Hired Hands

Hired Hands

       By Placard Plett-Reimer

Chisholm putzed. He had nothing better to do. First he tinkered with the Chevy half-ton. Then he drifted around back to the hog trough and fiddled with that. Eventually, he worked his way around to Sarajeva’s bedroom window that needed replacing or repair, whichever came first. He picked at the dried putty and figured out where the new putty would have to go. Reverend Joshua Freebee watched Chisholm’s every move. He observed him and wrote down what he saw. Each detail of his movement, and even the Rev’s ideas about Chis’s inner state as he made these movements made their way into the narrative he was constructing around the hired hand’s routines.

       Niggard, he thought to himself. Niggard. A bad good word. Sniffing. I’ll use that. Sniffing niggard. Niggardly sniffing. Oops, there he goes toward the barn. I wonder what he’s up to now? I’ll follow him via the chicken coop and look into the milk room from the window at the back. A shit! Shit everywhere! These damn chickens! If it wasn’t for chicken soup I wish they’d all be dead. Daaeijem. Okay, there he goes. Into the big door. Down the main runway. Stops to check out Polly. Gives her something. Lifts her tail. Why’s he doing that? Jeez! I hope not. Na. Okay, whew! Continuing down the bovine runway. All the way to Checkers’ stall. She’s got farrows. Nine. Kay, he pats her, lifts her tail. Looks. Jeez! I wish he’d stop doing that! What’s the matter with him, for Pete’s sake! Right. Oops. Hide. Here he comes. He turned around. I better duck behind the tank. Shhhh. He’s coming in here. Now he’s pissing. I can hear him outside. Psssshhhhh. Is that how to write it? He’s coming in here, I think. I thought so. I can’t move till I know. Or hear him somewhere else. What’s he doing!? Why’s he taking so long? Oh, for Pete’s sake. Oh, Jeez! I hope not!

       Sniggle. Snubble. Snuckers. Shorts. Swindle. Swanglebutt. Big Butt Swangle Butt. Niggard. Na, did that. Okay. Way stations. Weigh station. Whey station. Pretty good, eh? Willy wanged his wanger and winged off into welkin space. Oh, for just one time. Jeez. Ooooohhhh. There he is. Coming now, I think. I can hear his boots. One step. Another. Waits. Why the hell is he waiting all the time. Doesn’t he have things to do? Oh, for fuck’s sakes! Jeeeez, already! I hope not!

       “Yeah, hi.”

       “What I’m doing here?”

       “Well, nothing. I just got in here behind the tank and tried to find the thing I dropped in here last week and so once I was in here I couldn‘t get out easy and so I just decided to wait around till someone came to give me their hand and pull me out. Come on! Pull me up, already. Good. Yeah. That’s better. Well, so long. See you.”

       Jeez, that was close. How come he saw me right away? Oh, for Pete’s sake. Okay, I’ll duck down behind the granary once I know he can’t see me, and he’ll think I’ve gone to the house. Then I can watch him from the end there if he all of a sudden goes toward the pond. But why would he? Oh, okay, I got him. He’s heading for the colored gas tank, I think. He’s climbing up it. Probably thinking about God right now. He’s lifting the nozzle and sniffing into the tank to see if it’s varnish yet, I bet. He’s staying up there quite long. Sniffing. Sniffing some more. Oh, for Pete’s sake. Don’t tell me. Oh, oh, for crying out loud. I hope not. Oh, Jeez! Now he’s fallen down.

“Hey, Chis, you alright?” Oh, Jeez! He’s not responding! “Chis. Chisholm! You okay? You alright? Hey, Wanda! Where are you? You in the kitchen? You out back here? Wanda! Wanda! You around here . . . ?  Oh, Wanda, come quick. Chis is out of it. He fell off the gas tank!”

       I guess that is enough for one day. I’ll get back to this tomorrow. I got to stay away from that milk room. No place to get out if he comes. If he comes to!