1 My Brother Jack

-spring 1939

-My brother Jack woke me up. I lay half-asleep, watching him kick my bed. He kept kicking until I responded with, "Jack?" He said, "let's go out."

I forced myself out of bed and dressed only in the pajamas I slept in, I followed him out our bedroom window. I followed Jack across our back lot and into the woods. He didn't stop once to see if I still followed. How I kept sight of him darting through the woods with barely a moon to light, I do not know. The woods ended about fifty feet from the river. Jack reached their edge, stopped, and looked up and down the river. I stopped behind him, waiting for some reasoning as to why he'd dragged me out of bed.

"What are we doing here, Jack?" I thought.

Jack went up to the river's edge, removed his shirt and pants, and went in the water. I stood on the bank, watching him splash around. After a few minutes in the water—with him constantly looking around to see if anyone else came along, I would have guessed—he got out of the water and dressed. I followed his march home through the woods and through our bedroom window. I lay in bed awake, wondering what had happened.

We started going down to the river almost every night. Jack would be quick into the water with me, sometimes following him in.

I never much cared for going in the water. I never much cared for having my head underneath the water's surface, but I loved being out in the cool night air with Jack, my brother. I loved trying to match his pace through the darkened woods, with him walking determinedly and me half-running just to keep up.
I mostly sat on the bank at the river, watching the moon's reflection upon the water. I watched Jack too, wishing I could be enjoying the water, swimming with him. Jack loved the water. He probably would have chosen to live his life in the water if that had been a choice for him.

Our father took Jack and me to the river for fishing when we were young, starting maybe when Jack was 6 or 7, and I was two years younger. We'd go near the bridge that sat a mile or so downstream, from where Jack and I went swimming in our late teens. The river was much wider and the water much deeper near the bridge, making the area a better fishing spot. The bridge ran east to west over the river. West of the bridge was West County; east was East County, the county we lived in. The river was the dividing line between the counties, and apart from the river and a small town that sat in the middle of each county; there wasn't anything to separate the two.

In the years between Jack and me being little boys to us becoming teens, the river went from being "the best fishing place in the state", to "the place where the coloreds made their pacts with the devil." Those were our father's words. "Stay away from that river!" he warned us.

His warning amused Jack. Jack would go into the water and start his rants; "Here I am Devil, your equal! Come on out and show your cursed head! Devil, I challenge you! I will show you for the lamb you are, for it is I, who is the true ruler of all that is unholy!" Yes.

Our father's view of everything in the world had changed, hardened. Jack's view was complex from the start.

I didn't go in the river the last few months we went down together. Jack was only two years older, but he always seemed to be four or five years bigger. Even in our younger days, you could tell he'd grow to our old man's size and I wouldn't. I was small, still am. I was afraid of Jack and he reveled in my fear. And he had a meanness in him he never hesitated in sharing with me. Anytime I wouldn't join him in his misdoings, anytime I escaped the punishment he never seemed to escape, he'd share his meanness, he'd share his punishment.

Money was missing from Mama's purse. I saw Jack's father, our father, in her purse. He was always in her purse; going through it, looking about him, as if he had something to fear from being caught. This time, Mama noticed there was money missing, and she chose to mention it to our father. He blamed Jack. Jack took our father's punishment. She let him blame Jack, and she let him punish Jack.

The old man whipped Jack as if Jack deserved it. Jack then took his turn on me. I followed him into the woods, I knew what was coming, but still, I followed him into the woods. I took my punishment well, as I always had, until I saw blood trickling down my shirt. Jack had always been careful not to bloody me up before, but this time, he punched me in the stomach, and I fell over. He was trying to punch me in the shoulder, in the chest, in the arms, but his next punches hit me in the face. Only twice, I think, but hard. I rose to my feet, and dizzily, I started for home. Jack walked along following me, saying he was sorry.
"I'll take it easier on you next time, Joe. You know I always take it easy on you. Let's stop and sit, and I'll see if I can stop the bleeding. You don't have to tell anyone what happened. You know I always get hit, and you never get hit. I didn't mean to hurt you. You know that. But you have to feel what your brother is feeling."
After my head cleared a bit, I started crying. I could feel my face warm with blood. I looked down and saw my shirt was half-drenched. I could see why Jack was acting so afraid. I'd never seen him act so frightened before than when he was talking to me this time.
Mama met me on the front porch. The old man was in the doorway behind her. She turned to him and "John," was all she said.

