The Escape of Bobby Ray Hammer A Novel of a '50s Family Read online

  I'm still confused about what happened next. The pain in the back of my head started throbbing again, and I thought Lenny had just done something else to me. Aunt Loretta had me by the armpits and was pulling me off of the ground, and I didn't even know I fell. Mama, Trish and Curt were gone. People had scattered. There was a chase. Gun shots.

  Aunt Loretta pulled me to her breast saying something about me fainting. "Don't look, Ray," she said. "They're all killing each other."

  I heard Rascal yelping like he always did when Papa shot that pistol. I never liked to hear the pop of Papa's pistol because he always fired it fast and never knew what he was going to hit. Rascal didn't like that pistol either, so he ran and hid when he heard it. He didn't like it because Papa shot my dog, Tangi, with it when she was hurt so bad from the hay mower. I called her Tangerine because she was so small and round-like as a pup and so red. Peeking from just inside Loretta's hug, I caught a glimpse of Rascal running. He must've run forever because he never came back. And I thought Papa's pistol would never quit firing.

  Aunt Loretta walked me through the short grass that had just been mowed to the far side of the Cemetery. I got to stumbling and couldn't stand again, so she was sitting and rocking me with my head in her lap, and she was all wet with my sweat that I had from listening to Mama's screaming and all the shouts and cusses and a couple more pistol shots. She was sweaty and I was sweaty and my hands were trembling and the side of my face all pushed up against her breast so I could hear her heart pounding. Then I heard more pistol shots, and Papa still shouting at Charles.

  "Don't look, Ray. Don't look," Aunt Loretta said. And then "Oh, God, no. Oh Charles," as she covered my eyes again and this time, she started crying. Just before I went out again, I thought that the worst had happened. Papa had killed Charles, the only person with any sense that ever took up for me.

  *

  I had to stay in bed for days after that. Mama kept feeding me aspirin to get my fever down. And while I was lying there, I heard Mama and Papa whispering in their bedroom. They didn't make much sense. They said they buried him with Lenny. Not a whole lot of sense in that at all. They put Lenny's Block C jacket in there with them. I felt bad about the jacket too. Lying there in bed with the covers all pulled up over my head and the sweat pouring off of me from my fever, I wondered if they opened the coffin and put Charles inside with Lenny, one at the head and one at the foot like they were sleeping in a bunk bed, or if they just shoved him in on top of the casket. Either way, it didn't make much sense. Papa must have killed Karl too, I thought, or he would have stopped them from burying Charles like that. That night I didn't sleep good. I woke and saw a woman dressed in a red robe flying around the room. I think it was Jesus' mother, Mary. I kept looking at myself, putting my hand before my eyes. I was so hot, I thought maybe I was glowing in the dark.

  A few days later, after I got better, I found out that Karl was still alive. Saw him crossing Robertson Boulevard in downtown Chowchilla. Then I thought maybe I'd misunderstood Mama and Papa about what they did with Charles. I thought maybe he'd be buried later. I read the Chowchilla News, in the place where they told about Lenny's death, to see about Charles. They never printed anything about it. I thought the police would come get Papa. I sort of held my breath on that one for days. Finally I asked Mama how they buried Charles.

  "What's the matter with you," she said, and she was mad at me for asking. "Is your brain addled? He's not dead." If she hadn't been mad, I might've believed her. I didn't know why she didn't just tell the truth. I felt really bad for asking because she started crying and went to her bedroom for the rest of the day. We had to fix dinner for ourselves that night. I knew better than to ask any more questions.

  I didn't really believe what I thought I saw and heard that day, but it set in my mind like cement because I didn't have the truth to replace it. And in the four years since Lenny's death, I've come to know one thing. I want out of here. I heard Lenny talking about leaving before he got killed, talking about getting out of Chowchilla. He kept talking about how good things were on the outside. I've made up my mind to be free someday. Since Lenny died I've felt like I'm fenced in. I run in the fields sometimes, just run from one side of our farm to the other, from fence to fence. I watch cars on Highway 152 going to the coast, Oakland, San Francisco, Santa Cruz. I listen to baseball on my little Philco radio. I listen to the New York Yankees like Lenny used to do. I listen to football, the San Francisco 49ers. Maybe Lenny didn't make it, but I know I will. I know the world is different out there. I want out. But I need something, something to get me from where I am to where I want to go. It's as if a big canyon is keeping me from getting there. So I've been thinking about bridges. That's what people do to get over things they can't cross. They build bridges.

