| A F T E R B I R T H “Merciful Jeeeehaw, the thing’s alive--” “Is a-livin alright. A twin. A twin an it ain’t dead--damn!” “--damn tootin.” “Hand her off t’me.” “You give a fair rubdown to this first colt, Sir Ashton Weaver, whilst I work my arm back up this godless brood mar’s ass. She’s got another’n in there.” Frank Jr.’s hand slid back into that mare’s womb. In the warm slime Frank Jr. felt a tiny hoof. Ash Weaver lay that freshborn liver-colored colt in plain view of its mama, cleared the goopy roux from its nostrils and mouth, then began scrubbing the colt with straw. The barn door scraped open, all of sudden--you know the kind--and in run Mexico Phillips, breathless in her red wool cap and coat. “Mr. Frank Jr., you’re still here--Miz Althee says she’s pert sure it’s her time! Says for you to fetch on back home quick!” “What?--Oh--Jesus, what a day,” Frank Jr. said, releasing that little unseen hoof, unplugging his arm from the big mare’s guts as she stomped and bitched about it. “You get aholt of Nursy Jane?” Mexico stopped, shook her head slow. “Cain’t find her. She already lef the Magee place whar she’uz s’posed to be. Nobody know whar she is. Your Miz Althee say come git you but quick...” Ash Weaver’s scrubbing let up; he pitched his hay wad aside, eyeing the teenage girl, then Frank Jr.. “You git on, Frank Jr.,” Ash chuckled gravely, “I’ll git that other’n outa there...” “Looks like you gonna have to, dead er not, “ Frank Jr. agreed, grabbing his black vet’s bag without bothering to clean his blood-slimed hand. He slapped on his Army ballcap. “C’mon, Mexico, come go with me.” “That County man Shanks is gotta put a proper doctor back in hyere--” Ash said. “Geramand Shanks would skin a gnat fer its tallow! “ Frank Jr. shot back. Ash was already up and throwing wide the barn door for them as the Sheriff’s big sedan skidded into the yard. The big Sheriff got out of the big sedan just as Frank Jr. brushed past him. “Frank--?” said Sheriff. “Sheriff--” said Frank Jr., headed for his own Chevy. “I’m inna hurry,” Sheriff shouted after him, “I need to ask you and Ash if’n either of ya--” “Gotta go! Althee’s gone to labor without no doctor,” Frank Jr. yelled back, tossing his vet bag into the Chevy. Next thing, Frank Jr. and Mexico Phillips were inside, doors shut, his ignition whining. Frank Jr. backed the Chevy across Mrs. Weaver’s garden pinwheels as he overheard the Sheriff out the open car window. “Ash--you see hide nor hair today of a tizzypoke an a young feller?!” The last distant words Frank Jr. heard behind him as he sped to toward his beloved bride were Ash Weaver’s words... ”...Naw...tizzypoke, y’say?”
|
