The Gap
W A Hardy

 

The grinding crunch was replaced by a dull "clop" as boots moved from the gravel parking lot to the trodden-smooth wooden floor of the entrance to the barn. The boards were gray and weathered and bent and they groaned as weight traveled across them. It was hot inside the building and a heavy smell of birds hung in the air. Just inside the door and to the right was a window with five dark metal bars running down the front. Behind the bars, a girl of sixteen stood.

"How many?" she asked.

"Just one," spoke the old man; then in response to the girls' continued stare, "the boy's only five."

The boy stood close to his grandfather looking all around and listening.

"That'll be five dollars."

The boy watched his grandfather get out his wallet and give her an old wrinkled five-dollar bill. After paying, he put his right hand on the window ledge and she stamped it.

The boy took his hand when he returned it to his side and looked at the stamp; it was a red smiling face that smeared when he rubbed it.

Ten feet inside the door the wooden foray was replaced by a dirt floor and dust hung in the air like fog. Hanging about twelve feet off the floor, lights were placed about every ten feet apart. The bare single bulbs swung slightly on the end of six feet of cord. To the right of the door was a narrow corridor that wound about the inside perimeter of the round enclosure behind the rough-hewn wooden pillars of the crude bleachers. There were no windows in the walls, and most of the building was dimly lit at best. At the beginning of the corridor there was a large table covered with white Styrofoam cups of cola. Behind the table was an empty metal folding chair and beyond that was a doorway issuing bright white light and the smell of hotdogs and chili. The sounds of laughter and talking could be heard in the kitchen but the boy could not see anyone. Along the corridor there were thin plywood doors about every twelve feet. All the doors were closed. To the left of the entrance wound a similar corridor and a "drag pit." This room was ten feet by ten feet with about three inches of sand on the floor. It had three solid walls and one of wire with a makeshift door to get in. The other "pit" was just a three and a half foot wooden wall surrounding a similar sandy floor. It was located on the other side of the barn directly across from this one, behind the bleachers. Directly in front of the entrance was the opening in the eight tiers of bleachers that allowed access into the seating for the small arena. The benches were large, rough cut boards nailed onto the support beams of the barn in a circular fashion, with many necessary braces and supports nailed in below to form a maze of two by fours beneath the seats. The bleachers were built very steep in order to accompany as many people as possible in the limited space.

The bleachers were constructed about the main center of attraction. The arena was a circle twenty feet in diameter that was sunken three feet below the level of the dirt floor of the barn and covered with a thick layer of sand. Nine bright floodlights lit it, and the boy could feel the heat from the lights as he walked close to the small wall that kept people out of the arena. They walked about a third of the way around the circle before his grandfather helped the boy up the steep steps. They sat on the fourth row up. The boy�s grandfather pointed to an opening in the wall of the arena.

"They will come in there in just a few minutes."

The boy watched the gap in the wall for a few minutes waiting for something, but nothing came through it. The boy glanced around in wonder at the new sights and sounds, then looked up at his grandfather. He was a balding dark-haired man with a few streaks of gray. He had brown weathered skin and the big worn hands of a farmer. A lot of people were smoking in the barn and the smoke bothered the boy and made his eyes water. There was an almost uncomfortable level of noise from all the people that were talking all around him. He looked all around at the people sitting on the benches. The boy watched a woman half way around the arena slap the hand of her child and shout something at him that he couldn't make out over the din. Just to the left of him and over about ten feet, there was an older lady with lots of make-up on her face. She looked at him and smiled but he turned his face quickly away. The arena was filling with people, and he watched them for a while, until a man came up and with a loud voice addressed his grandfather.

"Earl! I ain't seen you here in a while, how've you been?"

"Fine John, and you."

The young boy turned to his grandfather and tugged on his sleeve, "Grandpa, can I get some pop?" The old man dug in his pocket and fished out four quarters and a bit of sand and gave them to the boy.

"Hurry up, they are about to start."

The boy made his way down the row of people to the rail that ran down the side of the benches where the entrance interrupted the circular tracts of seats. He hopped down the benches to the dirt floor, then made his way outside of the arena. There was a long line in front of the concession counter, so he walked up the hall that wound about the right side of the old barn. The first plywood door was not quite slid into place. The boy squeezed sideways through the door and found himself in a small room. There were six rows of eight cages on each wall. Inside each cage there was a rooster. He looked at all the birds and their bright many colored feathers. The scent of bird droppings was strong. There were too many birds in this small room. He reached his hand up to one of the cages, but quickly jerked it back as a beak struck at him. He stood there watching the movement of the birds in their small cages, wondering if he could get one out. Suddenly the door slid sideways and a man came in.