  CHAPTER 2: Fight!

  September 1956

  I hear someone shout "Fight!" as our car pulls out from the high school parking lot, and then a trail of cars full of kids follows behind. So I get uneasy, feel a little wedged in like the car seat's too close, and I shuffle my legs a little, but it doesn't help none. Leroy's driving and laughing like hell, looks through the rear view mirror at them pulling in line behind us. He put the word out. He doesn't give a damn.

  I'm talking to Leroy about how come we have to use the Berenda Slough because that's where my older brother, Lenny, got killed.

  "Grow up, Bobby," he says. "He's been dead four years. You ever going to get over that?"

  "I'm not fighting at the Berenda Slough, and that's that," I say.

  So he heads out to Beacon Road, but I'm complaining about that too because me and old Bev been making it out there on Saturday nights.

  "Tough shit," he says, so we follow Washington Road out of town to Beacon Road that hardly anybody uses except dirt farmers, and we stop, right in the middle of the beat up blacktop. God, it's quiet at first, except for a mess of blackbirds sitting off in some cattails. Some have blood red on their wings, screeching and raising hell, and I don't feel too good about that either.

  Leroy comes out from behind the car stuffing his shirttail in his pants, and I'm thinking what's he got to be nervous about? Cars come from both sides now, stop so close Leroy has to tell them to back up a piece. Starting to look like a football game. Kids're cutting up, some shadow boxing. I'm going to hurt someone if it doesn't happen soon. I pull off my shirt, hearing them say how big I look. I feel good about that because old Melvin, he's not that big anyway.

  Just about the time I think maybe he's not coming, here he is getting out of a brand new black '57 Chevy, and Bev just tagging along like a pup in heat with that tight skirt of hers and a fresh-lit cigarette. Melvin, he's pulling off his shirt, and coming toward me. I'm thinking how white he looks and with that blond hair, maybe he has albino blood. But he comes right over to me and spits at my feet looking like he owns the ground I stand on. I feel a little calmer now, and it's strange him being this mad at me, all the times we've been up to Snelling fishing those pot holes together. I wish I could feel madder at him. I'm just not quite ready for this anymore.

  "Hear you say dairymen suck cows teats," he says. I hear someone snicker in the crowd. Melvin, his face turns red.

  "I say a lot of things. So what's your problem?" I ask him.

  He turns sideways, doubles up his fist. "Hear you say I got the brains of a cow."

  Someone from the crowd butts in, "Just hit him, Melvin. He's not going to apologize. You took his girl, now take his head off."

  "I wouldn't let on you had that much," I say, "but if you do, I'm easy about it."

  He doesn't have an answer for that, just clears his throat and spits a lunger on my chest. He's helping me get ready for this real fast, so I shove him back a piece, feeling how soft and girl-like his shoulder is, and he takes a swing at me. We walk around in circles a minute with Leroy hollering at me to bust Melvin's head, and I'm thinking why can't Leroy shut his mouth.

  We're coming in closer now, so I take a swing at him. I don't see
it but feel his fist pop my eye and know the swelling is coming. That's when I hear someone holler for Melvin to cut me because I'm nothing but an asshole anyway, and I'm looking around to see who said that, wondering if Melvin has a knife, but here he comes again. I'm dodging and swinging and catch him on the ear. That makes him back off a little, and his ear turns blood red.

  I go at him this time, feel my fist hard against the bones in his head and think maybe he'll go down. But he just steps back a little. I see it coming this time, but I'm not quick enough, and I hear the pop as my head goes back, and my feet are having trouble finding the ground. And then I feel it, a feeling I have sometimes that something real bad is about to happen. I can tell my nose is bleeding because I taste it, and it's dripping from my top lip. Leroy's still shouting for me to bust Melvin's head, and I'm thinking maybe I'm going to kill Leroy.

