Out of Their Minds

"Well, seems to me," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, "you might have a lot to put into a hook. Maybe a lot of things you couldn't say right out on the air. All them foreign places you was in. You were in a lot of them."

"A few of them," I said.

"And Russia? What did you think of Russia?"

"I liked the Russian people. They seemed, in many ways, like us."

"You mean like Americans?"

"Like Americans," I said.

"Well, come over to the stove," he said, "and let us sit and talk. I ain't got a fire in it today. I guess one isn't needed. I can remember, plain as day, your pa sitting in one of these chairs and talking with the others. He was a right good man, your pa, but I always said he wasn't cut out to be a farmer."

We sat down in two of the chairs.

"Is your pa still alive?" he asked.

"Yes, he and Mother both. Out in California. Retired now and very comfortable."

"You got a place to stay?"

I shook my head.

"New motel down by the river," Duncan said. "Built just a year or two ago. New people, by the name of Streeter. Give you good rates if you're staying more than a day or two. I'll make sure they do it. I'll speak to them about it."

"There's no need..»

"But you ain't no transient. You're home folk, come back again. They would want to know."

"Any fishing?"

"Best place on the river. Got some boats to rent and a canoe or two, although why anyone would risk their neck in a canoe on that river is more than I can figure."

"I was hoping for a place like that," I said. "I was afraid there would be none."

"Still crazy about fishing?"

"I enjoy it," I said.

"Remember when you were a boy you were rough on chubs."

"Chubs made good fun," I said.

"There're still a lot of people you will remember," said Duncan. "They'll all want to see you. Why don't you drop in on the school program tonight? A lot of people will be there. That was the teacher that was hi here, name of Kathy Adams."

"You still have the old one-room school?"

"You can bet we have," he said. "There was pressure put on us and some of the other districts to consolidate, but when it was put up to a vote we beat it. Kids get just as good an education in a one-room school as they would get in a new and fancy building and it costs a whole lot less. Kids that want to go to high school, we pay their tuition, but there aren't many of them that want to go. Still costs less than if we were consolidated. No use spending money for a high school when you got a bunch of kids like them Williams brats…"

"I am sorry," I said, "but when I stepped inside I couldn't help but hear…"

"Let me tell you, Horton, that Kathy Adams is a splendid teacher, but she is too soft-hearted. She is always standing up for them Williams kids and I tell you they are nothing but a gang of cutthroats. I guess you don't know Tom Williams; he came floating in here after you had left. He worked around on some of the farms, but he was mostly good-for-nothing, although he must have managed to save a little money. He was well past marrying age when he got hitched up with one of Little Poison Carter's daughters. Amelia was her name. You remember Little Poison, don't you?" I shook my head.

"Had a brother that was called Big Poison. No one now recollects their rightful names. The whole tribe lived down on Muskrat Island. Well, anyhow, when Tom married Amelia he bought, with the money he had saved, this little shirttail piece of land a couple of miles up Lonesome Hollow and tried to make a farm of it. He's got along somehow; I wouldn't know exactly how. And every year or so there was a kid and him and Mrs. Tom let those kids run wild. I tell you, Horton, these are the kind of folks we can get along without. They cause no end of trouble—Old Tom Williams and that family that he's raising. They keep more dogs than you can shake a stick at and those dogs are worthless, just like Old Tom himself. They lay around all day and they eat their heads off and they ain't worth a lick. Tom says he just likes dogs. Have you ever heard a thing like that? A trifling kind of fellow, with his dogs and kids and the kids are always in some kind of trouble."

"Miss Adams seemed to think," I reminded him, "that it's not their fault entirely."

"I know. She says they felt rejected and are underprivileged. That's another favorite word of hers. You know what underprivileged means? It means someone who has no get-up-and-go. There wouldn't need to be no underprivileged if everyone was willing to Work and had a lick of common sense. Oh, I know what the government says about them and how we got to help them. But if the government just would come out here and have a look at some of these underprivileged folks, they'd see in a minute what was wrong with them."

"I was wondering," I said, "as I drove along this morning, if there still are rattlesnakes."

"Rattlesnakes?" he asked.

"There used to be a lot of them when I was a kid. I was wondering if they might be getting thi

He wagged his head sagaciously. "Maybe some. Although there's still a bait of them. Get back in the hills and you'll find plenty of them. You interested in them?"

"Not especially," I said.

"You'll have to come to that school program tonight," he said. "There'll be a lot of people there. Some of them you'll know. Last day of school and the kids will all perform—get up and say some pieces or maybe sing a song or put on little plays. And afterwards there'll be a basket social to raise money for new library books. We still hang on to the old ways here; the years haven't changed us much. And we manage to have our own good times. A basket social at the school tonight and a couple of weeks from now there'll be a strawberry festival down at the Methodist church. Both of them good places to meet old friends of yours."

"I'll make it if I can," I promised. "Both the program and the festival."

"You've got some mail," he told me. "It has been piling up for a week or two. I still am postmaster here. The post office has been right here in this store for almost a hundred years. But there's talk of taking it away from us, consolidating it with the office over at Lancaster and sending it out from there by rural route. Government isn't satisfied leaving things alone. They got to always be trying to make things over. Improving service, they call it. I 'can't see, for the life of me, what's wrong with the kind of service we been giving the folks of Pilot Knob for the last hundred years or so."

"I had expected you might have a bundle of mail for me," I said. "I had it forwarded, but I didn't hurry to get here. I took my time and stopped at several places I wanted to look over."

"You'll be going out to have a look at the old farm, the place you used to live?"

"I don't think I will," I said. "I'd see too many changes."

"Family by the name of Ballard lives there now," he said. "They have a couple of boys, grown men almost. Do a lot of drinking, those two boys, and sometimes are a problem."

I nodded. "You say this motel is down by the river?" "That's right. You drive down past the schoolhouse and the church to where the road bends to the left. A little ways beyond you will see the sign. Says River Edge Motel.

I'll get your mail for you."