Salvage the Bones - Jesmyn Ward [31]
“I want to go see the cows,” Junior says, jumping up again and again, trying to bounce level with Randall’s face. He gets as far as his chest. “Please.”
“No,” Randall says. “You can see them from here.”
I push up from the hill, ready to walk over. Skeetah grabs my arm, stops me mid-rise, and it hurts almost, the way he pulls at the shoulder. He is shaking his head, and I cannot understand what is in his face. He points to the ground, tries to pull me down next to him so I won’t let them know where we are, what we’re about to do.
“They can help,” I whisper. “More eyes.”
He still has my wrist, pulling it tight to him like a rope to his side, as if he can make me heel. I snatch my hand from him, and it slides through his grip like a wet fish.
“Yes,” I say, and I start walking. He doesn’t have any choice but to follow, so I don’t even look back. There is a rustling and a wet crunch of pine needles, and I know that he is following.
Randall, who is all edges and honed sharp to see what others can’t, hear what others can’t, is the first to hear us.
“I thought I saw y’all coming back here.”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Why y’all was running so fast?” Randall asks. Big Henry is resting on a tree, bent over so that he is sitting on air, the trunk his chair back.
“I don’t know,” I say.
Behind me, Skeetah speaks.
“You need to take Junior home.”
“What’s wrong with him being out here?”
“I got to get something.” Skeetah folds his arms.
“From where?” Randall asks. And then he looks at Skeetah, and his head nods and his mouth opens so that he looks like a gulping fish. “Oh,” he says, and he is quiet.
“What?” Big Henry asks.
Skeetah breathes hard, once, and then pulls his arms tighter across his chest.
“For the dogs,” I say, because Skeetah will not speak.
“No,” Randall says.
Skeetah just looks at him, his muscles ropes in his crossed arms.
“You don’t know what them white people got up in that house. They could have a gun,” Big Henry says.
“We ain’t going in the house,” I say. “We going in the barn.”
“We ain’t going in no barn.” Skeetah speaks up, his lips tight. “I’m going in the barn and you keeping watch like I said.”
“Neither of ya’ll going nowhere.” Randall spreads his fingers, long and skinny, shakes his head, snatches at Junior’s arm, who is watching beside him. “Y’all coming home with me.”
“Aw shit,” Big Henry breathes.
“We ain’t going nowhere.” Skeetah unlashes his arms and they come whipping out from his sides, and his voice is loud, and he’s like those little firecrackers we get on the Fourth of July that throw out sparks from all sides and jump in bright acid leaps across the hard dirt yard. “First of all, me and Esch done walked all around this field and watched the house for damn near an hour. Ain’t nobody home, and all they got is a puppy on the other side of the house, over by that driveway. And I know what I need and I know where it’s at. And it ain’t like you won’t get nothing out of this. If my dogs live, I can make eight hundred dollars off them. Eight hundred dollars. Do you know what we can do with eight hundred dollars? You won’t need to beg Daddy for the rest of the money for basketball camp week after next, and you won’t have to stress over playing good enough in the summer league to get one of those scholarships for it either. I know you want to go, just like you know Daddy don’t have it.” Skeetah fizzles, his hands down by his side. Now he’s just trailing bitter, sulfurous smoke. “You ain’t the parent,” he mutters.
“This is stupid,” Big Henry says.
“I’m the fastest,” Junior says as he yanks on Randall’s arm.
“Shut up, Junior,” I say.
Randall pulls Junior to him and puts his hand on his head the same way I put mine on Skeet’s when he was wiping off the blood. Junior quiets, turns to face us, and Randall’s arm is around his neck like a scarf. Junior’s still smiling; he still thinks he’s about to run with us.
“You ain’t running nowhere, Junior.” Junior’s face pulls. Randall’s arms