The Mourning Dove by Larry Barkdull

Author:Larry Barkdull [Barkdull, Larry ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Deseret Book Company
Published: 1996-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Oscar, I Love You

The oak box still lay on Pop's fireplace mantel untouched. I shouldn't have told Charlie about the treasure inside. He wanted to open it. So did I. But I forbade him and I resisted. The furnace didn't heave and groan in the summertime, but its home was still as frightening. Charlie's father had lately settled into a particularly bad mood, so Charlie and I spent a lot of time together—especially sleeping outdoors.

In Boise, when air–conditioning was just a notion for the rich, boys slept out more than in. To say that we slept is more than a little inaccurate. Mostly we roamed the neighborhood searching for some mischief. Charlie taught me the fine art of garden raiding. I hadn't sampled too many raw vegetables before, and they tasted particularly sweet when mixed with a little larceny. Charlie knew how to play poker, too—strip poker. Once we concocted a rule that the defeated had to jump out of his sleeping bag and, at the whim of the winner, do a jig, hang by his heels from a tree limb, or perform some other proof of losership. But we never enforced it. We hid in our sleeping bags when we lost. We weren't bold enough for more daring exhibitions.

I thought of these activities as innocent enough until one day Charlie joked, "What if your grandpa were here watching us?" We laughed, but later I thought that maybe I shouldn't do things that I wouldn't want Pop to see. Still, Charlie was older and I often found myself following him into new and uncertain territory.

One sleepout morning Charlie and I woke to the shrieks of Charlie's cat, Samantha. Mr. Bennett had risen early and was stuffing each of her newborn kittens into a gunnysack with the purpose of tossing the sack into the Ridenbaugh Canal. Charlie had seen this before.

"Dad, stop!" Charlie yelled as he bolted from his sleeping bag and ran to rescue the babies.

Just as quickly I heard the slamming of our screen door and Pop yelling for Mr. Bennett to wait. I watched the goings–on safely from my sleeping bag. After an exchange of words and money, Mr. Bennett relented and handed the sack of kittens to Pop. Then Charlie, Samantha, and I followed Pop into our house, where he set the kittens in a warm, safe spot and placed Samantha with them in great contentment.

Later, when Pop, Charlie, and I were discussing the incident over breakfast, Samantha entered the kitchen with a large, fat dead mouse in her mouth. I jumped back and Charlie started for his cat, apologizing to Pop. But Pop stopped him with a gesture. Samantha surveyed the room with a singleness of purpose until she located the man who had saved her children. She then walked to him and laid the mouse at his feet.

"That's disgusting!" I said. But Pop stared with reverent awe at the cat, and then reached out to lift her to his lap, stroked her back, and scratched her behind the ears.

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