"Get out of here son, you�re not supposed to be here."

The boy left and walked to the concession counter, and while he waited in line, he heard the crowd begin to shout. The sound was loud as people shouted and pounded fists and feet on the now vibrating bleachers,

"What can I do for you son?" asked an older lady who leaned over the counter to look down at him when his turn came.

"Could I have a pop?"

"What kind would you like?"

"Coke," he said and handed her the money. She handed him one of the styrofoam cups. He stepped out of line and tried to get back through the entrance, but it was full of people, straining to get better views of the floor. Suddenly the noise was divided into cheers and various sounds of disappointment. Then the way cleared as a large man made his way through. The boy slid in behind the big man to get through the crowd. He spilled most of his pop as he pushed past the knees of those who sat along the bench his grandfather was on. His grandfather patted him on the leg as he sat beside him. A man was raking the sand smooth out in the middle of the arena. His eyes went to the open space in the wall. He watched as two men walked out into the arena carrying roosters.

The man with the rake finished smoothing the sand and then with a stick drew two lines about four feet apart.

The two men carrying roosters approached each other. Holding their birds tightly, they swung them to within inches of each other then away. The birds� neck feathers stood out and their beaks lunged forward every time they came close. The man set the rake aside and swung a gate shut to close the opening in the wall. He then announced the names of the birds and their trainers and motioned for the men to move behind the lines drawn in the sand. The two men set their roosters behind the lines facing each other. The boy watched as the two "reds" (the colors of feathers upon their necks and breasts being predominantly red) lined up against each other.

"I got ten on Henson's boy," shouted a man just below him to a man standing at the bottom of the bleachers. The man taking the bet had a pencil and a notepad where he was recording the bet. People all over were waving money and shouting bets. There were 5 guys standing at the bottom level taking bets around the arena.

Then man in the middle raised his left arm then dropped it suddenly and blew a whistle. The men released the birds and jumped back to the closest place on the wall. Amid a flurry of wings, the two birds launched themselves toward each other with feet outstretched and pounding together. They were trying to catch the other bird between their spurs. The crowd erupted and the small boy placed his hands over his ears.

The man holding the stick was keeping the two men away from their roosters. The two men were poised on the balls of their feet, watching with acute attention their respective birds while small beads of sweat rolled slowly down the sides of their cheeks. Beneath the bright lights, the two cocks were pounding each other and reaching for the places where the red fleshy combs and bibs would be if they had not been cut off beforehand. Not having their instinctual holds, they grabbed for anything on their opponents in order to anchor themselves and drive their spurs with fury. The boy watched on the edge of his seat. Suddenly the two roosters flew toward each other then locked together and fell down. Their wings pounding in an effort to escape and right themselves.

The man with the stick motioned the two toward their roosters. The two men sprang forward and held the two birds still while turning them. The boy could not see the birds behind the backs of the two men. Then he saw one of the men's arms jerk backward. The men split apart and set their birds back behind the lines. The announcer blew the whistle again and the men stood back and the birds again rocketed toward each other and the crowd resumed yelling encouragement.

After several short flurries the two birds began to get noticeably weaker and slower. They would have momentary fits of fury, but would soon subside. After attempts to renew their energy by prods proved fruitless, the crowd voiced their disappointment, and the two birds were carried into one of the drag pits to finish and make room for two fresh birds. Some of the men, those with big wagers, rose to go to the drag pit and watch the outcome.

