“Sam! Sam!” Mama called out.“I drove almost to Tennessee yesterday.Went all the way through five counties before I turned around. Next time I’m going all the way ’cross the state line.”
Sam waved a hand.“That’s good, Mama,” he called back. He was in the field with Maxwell and Hambone, using sling blades to clear a patch for Mama to park her car.They had positioned themselves at angles in order to maneuver safely out of reach of each other. Hambone worked the back, Maxwell had the center, and Sam worked closest to the road.
“What you writing there?” Mama asked, turning her attention to me.
“A letter to Mushy,” I answered. “It’s been a long time.” It had been more than three weeks since I had written to Mushy about Judy’s death, and she had not responded to my letter, making me wonder if she had received it.
“A letter to Mushy, huh? Let me see it.You better not be saying nothing bad about me in that letter.”
Tarabelle stepped out onto the porch. She was wearing blue pedal pushers and one of Sam’s old T-shirts. “It sho’ is hot today,” she commented, taking a seat on the top step.
“It’s summer, Tarabelle,” Mama said, forgetting about the letter. “What you want from summer? You want ice all over the place?”
“I want a breeze, Mama. Just a cool breeze, ”Tarabelle answered, tugging at the T-shirt.
“They sho’ making a mess of that field,” Mama said.“All I asked for was a little spot to park my car. Hay truck came ’round the bend the other day and nearly hit it. Now Sam got them boys trying to cut down the whole damn field.”
I finished my letter, remembering to tell Mushy how we were not allowed to mention Judy’s name in our mother’s house, as though she had never existed, and of how much I missed my sisters— all of them. Just as I sealed the envelope, the sound of shouting made me glance toward the field. Maxwell had dropped his blade and was running toward the road.
“I bet a snake done got a hold of ’im,” Mama said.
Out in the far field, Hambone stood with his blade held over his head, ready to swing. “What happened?” he called. “Hey, Sam. Man, what happened?”
Maxwell reached the road and began beating at the legs of his pants with both hands. Sam squatted to examine the pants, then said, “I don’t see nothing, Max.What happened?”
“Rats! Rats, man,” Maxwell said, when he was able to speak.“A whole nest of ’em in a hole. I stepped in that motherfuckin’ hole, man. I ain’t going back out there.”
“Just some rats,” Sam called out to Hambone.
Hambone eased his blade down and made his way across the field. “Max,” he said, “man, you ’bout to give me a heart attack. Running like a bitch from some rats? From some rats, man?”
“Shut up, motherfucka,” Maxwell snapped.“One of them damn thangs was halfway up my leg. I’m telling y’all, I ain’t going back out there.”
“Both of y’all, shut up,” Sam said.“Don’t y’all see my mama sitting up there?”
Hambone and Maxwell glanced up, nodded their heads at Mama, then in unison said, “Sorry, Miss Rosie.” Mama waggled her fingers. “That’s awright,” she said, “but y’all gotta get them rats. If you don’t kill ’em in the field, they get in yo’ house, and I don’t want ’em in my house.”
Tarabelle stood, tugged at her T-shirt, then walked down to the road. I followed, but stopped short when she marched into the field. I could see her bending and searching through the weeds.We were all watching her when she finally returned to the road.
“Did you see anything?” Hambone asked.
“Yeah,” she answered nonchalantly, “one fat, ol’ rat dropping a litter.”
“Y’all gotta get ’em, ”Mama yelled.
Tarabelle returned to the house, and I went to see the litter for myself.A huge field rat lay on its side, its gray hairy body pulsating, its long tail curled inside the hole around slimy, little hairless creatures that had slithered from its body. I gagged and backed away, and the eyes of the rodent seemed to follow my every move. Back on the road, I leaned toward the edge of the field, feeling sick to my stomach.
“Don’t you faint, Tangy Mae,” I heard my mother call down to me.“Don’t you dare faint. I ain’t going through no mo’ of yo’ fainting. You had no business going out there no way.”
I straightened my back and turned to face her so she could see that I had no intention of fainting.That was when I saw Tarabelle approaching the road again. She was carrying the iron skillet, gripping the handle with both hands as she moved slowly along. She stepped past us and back through the weeds, and my nostrils twitched from the burned, meaty odor of used and reheated lard.
The squeal of the rodent reached us as Tarabelle tilted the skillet and dumped the hot oil.Maxwell swore and hung his head. Sam and Hambone stared silently at Tarabelle as she came back to the road, now swinging the skillet by one hand.
“You just plain hateful, Tarabelle,” Mama said.
Tarabelle kept walking.“I thought you said you didn’t want ’em in yo’ house, Mama. Ain’t that what you said?” She returned the skillet to the kitchen, then she came back to the field, picked up Maxwell’s blade and, as hot as she claimed to be, began to swing with all her might at the dry weeds.