The Feet of God

 26 - OLD GRANDDAD

“And so, dear lambs, people in hell want ice water,” Ma apparently concluded the evening’s sermon as she picked up her drink and drained its contents.  “Remember, tomorrow is another day.”  She slammed the glass down.  “The hard part is getting there.  This meditation is over.  Who wants to help Ma to bed?”

A gawky Reaper named Tilboa got up to assist her, but young Seth was much quicker.  Seth sprung to Ma’s side and hoisted the old woman up and over his shoulder like a small sack of laundry.  Together they departed with the sound of Ma’s cooing.

Bob glanced over at Rufus, “Doofus, maybe it’s time we turned ourselves in.  Coming?”

“Nah, I think I’m gonna bunk solo tonight.  See ya in the morning.”  Rufus got up and stretched and yawned before heading for the door.  Then he turned to me, “Oh, and you.  Pull that bottle you stole out of your sock and put it back where it belongs.”

I muttered to myself while restoring the shortdog to its place behind the bar.

Bob lingered a little longer.  “I guess I really can’t blame him,” her everlasting disappointment was plainly obvious.  “What with the Seekers and Finders gone now, everyone can have a tent to themselves.  Even you.  Pick one of those empties over on the far side and make yourself at home.”  She left the parlor by herself.

“Thanks and good night,” I called after, ever the good guest.  Bob acknowledged with a wave of her hand but without looking back.  I stood for a few minutes on the porch all by myself.  Everyone else had wandered off to a different tent or the shacks reserved for the highest-ranking Reapers, and lights came on and everything got real hushed and quiet.  Here I was, the last one standing.  That don’t happen to me too often.  So I figured it was only right to go inside and liberate that bottle I’d nearly been deprived of.  Plus I grabbed an untended pack of smokes, though I ain’t no fan of clove cigarettes particularly.  Beggars can’t be choosers, the wise men always say.

Out in the tent village it was clear by the firelights what tents was occupied and what ones wasn’t.  I picked a dark tent and crawled in and was about to get ready for a long night of sipping.  The problem with drinking alone is that my mind gets to thinking, and that’s rarely a constructive thing.  Nonetheless, I set to thinking.  I thought how Bob fit the description of what ya might call a big-boned gal.  Hell, I first thought she was a dude until I noticed the ponytail and how my eyes had deceived me.  After that first night here sleeping under the pickup, I knew she was at least omnivorous.  So, why would a healthy young buck like Rufus turn down a boldfaced invitation for some bedsheet boogie?

Normally this much mental exercise would be enough to put me out, but the whisky had me vertical and searching for a secluded corner to bleed the weasel.  I was out behind the tool shed and in the process of shaking dew drops from the lily when the damnedest thing happened.  The shadowy form of Bob’s pickup truck silently rolled by, engine off.  I wasn’t so buzzed that I didn’t realize that someone was pushing the damned thing down the road, and I wasn’t so blind that I couldn’t tell who did the push’n.

What with the slope of the road it wasn’t hard for one person to pull this off, and I kept up from a safe distance behind.  We was a couple’a hundred yards from Ma’s house when I spied the figure jump into the driver’s side.  I amazed myself with an athletic sprint and a leap up into the back of the truck just as the engine started.  I pulled the tarp over me.

There are plenty of times when it’s better if you’re a little drunk before you attempt to do stupid shit.  This was one of them.  Risking life and limb to get into the back of a moving pickup in the dead of night when you’re sure that truck is heading for something dangerous certainly qualifies.

Bad enough I’d been sleep-deprived under this very truck while Bob and Rufus engaged in nocturnal nookie the other night, but now I was a little dismayed to realize I hid under the very same piece of canvas that concealed their dirty deed.  I guess it was my inborn sense of adventure and native curiosity that forced me to get in the back of Bob’s pickup truck.  Who knows?  We sometimes make decisions, even the most important ones, for no good reason.

After a boring half hour or so, relieved by many sips from my bottle, we came to a lighted area and the driver killed the engine.  I slid out from under the tarp unnoticed.  Just like I figured.  Rufus had parked Bob’s truck right outside Moses Remington’s big-top headquarters.  The guards at the entrance was busy greeting Rufus so they didn’t catch me lurking.  Rufus strode up the steps to the tent entranceway.  He walked in through the front flap.  I ducked under and followed.

From one tent room into another tent room I tiptoed real stealth-like behind Rufus until we got to the back of the place.  He opened two large oak doors to reveal the amber-lit interior where I could make out the distinct shape of Moses Remington, his back to both of us, wiping a large glass with a rag.

“Poppy?”

No response came from the old man.

“Poppy!”  Rufus yelled to get his attention.  “What are you doing?”

“Rufus?  That you?  Come in here, lad, come in.”  Moses pivoted around.  I could see he was wearing a plain bathrobe loosely opened at the front with his head wrapped in a fluffy towel.  Without makeup Moses Remington was the color of wet clay, except for the splotch of purple on his aquiline nose.  “Isn’t it a school night?  Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“I had to see you.”  Rufus repeated, “What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing,” the old man put the rag down, “nothing at all.  I was just wiping a little smoke off this mirror.”  Moses came forward and placed a hand on the young plucker’s shoulder.  “It’s good to see you, lad.  Tell me, what brings you to visit your old Granddad at this hour?”

“Poppy, she’s going to sue.”

“For what?”  Moses batted the air like this was just a petty annoyance.  “Besides, it doesn’t matter, we’re insured.”

“You don’t understand.  She’s not suing the foundation.  She’s suing the individual members.  It doesn’t matter what she sues for, she’s counting on getting them to turn on you by harassing them with legal action and activist courts.  It’s her way to destroy the whole by attacking the parts.”

Moses scowled and brought his hands together in a prayerful pose.  “Damn, she’s good.  And after all these years, too.”

Rufus’ face turned red, “You never told me you had an affair with her.”

“Oh for crying out loud, what’s that got to do with anything?  Shut the damn door.”