Faraway Places by Tom Spanbauer Read Free Book Online

right out, I got my point across.
    â€œLet me educate you about this mother stuff,” my father said. “Even though you should know things like this already by now,” he said. “Those people, them niggers, got a way of talking. They use that word ‘mother’ different from how we use it. When they say ‘mother’ what they’re really saying is ‘mother fucker .’ That’s just their way.”
    My father’s face wasn’t red anymore. He wasn’t blinking and his lip was back to normal. “Now, I don’t have to tell you what ‘motherfucker’ means, do I?” my father said.
    We were still eye to eye, my father and me. “No,” I said, “you don’t have to tell me. I know what it means.”
    My father told me to go to my room and not to come back out until he told me to. I walked out of the kitchen into the hall of butterflies and dice and went upstairs. I closed the door to my room hard, but I didn’t slam it. A temper wasn’t allowed in the house, or anywhere near my parents. I went straight for my window and opened it up all the way. I was going to slide down theeave to the trellis with the Seven Sisters rose hanging on it, and climb down and get right out of there, get away from him, get away from my father. I was thinking about going to California or Broadway—any place faraway—but deep down I knew I’d probably settle for my swing up in the cottonwoods.
    Just then the sheriff drove his Jeep into the yard, and not long after the sheriff drove in, the Matisse County Mounted Posse rode in on their horses—no shiny shirts this time, no American flag, and no Harold P. Endicott. The sheriff shut off his Jeep and the men on horses gathered around.
    My mother got up quick-like from the lawn where she had been digging dandelions up by their roots, and walked into the house. I heard the screen door slam, then the murmur of my mother and father talking downstairs. The screen door slammed again, and from my window I saw my father walking toward those men.
    â€œâ€™Evening, Joe!” the sheriff said loud and friendly so everyone could hear. “How’s everything?”
    â€œCan’t complain, Bill,” my father said. “That is, if the wind don’t blow us away!”
    â€œYup, she’s as dry as a bone,” the sheriff said.
    â€œDon’t look good,” my father said.
    A couple of men in the posse said hello to my father and my father said hello back. Hello, Clyde. Hello, Sam. Hello, Jeff. Hello, Jay. Hello, Eric. Hello, J.D .
    â€œWhat you guys up to? Looking for trouble?” my father said.
    â€œYeah, trouble,” the sheriff said. “We’re looking for the nigger. You seen this evening’s paper?”
    â€œYeah, I saw it,” my father said. “Was just reading about it. Those people got a nose for trouble.”
    â€œHell, Joe, you know that ain’t the part of them that gets them into trouble!” the sheriff said, and all the men laughed and my father laughed too.
    â€œYou seen him around here?” the sheriff asked.
    â€œNope,” my father said.
    â€œHow about the rest of your family, your wife, Mary, she seen him?” the sheriff asked.
    â€œNope,” my father said.
    â€œHow about that strapping son of yours, he seen him?” the sheriff asked.
    â€œNope,” my father said. “He ain’t seen him neither.”
    AUGUST THAT YEAR was like the toolshed at noon. There was no wind, just the sun hot overhead, too bright, drying out everything, burning up shadows. Even at night, it was never really dark; things still had that sun in them and they glowed like stars, like those kinds of rosaries and statues of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that glow in the dark. Once in a while there was thunder and lightning, but never rain. The dogs would howl and those hawks just kept flying, even in the dark.
    I was like that too, like