The Choiring of the Trees - Donald Harington [107]
Nail was not aware that he had made a sound, but he saw that a drop of water had fallen on Viridis’ letter, and it wasn’t sweat. He was almost glad that the letter he’d written for Cobb to smuggle out to her, that was probably right now on the warden’s desk, would never reach her, because it was such paltry, numb, ignorant nonsense compared with her letter. The only thing he’d said that came anywhere near equaling the beauty of her letter was when he almost came as close as she had to coming right out and saying “I love you.” How had he put it, or sneaked around not coming right out and putting it? Yes: he had written, “And I and the trees will love you for it for ever more,” which wasn’t the same as saying “I love you” or even saying “Me and the trees too love you” but just saying “We will” as if it hadn’t happened already but was likely to happen if we just all got a chance to last forevermore. Thinking of trees, he remembered the tree charm and remembered where he had hidden it, and he fished it out and cleaned it off and hid it inside Dr. Hood. To take advantage of the morning light, he read for a while in Dr. Hood, which was written as if a real medical doctor were having a series of informal but educational chats with one of his patients. Nail received advice on what to do while his wife was delivering the baby. He happened to read, “In the event of prolonged labor, the ingestion of a small quantity of mustard oil will increase peristaltic movements of the stomach and possibly advance the contractions of the womb.” Nail wondered who was supposed to drink the mustard oil, himself or his wife? Probably her. He flipped over to the section on Pharmacopoeia and read: “Oil of mustard—an ester of isothio-cyanic acid useful as a rubefacient, counterirritant, emetic, and to disguise one’s scent from bloodhounds while escaping from the penitentiary.” Nail gave his head a brisk shake and reread the definition and found the last part of it missing on the second reading, and told himself that he was beginning to go stir crazy…if he had not already been for quite some time now. It scarcely mattered that Viridis would never read his request for mustard oil; he couldn’t use it now if he had a gallon of it. He would stay in this hole until…but, goddammit, it did matter that she would never read his request not to attend his execution. Somehow he had to get word to her that he did not want her to do that.
“How you doin there, Fleece Boy? Have you prepared yourself to meet your Maker?” Nail heard a familiar voice he hadn’t had to listen to for quite some time.
“Yassuh, Reberen McPhee, I sho has. De Lawd say He gwine take me in His ahms and He aint gwine let dat ole sizzle chair hut me one bit.”
“Well, that’s good, Fleece, I’m real proud to hear that. How ’bout I read you some scripture this mornin?”
“I sholy ’preciate iffin you did, Reberen.”
Nail listened to Jimmie Mac visit with Fleas for most of an hour, thinking that his turn would have to come next and he would have to give up the last of the morning sunlight to McPhee, when he’d rather use it to read to himself a couple of those nice love songs that Solomon wrote, especially that one about how beautiful the lady’s feet were with shoes on them.
“Good to see you back again, Brother Chism. I mean, now, I don’t mean it’s good that you’re back in the death hole, I just mean it’s almost like a kind of homecoming. Right? In my experience I’ve known a number of men to actually prefer being down here to being up there. Up there they’ve got problems you don’t have down here. Down here too it’s kind of quiet and peaceful, don’t you think? Up there it can get anything but. Now, I don’t suppose you’ve had any revelations or second thoughts that might make it easier for me to get you ready to meet the Lord?”
It took Nail a little while to determine that this was a question, not a simple observation of reality, and at length he said, “Well, Preacher, I’ll tell ye. I’ve done some thinkin, and I believe I can see God. Yessir, I can see the face of God as plain as I can see you a-standin