American River Review 2022 - copy - Flipbook - Page 31
near the penny candy. He looped around to the back of the store quickly and
appeared to lean down to tie his shoes behind a display of Melwood Whiskey.
By this point the faint sound of men’s voices and grinding metal became less and less. I could hear myself think again.
“Hey, Goldilocks,” he motioned to me with his one hand, “come over
here.”
Jonah was an older boy who lost his left hand in a sawmill accident
when he was 13. He nearly bled to death. The story reached Sacramento.
“Hi, Jonah,” I said.
“Hey Goldi, do me a favor? Stuff this into your pants for me, will ya?”
Just then, he pulled my trousers by the waist and hid a small bottle of
whiskey in my underpants.
“There. Meet me behind the church,” and Jonah left as fast as he entered.
I approached the register where old man Gentry was reading the daily
newspaper. He put his paper down. “William! How are you, son? Boy, have you
shot up like a thimbleweed?”
“Like to purchase my soda pop and some rock candy, please, Mr. Gentry, sir,” I said.
“What manners you have, William. Your mother was a good lady. She
made you a good boy. Not liie that Jonah character. Each time he comes into the
store, I have to keep a lookout. The boy has light fingers. I don’t care he lost that
hand of his. Bad seed is a bad seed,” he concluded. “Better be mindful or else
he’ll lose the other one.”
While Mr. Gentry bad-mouthed Jonah, the bottle of whiskey began to
creep down my leg, eventually resting at the bottom of my pants on the lip of
my boot.
“Well, I’ll be on my way then,” I said, grabbing my soda and candy, “I’ll
see you next time, Mr. Gentry.”
“My pleasure, William. Now you say ‘hello’ to your pop for me, huh?”
“Yes, sir. I will. Have a nice day, Mr. Gentry.”
“You, too, William. Enjoy these last days of summer. Hell of a winter is
coming. We’ll be wrapping the lemon and mandarin orchards before we know
it.”
I slowly limped out of the store so the bottle would not fall from the
bottom of my pant leg, but before I could exit Mr. Gentry hollered my name.
“Ernest!”
“I locked up. The world came crashing in on me. The paranoia and the
guilt pulsed through me, something devious and dirty. I feared the worst possible consequence.
“Ernest, you’ve forgotten your change, son.”
I limped back to the register and held out the palm of my hand.
“There you are, son. Put that in the stock exchange.”
I gave him a courtesy smile.
I left the store and turned toward the alley, and repositioned the bottle
of whiskey. I then made my way to the back of the church as Jonah had directed.
Jonah was waiting where he planned, using his nub to wave the flies
away. He was a filthy boy, barely one year out of puberty, and he had that musty
body odor I was used to smelling when my dad came home from the mines. It
was the smell of cooked onions or something exotic, like curry spice.
“Got that whiskey?” Jonah asked, more like demanded.
“I have it, Jonah, but you better be careful next time you go to Spinettis.
Old Gentry has his eyes on you.
“That old geezer has his eyes on nothing. All he cares about is getting
his fix in before noon. Old drunk. What do you care anyway?”
I didn’t care all that much. I was still afraid of the exhilaration of my
theft. My heart pouned a million miles per minute, and I felt sorry for old man
Gentry. He had no family, lost his wife to the bad flu two winters prior, and
never had children. I felt guilty as all hell.
“I suppose I don’t care,” I lied.