Billy Don't. William OSB Baker
fence as Bax pushed on his foot, and lifted himself out of their hiding place. On top of the fence Billy turned, extending his hand down to Bax for his turn to scale the tall fence. With both of them on the fence they walked the top board to the tree, grabbed the limb and swung down to the ground.
"Quick, round this way, she won't see us." Billy took the lead. They ran round the front of the house and down the graveled driveway. To the north of the Blair's barn was a large blackberry patch growing in the neighbor's neglected back yard. Over the years the blackberry bushes had overgrown and obscured the Conestoga wagon left there from the days of the early West. In later years the wagon would be discovered by the new owner of the property and a fruitless effort would be made to trace how it came to be there. For the moment, it and the blackberry bushes had created a second hiding place. Unlike the bamboo thicket, where they could hide and watch others, the space under the Conestoga wagon provided a sanctuary of privacy. Beyond the Conestoga wagon sat a row of four open garage stalls. Like the wagon, they sat empty and long forgotten. The yellow jackets had taken up residence in the abandoned stalls and their nests hung among the exposed rafters denying Billy the use of the garage and its shady comfort. At the rear of the garage was a hole under the foundation leading to the vacant lot behind the garage, and an escape route to Neville Avenue often used by Billy.
Bax dropped to his knees and peered through the hole. “Geez, can ya get through there?”
Billy responded, “Sure. I’ll show ya.” He rolled onto his back, and with his arms outstretched over his head, he reached through the hole, grasped the outer edge of the foundation, and pulled himself through the tight hole. Bax followed without Billy's help.
Now, safe in their escape, they walked the half block to the Neville Corner Store on 38th Avenue. At the store they equally selected five cents worth of candy from the glass jars lining the counter. Then with Billy holding the bag of candy, they returned as they had come, with Billy again going first through the hole. From there, they crawled under the Conestoga wagon.
Feeling safe with the question, Bax asked, "What did you mean when you said you stole the money from God?"
Billy did not answer right away. He had torn the paper bag open, laid it flat on the ground, and made equal piles of the assorted candies. Finished, he scooped up his half, pushed the other in the direction of Bax, rolled onto his side and looked hard at Bax. "Mrs. Blair puts money in a jar. She says it's for God. I took it out of the jar, so what?"
"Geez, noth'n." Bax immediately realized his question had irritated Billy, and he knew he had best drop the subject.
Billy turned away from Bax, closing out his presence. His thoughts surfaced. "Your soul will turn black." He looked down at his chest wondering where in his body his soul might be. Was it darker now? Five cents worth? That can't be much. Maybe, just a speck. What happens when it turns all black? Maybe I'll blow up and die. Where is my soul? In my stomach, maybe?"
The boys finished their candy, buried the wrappers in the loose soil and wiped their mouths clean. "I got’ta get home," remarked Bax, as he began to crawl out from under the wagon, and through the vine tunnel, being careful to avoid the sharp barbs.
"Yeah, and I got’ta go do something." Billy crawled out behind Bax being equally careful to not become entangled with the blackberry bushes. When clear of the vines he stood, brushed the dirt from his cloths, and sauntered toward the back porch whistling a tune.
She had been waiting. "Where have you been?" she asked, looking down on Billy from the back porch as he crossed the gravel driveway crunching the loose rock under his feet.
"I was playing with Bax." "I have been calling and calling you. Didn't you hear me?"
"No." It was a lie. Billy knew it was lie.
"Come up here." She stood with her hands on her hips watching Billy mount the stairs. "You could not have, not heard me." Her voice was threatening. He moved around to the side of her, staying close the washroom door, prepared to bolt for the kitchen should she make a move to grab him. A rash of words came flying at him, "There is no way you could not have heard me, young man. God was watching you, and He knows you are lying. Every lie you tell makes a black spot on your soul, Billy. When you die God is going to look at your soul, and if it is black He is going to send you to the Devil." She raved on, telling him again how God saw all the bad things and in the end would punish him for his wrong-doings. Finally, it was over. "Now, go clean out the chicken coops like Mr. Blair told you to do."
There must have been at least a hundred chickens, or so it seemed. The four coops were now all in use. In later years, the chicken population would be greatly increased, and the second floor of the barn where Billy and his boy friends had their rubber gun wars, would be turned into one large chicken coop.
"Don't you scare the chickens, and be careful of the setting hens," called Mrs. Blair from the back porch. Billy turned the nailed-on board serving as a latch to the chicken wire gate. "And," she continued, "don't let the chickens out." She watched until Billy was inside the chicken yard and the gate closed, then she turned and entered the house. Alongside the gate were the leavings of the last cleaning, now a reduced pile of mixed manure and straw used to fertilize the gardens. Billy took notice of the pile, wondering how high it would be when he had finished his unwanted chore. The rake, wide scoop shovel and wheel barrow stood inside the gate against the side of the barn where Billy had hastily left them after the last cleaning. The coops sat in the back corner of the Blair's yard across from the barn and against the Baxter's high board fence. Between the bam and the coops was an open area surrounded by a high chicken wire fence in which the chickens scratched and dusted themselves. Pans of one kind or another, cutoff bottoms of rusted out tanks and other receptacles were strewn about the yard for water containers. The coops were built of salvaged lumber, closed on three sides with flat roofs slanting to the back of the coop. Chicken wire was stretched over supporting studs and a flimsy wooden door frame to form the front of the coops. Wooden strew-filled boxes, formerly fruit crates, lined the walls of the coops providing nesting places for the hens. Resting on the ground and reaching diagonally to the roof was the roosting ladder.
The cleaning procedure Billy was to follow had been told to him by Pop Blair. First the chicken coops, then the yard. Fill the wheelbarrow and dump it through the horizontal split in the chicken wire fence. Keep the gate closed so the chickens don't get out. Billy approached the first coop. The doors to all the coops were standing open. Pop Blair opened them in the morning and closed them in the evening, ensuring that all the chickens were in the coops and safe from the occasional varmint who stalked the area at night.
Entering the coop, Billy took notice of the rows of heaped chicken droppings on the ground which gave evidence of the nightly roosting patterns. It stank. The acrid smell compelled Billy to hold his breath. "I don't want that shit-stuff in me," he thought. He clamped his mouth hard shut, stifling the desire to breath. Quickly, as if in panic, he stepped back outside. "Why do I have to clean the damn old coops, anyway? They aren't my chickens."
He felt the entrapment of his young years. How he had to comply for fear of punishment, and the inability to respond or to alter his situation. The need to escape welled within him. He whirled about, prepared to run from the emotional trauma which was dictating his actions. He stopped short.
Bax was closing the gate behind himself. "Want some help?", he called . .
Billy stood transfixed watching Bax carefully choose his steps across the chicken yard. Billy regained his composure. He was like that. He could be full of anger and hatred one minute, and be laughing the next. His moods were swift and often violent.
"Yeah." Billy responded. "You want to rake, I'll shovel and push the wheelbarrow." He enjoyed making tracks in the dirt, then pretending it was a road to be followed from the coops to the fence and return. It put a little fun into the thankless chore.
"We'll take turns, okay?" Bax was equally interested in pushing the wheelbarrow and shared in Bill's dislike of removing the chicken dung from the coops. While Bax was older than Billy and the larger of the two, Billy's violent temper and his prepared willingness to settle things with an unsuspected punch had taught Bax to avoid disagreements. Bax waited for approval of his suggestion.
"Yeah.