CZ Studio and Radio Verte presents The Wild Wind by Corey Zimmerman.
Chapter 8
The Wild Wind by Corey Zimmerman.
Dr. Zollo was a disciplined man. He shaved clothes with a sharp razor,
parted his hair neatly on the left, and continually polished his eyeglasses on his handkerchief.
Each morning after buttoning his starched shirt and tying his tie the way his paw taught him,
he made his way down to the dining room for breakfast, where a black man named Henry
awaited with a rather large knife in his rather large hand. Henry was born a slave with auditory
hallucinations. A mean-spirited voice followed Henry for the entirety of his life.
Go kill him. Stab him. Thinks you's a fool. No, no, you just butter the bread now, Henry would whisper back.
Go on. Butter master's bread. Or you can be a man and kill him. Henry was always a loner.
He was always made fun of by the other children on the plantation. In Henry's own words, his case
notes read, Everywhere I go, over my shoulder, then most meanest words, for such a long time, long time back.
Anyhow, born in Jefferson County, my mom, my pa, far as I know, then was born and bred in that same county.
Pa just sold away from me when I was still a baby. Ma's job was to wash all the clothes for the white folks.
There was 18 of us children. Can't remember their names. All but two of them now. Jim and Susanna.
Jim and me was Ma's only sons. All the rest of them of the 16 was gals. Us lived in cabins made of sticks and mud.
Our old homemade beds didn't have no metal springs like they got now. We used stout cords for springs
and old hay mattresses and pillows. So of course they scratched us little children most to death.
I could still feel the old hay mattresses under me now. And under them wool blankets they gave us now
every time I moved at night. Sounds like the wind blowing through them old peach trees back in Georgia.
And that scratching mind made me in the days of the old plantation.
Grandma Anna was 115 years old when she died. She had done wool herself out in slavery time.
Grandpa, he was sold off somewhere. Both of them was field hands. I don't remember much about how
us children played back then. Seeing how I was left alone most of the time. I sat under the peach trees
learned how to read and write. When them children played running the ring in the thicket. Seeing how
I was scared of old bloody bones. He used to scare me out my tatters. He done told me he was a killer.
So I just sat there under them peach trees hands over my ears. But old bloody bones. He was always
finding me no matter where I had. Telling me words over my shoulder. Go on and kill him boy. He was
always saying as long as I remember. But I always ignored him telling myself. Go on now Henry.
Butter the bread. Butter the bread now. Butter the bread. As he sliced the buttered bread for
Dr. Zola. Dr. Zola ate the buttered bread with eggs and bacon and read through the pages of the
Grandview Journal with little concern for his own safety. He would take one last look in the mirror
running his hand over his mustache along with his stern grimace. His curly white locks and bushy
eyebrows growing every which way which ensured he would stand out in any crowd as an odd and
bountiful yet rather disciplined man. Come along said the doctor rising from his desk with no
evidence of his seven decades upon this earth nor of the arduous task orchestrating the chaotic
universe of the hilltop demanding heavily upon his heart mind and soul.
By the age of 15 Junior began to show an interest in Dr. Zola following him around with his big
ears like the roots of a thirsty tomato plant in August soaking up every word. One day I thought
to approach Dr. Zola and ask him if he would consider tutoring Junior in exchange for any
work he might need done. I knew he was an open-hearted man though I felt burdensome
knocking upon his office door with Junior at my side. Despite my fears the doctor rejoiced
at the proposition and insisted no payment or exchange of any kind neither currency nor labor
was necessary and Junior was equally surprised when the doctor slid his chair back with great
enthusiasm and said come along as he stood to his feet. As the doctor grabbed his jacket off the
rack I nudged Junior saying go on keep up realizing the tutoring had already begun.
Haste indeed the first lesson of the day.
It was a beautiful morning among tars realities mind-shattering madness unavoidable truths
facts of life and I made my way back to the farmhouse and for an unknown reason I thought of
you Sam and I came to the startling realization a fact like a stone skipping upon the surface of
consciousness all those years. Sam you too had been a patient of the hilltop.
