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Ronn Venable |
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Dirty Words Grampa don't cuss like everyone else, leastways not around us kids. Most bad talk I hear comin' from him is when he talks about Luke, who used to live down the road a piece. He came by once, to ask Grampa about changin' a tire on a nineteen fifty seven, F-150 Ford pickup truck. They talked in the driveway for a while and when Luke left, Grampa shuffled back to the house, goin' on about what a 'stupid moff uuker' Luke was, and 'geezzy H greez, that ay-ol's so dumb he can't even change a moff uukin' tire. Dumber than dog snif.' But I never heard him use personal body parts in his trash talk - Mama used to call it that. That is, before dad died and she run'd off with the Fuller Brush man. I know'd something was goin' on long before she lit out with him, and so did most everyone else here 'bouts, it seems. Daddy weren't dead more than two month or so before that Fuller Brush guy started showin' up for dinner and the like. I thought it was a little peculiar for him to be tryin' to sell brushes at all hours like that, but I figured, a man's gotta earn a livin' as best he can. I heard him leave one mornin' before the sun came up and couldn't make a gull-dern bit of sense outta that. And there weren't never any extra brushes layin' 'round. You woulda figured, with all that sellin' he musta been doin' to my mama, she'd have brushes sittin' on every flat spot in the house. Grampa said somethin' to Luke one time about it not bein' brushes that salesman was after, when he thought I wasn't listenin'. He said to Luke, "That moff uuker ain't got me fool't. He's more inclined to bushes than brushes and that girl of mine ain't got enough sense in her head ta see that." But then he stopped talkin' 'bout it, when I come 'round the corner of the shed, and he started tellin' Luke 'bout ol' man Whittaker and how, if he ever got that uukin' feeble, he'd hope someone would put him out of his got-dan misery. My daddy was a lot handsomer a man than that salesman, even though he didn't own a suit as nice as the ones that brush man wore everyday. No one could never figure out what she saw in that skinny, frail-lookin' city boy. Why, daddy coulda wumped him up Claremont Road and back again, without ever blinkin' an eye, but daddy was gone and, I guess, when mom got lonely she didn't much care who she kept company with. After she left, ever so often we'd get a letter from her. Once, one came from Saint Louie and, 'bout six months later, another one of 'em came from Indianapolis. Why, one even came all the way from Chicago, but Grampa would throw 'em in the fire before he even opened 'em. I asked 'bout it one time and he tells me, "Y'all don't need her no how. Her letters ain't gonna put food on the table or bring ya up proper. 'Sides, she ain't nothin' but a no-count slup and we'd best forget we ever know'd her. Them letters only gonna tell ya that she don't give a flyin' uuk about any of ya's." Before she ran off with that little wiener of a fella, I remember hearin' her scold Grampa for usin' cuss words around the younguns - that's what she called us - 'the younguns'. I don't much remember her ever usin' our names, but she left when I was only five. I heard Grampa tell Luke one time, "Ain't no never mind that she's my own daughter. I want nothin' to do with that uukin' ho. Don't matter if she is dang family, she still a lyin' itch." Grampa raised us as best he know'd how an' we all turned out pretty good. 'Cept for Alton that is, he died in a barn fire tryin' to save the Henderson's prize winnin' heifer when I was 'bout eight. Alton was the oldest and I missed him for a long time, but me an' Byron got by, and teach'd ourselves a lot of the things that we was countin' on an older brother for. Now don't get me wrong. Grampa did a good job of lookin' after us, an' all, but there're some things that an old man just can't present to young pups like me an' Byron. Flory Elementary School taught us a lot about book-learnin' stuff, but I'm still kinda confused about all them words Grampa uses, an' girls, and the like. An older brother coulda learned us a lot 'bout all them kinda things. Now that I'm the oldest, I suppose I got ta find some things out pretty quick, before Byron starts askin' me a lot of questions that I don't have no answers for. But that was a long time ago that Mom left, an' me an' little Byron have gotten over it pretty good.. 