Posted by nigel1 on June 17, 2002 at 13:40:27:
I intend to finish BOC, but I started this story and want to complete it first.
Mo Daly wondered what he was doing wrong. Ever since Daddy passed away, and left the farm to him, as the oldest of the family, things had continued to fall apart. And now these little nodules, all over the left side of his face, and all over his left forearm where it got sunburned from hanging out the car window all the time, and on the back of his left hand-- he had no idea what they were. He glared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, harsh in the light of the 100 watt yellow bulb that his sister screwed in the ceiling fixture one day. Then no one could take it out, for she screamed and sulked alternately, tearing her yellow hair in great bunches, what she had left of it-- a sickly girl, who tore her hair and clawed the bald spots red and scabrous. Maybe that yellow buglight helped her, the way she thought it did. She was only trying to flatter herself. Her skin tended to be cold and bluish, which Dr. Poberly said was due to her poor circulation, or something, and the yellow light turned it olive, or sheenier, and more lively. And now that he himself had those mysterious itching nodules, he really had to wonder. What a family! He could not even shave properly. Buzz, the younger brother, stumbled down the hall, awake at last. He would want to use the bathroom. Mo slammed out, stumping heavily in his work boots, scattering bits of straw and dried manure. He'd already done the milking, letting Buzz sleep in, although it was not yet 6:30 and the sun had yet to rise. "Mornin', Buzz." he drawled, drawing out the greeting in mockery. "You sleep real goooood?" Buzz passed him in the hallway, shuffling bleary-eyed and barefoot in his terry robe. His eyes seemed swollen shut, and his skin was pasty, with the exception of a red welted wrinkle on his forehead. Pa would have called that a pillow-bite. Funny. Mo missed his Dad.
In the kitchen Chrissie labored over the stove, cooking them a big breakfast-- an enormous breakfast. This was something Mo insisted upon, and insisted more loudly now that Pa was gone. He must keep up his strength. For the three of them, Chrissie fried a dozen eggs, beaming yellow on the big griddle, and on the other big griddle she fried a sugar-cured ham an inch thick, and maybe a half-pound of bacon frying in heaps, all around the ham steak, drowning it in grease. Mo smelled the biscuits in the oven as he seated himself behind the place laid for him at table. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the electric percolator which never moved from its place on the counter and was never allowed to be empty for very long. To Mo, this was a sign of the everpresent hospitality of his house, though visitors were rare. "You know," he said, "I sure do like to hear that farm show in the morning. The one on the radio, every morning, about this time." He paused to sip his coffee. "Yep," he said, after a while, "I sure do like to start things off with that farm show, with the WEATHER, and the LIVESTOCK REPORTS, and the grain prices, and the..." With a nervous flick, his sister snapped on the radio, keeping her back to her brother. In a little while, from the corner of the countertop, the last few verses of the Nematode Song rose above the sizzle of the frying meat, the snapping of the eggs. Mo smiled. "Why thank you," he said. "I was just now thinking about how much I like that farm show. You must be able to read my mind." Chrissie shuddered all over but would not look at him.
At breakfast, Mo was the only one of the three who had any appetite. He alone had the stomach for such a colossal breakfast. Chrissie tore little doughy pieces out of a hot biscuit and placed them, one bite at a time, in her mouth. Wide-eyed with absorption, she chewed each miniscule bit and swallowed hard before taking another. Buzz began well enough by emulating his brother, heaping his plate with eggs and ham and biscuits and gravy, stuffing lustily until the greasy mess began to rise in his gorge. Then he left his place in a hurry and vomited loudly in the toilet for all to hear. "Chrissie!" Mo said. She jerked like one suddenly awakened. "What do you think about this, huh?" He leaned forward, bringing up his left arm. She shrank back a little. "See all this shit on my arm, on my cheek? See that? See that?" A look of sheer baffled terror crossed her face. "What IS it?" She asked, clearly bewildered. "Nodules!" Mo cried, "Cysts! I'm just like you and Buzz, a goddamn sick freak! We got something in common now. That make you feel good?" "I, I didn't---" Chrissie began, but it was too much for her, and she bolted from her place, leaving Mo with no audience for his nodules. Yeah, Mo thought, they really are disgusting. They nearly killed his own appetite. For something like that to just pop up on him, virtually overnight-- there had to be something wrong. It made him rueful. It meant, as far as he could tell, that he was just like his sickly brother and his sickly sister, and truth be told, their sickly mother. And she had never favored him, because he was