  I go at Melvin again now, feel my left in his teeth and have him in my sights for my right, and I know I've got him this time, just before I take another blow and go down. I'm looking up at him from my knees with two swelling eyes. He's fingering a chipped tooth which he sucks then spits a wad of blood. Leroy's pulling up on my arm, so I shove him back to stand and pinch my nose, wiping the blood on my Levis. I have to draw air through my mouth.

  We walk circles again now, and I hunch over a little and move my right around in circles and then we throw a few. First my arms don't seem long enough, then seem too long, so I grab him around the waist and we roll around on the blacktop for a little with gravel digging into my skin. He smells like he just quit shoveling cowshit, and I don't like the feel of his warm skin much either. When we get up, my blood is all over his chest. We stand there for a second and off in the distance I think I hear an ambulance, then think maybe not.

  Melvin looks at me from across the blacktop, breathing hard. I look down at my feet and up at him again through the tops of my eyes, and I hear the blackbirds screeching in the cattails again. He shakes his head a little. He starts forward this time with his hands at his side, and I go to meet him. I'm beginning to think he feels sorry for me. We stand there for a second, me looking down at his pale blue eyes, and he sticks out his flabby hand. My face is throbbing like it's going to burst. I don't think I want anymore, so I take the hand.

  Kids scatter and I hear a couple of cars with glass packs rumble and then the screech of rubber. As I walk off, Leroy throws my shirt, and I look back to see Bev looking back at me, one foot in Melvin's black '57 Chevy and her skirt stretched tight. Her tits are heaving, and it looks for all the world like she's going to cry.

  CHAPTER 3: Leroy's Lies

  Leroy pulls up in front of my house with the lights and motor off, coasts in real slow so Mama and Papa won't know we're here. We've been in the bathroom at the Beacon station in Chowchilla trying to put me together again. It's getting dark, and I'm supposed to be in by sundown, but I'm putting off going inside because I don't know what might happen when they see my face. And then I wonder what Coach will say about me missing football practice. Being a senior has got to be the toughest job in the world. Everything I do now causes trouble. It started this summer and just won't let up. Last year wasn't like this.

  "Don't tell them you were in a fight," Leroy tells me. "Give them a lie."

  "Anybody can tell I've been in a fight."

  "Well, tell them it was a fight by mistake. Tell'em a bunch of Mexicans from Madera jumped you."

  "Getting beat up by Mexicans is not something to be proud of either."

  "Then tell them you killed a couple but got a little beat up in the process."

  "And what did I do with the bodies, Leroy?"

  "It's your lie, Bobby. You make up some of it."

  "Not my style."

  "Make it your style. Takes the edge off. Bigger the lie, the better. They don't have to believe it. Puts them on the defensive."

  "I'm no good at it."

  "A little practice is all you need. It might even help you out with your next girl."

  "I don't want a next girl."

  "Let someone else have a go at Bev."

  "I don't have to let Melvin. He's taking his shot."

  "Leave it to me. I'll find you one."

  "Shut up and get a haircut. Would you?" I tell him. "Olin Davis could use the business."

  "You always have to get personal, don't you." He's looking at my face out the corner of his eye with those thick eyebrows going clean across his head.

  I light a Lucky and lean back, blowing smoke out the window. Have to keep it low in case Mama or Papa peeks out the window.

  "I just feel bad. You don't understand. Melvin was my friend. Now I got another enemy. I don't know. It just bothers me."

  Leroy just never stops moving. He's making like he's speed-shifting this old clunker, the steering column rattling like hell and the clutch going thud and then he's back in first gear again.

  "I'm tired of all these Chowchilla people," I tell him. "I've lived here all my life and due for a change. You know that, Leroy? I've lived here all my life. I've got to get out of this place after I graduate. Maybe get a job in Madera or Merced. If I wait a year or two, I'll be here forever. This town is just like a jail. A jail, Leroy, and I don't need a life sentence."

  "Now you've started picking on Chowchilla."

  I have to go in. That's all there is to it. God I dread this, but I'm tired of Leroy's fidgeting. I throw my Lucky out the window, grab my schoolbooks and slam his rattling door behind me. Leroy's asking if I want him to take me in to school tomorrow, but I'm walking on in now.

