The Great Indian Raid

We were sitting on the porch, my brother and me, when Mama pulled into the driveway.  It was hot.  Too damn hot.  And that old Impala sounded horrible in this heat.  Hell, that old car didn’t like the summer anymore than we did.
      Anyway, Mama pulls up in the driveway.  We can see somebody sitting in the back seat but can’t tell who it is.  I look at Matt and he looks at me.  She pulls the car around to the back.  That means she’s got groceries.  That means we gotta get up and help unload them.
      We just sit there.  We listen as the engine dies, but the car doesn’t.  It coughs and sputters like an old man.  Finally, a shot rings out, signaling the end of the fit.  That backfire is almost as loud as Mama when she yells, “Get your asses back here and help with the groceries!”
      So, we get up and walk around to the back of the house.  We’re both barefoot and the dry grass sorta crunches as we walk.  I push Matt over onto the gravel driveway.  He dances around a bit as the rocks bite into the bottoms of his soft, fat feet.  I laugh at him.  He hobbles back towards the grass and punches me.  That shit hurt, let me tell you.
      Anyway, we get to the back of the house.  The driver’s side door is standing wide open.  Mama’s on the other side of the car, helping whoever’s sitting in the back outta the car.  She reaches in to help them out.  We hear a voice say, “I don’t need no help.  I’m old, not crippled.  I can git out on my own.”
      We recognize the voice right away.  It’s Granddaddy.  Hot damn, that means we get fried chicken for supper tonight.
      So Mama stands there anyway, just in case he decides he does need a hand, which he does.  As she helps him out, she says to us, “The keys is in the trunk.  Open it up and get them groceries in the house and outta this heat.”
      We walk over and give Granddaddy a hug, then pop the trunk and get out six bags of groceries.  Six!  Good God!  How long is the old coot staying this time?
      We take three bags each.  Matt reaches in to get Granddaddy’s bag outta the trunk.  “I can carry my own bag, damnit.  I’m old, not crippled.”
      Now that he’s out of the car, Granddaddy stretches his legs.  He’s a tall man, to be as ancient as he is.  A little over 6 feet.  Tall and thin.  Don’t anybody in this family take after him.  Both me and Matt are tall, but we ain’t thin by any stretch of the imagination.  Mama’s built more like a Clydesdale than anything else.
      He picks up his bag from the trunk.  It’s an old black leather bag.  Kinda reminds me of one of them old doctor’s bags, you know?  How he manages to fit all his shit into that one bag is beyond me.  Maybe I’ll find out one day.
      So, we get the groceries in the house and start unpacking the bags.  Rice and Hamburger Helper goes in the cabinet up there.  Milk and the chicken goes in the refrigerator.  Ice milk goes in the freezer.  You know the drill.  Me and Matt usually try to see how fast we can get the groceries put up.  Coupla months back we almost set a world record, but I dropped the milk jug.  Man, milk went spraying all over the place.  Both of us got an ass-whipping for that one.  Today, we don’t quite get it done that fast, but we get it done.
      We get it done before Granddaddy gets up the steps.  Hell, there ain’t but three of them.  Damn, he’s slow.  Mama comes up behind him.  In case he falls, I reckon.
      We stand in the kitchen waiting on them to come in.  We stand with the refrigerator door open so we can feel the cold. 
      They finally make it in.  Mama says, “Don’t stand there with the refrigerator door open.  You’re wasting energy.”  So we grudgingly close it.
      Granddaddy goes straight to the front bedroom to drop off his bag.  The front bedroom is mine and Matt’s room.  Looks like we’ll be sleeping in the living room.  Mama goes into her bedroom to change outta her nursing uniform.  We just stand in the kitchen.  After she shuts her door, we open the refrigerator again.
      Granddaddy goes from our room out to the front porch.  We decide to follow.  Don’t get me wrong, we love the old man.  Hell, he and my Grandmama practically raised us when Mama was working nights at the hospital.  He taught us how to fish, work on cars, chew tobacco, and cuss.  He might be an old coot, but he’s a good man.  I reckon you could say that we worship the man, both me and Matt.
