Free Blackstrap Hawco by Kenneth J. Harvey Page B

covers. Fever, shiver’n like I were touched by it. Yays, ’n I hear da engine, da grinding, da terrible sound. Fury com’n fer me, ta take me frum dis mortal ’ert.’ Isaac Tuttle’shead wavers. That ye shall surely perish, and that ye shall not prolong your days upon the land. He looks at the floor. Searches around. Moves his zip-up boots closer together. But if thine heart turn away, so that thou wilt not hear, but shalt be drawn away. His shoulders begin trembling. And then his sides sway slightly. Before his knees knock together. And thou shalt return and obey the voice. And his chair begins creeping backward along the floor. He manages to thrust it forward. And he said, I will hide my face from them. Bucking up and ahead. Then trembling backward again. Bucking forward. Of the Rock that begat thee thou art unmindful. Trembling back.
    â€˜Can I get you something?’ asks Officer Pope. He thinks of throwing the man a rope. To pull him in. He thinks of someone going through the ice. But it is not tragic. Not life-threatening. In fact, it is peculiar. And he has to cough to hide his amusement.
    Isaac Tuttle bends his elbows. And presses both fists together. They have moved me to jealousy with that which is not God. In front of his face. ‘Da backhoe come crash’n tru ’n I were hide’n under da sheets ’n da noise were sum’n ’n I dun’t know if ’e knew I were in dere or not. No, but den I felt meself lift’n off, tilt’n, ’n back’n out, da bed in da night air, rise’n, da gears shift’n, I’s spin’n and then rush’n a’ed as somet’n’ scraped into me hand. No, da devil’s madness fer a while ’n I were settled up high, levelled off, ’n da backhoe were gone. I were settled ’n da backhoe were gone. I were settled…’ Tuttle lowers his fists. My doctrine shall drop as the rain. Opens his eyes. My speech shall distill as the dew. Seeing who sits in front of him. He is the Rock, his work is perfect. He is startled. ‘A bunch ’a noise,’ he whispers tightly, ‘like da end. ’N when I pawed me way out from under da sheets I seen where I be. In a tree, up high, dat big dogberry tree, da bed crooked ’n swaying like da sea beneat’ me so’s I hadda clutch da mattress. Out in da back ’n it be pitch. Black ’a night ’n I could see da back red lights o’ da dozer going down da road like two devil eyes ’n dat Blackstrap Hawco. Hawco. In da driver’s seat. Dat’s da last I saw o’ ’im. I din’t do nut’n ta ’im. No. Like people say. I n’ver touched ’im. N’ver took no shot at ’im.’ Tuttle raises his hand. To show the circle-shaped wound. For a fire is kindled in mine anger. What was left. How he was marked by it. And shall burn unto the lowest hell.
    â€˜And you see him not again?’ asks Constable Pope. Carefully lookingdown at his pad. The small space left beneath the words. ‘Right, yes?’
    â€˜N’ver. ’E gone. Off. Ye ask me it’s dat wife a ’is. She be mak’n eyes. Yes and widt ever’un all da time.’ Tuttle grins plainly. Like it means nothing now. For they are a nation void of counsel. Chews on his fat tongue. Neither is there any understanding in them. Jabs at his glasses. The sword without, and terror within. Lets his tongue come out to slowly creep along his lips. Were it not that I feared the wrath of the enemy. Before chewing it back into place. ‘She one a dem Townie womb’n. She want more den da good L’ard can provide from nature. No fear or belief in da good L’ard. ’N she affer ’im fer nut’n but ever’tin. Maybe she done away wid ’im. Poison’d ’im or somet’n.’
    â€˜You know there were bloods found outside your house. Drops and drops lead down the