Eyes

Papa always told me to stay clear of the woods. He said to stay inside the fence when I play and if I see anyone come to our farm to run inside and tell him and Mama right away. I had to do that a few times, but the strangers were always friendly enough. Papa would talk to them all calmly and send them on their way. Told me those woods could confound even a compass, and those strangers were just travelers who’d gotten turned around. Those trees didn’t confound Papa, of course. He knew that land better than anyone.

Once a week he’d set off whistling and come back with enough rabbits to last until the next hunt. I must have watched his routine a hundred times, and a hundred times it was the same. He put on his coat and his boots and then ate some breakfast to get warm and then load his rifle with six shots, one at a time. Then he set off and I’d watch him go and listen to that funny tune of his go with him and then I’d wait til suppertime when he came back.

One night he didn’t come back until supper had gone cold. Mama said not to worry, but she sat out on the porch until we heard that whistle coming up the trail. Papa came walking up with four rabbits dangling from his belt. He said sorry I’m late, one of these damn things was giving me trouble. He took off his boots and unloaded a single unused shot before sitting down for supper. When he got into the light I thought I saw something different about him. Something about his eyes.

I slept real good that night, better than I had in a while. And in the morning I started my chores early ’cause I figured Papa would want to rest after his hunt, but even before I’d started milking I saw smoke going up over the smokehouse so I guess Papa wanted to skin those rabbits quick as he could.

When my morning chores were done I asked Papa if I could play and he said yes and I took the dog and we ran around in the fields til the sun got low and my clothes were stiff with dirt. Mama gave me a good whack on the head but Papa said it was alright and to get myself washed up.

After supper I went straight to bed but, tired as I was, I couldn’t fall asleep. I stared out the window until I heard a floorboard creak. I turned around and Papa was in my room. He was sat on the floor, watching me. I said, everything alright? And he said of course, son, just checking on you. But he didn’t get up. He sat there for a long while and stared at me until I turned back around and pretended to sleep. As he left I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him blink.

The days passed by slowly. I did my chores and played with the dog and helped Mama with the laundry and cooking. Twice more he snuck into my room and I pretended not to hear it. Mama didn’t notice anything, or at least didn’t want to. One afternoon she found him on the porch staring at those woods. She gave him a glass of lemonade and made a little joke and he laughed real hard at that. His head went back and his lips peeled away and he cackled loud as he could. Mama went back inside as if nothing was the stranger.

Hunting day came around again and as he put on his boots, Papa said I could come with him. Mama’s look told me he hadn’t asked her about it but she said alright, fine. So I threw on my coat and my boots and I came back just as Papa loaded his sixth shot. He said come along, son, come along and I’ll teach you how to shoot and when we supper tonight you won’t be a boy any longer.

So we walked out to the woods, Papa and I, and I caught a last look at Mama as we went and she looked worried but I wasn’t sure why until the wind picked up and the chill set in and a silence closed around us like a noose snapping shut.

It was still afternoon, but even then the woods were dark. We kept our heads low and our feet quiet. Rabbits, Papa said, startle easy. A crop of brush rustled just ahead but Papa didn’t notice. He walked right on by.

We came to a clearing. I saw something moving on the other side. Something big, lumbering through the trees. Papa put a hand on my shoulder and his grip was tight. I heard a voice deep in the trees and it was my voice and it said come closer and I looked at Papa and he stared down at me and his eyes didn’t blink.

I wrenched my arm from his grip and took off as fast as my legs would carry me. I crashed through the brush and I heard those heavy boots following, slow and easy. I ran back the way we’d come and I didn’t get lost and I thought how proud Papa would be if he knew I didn’t get lost and then I saw the house. I broke the treeline. A crack echoed from behind. My arm grew numb and hot blood ran between my fingers.

Mama was waiting on the porch for me. She had a towel and a bag of ice and she held me and said don’t worry baby, everything’s gonna be just fine and I wanted to believe her but I knew something was wrong. Something was wrong with her eyes.