      Anyway, we get out on the porch and Matt says, “Granddaddy, you wanna see the arrowheads we found?”  “Sure,” he says as he sits on the swing.
      We run back in and get our stash.  We keep our ‘heads in cigar boxes.  Matt keeps his under his side of the bed and I keep mine on top of the chiffarobe.  We grab our boxes and run back to the porch.  By now, Mama’s put on shorts and a t-shirt and has started banging pans around in the kitchen.  Mmmm, fried chicken.
      We get back out to the porch and proudly display our booty.  Granddaddy first looks at Matt’s, then at mine.  He takes each piece we give him and reverently holds it up closer to his face.  He takes his glasses and puts ‘em on top of his head.  He studies each piece of flint like some kinda museum director.  He handles each one in silence, with an occasional “Hmm.”  When he finishes with one, he reverently takes another.  “Nice, boys, nice,” he finally says.
      We beam with pride, almost to splitting.  Nothing in this world better than approval from the old coot.  That’s when he says, “Those remind me.  I ever tell ya’ll about when I lived out West and we decided to have us some fun with some Indians that lived over on the reservation?”  By we, he meant him, Marty and Ed, his old running buddies.  “No,” we both say at the same time.
      “Well,” he begins, and we sit crosslegged on the porch floor.  We know that most of his stories are bullshit, but he’s a good storyteller, so we listen anyway.  “Never trust a man what ain’t a good bullshitter,” he used to say.  So, we sit crosslegged (like Indians) and listen.
      “Well, it musta been, oh, 60 or 70 years ago.  We was living just outside of Flagstaff, Arizona.  Ya’ll know where that is?”  We nod yes.  “Don’t shake your heads.  I don’t know what that means.”  “Yes, sir,”  we answer instead.  “Good boys, pay attention in school and you’ll go far.”
      “Anyway, outside Flagstaff.  I guess we musta been about 12 or 13 at the time.  Always into trouble.  It was a hot summer day, hotter than this even.  Why, it was so hot me, Marty and Ed cooked our breakfast on some big ol’ rocks out back of Marty’s house.  Now, that’s hot, boys.”  He had us hooked.  We heard Mama turn on the radio in the kitchen.  Mmmmm, fried chicken and mashed potatoes.
      “Well, it was hot.  Damn hot.  It was so hot they let school out early that day.  Of course, that didn’t matter to us, since we didn’t go to school at all that day anyway.  We was sitting on Marty’s front porch, ‘bout like we’re doing now.  Like I say, it was damn hot and we were bored.  Didn’t have nothing to do.  We had already finished our chores.  We got up before the rooster to get them done.  It was too hot to be working during the day.  So, we was sitting, trying to think of something to do.
      “Ed suggested we go looking for arrowheads.  Marty said that was too much like work.
      “Marty suggested we go chase rattlesnakes.  I said that it was too hot.
      “I suggested we sit there on the porch and do nothing.  They agreed to that.
      “Well, about that time ol’ Injun Joe come driving down the road.  Now, Injun Joe was full-blooded red Indian.  He had a big ol’ white scar that ran down his face from the top of his head down to his chin.  He liked to tell people he got it fighting cowboys.  But, we all knew it was from a bar fight.
      “Anyway, Injun Joe come driving down the road.  He pulled into Marty’s folks’ driveway and pulled up to the house in that big old Ford truck he used to drive.  He would drive around town and pick up any scrap metal that was around.  What he did with it nobody knew.  He just drove around picking it up.
      “So, he stops the truck and gets out.  We sit and watch him walk up to the porch.  ‘You folks home,’ he asks Marty.  ‘Naw,’ Marty answers.  ‘Mama’s over to Nell’s helping get ready for the new baby and Papa’s down to the shop.’  Marty’s daddy owned the grocery store in town.  ‘Any scrap around?’ Joe asked.  ‘Naw,’ Marty answers again.
      “Injun Joe just turns and walks back toward the truck.  ‘Hey, Injun Joe,’ Ed pipes up.  ‘Is it true that you can’t sneak up on an Indian?’
