evaporated. Rhino burped, Barker belched, that was all the thanks I got, before the wall building resumed. At least nobody farted.
“Thunk!!!”
A stone’s strength is its size and its only motivation is gravity. Man’s strength is his motivation. Leverage does the rest. Your brain is your best tool, so use your head to protect your back.
Handling heavy objects isn’t really a matter of brute strength, it’s more about understanding leverage, balance, angles, how your muscles actually work, the mechanics of lifting.
Rhino obviously liked the challenge of using his great strength, testing himself against heavier and heavier loads. Barker, on the other hand, seemed to take great pride in exerting himself as little as possible, to see how little energy he could get away with using.
Use your power in brief bursts to clear thresholds, rest when you get there. Once you get the load moving, use its own momentum to keep it moving. Don’t try to do it all at once. Make small gains, then consolidate them.
Once Rhino stumbled and would have tumbled backwards, continuing to hold onto his heavy load, but Barker sensed the danger faster than you can say ‘Call 9-1-1.’ He stepped behind the other man, bracing the both of them upright.
“How come a stone, same size, same material as another, can seem to vary so much in weight?,” Rhino wondered as he struggled to maintain his tenuous grip on this one particularly obstinate boulder.
“Density can make the difference, I suppose,” Barker replied as he helped Rhino with his ornery burden. “But, for me, the rock remains the same. It’s the man who changes. We pay less attention. Our grasp is not as sure. We haven’t planned our moves properly. We approach one rock differently than another. We tire, yet the stone does not.”
“Thunk!!!”
Rhino was thick-headed. He didn’t come by his name accidently. But soon you could see he was enjoying himself as the wall finally started to take shape. He had begun to understand how this work was done. You can’t force the rock with brute strength, no matter how hard you try.
A ton of stone must be moved to build a yard of wall three feet high, Barker said. Rhino merely grunted in response.
As far as I could tell, Barker liked to build stone walls and Rhino didn’t and that seemed to make all the difference. Barker enjoyed the actual process, Rhino desired the end result. Barker was creating a natural sculpture, Rhino was organizing yard litter.
Fun is about attitude, not activity, I guess.
Occasionally, I’d wander off when I felt the need for some action of my own. I was trying to teach Mongo how to play basketball. We had a hoop attached to the side of the barn where I spent countless hours practicing my shot – my entire arsenal needed work – and the puppy spent almost as many hours getting in my way.
Mongo couldn’t shoot the ball at all. He’d go for a rebound, get good position under the basket, pushing against my legs with his big butt, realizing always at the last second he better not catch the ball in his teeth.
Besides, he was way too short.
Mongo was, however, a naturally tenacious defensive specialist. Built close to the ground, quick on his feet, all four of them, he’d go after the ball like it was a barbecued pork chop. The great Michael Jordan himself couldn’t dribble around this puppy. Although you could still fake him out of his collar with a behind-the-back dribble.
“Wait until he has his brain delivered,” Mom had told me, “then he won’t be so easy to fool.”
I’d wander back.
The two men worked side by side silently, as if talking would only waste breath better used for moving stone. The only words spoken, when Barker did something new, he’d offer an explanation.
Every six feet or so, about the length of a full-grown man, set a long stone across the wall’s width, like a rafter in a house, to keep the thing from falling down into itself.
Balance is the key. The earlier you respond, the easier it is to maintain control. The quicker your reaction, the less strength is required. Use the opposing force to achieve your desired result.
You react fastest when you understand your opponent. Think of your opponent as your partner. Don’t fight him, embrace him. Don’t wrestle, dance.
Think like the rock. Love the rock.
“Thunk!!!”
The day grew hotter and hotter, the men worked on and on. The stone wall grew longer and longer, one rock on two, two rocks on one.
There’s a rhythm to stone work. Literal hard rock music. The beat-beat-beat taken from granite.
Barker liked to drop the stones into place just to hear the sound pound. “Thunk!!!” The more solid, the better.
Shake the rock, if it rattles, roll the stone until it fits solid. Let it gather moss there.
Tight fits are what it’s all about. Being in the right place at the right time. Finding the proper niche.
The stones want to work together. A stone alone is just another rock. Stones fitted tightly together, like a team joining hands, is a wall. And a wall serves.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!” Rhino let out the most blood-curdling scream as he smashed his finger between two stones. “Fuck! Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!Fuck!,” he bellowed as he hopped around, holding his hand and grimacing in excruciating agony.
Did you ever notice how some grown-ups save their worst words for the biggest calamities? That’s how you can tell they’re serious.
Andy ran for the house and Mongo tried to bury himself in my lap. I covered my ears. Diva darted around nervously, wanting to help her master, but wise enough to stay away from him.
“And a rock feels no pain,” Barker said solemnly.
Remember to let go of the stone.
Mother came running, alarmed. By now Rhino, his face flushed, had gained control of himself.
“You should put some ice on that right away,” she said.
More calmly than usual, for no one – no one ever – told Rhino what he should do, he thanked her for her concern.
“Now, let’s get back to work,” he said, looking at Barker almost pleadingly. Wasn’t a look I’d seen before, not from Rhino.
Then the two of them returned to the pile of rocks.
“Thunk!!!”
Don’t work barefoot. Don’t work in the rain, the rocks and the ground both become slippery. Above all, don’t rush.
The beat-beat-beat went on. One on two, two on one. Two on one, one on two. Once in a while, one or the other, Barker or Rhino, would chance a glance at his cohort in some silent statement of support.
You know the old saying, work fascinates me, I could watch it for hours. I must have drifted off to dreamland.
When I awoke, my arm had fallen asleep where Mongo’s head had been laying against it. Rhino and Barker were still working fiercely, albeit slower, moving steadily, as if by rote. Muscle memory. Both men seemed numb to fatigue, slogging away long after lesser laborers would have called it quits.
I got the distinct impression neither one of them wanted to be the first to cry “Uncle.” An expression I never have figured out.
The wall.
I rubbed my eyes, which I had trouble believing. The stunning stone wall snaked straight along that entire stretch of woods, corresponding precisely to the length of Mother’s garden. Working together, the two men had managed to move a mountain of rock.
Just then I heard Mom’s voice call out. “Dinner’s ready. Come and get it.”
Followed closely by another “thunk!!!” and a “thud!,” as Barker deposited a final stone in place, while Rhino dropped his rock where he stood. He wasn’t standing so good anyway, stooped over and stiff. And Barker was worn to a nub, his usual light-footed agility reduced to a stilt-legged stagger. Two candles burnt out on both ends.
Never seen Rhino appear more pleased than he did lurching up the hill toward the house.
“My arms ache real bad,” he complained, somewhat proudly, “all that repetitive motion,”
“Know just what you mean,” Barker said. “Called the Carpe Diem Syndrome.”
I had to ask. “Huh?”
“Squeeze the day.”