Beast of the Field Read Free

Sterno's hand with vigor.  They made introductions. The man broke off from the greeting to limp around the car in way of inspection.  "This a eighteen model? a nineteen?    Well, she helt up just fine.  Yep, just fine, it looks—this tire's a little low, here.  God knows that rocky old road beats up the best of them." 
    "Wasn't the road I was worried about," he said, and to his point a gust of wind shook the car.
    "Oh.  Yeah, well, that wind.  Usually it dies down in the evening time, by now, anyways.  Makes for some nice sunset watching when it does, all our good topsoil flying around in the air."  For the first time the old man took a good look at Sterno.  "So you're the one they sent, huh?  Dang mister..." he said, but nothing more.  Sterno saw that the man was looking at his jaw.  He must have made a joke to himself in his head, because he suddenly began to laugh.  His laugh sounded like a quiet, strained heck-heck-heck!   He got on his stick and met Sterno at the front of the car.  "So you're the one they sent," he said again, more to himself.  He stood there without moving or speaking for nearly half a minute.  His little tuft of white hair flopped back and forth in the wind like a signal flag.  After some thought, he straightened his spine, said, "Welp, Mother's been at it all day.  How about coming inside and greasing up that chin a yours."
    They made their way to the porch, but lying against the house was an old hound, teeth bared and growling as a matter of duty.
    "Easy, Jumpy," Donnan said.  "Don't mind Jumpy.  An old switchyard dog.  Old when we got him.  Can't smell for shit anymore, can't see for shit, but ears like a jackrabbit."
    Watching the old boy get to his feet was like watching a barn-raising.  By the time he was finally on his fours he had forgotten to be mean.  Instead, he moped directly over to Sterno, stuck his black snout where the man's legs met.
    "Oh yeah, and he's fond a crotches," Donnan said.  “You walk slow enough he’ll give the other side the once-over, too.  Come on now, we're letting the flies in."
    Inside the house everything was in silence and shadow.  The sky, the sun, the wind stopped at the front door.  They stood in a dining room where a table was heaped with food.  There should have been light in there for that spread, a chandelier, candles, sunlight, but there was none.  Mrs. Donnan entered the room from the kitchen, pulling some loose strands of hair back from her cheek, and although she was polite enough, she wasn’t exactly sunny either.
    Donnan cleared his throat.  "Mother, say hi to Mr. Charlie Sterno.  Mr. Sterno, say hi to my wife, Marnie Donnan."
    She moved slowly and looked sickly.  The color in her cheeks was from the kitchen, but looked more like a fever than anything.  She had big, wet, tired green eyes and long lashes set in bruises of sleeplessness that were like old boot leather.  She wore the sun in her blanched, bunned-up hair, and wore it like it was a heavy hat. 
    Her voice was heavy for her too, small as it was.  "You'll need to wash up before you sit down?"
    "Yes ma'am."
    "Come with me.  Call me Marnie."
    When they were at the dinner table, the size of the meal laid before him could be fully taken in.  As slow as she moved, this must’ve been two-days’ work.  In the center was a mound of fried chicken that from what Sterno could tell must have been three birds in the yard not too long ago.  Mashed potatoes, green beans, fried okra, black-eyed peas, corn on the cob, tomatoes with black pepper and two baskets of biscuits made up the accompaniments to the chicken.             
    "Sure is a lot of grub, ma’am.  I do thank you."
    Donnan said, "Of course, out of manners, we expect you to eat every bite now, Mr. Sterno.  Heck, just ribbin' you.  The kids'll be along soon enough.  One of 'em's an eater."
    At that moment a shadow swept up the porch to the front door.  A dirty blonde girl in a dirty