The boy�s eyes were locked to the opening in the wall, and in a few moments two new birds were brought in. The birds were swung toward each other as the previous ones were. One of these cocks was a white, testifying to the white and slightly yellowish feathers on his neck. The birds raged together as they were released. The boy bit his lower lip. The birds pounded air and each other between their legs while they beat their wings furiously to hold them aloft long enough to bring their spurs into play. The boy caught a glint in the air between them. Suddenly the birds locked in midair and went down together. The men went to their birds and separated them with a quick snap of their wrists. This time the boy saw the red streaks on the neck of the white cock. He sat on his hands and slid to the edge of the bench. During the fourth pass the two birds flew high in the air and again locked and fell with a thud. Both birds were jerking in the sand, and the crowd was screaming with glee. The two men separated the birds, but this time the red one was wracked in spasms every few moments in its final death throes. In the corners of his eyes the boy saw money exchanging hands all around him, but he just stared at the bird as it left, twitching upside down as the man carried it out of the arena by one leg. He swallowed repeatedly with his eyes riveted on the dark space in the dirty white wooden wall. The next set of cocks was brought in, swung toward each other to excite them, then set behind the newly drawn lines. Each had the fiery orange and rust colored neck feathers that characterized a red. The whistle blew and the birds were released. The first pass drew blood from just below the eye of one of the birds. The boy looked to his grandfather. The old man was talking to the man beside him. The boy turned back to the scene below him. The two men were jerking the birds apart. As they brought the birds back behind the lines, the boy could see that one of the birds had its head twisted awkwardly to the left as if it couldn't see out of its left eye. The boy turned again to his grandfather who still talked to the man named John beside him. The boy tugged on his sleeve, but the old man just half turned his body toward him and continued talking. The boy tugged again, a little harder, insistent. The old man turned towards him.

"Yes, Joey, what is it?"

The boy opened his mouth, but no words came out, so he pointed down to the arena.

The man looked down.

"Boy that was an exciting one wasn't it," he said while he put his big arm around the boy's shoulders and squeezed. The boy looked down to see one of the men carrying the one-eyed rooster by his legs. Blood ran down the bird's head and along his beak, then dripped into the sand. The dead cock quivered spasmodically. The boy nestled into the crook of his grandfather�s big arm and closed his eyes for a moment, while all the money exchanged hands. His grandfather absently patted him on the side of his leg, then withdrew his arm. The boy watched the door as two more red roosters were carried out. His hands were shaking slightly, so he put them under his thighs. He pulled one out to drink what was left in his cup, but he could not make the tight lump in his throat go away. He put his hand back under his leg. Pulling his teeth across his lower lip, he closed his eyes. The whistle blew. Whenever the crowd would shout he would open his eyes. The birds lunged at each other. People were pushing against the fence to see better. The two roosters were splattered with blood. The men bent together and jerkily pulled the birds apart. When they set them behind the lines, one of the birds fell to his breast. The man who held him tried to lift him up, but he fell again. The bird kept trying to get back to its feet, its wings pounding in a futile attempt to use the air to hold its weight. The man picked him up and looked at his leg.

"It's broke," said his grandfather who was again watching the birds.

The boy breathed deep and rubbed his hands together. The man sat the bird back down. It fell flat, then the whistle blew and the other bird launched itself. The bird who sat, heaved himself up and tried to swing both legs together as he held himself slightly aloft in a flurry of wings. The boy launched himself toward the arena, pushing and jumping between people.

"Joey!" his grandfather shouted from behind him, but the boy kept moving forward. The bird with two good legs crashed into the other one and then they both tumbled to the sand together. They lay sprawled and unable to move beyond a few wriggles for their feet were twisted and locked together. The boy hit the fence and climbed the three feet to its top. His shirt caught on one of the twisted wire ends that stuck up at the top and ripped cloth and skin. He tumbled into the hot sand of the arena with tears in his eyes.

The two men watched the boy tumble into the arena and run to the locked birds. The boy grabbed the one with a broken leg and tried to pull him away, but the other rooster's foot remained against its breast. Then he saw the steel band around the other bird�s leg. The band that held the two and a half inch crescent shaped piece of steel, sharpened and held where the birds spurs naturally grew if they hadn�t been cut off. The boy began to cry and to pull the leg away from the broken-legged rooster's breast, pulling the red steel out of the bird. The two men came forward.

"Joey, drop the bird, and get out of there!" his grandfather shouted from the fence. The men in the arena held the boy�s arms and were tugging at the bird. The boy yelled and tried to twist free of the two men. All he could see were the bright lights through his tears, but he held the bird tightly and lifted his legs trying to use his weight to get away. Then the bird that he held writhed in fury and beat his wings. The boy loosened his hold afraid he was hurting the bird. The bird was free for a moment in a flurry of wings then was caught again. The boy shouted and grabbed his forearm. The rooster was hanging head down from the bright steel shaft that was sunk in the boy's arm. A red stream was running down the steel and the boy�s arm. The two men tried to hold the bird, cautiously trying not to hurt the boy, but his crying was upsetting the bird and the men. One of the men finally reached down and twisted the neck of the bird to quiet it. The boy slumped quietly as the bird hung limp in the man�s big hands. The boy�s grandfather pushed open the door to the arena and hurried to his grandson. He took his grandson�s head in his callused hands and looked hard in his eyes.