As I sat on the front steps I grinned knowing it was an excellent opportunity given our humble
circumstance. Junior having the chance to study under the doctor was nothing short of a prize
if not a miracle. I noticed the paint peeling off the post holding up the porch roof and inside I
found mama rocking away in her chair and I gathered all the old shoes in the house hollering come on
mama let's have some iced tea and get some sunshine and with an armful of old shoes I dumped
them in the burn barrel got a can of kerosene from the barn and struck a match. The flames
burst into the sky with a plume of black smoke quickly lured away by the wind. Mama sat on the
porch with her glass of iced tea it was a beautiful day as paul was off somewhere in the fields
plucking caterpillars. Slowing his stride the doctor walked side by side with junior as equals
junior felt or so the doctor wanted him to as they made their way for the graveyard out.
Sitting upon its roots the doctor asked surely Richard you are familiar with this place by now.
Junior was quite taken back being called by his birth name awkward in his maturity.
I am sir trying to sound grown up. Now do me a favor will you sit with me here in the grass
close your eyes and quiet your mind and do nothing but listen to the breeze blow through the leaves
of the trees. Junior found his thoughts racing and he squirmed about the steady breeze picked up
and the leaves of the elm rustled. After some time the doctor asked junior do you hear it son?
All I hear is the winds sir. The breeze drifted from the west rising and dipping with each
bluff and ravine catching speed over the open plains before bearing down upon the leaves of
corn stalks flapping like a million flags all across Paw's field. The grass upon the great lawns of
the hilltop waving like a head of hair the breeze twisting and turning and braiding through the
tombstones and shivering the leaves of the elm like fine reeds humming whispering and speaking
in an almighty yet gentle tone soft elegant meaningful and intelligent.
Elegant meaningful and intelligent. Don't be afraid said the doctor it's not what you believe
it to be. Junior looked at the doctor with a wrinkled brow is it the dead sir? Junior was
startled by a whispering and the hair rose on the back of his neck. Your mother she teaches you the
words of Homer am I right son? Yes sir she does. What do you feel in his words? I'm sorry I'm a bit
confused. There is no reason to be sorry son let us listen again. The two sat quietly as the breeze
continued to blow through the elm and prolonged gusts divided by moments of silence. I hear words
what are they saying son? I'm not quite sure but I hear them more clearly now. Did you feel the words?
I believe so. What is it you felt son? Is it the dead doctor? What is it to be human son?
Um human? I'm not sure sir. To feel son. Now feel will you and tell me what it is that you feel.
I I a cat had caught Junior's tongue. It's okay son go on say whatever comes to mind. I feel the
wind on my cheek. I feel the damp earth below me. I feel the grass in my fingers. I feel alive. I feel
afraid. I feel afraid to die. I'm afraid of my family dying. I worry my father is suffering.
I feel many things doctor. It's um I feel human son. You feel human. Now you know what normal is.
Well done son. You're becoming quite the man Junior. But you know it's okay to be a child.
Don't be in a big hurry now. After all that child it never really goes away. Look at the hilltop Junior.
We all hear that voice from time to time. It is the irrational that makes itself felt in the life
of the soul. It's that mercy of unreasonable impulses strives unbridled for sensual pleasure
and develops unnecessary due to fear to false ideas.
This child should not be killed but taught and trained. We must improve of the child inside us.
You see this arrow. You see it moving through the sky. Suddenly the doctor pulled out an arrow from
his coat which Junior had failed to notice before. You wish to walk to the end of a path but before
you can get there you must get halfway there. Before you can get halfway there you must get a
quarter of the way there. Before traveling a quarter you must travel one eighth before an eighth, one
sixteenth and so on. As in a race the quickest runner can never overtake the slowest since the
pursuer must first reach the point whence the pursuit started so that the slower must always hold a lead.
