Free The Cockroaches of Stay More by Donald Harington

gits his fool self shot by the Lord.”
    “The Lord aint a-rapturin nobody tonight,” Tish said. “He has passed plumb out in the middle of Carlott. I touched Him myself.”
    “You did which ?” Josie asked, aghast.
    “Not with my touchers, just my sniffwhips, I touched Him while He lay, jist to see if He felt real,” Tish declared, with no little pride.
    The entire room fell silent. None of the middle siblings, let alone the younger ones, had ever had a glimpse of Him, although every morning they said their prayers to Him at bedtime. To think that their very own big sister, Sis Tish, had actually not only seen Him but also actually and truly really touched Him! They all gathered around her and tried to touch her, as if some of the magic would rub off on them. They all began babbling in excitement at once.
    “Hush, you’uns!” Josie demanded, then turned on Tish. “Daughter, I don’t know what to think of ye! Aint I never taught ye no sense? Don’t ye know that you must never, never touch the Lord?”
    “But He’s out cold, west-drunk jist like Daddy gits sometimes,” Tish tried to explain.
    Josie slapped her. With both sniffwhips the mother lashed the sides of Tish’s face, bringing tears to her eyes. “Hesh yore wicked mouth!” she exclaimed. “That’s blasphemy! The Lord is probably jist a-sleepin, this time of night, and you might’ve disturbed His rest.”
    “But He’s drunk as a biled owl!” Tish wailed, telling the truth, although truthfully none of the owls she had seen, of which there were several in the woods of Stay More, were either boiled or drunk.
    Josie gasped, hmmphed, and made the sign of the pin with her sniffwhips. “I had best go take a look fer myself,” she said to herself, then told her oldest daughter, “I’d best go look fer yore father.” She began a thorough cleaning of herself in preparation for departure.
    “Momma, you aint lightin out for the cookroom too, are ye?” Tish asked.
    “If I have to,” Josie said, nearly beside herself with nervous excitement: even if she didn’t get to touch the Lord herself, she might find her husband in the cookroom, where she had never been before, and might get to sample the fabulous edibles there. And maybe she might even be allowed to enter one of those cans of beer. “Now lissen a me, Tish,” she gave instructions, “if I aint back afore daypeep, make shore none of the least-uns watches the mornin star, and git ’em to say their prayers, and keep Jubal outa the sisters’ hidey-hole, and don’t let none of ’em git in the storehole where Paw keeps the morel mushrooms, and be sure nary one of ’em watches the sun rise. Kin you remember all that?” Tish nodded her head, although the list of the injunctions was long, and still another one remained, a formality: “And watch out for the badgers, bats, and beastly bugs!”
    “Be keerful, Momma,” Tish said, as Josie left the log, and Tish found herself in charge of the whole family. A dozen or so tickled up to her and begged her for a story, but she put them off, saying she’d give them a story at bedtime. She supervised them as best she could, as they left the log to forage for bits of algae and fungi, edible but not palatable fodder. Her tailprongs picked up the sounds of their stomachs grumbling like a pack of hungry ants. Almost absently, Tish reached up and took one of her sniffwhips into her mouth and began simultaneously to wash, taste, smell, and “count the beads” on it. This process provided her with information about her environment: the temperature (73° and falling), tomorrow’s forecast (partly cloudy, scattered thundershowers), the present locations of each of her brothers and sisters, what they were eating, which ones had intestinal problems or mental problems, which ones had constipation or diarrhea, and how many worms, crickets, and katydids were in the vicinity. Thus she kept track of the passing of the night.
    She could no longer find her mother