the active one. How it must have grieved that woman for her first-born child to be a strapping red-cheeked boy, doing all the normal boy things, like climbing trees, building soap box racers, running, jumping, shooting small animals with his .22, that his father gave him. Yes, he was his father's son, the only real consolation to the old man, and the only real hope. For all he knew, he'd come down with some sort of cancer, maybe from working in the sun so much, and that would be a fine reward for all of his efforts. Any cancer that could spring up overnight would have to be a killer. If it didn't get any better, he'd have to go see Dr. Poberly. In the meantime, he would feed his body and work hard, to keep strong. He took the cooling griddles off the range, and scraped the remaining eggs and bacon onto his plate. The ham steak he'd already polished off. The eggs and bacon made a mound on his plate, all mixed together, with yellow streams of yoke and globules of congealing grease. He forked it in, wiping yolk and grease with biscuit, until he had it all down. As he ate he felt better and better, strong and mean. The farm show said it would be hot again, and no rain in the forecast for the next thousand years. Oh Mr. Farmer Rancher Livestock man, better bring out that twelve gauge and blow your brains out, but first treat your land to Perco-Dan, the modern broad spectrum range herbicide with the death's head on it. And then it was light all of a sudden with the sun streaming across the table, and flies knocking against the screen door. No time for another cup of coffee. He rose from the table, feeling pleasantly heavy, and checked for his brother in the bathroom, but he wasn't there. Passing by his sister's bedroom he rapped the closed door sharply with his knuckles. "I want that coffee pot kept full, you hear? I want to see them dishes cleared away by lunchtime, Chrissie, and I want sandwhiches and iced tea in a pitcher, and I want you to bring it out to us in the barn for lunch 'cause we are fixin' to do hot work. You hear that, girl? You hear that Buzz?" He rapped the door next to Chrissie's, then turned the knob and shoved it open. There was his brother, sprawled bare ass in bed, moaning, with his face in his pillow. "Up and at 'em!" Mo said. "Oh gawd," Buzz said, mumbling into his pillow, "I don't feel so good." Mo seated himself in the chair by his brother's bed.
"Buzz, I told you yesterday we'd have hard work today, and you knew I can't do it alone, and you know your sister is no help. I heard you come staggering in at three o-clock in the morning. You were afraid I'd come over to your boyfriend's house and drag you home, I'll bet-- only reason you came in at all. I'd uh done it, too."
"Mo, so help me, I'm sick. I think I'm gonna die."
Mo leaned forward, putting his lips near his brother's ear, laying his hand gently on the boy's naked back. He could feel the ribs. "Listen to me, boy," Mo whispered, "it's suckin' cock that does it. It's takin' all that nasty stuff inside of you. It's poison, what you're doing. Poison! Un-natural!"
"Go to hell," Buzz said, averting his face. "Leave me alone."
Mo reddened, then rose from the chair. He clumped out of the room, but returned in less than a minute. His brother lay on his back, then, with an arm flung across his eyes. Mo needed only enough time to retrieve their Daddy's big razor strop, which Mo had rightfully claimed as the oldest son. Mo stood over his brother's bed for a moment, stretching the heavy leather stop between his massive hands. It was already hot in the room, and sweat matted Mo's sparse hair. Mo's gaze fixed on his brother's soft penis, curling impudently against his bare thigh. "Hot work," Mo said. He swung the strap hard and fast over his head, bringing it down with a furious smack, snapping the leather smartly. Buzz jerked into a fetal position with his hands on his crotch, knees in the air. He threw his head back, making little noises in his throat, and his eyes rolled up into his head, showing nothing but the whites. Mo returned the strop to his room, hanging it from a nail driven into the wall beside his chest of drawers. When he returned, Chrissie was there with her brother. Buzz had curled up on his side, and tossed his head on the pillow, moaning like a wounded animal. It was a sort of feminine sound, and it didn't make Mo any happier. He tsked at the sound of it. It was like they told him in the marines: your true nature came out in pain. Some men suffered in silence, and others wailed like women. There was no way to know what you were really made of until you were hurt. That's why the training was so hard, and why they really tried to hurt you. They had to expose the crap before sending men into combat. In the long run, it was all for the best. You found out who and what you were and maybe you could get back into civilian life and open a dress shop somewhere. Of course, Buzz was in the navy, and it figured. There were more queers in the navy than any other branch of the service. Queers liked the navy-- it was those uniforms and hats. "Get away from him, Chrissie," he said. "What did you DO to him," she wept.