Son, have you ever heard of Achilles in the tortoise?
In this paradox Achilles is in a foot race with the tortoise. He allows the tortoise a head start
of a hundred meters. Suppose that each racer starts running at the same constant speed,
one faster than the other. After some finite moment Achilles will have run a hundred meters
bringing him to the tortoise's starting point. During this time tortoise has run a much shorter
distance, say two meters. It will then take Achilles some further time to run the distance
by which time the tortoise will have advanced farther and then more time still to reach this
third point. All the while the tortoise is moving ahead. Thus son whenever Achilles arrives somewhere
the tortoise has been he still has some distance to go before he can even reach the tortoise.
Or look at it this way son, if everything when it occupies an equal space
is at rest at the instant of time and if that which is in locomotion is always occupying such
a space at any moment, flying arrow is therefore motionless at the instant of time and at the next
instant of time. That for motion to occur an object must change the position which it occupies.
He gave an example of an arrow in flight. He stated that at any one instant of time the arrow
is neither moving to where it is nor to where it is not. It cannot move to where it is not because
no time elapses for it to move there. It cannot move to where it is because it is already there.
In other words at every instant of time there is no motion occurring. If everything is motionless
at every instant the time is entirely composed of instance. Then motion is impossible. If everything
that exists has a place, place two will have a place and so on ad infinitum.
The argument is that a single grain of millet makes no sound upon falling. But a thousand grains
make a sound. Hence a thousand nothings become something. An absurd conclusion.
Much like the leaves in the trees, son. Now listen. If you listen carefully you become the sound you
are the sound. However you cannot trust your sense of hearing as even inaudible sounds can add to an
audible sound. Now close your eyes and listen. Don't trust. Just feel.
Junior closed his eyes but amongst the chaos of paradox one thought surfaced clearly.
Doctor and what of the book binder sir? Dr. Zola looked down for a moment rather caught
off guard by the question. Along the avenue a jog before them a patient was walking in
circles wearing but one shoe. Now you've heard the old saying to walk a mile in another man's shoe
and he winked at junior. Tis the way the world turns son. Tis the way the world turns.
To put it bluntly junior was confused as hell unsure of what to think or do.
Same time tomorrow Richard. Slepping junior on the back before springing to his feet.
He turned back only to ask. Do you understand what you have derived from this lesson here today?
Well go on said the doctor. Junior looked up at him baffled. Is it the dead who whisper? Junior
asked with a perplexed fixation. As dead as the river pouring meaningless words from the mine.
Allowing the wind to blow through the trees and fill it again with truth.
And with his face to the clear blue sky he said looks like rain.
Hello father said junior kneeling down beside the wheelchair cold purple hands grasped within his own.
I have some news for you. Richie sat motionless as usual and silent. The glow from the window
reflecting off the white film long fogged over his eyes. I've been admitted to the university
but don't you worry father I promise to come visit every Saturday. Although junior had never
known his paw to be anything other than an animated pale catatonic. Junior had always
spoken to his paw as though he were acutely aware and present. Junior had spent countless nights
lying awake imagining the idea that his paw may be sitting there behind the bars of his own mind.
Able to hear yet not to respond. Able to feel touch yet forbidden from reaching out. Trapped
in a realm of death yet fully alive. What a hellish and unbearable reality.
All he ever knew of his paw to be but a vegetable rolled about spoon fed and bathed.
For no other reason than that his heart still gasped and spat blood through his arteries.
Does he suffer? Does he feel the chill in his purple fingers and toes?
Junior would ask himself through the night.