      “Ol’ Injun Joe turns back to us.  ‘True.  Yes,’ he says.  ‘We one with land and wind, so no sneak up.’
      “Ed asked another question.  ‘Is it true that real Indians don’t sleep?’  Again, Joe answered ‘Yes.  We also eat babies and have great magic.’
      “We just look at each other, me, Marty, and Ed.  ‘Okay, thanks, Joe.’  He turned back to his truck, got in, fired her up and drove off.
      “We sat there in silence for a few minutes.  That’s when Marty said, ‘I wonder if all that’s true?’  I looked at him and said, ‘Why, hell nah.  Indians don’t eat babies, stupid ass.’  He threw a punch at me.  ‘Not that, asshole.  The other stuff, about not being able to sneak up on ‘em.’
      “I just shook my head.  That’s when Ed had an idea. 
      “Now, I don’t know if I’ve told you boys this or not, but when Ed got an idea, it usually meant we were in for either a helluva good time or we’d get arrested.  If we were lucky, it would be both.  So, Ed gets this idea.  ‘How about we find out if it’s true or not.’  And that was the beginning of the Great Indian Raid, as it came to be known.
      “Well, we made the plan and agreed to meet back at Marty’s later that night.  So, we all waited ‘til after our folks went to bed and snuck out to Marty’s.  We met up and started out.  We struck out through the woods heading over toward Joe’s place.  It was a long walk, about 10 or 12 miles or so.  We made it in a coupla hours, walking uphill all the way. 
      “Now, Joe’s place was sitting up on the top of a little ol’ hill in the woods.  He had a little cabin up there by himself.  As we got near, we could see the light from his big ol’ bonfire.  He kept that damn fire going night and day.  Don’t know how he kept it from burning down his place when he weren’t there.
      “Anyway, we get pretty close, down at the base of Joe’s hill.  That’s when we split up.  The plan was we was gonna sneak up on ol’ Joe and if one of us was able, steal his pipe that he always kept in the front pocket of his overalls.  That was the plan, anyway.  Never said we was smart.  Just that we liked getting into trouble.
      “So we split up.  Ed went left, Marty went right, and I started up the middle.”  Granddaddy slowly sat forward in the excitement.  So did we.  All thoughts of fried chicken were lost in that dark, hot summer night.
      “I slowly began to creep my way up the hill, hiding behind trees and bushes, always keeping my eye on that fire.  I could see it through the trees, burning bright, like a beacon to some ancient Indian god.  So I crept forward.  When I was about halfway up, I dropped to the ground and began to crawl forward.  Closer and closer I crept.  Silent as a snake slithering toward its prey.  The dry leaves under my body barely crunched as I crawled.  Suddenly, I heard something.  I froze, listening. 
      “Nothing.  I briefly thought about Marty and Ed, wondering what they was doing.  I started forward again.  Closer and closer.  The fire getting bigger and brighter. 
      “That’s when I heard the voices.
      “I stopped.  Joe was always by himself.  But, I know I heard more voices than his up there.  That meant I couldn’t steal the pipe.  I probably should have turned around.  Of course, I didn’t.  I slowly crawled on forward.  Closer.  Closer.
      “I got to within 20 feet or so of the clearing.  I stopped.  I could see people dancing around the fire.  ‘I’ll be damned,’ I thought.  ‘Joe’s got company.  And from the looks of it, some of ‘em are girls.’  Sure enough, there was other folks up there.  I figured there to be four of ‘em, besides Joe.  I could make him out easily, standing on the other side of the fire.  There were two men and two women.  Boys, what I saw made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.  They was all, ‘cept for Joe, stark nekkid, and dancing around and around that fire.  If I thought the fire was for some Indian god before, I sure did think that now.  That’s when I really began to think about turning around. 
      “That moment of indecision is what cost me.
      “As I was laying there in the dark, hidden behind a scrubby bush, I heard a voice cry out, ‘Hey, there somebody out there!’
