Not Done Yet - 11. Thirsty

Thirsty

He reached down slowly and picked up the arrow that had fallen, careful not to make a sound or lose sight of him. Nock and draw, his new take-down bow wasn’t as powerful as the compound bow he left at home, but from forty feet, it wouldn’t matter. In less than one breath, smooth and unhurried, he released. As the bowstring sang and faded, he watched the bobcat go down, twitch twice, and lie still.

James stood, nocked another arrow, and slowly circled toward the cat, never taking his eyes off it, ‘til he was close enough to make sure it wasn’t still breathing. He set down the bow and pulled out his skinning knife. As he knelt, he drew the knife quickly across the cat’s throat. “Don’t wanna end up like my cousin, in the hospital. That buck he shot still had a twitch left in him. Daddy was right. Always make sure.”

Now that it was over, James had tears rolling down his cheeks. Lots of kids who hunted shouted and danced around after a kill, but he never did that. Didn’t matter that it was an animal, or that it had killed his granddad’s livestock, like the bobcat there. It didn’t even matter when it was that rabid coyote last Spring. That was the last time James had fired a gun. He’d told Sam he didn’t want to chance getting close enough for a bow that time.

He spoke to the air around him, “Dad, I wish I could remember more, but it’s gettin’ so I’m not even sure if some of the memories I have are real, or just reminders to myself, reminders to remember. It’s been five years. The only time I still feel you is in the woods.”

He skinned the bobcat quickly, not so careful of the hide, since it had to hang on the front fence. Game wardens didn’t like folks killing wild animals, but if they knew you’d killed a pest, not taking the hide, they didn’t interfere.

*
Jessie was sitting on the couch when James got home that day, reading Edgar Sawtelle. He had read it earlier. Who uses words like gelid, though? She looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks and smiled.

“That’s a great book, but very sad. Mom, I’m gonna tell you what you told me about hunting – If it tears you up so bad to read that book, stop reading it.” Jessie laughed long and hard at her son’s comment. She got up off the couch, and still chuckling, went over to James and hugged him tight, before she drew back, wrinkling her nose. He told her, “You always smell like rainwater and sunlight. I smell like anything but.”

“Never mind that. I’m going to tell you the same thing you always tell me, James.” She loosened her hug and looked up at him. “I’ll do what I want. Sometimes the price is worth paying.” She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. Turning loose of everything but his hand, she led him into the kitchen.

“Mijo, I have supper going. Come sit down. You can wash up later. We’re having Indian food, and it’s just about ready. Tika masala, saag paneer, and I cooked a goat curry. Rice is nearly done, and the vegetables are goin’ on the grill now. Your granddad brought by a goat he’d butchered. Said he’d rather we eat it than that bobcat you killed. I guess that’s his way of saying thanks. He told me it was a good-sized cat.”

She poured him a glass of iced tea she’d gotten at the farmers’ market. An herbalist there made an amazing mood-lightening blend. James drained the glass in one gulp, and poured himself another.

“I can’t believe he came by. That old man IS getting soft. Maybe there’s hope for him, yet. Did he say anything?”

“He sure did. He stayed for nearly an hour, and asked a lot of questions about you. He also asked about Casey.”

When she said that, James nearly choked on his tea. “He did WHAT?!” He set down his glass, and grabbed a cup towel to dry his hands and the table.

“James, he’s not nearly as gruff as he makes out to be. He really does love you, but men his age were taught not to show their feelings when they were growing up.”

“But, Mom, you heard what he had to say about Casey, right after the fire. Said he wouldn’t piss down his throat if his guts were on fire. And now, he’s asking about him? I wonder why, all of a sudden?” He picked up his glass and sipped the tea, looking at Jessie over the rim of the glass.

Jessie was still stirring the curry, and the smells floating on the air made James’ mouth water. Figuring his mother would answer in her own time, he opened up the cupboard, and took down a couple of plates. They had six colors of Fiestaware, but he always picked the red. The rice cooker kicked off just as Jessie turned off the stove and covered the pan. James set a couple of places at the counter, while his mom took the plates, and started loading them with food, finishing with a piece of onion naan on each plate. While she was putting them on the counter, James refilled their glasses and sat down.

James was so hungry and overtaken by the aromas, he was visibly salivating, swallowing repeatedly. He took the first bite, and while he was chewing, Jessie dropped the bomb. “He asked about you because you offered to track down and kill that bobcat. He asked about Casey because I told him what you did, getting the Fishers to take him in, when they’d finished fostering children. I also told him about the case worker, how you’d persuaded him to bend some rules, so Casey would end up in a better place.”

She took a bite of her curry, and pressed on. “Your granddad asked what I thought of the boy, so I told him. I told him Casey was as bright, as courteous, as respectful as any kid I’d ever met. He was so much in need of love that it ached to see him in such pain.”

James looked at her long and slow, as if he was trying to figure out where this was going. “I told him that if you had your way, Casey would be staying with us… but that wouldn’t be a good idea, as much as both you and I might want it.”

She had his attention, then, but he put down his fork and looked out the window. “I told your grandfather that until Casey knew he loved you as much as you love him, you didn’t need to be constantly in the presence of someone you may never have. I know your mind, hijo, and you will not be the one to tell him how you feel.”

And that was how his mother, Jessie, told him she knew him, and loved him, and his grandfather knew him, and still loved him, and the world had not stopped turning. He sat still, gazing out the window. He gradually became aware of his mother’s arms encircling him from behind and the kiss she placed on his hair.

“Some tell of the people of two spirits, who choose a mate of their own sex. They cherish these people as rare and unique, as you are. I wasn’t raised with the old ways. But I know of them. I know my son, and I know he is his own person, and he knows who he is.” She turned loose and stepped to the side, turning his face to hers. “If there is one thing you have taught me, James, it is that nature will be as it is, not as we wish it to be.”

“So you wish I were otherwise?” Moisture threatened to rise in James’ eyes.

“Not on your life, James. Not on your life. You are as you were made, to be whom you were meant to be.” She leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead, and held him close again. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d held him like that. Maybe when he was six years old. She started to sing a song he’d never heard, in a language he didn’t know, soft and slow and wonderful.

James whispered, “You’re right.” A choked sigh escaped him. “What am I going to do, Mom?”

As she brushed James’ hair behind his ear, she softly replied, “I do not know, but I know that hope and disappointment are often two sides of the same coin. You are an honorable young man, James, and a kind one, and you would do nothing to hurt your friend.” She was quiet for a moment. “Will you still be his friend?”

Again, James choked back a sigh, “Always.”

A few moments later, he asked her, “Mom, what did Granddad have to say after you told him about me? Was he upset?”

Jessie smiled at him. “He said if Casey ever hurt you, he’d borrow your bow and put it to good use.”