"Get away! Get away! You're brother and sister-- don't be messin' around with him while he's nekked like that!" Mo shooed her through the connecting door, between bedrooms. That reminded him, he'd have to board that damn door shut. Maybe there was something going on there, God forbid. He had too much to worry about already.
"OK Buzz," he said, "you ain't hurt that bad. Get up, get dressed, and let's go. We got work to do." Mo rummaged through drawers, found a workshirt and a pair of dungarees, clean socks and underwear and tossed them on the bed. It was hard to find anything in his brother's wardrobe suitable for work. He didn't realize Buzz had all that disco shit. Buzz sat on the edge of his bed with his back to his brother, hunching forward. Mo draped the pants over his brother's shoulders. "There there," he said. Buzz shrugged them off and looked over his shoulder. His face was red and there were tears in his eyes. "You went too far that time. You're gonna regret what you did to me." His voice was tightly controlled, but, as Mo gazed impassively at him, like someone contemplating a turd left in a surprising place, his face reddened and tears filled his eyes. He began to sob. "I'll make you pay for that. So help me." Mo leaned in the doorway, against the doorframe, making it creak and crack. "You worry me, Buzz, you really do. I can't figure out why you ever came back anyway. Would have been better for all concerned if you'd stayed away. You shoulda made a career outta the navy. It was the right place for you. Daddy sure didn't want you back. He knew what you was. However, if you just have to stay here, you can abide by the rules. And I make the rules. One rule is you earn your keep. Another rule is, I take no sass off anybody. I sure don't take no shit off you. Now, when you're all dressed and squared away, I'll be out in the barn. I'm gonna get started, but I'll need you to help me finish the job." Mo turned and stalked down the hall. Again, as he passed his sister's door, he rapped with his knuckles. He had nothing further to say. He just did it to keep her alert.
In the big old barn it was a little cooler. It was dark in there, and still too early in the morning for the heat to get in. A huge live oak shaded it on the south side and that helped too. Under an A-frame, a '69 Chevy pickup took up most of the available floor space. Its hood and radiator leaned against some hay bales. He had the truck's hubcaps piled with various nuts, bolts, and washers. The aircleaner, carb, manifold, generator, battery and fan were laid out on oilcloths. He'd worked alone last evening, wondering whether his brother would ever be in any shape to help him pull the engine. And he wasn't, truth be told, but by God, he'd do his share anyway. During the brief walk in the bright sun between the backdoor and barn, Mo's nodules had flared into life. Now he had a headache too. The nodules turned a deeper and angrier red, and even in the shade of the barn they continued to burn. He wished he'd taken an aspirin or two. But there were five plastic half-gallon jugs filled with white gas for washing parts. He was in no mood to take any sass from his nodules, so he soaked a rag in gasoline and applied it to his arm. It was cool and tingled nicely, not to mention smelling good. It made the itch go away. Wringing out he rag, he squinched shut his eyes and held his breath, so he could mop his face. It seemed to help. This was what he called his Daddy's kind of medicine. When he opend his eyes again and sucked in air, there was his brother, walking stiff-legged, entering the shed dressed like Disco Dan. Buzz stopped by the tailgate of the pickup and put his hands on it, like he needed to support himself to stand up.
"Chrissie and me are leaving," he said.
"Chrissie's not goin' anywhere," Mo said. He had wet the rag again, and dabbed at the back of his left hand. "Look at this shit! Look at it! It's like some goddamned disease you'd pick up in the fuckin' navy!"
"There's nothin' you can do about it," Buzz said. ignoring his brother's display of reddened skin and crusted cysts. "We talked about this before, her and me, and this morning was the last straw. That's why I came back here, if you have to know, to protect her from you and Pa. It's time for her to get outta this hellhole, and I'm taking her."