      Me and Matt inhaled and our eyes got wide.  Granddaddy paused for just a moment to let the fear and excitement sink in.  He started again, “That froze the blood in my veins.  I just knew for sure that I’d end up being Indian food.  I lowered my head and covered it with my hands, hoping that I’d blend in with the bushes.  No such luck.
      “I heard people talking excitedly, shouting some ancient language I couldn’t understand.  Their voices grew louder and stronger as they began to come my direction.  That’s when I realized that there were more than five people up there.  It sounded like a hundred to me in my fear.  I heard leaves crunch as the demon worshipping Indians left the clearing and started walking down the hill toward me.  I was scared outta my mind, I ain’t afraid to say that now.  Scared shitless was more like it.
      “I just lay there, frozen.  I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.  My mind screamed at my body to get the hell up and run, but I was frozen.  It must be some of that Indian magic, I thought.  I thought I was gonna die.
      “The footsteps got closer and closer and closer.  They finally stopped.  I tilted my head to the side to see where they were.  I saw a pair of bare feet not farther away than I am from you right now.  My mouth was dry.  The air coming into and outta my lungs was hoarse and ragged.  This is it, I thought.  The end.  I’ll never get to eat mama’s fried chicken again.  The feet took another step closer.  If they came any closer they’d walk all over me. 
      “Suddenly, the Indian magic must of worn off ‘cause I found I could move again.  I shot straight up from where I was laying.  I was standing face to face with a war-painted nekkid savage.  He had feathers sticking outta his head, a human skull in one hand and a bloody tomahawk in the other.  I screamed.  He screamed.  Somebody over by the fire screamed.  It was the most bloodcurdling sound I ever heard.  It still haunts my dreams to this day.
      “I turned and shot down the hill, running like my pants was on fire.  That painted up killer started to give chase.  I knew that I could never outrun him, not with his Indian magic letting him move like the wind. 
      “That’s when I heard someone holler from the other side of the hill, almost right on the fire.  ‘Hey, what the hell ya’ll doing up here!?’
      “I thought for a second that it was the voice of God.  But, turned out, it was just Ed.   
      “Well, that Indian that was after me jerked to a stop, like he’d hit a wall, and ran back up the hill.  That’s when I noticed there were about a dozen others that turned in the darkness and started back up as well. 
      “I heard one of the savages yell out, ‘Get him!’  And I heard Ed yell back, ‘Catch me, you drunk ass fool!’  ‘Get them both,’ was the shout that came out next.  I heard running as leaves crunched as the Indian party split in two, half going after poor Ed and half coming after poor me.
      “Well, I didn’t stick around long to let them catch me.  I ran as fast as I could, dodging trees and shrubs that seemed to grow outta the very ground.  The vegetation seemed to obey the Indian commands.  More magic. 
      “I ran for what seemed like forever, but realized I wasn’t getting anywhere.  I was only about halfway down the hill with the Indians right on my tail.  Just then I felt the icy grip of death grab my collar from behind.  I screamed.  He screamed.  And, then…something else…screamed.”
      Grandaddy had us, and he knew it.  Man, he was good.
      “That third scream stopped both of us in our tracks, me and the Indian.  Suddenly, a dark shape came leaping down outta the trees overhead.  It let out the most God-awful screaming and screeching that you ever heard.  It flew right outta the trees and landed smack in the middle of the clearing, right at the edge of that bonfire.  The monster had to of flown ‘cause that was a distance of almost 30 or 40 feet. 
      “The creature landed in a heap next to the fire.  No one moved a muscle.  No one dared to breathe.  One minute passed.  Two.  Three.  Then the monster moved.  It slowly began to uncurl itself.  It slowly, carefully, stood upright.  It had a red cloth tied across it’s forehead, with sticks, twigs and leaves sticking out from all over.  There were feathers, long eagle feathers, short stubby tweety-bird feathers, and a couple as black as the grave, sticking outta that headband.  It’s face was painted with mud and red paint.  It’s clothes were all muddy and torn in places.  It had a big stick in one hand and in the other…” 
      Granddaddy paused.  Me and Matt sucked in our breath, eyes as big as saucers.  We was leaned forward so far that I’m surprised we didn’t fall flat on our faces. 