He had walked in his paw shoes nightly and visited him daily. Would sit in his wheelchair
when the nurses had him sprawled out upon the sterile white sheets of his bed. Junior would
wheel around in circles talking to his paw. Always keeping him up to date on any progress made with
his studies. In his tutorship under Dr. Zola. Junior was a bright and polite young man. All
that his paw could have desired. And Dr. Zola believed Junior's future would be exceptionally
bright. The doctor brought Junior along on his rounds and Dr. Zola once stopped before a
particular woman prematurely aged and wholly demented. And said now here is a wholly
disoriented woman yet it is possible that the tragedy of her life very well might extend to a
family of distinction. Fortunately or unfortunately for them her identity is today obscured. And even
the name she bears may be fictitious. She will pass away and be buried known simply as number 4141.
Dr. Zola's objective was to impress upon Junior the thought that a patient should never be
considered equally but rather studied as an individual with every effort made to restore
their Latin intellect.
The doctor was meticulous in impressing upon Junior that insanity was not entirely infectious
or hereditarily handed down. Junior responded that day I would still hesitate to marry into the
family of the woman we just saw. Six toes on her right foot and six fingers on her hand.
Dr. Zola escorted Junior to the maternity ward where he complained that he was too old to be
married. Dr. Zola escorted Junior to the maternity ward where he complained to the nurse the little
girls are not dressed well enough. I am sorry doctor but the supply of clothing is running low.
Dr. Zola then pointed to a large box on a shelf and said what about those? Why doctor the nurse
replied don't you know about that box? It is filled with baby clothes and has been sitting on that
shelf unopened for years. It was there when I came and the older nurses told me that there is a
tradition that says it must remain. The doctor responded yes of course we should foster sentiment
in every way but then looking at Junior he continued tradition is one of the things that
stand in the way of progress son. He ordered the box be opened and the beautiful garments distributed
as the little tots scrambled over one another for the pile of embroidered dresses.
Junior always had much to tell his paw about Dr. Zola. He was fascinated by him but mostly
Junior hoped that his paw felt a sense of pride for him somewhere within his living entombment.
Junior loved his paw even though he had never placed a coin in his palm nor a dime in his shoe.
Richie was never able to teach his boy the consequence of poking a beehive or a hornet's
nest with a stick. Father and son never splashed through the creek together catching frogs and
crawdads nor stumbled upon a ripe blackberry bush. Richie had never wiped his boy's blue loops clean
with his handkerchief. It was up to my paw to teach Junior to toil in the earth with a hoe
to plow and how to chop wood, stoke a fire to keep mama warm and how to pick her flowers on Sunday.
Though mama always threw them out believing cut flowers were terrible luck inviting death. This is
why Richie's room sat without a fragrance other than that of the stale institutional scent so
heavily seasoned at meal time. Still mama taught Junior to find luck in a grove of clovers to wish
for luck when a ladybug landed on his nose, to never spin a chair about one leg, to never let
the screen door slam shut behind him and to stay clear of the twisted tree on the edge of the
graveyard. And paw he taught Junior how to whittle a stick, how to keep a blade sharpened and he said
seeing how you killed the first rabbit you saw on your first hunt we damn sure gonna have a good season.
Paw cut off the rabbit's foot and told him to always carry it for luck while hunting
and to never load his rifle before reaching the thicket, how to walk silently through the limbs
encrusted in ice, briars which grasped at his wool coat, how to lay in wait for a monstrous buck to
eventually come thrashing through the thicket, steam rising from its wet nose, the life force of supreme power.
And with Junior's toes as numb as death he sat silent as paw had taught him as two
doe tipped toe timidly along the creek bed below, water trickling through the delicate crust of ice
like an ethereal liquid snake, slithering and bubbling as the doe paused with fear in their wide jet black eyes
which called out to Junior death is amongst us.
Junior had lifted his rifle quietly took a deep breath and exhaled and easily pulled the trigger as paw had taught him
and with a bang that echoed through the ravine and sent the doe scurrying a buck thundered a dozen steps through the thicket
shredding the icy limbs from their trees before it came crashing down to the frozen earth.
Paul showed Junior how to plunge a knife into its warm white belly spilling its steaming guts to the ground for the hungry coyotes to nourish.
