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Lucifer By Monte Greenway Bay St. Louis MS
I peeped out through a crack in the outhouse door… nothing. I listened… still nothing. I didn’t make a sound. I waited, then I heard it. Scratching… I looked out again and there he was: Lucifer, the fearless red rooster, king of the chicken house and the whole yard for that matter. He knew I was in there. He was waiting for me, his amber eyes flashing, his tail feathers a thousand shades of red like the hell where he was hatched. I watched him carefully, hopeful that he would be distracted by a fat juicy bug. Little by little he moved away from the outhouse. I could see puffs of smoke from the chimney and Daddy chopping wood out near the back door, but I knew that he was too far away to hear me. I was on my own. I calculated the distance between the red monster and the gate that led to the safety of the house. It was all in the timing with no room for error, like falling down. Lucifer was fast… but I was faster. My heart pounding, I kicked the door open and ran for my life, screaming for my grandmother, the flames of hell close on my heels. Dubie charged out the back door with the broom. He never knew what hit him. After she beat him senseless, he ruffled his feathers and went on about his business of scratching and pecking, just as arrogant as ever. He was so used to the broom beatings that he just thought it was part of his daily activities. When my heartbeat returned to normal, I continued my chore of helping Daddy bring in firewood for the kitchen stove. It was two days before Thanksgiving and Dubie had ordered that we stack plenty of firewood behind the stove so she wouldn’t have to go out into the cold while she was cooking. The familiar smells of cinnamon and cloves filled the kitchen. Mama was making pumpkin pies. Her chestnut hair was tied back with a blue ribbon that matched her eyes; her flowered dress pulled tight across her stomach, as she would give birth to my baby brother in a few weeks. Dubie was busy making cornbread for the dressing. Just as Daddy brought in a basket of sweet potatoes from the storm cellar, we heard Grandaddy’s car horn. The great Thanksgiving bird had arrived. My Grandfather had picked him up at Mr. Love’s turkey farm on his way home from work. I raced down the path to the front gate just in time to see Granddaddy slip a half pint of whiskey into the pocket of his overcoat before Dubie saw it. He put his finger to his lips and winked at me. That’s why I always had a stash of buffalo nickels. My eyes widened as he opened the trunk. One would think that I had never seen a live turkey before. The huge mound of gray and white feathers filled the entire trunk. The great bird’s feet were bound with a small rope. The men took him to the back of the house where Daddy untied his feet, tethered him to a tree and sprinkled some corn on the ground. Ol’ Tom stretched his legs, spread his tail feathers like an ancient Indian Chief and strutted around like he had been there all his life. I crawled up into my feather bed early that evening but the sounds and smells from the kitchen went on way into the night. Mama was cutting up fruit for Ambrosia. Dubie was banging on a coconut with the hammer to retrieve the snow white pieces that she would grate for a fresh coconut cake. Granddaddy was sneaking sips of his liquid refreshment that he had brought from the city, keeping a watchful eye on the kitchen door. Daddy was listening to the news on the short wave radio. My eyes flew open at the first light of dawn. Today Daddy would kill the turkey. It was one of those things, like watching a scary movie. It was terrifying, but you just had to look I waited impatiently for Daddy to finish his coffee. The ax sharpened, he sighed, got up and went outside. Dubie and I followed, through the gate to where we had left Ol’ Tom. “What the hell?” Dubie said. Tom was gone. We started searching the bushes and stumps. Granddaddy heard the commotion and came out to join the search, pulling on his red flannel robe. Then out of nowhere we heard the faint sound of that noise that turkey’s make, “Gobble, Gobble” It got louder and louder. It seemed to come from high in the hills almost like an echo. “The son of a bitch is on the roof,” Dubie yelled as she started picking up rocks and throwing them at poor Ol’ Tom. He quivered and fanned out his tail feathers. Now Daddy and Granddaddy were throwing rocks and sticks. The more they threw, the louder Ol’ Tom gobbled. With all the yelling, cussing and gobbling, I don’t know how we heard Mama’s screams, but we all heard them at the same time. Time stood still. My father’s face was frozen in terror. My mother’s name caught in Dubie’s throat. “Joy, O God, Joy.” Daddy reached her first. She was lying on the ground, her arms covering her face. Lucifer was on her stomach, clawing at her. Daddy grabbed him and threw him as far as he could. We got Mama into the house and other than being very upset and having a few scratches, she would be fine. Dubie and Daddy looked at each other and without a word, they went to the barn to do what had to be done. As much as I loved my mother and wanted to stay inside and console her, I just could not miss this. I had waited too long for this day. Lucifer had never caught up with me, but he caused me to pee my pants a few times and spend half of my life in the outhouse watching for him when I could have been outside playing. The red devil was hiding in the barn, as suspected. Dubie and Daddy hemmed him into a corner. Daddy lunged for him, swearing. He ran between Dubie’s legs. Back and forth he went, crimson feathers flying everywhere. Running, flying, flopping, he ran for his life. He flew into the loft. Daddy went after him with the hoe. Half an hour later Daddy had him by the neck. Dubie grabbed his feet. She wanted to wring his neck and Daddy wanted to chop off his head. The tug-o-war continued until I thought his head would come off. Daddy was bigger and stronger than Dubie. I squeezed my eyes shut. Daddy chopped off his head. I screamed. I won’t go into detail of the aftermath, but it wasn’t a pretty sight. Thanksgiving dinner was served right on time. Creamy mashed potatoes drowned in giblet gravy, fluffy buttermilk biscuits that would float right off your plate, cranberry sauce, candied sweet potatoes puffed up with marshmallows and succulent turkey with cornbread dressing. Did I say turkey? But how can that be? Dubie said the son of a bitch was still on the roof. All eyes were on the platter in the middle of the table. Nobody ate a bite of the fowl from hell with the devil’s dressing. Dubie fed him to the dog. Y’all have a Happy Thanksgiving. |