      “…a flashlight.  Marty’s flashlight.
      “The creature waved the flashlight and huge stick around in the air and screamed out, ‘Waggita, waggita, wiggity, wooooooo!!’  That’s when it dropped the stick and the flashlight.  And its pants. 
      “That’s when I realized it was Marty.  He dropped his trousers and mooned the entire party, standing right next to that blazing fire.  He stood back upright, quickly pulled up his pants, and dived straight into the fire.  I ain’t never seen anything like it. 
      “Apparently, neither had the Indians, ‘cause that one that had me let go and ran screaming into the forest.  I didn’t wait around to see what the others did, though.  I tucked tail and ran my skinny ass outta there.  The last thing I heard was screams of terror from the scared Indians and the hootin’ and hollerin’ of Marty as he ran through the clearing with his shirt-tail on fire.
    “Well, boys, I ran all the way home, no small feat, since it was 15 or 20 miles uphill all the way back.  I burst through the kitchen door and ran straight for my bed.  I didn’t even get undressed, just pulled the blankets way up over my head, stiflin’ heat be damned.”
      Granddaddy sat back in the swing and rocked a bit.  Me and Matt sat there mesmerized.  When Granddaddy didn’t say anything for a few seconds, I asked, “What happened next?”
      He looked at me and smiled.  “Next?  Well, next thing I knew it was morning and my mama was yelling at me to get up and do my chores.  I got up, and did my work, the whole time looking over my shoulder for the Indians to come creeping up and get me.
      “Most of that day I stayed around the house, so I could run real quick-like and hide when they came for me.  Breakfast passed and no Indians.  Lunch passed.  No Indians.  Middle of the afternoon, mama was tired of me hanging around the house so she kicked me out.  I right away ran all the way to Marty’s. 
      “I got there about the same time Ed did.  We knocked on the door but didn’t get an answer.  ‘He’s dead.  They got him and et him,’ Ed said.  ‘It’s all my fault,’ he said. ‘Maybe not,’ I said.  ‘Maybe he’s just gone to town to help his daddy.’  I tried to sound hopeful, but I knew the truth.  My pal and buddy, Marty, was dead.  Eaten by Indians.  Or worse.  I suddenly had a vision of him being turned into a tree or a snake or a horny toad.  I blew between my teeth and looked at Ed.  We’s both thinking the same thing- poor Marty.
      “Well, me and Ed was too distraught to go home.  So we just sat there on the porch.  When Marty’s folks come up, all they said was ‘Howdy.’  They was so used to us being there and all.  We wanted to tell ‘em that Marty wasn’t coming home.  That he wasn’t never coming home again.  That he was done et up by red Indians, but we just couldn’t muster the strength.
      “Well, we sat there till the sun started going down.  ‘I guess we oughtta tell ‘em,’ I said.  ‘Yep,’ was all Ed said.  As we stood up to tell Marty’s folks that we was responsible for his demise and digestion, we heard a God-awful singing coming from down the road.  We nearly jumped for joy.  Tweren’t but one person on this earth could sing that bad, and that was Marty.
      “We run to the end of the driveway and there he come, marching down the road as if nothing had happened.  When he got up close we could see he still had the mud and paint on his face.  His clothes was half-torn off, half burned off.  That red headband was gone.  Poking outta his pants pockets was a handful of feathers. 
      “And in his left hand he was carrying Injun Joe’s pipe.”
      Granddaddy slowly closed his eyes and rocked in the swing.  We knew that meant the story was over.  He began to hum.  Me and Matt looked at each other.  “But, what happened?  What happened to Marty?  How’d he get the pipe?”  Granddaddy opened his eyes and looked at us.  “We never did find out.  We pressed him for answers, but, damn him, if he didn’t tell us a peep.”
      That’s when Mama’s voice called from the kitchen.  “Supper’s on.  Wash your hands, comb your hair, and come to the table.”  Me and Matt stood up and ran in the house.  We washed up and went to the kitchen.  Fried chicken and mashed potatoes never tasted so good.