I ‘member when Pa ‘n I skinned a man.
I was eight, right after I asked, “Pa, what animal did those antlers come from?”
Ma’d told me afore, sang it in a song while Pa was off huntin’ for weeks at a time. Pa said it more than once ‘round the fire, as we sat on our logs covered in its hide. It didn’t matter none, really, I was only tryin’ to calm him down some, drunk like he was. He’d had a few too many ‘shines ‘n was goin’ off half-cocked at Ma, John ‘n Walter. I was the bastard, the one never seen in photographs, so I usually got the worst, after Ma was sleepin’.
So, I said, “Pa, what animal did those antlers come from?”
Pa grabbed Grandpa’s old rifle ‘n my arm, twistin’ so hard his print was clean visible for days, grumblin’ ‘bout bein’ a man. I didn’t pay him no mind, he was too far gone to make sense ‘n I thought I was off to my death.
I was half dragged behind him for a good half mile, my sightline bobbin’ ‘tween his black wool jacket ‘n leaves crunchin’ underneath Pa’s dirty boots. He stopped at a large bush, a worn ditch beside it. Each foot tread matched his.
“Elk, son. Their Elk. You’ll kill one today. To be a man,” Pa slurred proudly.
“Yessir,” not wantin’ to get on his really bad side.
He took a gulp from his pocket flask. “Crouch down low, we’ll wait. First signna movement, you pull the trigger.”
Never wanted to hunt, I wanted to mind the fields. Blood’s always made me a bit sick, though the meat didn’t seem to. Pa never did care much ‘bout what we wanted, didn’t care up until the day he died. I was sixteen. I shot him. That’s a whole’nother matter.
I saw a rustlin’ in the tree ‘n knew Pa was gunna make me kill somethin’. He didn’t miss it, even black-out drunk, never did missed a thing. Always knew if I took an extra bitta cornbread for John ‘n Walter or drank a little tea straight outta the jug.
“Time now, Rudy. Soon as it’s out, you shoot it.” Swig. Hiccup.
There was a blur. I pulled the trigger he’d cocked for me. The recoil damn near ripped my shoulder outta place, but I’d done it. Pa wasn’t clappin’ me on the back, though. He stood up, swayin’ a little ‘n walked with purpose toward my kill.
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