  CHAPTER 4: Voices in the Dark

  Papa's sitting in front of that damn old yellow-screen Hoffman TV, cussing Milton Berle and eating dinner off a stool. Has the lights down low. He's ignoring me, knows he'll get his shot at me for being late. Good thing he hasn't seen my face. My little brother Curt's laid out on the couch, and I get this flash that maybe he's dead, but he's just sleeping. Mama comes in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a washcloth, ready to crawl me. She stops dead in her tracks, voice crying before the tears come.

  "Bobby Ray Hammer. What in Lord's name has happened to you?"

  I'm thinking maybe I can just walk on past Papa. But he looks up from Milton Berle, "jesuschrist" coming out under his breath and then he comes at me. "Goddamn, would you look at this? You've been fighting again. Well, good enough for ya, good enough, I say," his voice sounding real strange, like maybe he isn't even Papa. Then he backs off, turns around and kicks over his stool, the plate, glass, milk and fried potatoes going everywhere.

  Curt jumps like he's been shot.

  "Come on over here in the light," says Papa. "Let's just see how bad you got your ass kicked." And then he's up in my face and me leaning back and putting my arm up. It's not like him getting that close to my face, his little eyes darting around. I don't know till now, he has to look up at me. "Dumb sonofabitch. Bet he put you out, didn't he? The way that eye looks."

  Mama puts her head down and turns away like she's leaving the room, then turns back. "Hershel, do you think he needs a doctor? Oh Lord. Look at the swelling." Her voice starts out low but ends up in a high-pitched whine. She's crying real loud now.

  "A doctor? Hell no! Shit!" he hollers, turns around and kicks a hole in the side of the leather couch. It even scoots a ways across the floor. I haven't seen him this mad in a while. "What he needs is a goddamn good whipping."

  Curt's looking like he's going to run, and maybe he's going to cry some too. I'm looking for a way out, but they have me pinned against the wall.

  And then Papa jerks off his belt, and I'm getting that sinking feeling again. I haven't had a whipping in four years. Then I feel it whiplash and the little metal tip, it hits me right square on the kneecap, and I'm bent over holding it there and dancing a little for him, big that I am, and feeling the new welts coming across my back and thanking God for Mama because she's quit crying and right in there trying to get him off and getting knocked around a little herself. Finally Papa, he backs o
ff, puffing because he's so excited. I laugh a couple a times and have a strange smile on my face, like maybe this is the first fun we've had together in a long time.

  The front door opens, and Trish comes in like she's in a hurry, and I guess she's heard what's happening from outside because she's mad as hell already.

  Papa just ignores her and starts on Mama. "Goddamn, woman," and there's a little spit coming from his mouth, "here I am trying to teach him a lesson and you standing in there like you want some for yourself."

  "You leave Mama alone, Papa!" It's Trish shouting and her eyes just puddles of tears. "God, why can't we be a normal family? Why do we have to fight all the time? Eugene's family doesn't. What's wrong with us?" She runs into the kitchen like there's an answer in there somewhere.

  I look over at Curt and give him a quick wink to let him know not to take it all too seriously. God, you'd think by the look on his face that the kid was going to have a seizure.

  "Oh, Hershel, he's already hurt so bad," Mama says. And she's up close too, with her head tilted back to get a better look through those bifocals and her hand on my chin pulling my head around. "I just can't stand to see him hit anymore." She starts whining and crying again.

  "Now don't you go turning against me. I don't have a son anymore that's going to make much of a man. What Bobby Ray needs is something to remember this by." And then he turns back to me. "Didn't get any teeth, did he? That'd suit some of those little bitches you been running around town with just fine. A couple of holes in your mouth would be just right for you. Who was it anyway? Just who was it kicked your sweet ass?"

  Since I don't say anything, he rears back with the belt again, but Trish is out of the kitchen in a flash with the broom, beating Papa across the head and gouging him with it till Papa grabs the handle and shoves her over in the corner. He tries to hang on to it, but she pulls it out of his hand. I wish he wouldn't shove her on the chest like that with those new tits just starting to show through.