Junior helped paw drag the buck back home with a rope, tying its legs spread wide by the hooves from a broad branch of the old oak tree out back.
They sawed off its antlers which sliced its brain in two and they tore the hide from ass to nose and Junior learned the sound of flesh being torn from muscle in the fresh scent of death.
Junior took the opportunity to examine the muscles and tendons
and sawed off its antlers which sliced its head in two and they tore the head from the skin of the old oak tree out back.
Junior took the opportunity to examine the muscles and tendons blotches of deep purple white and pink the blood having entirely drained from its arteries.
Paw taught him to quickly butcher it before it froze in the winter breeze and Junior couldn't help but notice across the sheet of white frozen sterility as pure as heaven might be.
A streak of red and beyond the artifact of their own wavering footprints circling amongst the clouds, buzzers looming above the thicket.
He thought of the group of doe now alone and his heart ached in sorrow.
I'm not sure where Junior learned to talk to a lady.
But somehow he figured it all out on his own.
He would char mama's socks off making her laugh and laugh.
Seeing mama happy was wonderful and no one could curl the crow's feet in the corner of her eyes upward the way Junior had.
I knew Richie without a doubt would be proud of his son.
The man he had become, his heart pure, his heart pure, his heart pure.
His smarts, his clean tongue, even seeing him smash a stump under the head of a hammer, all I ever heard of mother was, holy crow.
Junior squeezed the purple hands in his own, warming them.
Trying to peer through the white film and the long stare beyond the blank slate.
His paw had done nothing for him.
But it was enough nonetheless for his hands to be lying upon the scratchy wool blanket folded over his lap.
And Junior told him, I love you father.
While away at university, Junior kept his promise and came to visit every Saturday.
And on one of those days, an inch in climate change, he was a little boy.
He would visit every Saturday and on one of those days, an inch inclined me to ask him if he had happened to lay his coat upon a strange lady's bed.
There's nothing strange about her, said Junior.
And I was to say the least embarrassed when he invited the lovely lady in from the other room.
This is Mary, ma.
He said with a wide crooked grin on his face, shyly peering down at his feet.
I hoped for Junior a winter wedding like the one I used to dream of.
But he insisted upon his simple ceremony at the courthouse.
A few nights later, I pointed to the star in the sky.
And mama rocked the night away in her chair.
And I remember thinking it might catch fire to the rug as she rattled on.
Monday's child is fair of face.
Tuesday's child is full of grace.
Wednesday's child is full of woe.
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving.
Saturday's child works hard for a living.
And the child that is born on the Sabbath, anyhow.
The child was born on a Friday, a boy, named after Mary's pa, William.
Quite to mama's dismay, I might add, as she had chosen Carolina for a girl.
And Thomas, after her own pa.
Nonetheless, at first sight of William, mama forgot all about her frustrations and said,
He's got pa's big ears, as big as a cop.
And look at those hands.
As the placenta birthed and the nurse cut William's cord, mama asked, how many knots it got?
The nurse responded with the most peculiar face as she tossed it in the trash bin.
Let me feel his weight, said mama, and I was quick to remind her.
Now mama, you know Mary must be the first to hold him.
And little William cried and cried.
A good sign, said mama.
Mama's eyes lit up every time she heard a car coming down the road.
Goose pimples running down her arms every time a biscuit dropped to the floor.
And if she looked out the curtain to see no one about, she sat back down with a sigh.
She would rock away for hours, waiting for the slightest reason to jump to her feet,
to slice cheese, bread and ham, to gather fruit in a basket,
and brew up a batch of lemonade for a picnic under the old oak tree.
William would roll about on a blanket in the grass, ladybugs landing on his tiny nose.
Make a wish, mama would say, to his sweet giggles.
Mama rocked William away by the fireplace until moonrise.
And when Mary came to bundle William up, mama would beg not to go so soon.
Father, I want you to meet someone, little William held tightly in his arms.
And the last room to the left, at the very end of the long hall in Ward E.
Thank you.