Part 8 (1/2)

”Oh, nothing.” I ran my tongue along the paper and rolled the cigaretteshut. ”He just always seemed kinda different.”

”Well, he's always been kinda slow about some things. Not that he's dumb.Once he catches on, he's as smart as anyone, but he's sure pulled some funnyones.”

”Give me a fer-instance,” I said, wondering if he'd remember the trikedeal.

”Well, coupla years ago at a wienie roast he was toting something aroundwrapped in a paper napkin. Jean saw him put it in his pocket and she thought.i.t was probably a dead frog or a beetle or something like that, so she madehim fork it over. She unfolded the napkin and derned if there wasn't a biglive coal in it. Dern thing flamed right up in her hand. Thaddeus belleredlike a bull calf. Said he wanted to take it home cause it was pretty. How heever carried it around that long without setting himself afire is what gotme.” ”That's Thaddeus,” I said, ”odd.” ”Yeah.” Dad was firing his pipe again,flicking the burned match down, to join the dozen or so others by the porchrailing. ”I guess you might call him odd. But he'll outgrow it. He hasn'tpulled anything like that in a long time.”

”They do outgrow it,” I said. ”Thank G.o.d.” And I think it was a realprayer. I don't like kids. ”By the way, Where's Clyde?”

”Down in the East Pasture, plowing. Say, that tractor I got that lastChristmas you were here is a bear cat. It's lasted me all this time and I'venever had to do a lick of work on it. Clyde's using it today.”

”When you get a good tractor you got a good one,” I said. ”Guess I'll G.o.down and see the old son-of-a-gun-Clyde, I mean. Haven't seen him in a c.o.o.n'sage.” I gathered up my crutches.

Dad scrambled to his feet ”Better let me run you down in the pickup. I've gotta go over to Jesperson's anyway.”

”Okay,” I said. ”Won't be long till I can throw these things away.” So wepiled in the pickup and headed for the East Pasture.

We were ambushed at the pump corner by the kids and were killed variouslyby P-38s, atomic bombs, ack-ack, and the Lone Ranger's six-guns. Then welowered our hands which had been raised all this time and Dad reached out and collared the nearest nephew.

”Come along, Punkin-Yaller. That blasted Holstein has busted out again. Youget her out of the alfalfa and see if you can find where she got through thistime.”

”Aw, gee whiz!” The kid-and of course it was Thaddeus-climbed into the backof the pickup. ”That dern cow.”

We started up with a jerk and I turned half around in the seat to look backat Thaddeus.

”Remember your little red wagon?” I yelled over the clatter.

”Red wagon?” Thaddeus yelled back. His face lighted. ”Red wagon?”

I could tell he had remembered and then, as plainly as the drawing of ashade, his eyes went shadowy and he yelled, ”Yeah, kinda.” And turned aroundto wave violently at the unnoticing kids behind us.

So, I thought, he is outgrowing it. Then spent the rest of the short drivetrying to figure just what it was he was outgrowing.

Dad dumped Thaddeus out at the alfalfa field and took me on across theca.n.a.l and let me out by the pasture gate.

”I'll be back in about an hour if you want to wait. Might as well ridehome.”

”I might start back afoot,” I said, ”It'd feel good to stretch my legsagain.”

”I'll keep a look out for you on my way back.” And he rattled away in theever present cloud of dust.

I had trouble managing the gate. It's one of those wire affairs that openby slipping a loop off the end post and lifting the bottom of it out ofanother loop. This one was taut and hard to handle. I just got it opened whenClyde turned the far corner and started back toward me, the plow behind thetractor curling up red-brown ribbons in its wake. It was the last go-round tocomplete the field.

I yelled, ”Hi!” and waved a crutch at him.

He yelled, ”Hi!” back at me. What came next was too fast and too far awayfor me to be sure what actually happened. All I remember was a snort and roarand the tractor bucked and bowed. There was a short yell from Clyde and theshriek of wires pulling loose from a fence post followed by a chokingsmothering silence.

Next thing I knew, I was panting halfway to the tractor, my crutchessinking exasperatingly into the soft plowed earth. A nightmare year later Iknelt by the stalled tractor and called, ”Hey, Clyde!”

Clyde looked up at me, a half grin, half grimace on his muddy face.

”Hi. Get this thing off me, will you. I need that leg.” Then his eyesturned up white and he pa.s.sed out.

The tractor had toppled him from the seat and then run over top of him,turning into the fence and coming to rest with one huge wheel half burying hisleg in the soft dirt and pinning him against a fence post. The far wheel wason the edge of the irrigation ditch that bordered the field just beyond thefence. The huge bulk of the machine was balanced on the raw edge of nothingand it looked like a breath would send it on over- then G.o.d have mercy onClyde. It didn't help much to notice that the red-brown dirt was steadilybecoming redder around the imprisoned leg.

I knelt there paralyzed with panic. There was nothing I could do. I didn'tdare to try to start the tractor. If I touched it, it might go over. Dad wasgone for an hour. I couldn't make it by foot to the house in time.

Then all at once out of nowhere I heard a startled ”Gee whiz!” and there was Thaddeus standing goggle-eyed on the ditch bank.

Something exploded with a flash of light inside my head and I whispered tomyself, Now take it easy. Don't scare the kid, don't startle him.

”Gee whiz!” said Thaddeus again. ”What happened?”

I took a deep breath. ”Old Tractor ran over Uncle Clyde. Make it get off.”

Thaddeus didn't seem to hear me. He was intent on taking in the wholeshebang.

”Thaddeus,” I said, ”make Tractor get off.” Thaddeus looked at me with thatblind, unseeing stare he used to have. I prayed silently, Don't let him be tooold. O G.o.d, don't let him be too old. And Thaddeus jumped across the ditch. Heclimbed gingerly through the barbwire fence and squatted down by the tractor,his hands caught between his chest and knees. He bent his head forward and Istared urgently at the soft vulnerable nape of his neck. Then he turned hisblind eyes to me again.

”Tractor doesn't want to.”

I felt a yell ball up in my throat, but I caught it in time. Don't scarethe kid, I thought. Don't scare him.

”Make Tractor get off anyway,” I said as matter-of-factly as I couldmanage. ”He's hurting Uncle Clyde.”

Thaddeus turned and looked at Clyde.

”He isn't hollering.”

”He can't. He's unconscious.” Sweat was making my palms slippery.

”Oh.” Thaddeus examined Clyde's quiet face curiously. ”I never saw anybodyunconscious before.”

”Thaddeus.” My voice was sharp. ”Make-Tractor-get -off.”

Maybe I talked too loud. Maybe I used the wrong words, but Thaddeus lookedup at me and I saw the shutters close in his eyes. They looked up at me, blueand shallow and bright.

”You mean start the tractor?” His voice was brisk as he stood up. ”Geewhiz! Grampa told us kids to leave the tractor alone. It's dangerous for kids.I don't know whether I know how-”

”That's not what I meant,” I snapped, my voice whetted on the edge of mydespair. ”Make it get off Uncle Clyde. He's dying.”

”But I can't! You can't just make a tractor do something. You gotta runit.” His face was twisting with approaching tears.

”You could if you wanted to,” I argued, knowing how useless it was. ”UncleClyde will die if you don't.”

”But I can't! I don't know how! Honest I don't.” Thaddeus scrubbed one bare foot in the plowed dirt, sniffing miserably.

I knelt beside Clyde and slipped my hand inside his dirt-smeared s.h.i.+rt. Ipulled my hand out and rubbed the stained palm against my thigh. ”Never mind,”I said bluntly, ”it doesn't matter now. He's dead.”