Mama put together an ice pack, gave it to me, told me to hold it to my eye, and the flow of blood seemed to slow. We went into town to the doctor. He replaced the ice bag and told me to continue to hold the ice in place.
I was still half dizzy, I don't remember him putting stitches over my left eye, but I remember him telling me, "you need to keep these stitches clean and dry. I fear this cut might leave a scar, but I'll do the best I can to totally clean up this mess."

He put a patch over my eye and made a joke, "be careful, folks don't mistake you for a pirate. You might find yourself in trouble of some sort."

I might have laughed at his joke or at the idea of a permanent scar across my eyelid, but my dizziness had been replaced by this almost overwhelming fear.

When we returned, Jack was in the room he and I shared. I stopped at the door and watched Jack for a few minutes. He lay face down on the bed, his feet shaking slightly. I didn't say anything. I went back into the kitchen, where Mama was preparing dinner. I sat quietly at the kitchen table, watching her. She looked at me once, smiled, and then resumed what she was doing.

When dinnertime arrived, it was just Mama and me at the table. The old man was not there. Jack stayed in our room. I didn't go back to our room until it was time for bed. When I reached the doorway, Jack was lying on his back with both hands propping up his head. His eyes were closed. Both appeared to be swollen shut. His face was a mess. I just lay on my bed without putting on my pajamas. I was as quiet as I could be so that Jack would not even know I was there.

The next morning it was Mama, Jack and me at the breakfast table. I saw one of his eyes when he glanced at me. I'm not sure if he could see out of the other one, it was so badly swollen. Not a word was said between the three of us while we ate. "Don't expect to see your Daddy here again," Mama said as she got up from the table. I never knew whether that was her idea or his. Maybe he'd gone too far with Jack this time or maybe he'd just had enough of us.

It was a few days before we went back down to the river. The color of Jack's face showed the beating he'd taken, but the swelling was pretty much gone. The swelling over my eye had gone down, but the stitches were still there, and the eye patch remained. I was sleeping in my bed when Jack woke me. "I'm going to the river, you coming?" he asked. These were the first words he'd said to me in a few days. He sounded very inviting. I nodded my head and followed him out.

This night Jack did no raving; he quietly waded in and began to swim on his back. He looked at me and smiled. I soon followed him in. I felt good, relaxed, and soon felt Jack's arm around my neck.

He'd grabbed me from behind and with one of my arms held behind my back, he held my head under the water. I struggled to get free, but it was no use. I must have been under for a couple of minutes, at least.

Jack let me up and whispered in my ear, "I got no use for you, it would suit me fine if you were dead."

That said, he let me loose, and he left the water. I made it to the water bank and just lay there.

This was more frightening than anything Jack had done to me, but I didn't tell Mama; she couldn't always be there to protect me. And I was too old to need her protection. I was sixteen years old. Sixteen years old and afraid of the world.
I stopped going to the river. I stopped sleeping in the room with Jack until Mama caught me sleeping in the living room one morning.

"Why are you sleeping out here, boy?" she asked.
I couldn't come up with an answer, I just said, "I can't sleep in my bed anymore."
She wrinkled her brow, and, "nonsense," was her response.

A couple of days later, Mama and I went back to the doctor and the stitches were removed.

"It's not a bad scar. You're lucky your vision is unaffected. Next time you need to duck faster so that you don't get hit."

This comment wasn't well-received by Mama, but she didn't say anything to him; she just glared at him, grabbed my hand and led me out of his office.

Jack continued to go out every night. I assumed to the river, but I wasn't sure where he was going. He'd get back a couple of hours before dawn, get a couple of hours sleep and then he was up and ready for a full day's work. I'd lay awake in bed the entire time he was gone.

We didn't see our father; he was out of the house for good. I was glad. If only Jack would have left as well.

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I was going to say welcome to

Permalink Submitted by Insertponceyfre... on Tue, 2022-11-01 20:39

I was going to say welcome to ABCTales but I see though this is the first thing you've posted, you've been a member for six years - anyway, I'm glad you did finally post something, because this is really good - very powerful and you have captured the voice of a young boy really well. I hope you post more soon!

glad it has a 1 at the start as I'm guessing that means there will be a 2 and more...

1 My Brother Jack

By stuken

1 My Brother Jack

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I was going to say welcome to

Thanks.

harrowing

kept me

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