'Sides, what I was really wantin' to tell you 'bout, is that dag-gon Luke and that mouth of his. Bein' around Luke was different, he didn't care who heard him. He'd cuss a blue streak so long that it reached all the way to perdition and make the devil, himself, blush. I remember once when Grampa made me go with Luke to fetch some grain from the elevator over in Ferguson 'bout ten miles away. First thing Luke did was stop at a bar way outside a town. He made me wait in his big ol' fifty-two Pontiac Chieftain and it was plenty hot that day. Boy, howdy, did I think of some names for him while I sat there swelterin'. I ain't gonna be repeatin' 'em here; not 'mongst mix company, an' all. I mean, if you fellas wanta walk out back of the barn, I guess I could repeat 'em to ya out there, where there ain't no women to be embarrassed over. You ladies will just have to 'scuse us. Seems like Luke's words had mention to a lot of female body parts. Heck, he threw in some words for boy parts too! I wouldn't even use 'em around the guys, so I sure as Hades won't never use those kinda words around a girl. 'Sides, most of 'em, I don't even know what they mean, no how. Anyways, Luke comes outta the bar all drunked up and tells me to get the L outta the car, because he's takin' CindyLou for a little belly-bumpin' ride and don't want me hangin' around. CindyLou's uglier than a dog biscuit and smells even worse than one, so I don't know why he wants her goin' with him. He gets behind the wheel and pushes on my shoulder until I hop out the other side and yell at him through the window, "Fine by me you ay-ol, and take your moff uuckin' itch with you." Well, let me tell ya brothers and sisters, that put the fire in Luke's eyes and he comes sailin' around the front of his Pontiac, grabbin' ol' Chief Pontiac's head by the snout and swingin' himself across the hood. Good thing that antenna stopped him or he woulda been on me. He swung himself right into the aerial. Caught him across the throat and almost choked him. Then CindyLou gets into it. "What'd you call me? You snot-nosed, little fleabag," she yawps at me. Now, I took offense to her callin' me a fleabag. Mostly 'cause I ain't one, an' all. I got in her face, while Luke was still gaggin' on the ground, and says, "I said you was a moff uukin' itch. And you're a ay-ol ho, too!" Luke had stopped retchin' up his beer by then, and now, CindyLou was all fired up. Neither one of them looked too happy with me so I high-tailed it down the pike, headin' back home. I'd walked two, maybe three, miles when Luke pulled up beside me, almost hittin' me with a side mirror. "Get in the gee-dee car," he tells me. He must've finished his belly-bumpin' - what ever the H-E-double-hockey-sticks that is. I keep walkin' and actin' like he's not there. He spins gravel in my face, goes down the road 'bout a hundred yards, turns around and comes back at me, head on, doing 'bout ninety. 'Course, I jump to the ditch and he flies by like a blur. Only thing was, Luke was so p.o.'d at me that he didn't see the tractor that pulled out of old man Lander's corn field, 'bout fifty yards closer than Luke could stop. Just before the Indian's nose got smashed to bits, I swear I heard Luke yell, "Oh snif!," but I can't be sure, 'cause there was an awful lot going on at the time. It's a good thing CindyLou wasn't with him no more. She woulda been burnt crispy, just like Luke and Mister Lander. At least the rescue guys were thinkin' it was Mister Lander; not much left to go by. Had to check with his wife to see if he was home. I guess CindyLou went back to the bar to bump bellies with someone else. Yeah, I know. It don't make no sense to me, neither. When Grampa heard about Luke and how he almost kilt me, and then fried himself in tractor gas, he said, "Stupid rock-tucker never was goin' to 'mount to nothin' no how. He's better off where he's at." After that, they sold Luke's trailer, hauled it away and no one talked about him much. 'Cept when Grampa would meet someone that he was thinkin' was just about as dumb as Luke. Then he'd say something like, "This wickhead ain't much smarter than that got-dan Luke was, and he was the stupidest suma-itch I ever met." I think Grampa is learnin' some new words. Maybe one of these days he'll tell me what-in-sam-hill they mean, before Byron starts askin' me too many questions that I don't have reasonable-like answers for. |