Mo felt slightly dizzy all of a sudden. Protect her from Pa? Protect her from HIM? His face reddened. He wasn't going to get into any of that. It was a long time ago, and it was over and Buzz couldn't know anything about it-- Chrissie knew her life wasn't gonna be worth shit if she ever talked to anyone. "Hell, all I did was whop you across the weewee. It'll swell up and turn black and blue but it won't fall off or nothin'. Be good for you-- keep you outta circulation a while." Mo threw his rag into a corner and rolled his shirtsleeves down but left them unbuttoned. "Sit down," he said. "Let's have a talk." Buzz looked hesitant, glancing around the shed, he didn't see any place to sit. Mo noticed that and figured the fool was looking for a chair, for Christ's sake. Mo heaved himself onto the tailgate, planting his feet on the rear bumper. He tugged on his brother's shirt sleeve. "Sit here with me, brother of mine, and let's talk this over." Buzz gingerly manuevered himself onto the tailgate. "Damn it," Mo said, "I got oil on your nice clean shirt." It was sooo fucking hot, and things were soooo fucked up. Mo just felt like saying "Fuck it. To hell with it." And he did, quietly, and to himself, and then, somehow, it was like a burden lifted from his shoulders, and he knew it would all be OK. While Buzz twisted around to examine his fancy shirt with the pointed collars, Mo's right hand moved quickly to the little scabard at his belt, where he kept his big buckknife, and pulled it out and had it at his brother's throat in no time at all. With his left hand he had a good grip on Buzz's sissy hair and yanked his head back. The knife blade bit into Buzz's throat and drew blood but there was no serious cutting going on, that Mo could see. Good. A band-aide would fix everything right up. "Don't say one word, brother of mine. SHHHHH! Not a word!" Buzz made sounds in his throat, like heavy breathing and gasping a swallowing hard, but he said nothing. His eyes looked scared. They were big and they rolled toward Mo. Mo said, "I'm gonna tell you a few things quick like but I don't think I'll give you time to think any of this over. Wouldn't do no good. You said you was gonna protect Chrissy. You don't know the half of it, brother of mine. Did you know Daddy starting fucking Chrissie when she was just a little girl?" He gave Buzz's head a shake to keep him quiet. Blood dribbled down his shirt front. "All that started when Ma got real sick after having you and kept to herself in her bed all the time. She got better but she was frail after that, and when she had anything to give of herself, you got it. Don't ask me why. Chrissie was a real sassy thing then, and along about the time she got to be ten, eleven years old she was already changed, getting different, scared all the time. I didn't know what was goin' on. I figured she was sick, like Ma, and Dad was not doin' too much work anymore. I was bustin' my butt workin' around this place even then. Didn't get much schoolin', Buzz, as you well know. Chrissie finally talked to me, and I couldn't believe her. I told her she was crazy and evil and I ran to Pa and told him what she said. He just looked at me, that icy way he had and asked me did I believe her. Hell no, I didn't believe her! She was changed, sure, and I could see that, but it just seemed there was something wrong with her. And where the fuck where you, Buzz? You and Ma chilled us all out, in a world of your own, Ma's favorite. Ma wouldn't have nothin' to do with Chrissie. Called her a whore! She knew what Pa was doin'. And after Pa left me, after I told him what Chrissie said, I knew he was goin' to her room, and I was scared for her. I was so scared I near pissed my pants, Buzz. But after a little while I followed after, and outside the door of her room I heard her cryin' and she was sayin' don't do it Daddy, don't don't don't do it-- I had to go in. Pa was fuckin' that poor little girl. He had his overalls down around his ankles and his boxers pulled down and he was on top of her. He didn't even notice me, standing there. I was big, even then. I felt like I was in some other world. I walked real quiet up to the bed, and then Chrissies' eyes were on me, but she was so far out of it I don't think she knew who it was. Pa had his head turned completely away from the door, looking out the window it seemed, while he raped our sister. Right beside the bed, I said, Pa! Pa's head shifted, he was turning to me, and I hit him with my fist in the back of his head, HARD. Broke my knuckles. Broke a bone in my fingers. I went crazy, Buzz, for a little while. I beat the living crap out of that man, right in Chrissie's bedroom. Then I lifted him up by his neck, and I told him we werent' ever gonna talk about this, but if I ever found any reason to believe he ever touched Chrissie again, I was gonna kill him." Mo paused. "Surprising any family could survive that, huh? But you know what the weird shit is? I still loved that man! He was a man, Buzz, he was strong, not stronger than me, then, but he taught me hard work, and we used to hunt together, and fish and work together, and I swear, nothing ever went wrong again. It was like, he admired me, getting the best of him, respected me, and once he told me he was just gonna say one thing, and then my head was on fire and I figured I'd have to kill him, this was just before I went in the corps, Buzz, but all he said was, Mo, you saved me from a terrible sin. You took me away from the devil. You pulled me out of Satan's grasp, and I am glad, and I am proud. Where the hell were you, Buzz, when I had to yank our old man out of Satan's grip? You were in Mom's room, with your head under her sheets, hiding like a goddamn ostrich-- or was it something else? NO! Don't try to say anything. This family is fucked. This farm is fucked. And I've had enough." Mo slit his brother's throat, then. The blood came up like a fountain. Mo watched impassively. It didn't take all that long for Buzz to die, Mo thought. But it sure wasn't a clean job. He sighed. Might as well get Chrissie, next, he thought.