"Joey! You have to be still a moment while I get you free," he shouted at the boy. He reached down and grabbed the boy�s forearm and jerked the spike free.

. . . . .

They rode home in silence. The boy was holding the cloth to his arm and wiping sweat from out of the scratches on his belly. The old man gripped the wheel of the green dodge with both hands and stared straight ahead. The truck turned onto the gravel driveway and up to the house that sat shadowed under seven tall oaks. The headlights lit up the front of the house. The truck came to a stop with the boy pushing back against the seat and bracing his feet to keep from having to thrust out his hand. He opened the door and went to the back of the truck. His grandfather walked with heavy steps to stand beside him and open the tailgate. The truck was parked under the bright mercury-vapor light that was mounted on top of a fifteen-foot wooden pole. The boy opened the brown cardboard box, and the man turned on the black and yellow flashlight in his hand and shone the light into the box. The boy pulled the stiff bloody bird from inside. The man turned away with a mutter and began to walk with the same heavy steps toward the house. He turned about halfway to the house to see the boy just looking at the bird on the edge of the tailgate.

"God dammit," spoke the man who then turned off the concrete sidewalk and walked over to the small green and white aluminum shed. He twisted the dial on the small combination lock, taking three forceful downward jerks before the lock finally opened. He went inside and grabbed a shovel. Then he walked to the rear of the truck and took the flashlight from the boy.

"You go inside and have grandma look at that arm, then go lay down."

The boy walked to the house with head bowed and feet dragging. As the screen door shut behind him, the man took the bird and buried it beside the house in a small hole. He stomped on the grass, then returned the shovel to the shed and closed the lock. The old man looked up at the moon and smoked a cigarette.

She was washing dishes, but even with the water running she heard the door close with a bang and the heavy footsteps through the living room and towards the kitchen. He stopped at the doorway momentarily, seeing her back at the sink doing dishes. He walked to the kitchen table and sat down with a sigh. There was silence for a few minutes except for the swishing of dishwater and the clink of plates.

"What happened Earl?"

"Oh hell, ma, I don't know. I just paid twenty dollars for a goddamn dead bird."

Again another silence while the man set his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. The woman finished the dishes then dried her hands on her apron. She walked over, sat down at the table next to him, and looked at him.

"That's a nasty cut Joey has on his arm, it'll be plenty sore in the morning."

"I just don�t get it," spoke the man loudly, "one minute he was sitting there beside me, and the next he was climbing the fence and grabbing those roosters."

"He's pretty upset too, you know," she said. She watched him a while longer. "Why don't you go in and talk to him."

The man looked at his wife. They stared for a moment, then she squeezed his hand and motioned her head down the hall towards the room where the boy was staying. The man stood and slowly walked down the hall. He stood for a long time outside the door with his hand on the knob. Then with a deep breath he turned the white porcelain ball and pushed the door into the room.

The boy lay on the cover of the bed looking up at the ceiling. He did not move except for the blink of an eye and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. The old man came in and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the creases on his large sun browned hands. He dug the dirt from beneath three of his fingernails, then he turned towards the boy.

"It sure was an exciting night, huh?"

The boy didn't answer.

"Hey, grandma said she has some ice cream if you'd like some."

The boy laid in silence looking at the ceiling.

The man watched him for a moment, then looked around the room until his eyes rested on his boots. They both sat staring. Finally the old man stood and walked to the door. With the door half way open he stopped and turned to the boy.

"Joey,..." spoke the old man in a tired voice.

The boy didn't move.

"Joey."

No sound came from the boy and his eyes remained fixed on the light in the ceiling.

"Goodnight Joey," the man walked out and closed the door behind him.

In the hall, the sound of dishes being put in the cabinets could be heard from the kitchen. The man took a step toward the kitchen, then stopped and turned. With slow heavy steps he walked to the bathroom.

 

 

Copyright © 2001 W A Hardy
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"