THE UNUSUAL VISITOR

Visitor writes "THE UNUSUAL VISITOR"
By: Joe Mayfield

The year was 1958, and it was a cold winter night, the wind out side was making those sounds you only hear when it's really cold. There was a good fire going in the "Big Boy" heater, never did know why it was named "Big Boy" when it was only half the size of the "Warm Morning" heater which stood at least five feet tall. This Big Boy heater was in the middle of the room, (Today the room would be a den) with the Warm Morning in the living room as was the case in most homes. Because it was Saturday, Pa and I had rabbit hunted all day, and although I was grown, my mom and dad had laid down the law, "No hunting with a gun until you're a teenager," as I said, I was grown, 12 years old seemed grown to me. Next year would be my year to shine, and be a real hunter. So, even without a gun the hunting had been good, Pa had bagged eight Canecutters, the largest size rabbits to be found in Alabama, and I did help by carrying four of them back to the house. Having had a successful hunt meant rabbit and dumplings, as well as fried with potatoes, one of my favorite dishes, the remainder would go in the freezer so it could be enjoyed another day. (Hunters first rule: only harvest what you eat.)
 

Our hunting this day had been near a creek just north of Bentley's Skating Rink, on the west side of the "Old" 31 highway; the area was full of big canecutters, and the dogs were jumping one, and running it until Pa harvested it, then they would jump another. It was a very good day; the only problem encountered was the swampy backwater that always over flowed from the creek banks, Pa knew the rabbits would be there, and therefore, that meant getting into the water. In the 50's there were no rubber lined boots, or water proofing for boots, so once the hunt was over, then we could tend our gear, and dry out the boots as had been done many times before.

Drying out our boots was what each of us were now doing, and enjoying the heat from the fire, and recalling the events of a good day. To properly dry the boots, we would always prop one boot onto the leg of the “Big Boy” heater, and as the sole of the boot became hot, we then crossed, our legs and placed the other boot onto the same leg of the heater. All this, while leaning back in a cane back chair, and of course the legs of both chairs had the rubber tips so as not to cut into the linoleum which Ma prized so much. It was past Ma Mayfield’s bedtime of 7:30PM, so saying “good night” she turned in. It is important that I establish a fact here, men born in the 1880’s think of things a little differently, than someone born in, say 1925, or 1950. They were very forthright in doing what is necessary, often times differently than others. They grew up knowing knowing what was right and wrong, and when there was something found to be wrong, they took the appropriate measures so as to make it right.

It was now near 8:00PM, and I’ve looked over to see if I need to go to the coal pile before going to bed, but both coal scuttles are almost full, Pa had placed some wood in the stove to save the coal, and I was glad of that since it was so cold outside, and the wind seems to be getting louder as time passes. As the usual routine for us during the hunting season, Pa is cleaning his shotgun with 3 in 1 gun oil, and I have a .22 Cal. single shot rifle that my mom’s dad, W.W. Dowda, had given me, so I am doing the same thing. After I finished, I made sure the rifle is unloaded, then place it in the corner of my room. Our boots are just about dry now, and I am about to prepare for bed, when I see something move behind me in one of the coal scuttles. I didn’t move, at first thinking I must be seeing things, after all if there had been anything Pa would have seen it with his sharp eyes, hawks wish for eyes like his, but he had not moved, not even to use the spit can next to his chair. (He chewed Day’s work Tobacco.)

Then I see something again, this time for sure, it’s a mouse, and he’s hiding behind the coal scuttle, I said, “Pa,” and he says, “I see him.” But he doesn’t move, just focused on the floor, and I’m thinking what I can grab to hit the mouse with, my boots are still on, so I’m looking around the room, the stove wood box is next to where the mouse is trying to hide, nothing to use. So, I say, “There's nothing over here to get him with,” then Pa says, “slip a shell in your rifle and hand it to me.” I’m thinking WHAT, in the house, surely he’s joking, I wait for him to tell me something to do for real, when he says, “Hand it to me,” so I tell him, it’s not loaded yet, and quietly ask, “You’re not going to shoot him in the house are you?” And he just nods his head, I’m thinking no, he’s not going to shoot a gun in the house, but I’ve known this man all my life, and he has never told me to do anything he didn’t mean for me to do. At this point I’m thinking, “I’m going to be in trouble, my dad will tear me up, bad, then he’ll do it again,” but I know I’ve got to do what Pa says, so I load the .22 and ever so slowly hand the rifle over, with the barrel pointed up. Not wanting to get in serious trouble, I’d starting to hope the mouse finds a hole or something so Pa will not shoot, then the mouse sticks his head out from behind the coal scuttle, and BAM, the mouse has gone on to meet his maker. Then Ma yells, “Obe, what are you doing in there.” and he calmly says, “killed a rat.” She didn’t say anything else, and I sure didn’t say anything else as he hands me the rifle back.

Note: Published in the September 2004 issue of U.S. Legacies magazine.