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beccaloo - - "tomorrow was the day the young-ins learned to shoot the small rifles. it would be the day they’d start hunting squirrels for the stews that way they’d learn what it was like for us old folks to always have to be bothering about them. all the time them being young thinking we was asking after them cause we cared or something silly like that. no, it was mostly all about eating. making sure they was fed, making sure we was fed, making sure the future was secured in one mouthful. i remember being six years old waiting for my brothers and all to get back with the stew makings. all the other bits we had already prepared. the potatoes were damn near mashed with the boiling it took to keep em warm. i waited til ten at night thinking there was no light to hunt by anyhow and that there was no way we was getting fed tonight unless we wanted some salty water and mush veggies. after the wolves started moon calling the women-folk started showing worry. the babies went to bed hungry and we were sent to bed hungry too. only a little after ten they showed up with leland stretched out on a makeshift cot, carried all this long way on account of the snake bite he got out by mr. whitely’s property next to the old broken down mine shaft. by the looks of everybody you’d think he was fine. no body rushed or mentioned the doctor but little leland was as pale as the everlasting winter they told us ’bout in sunday school. he didn’t wake when mama kissed him or when aunt sara put monday oatmeal to his mouth. wide-eyed staring from behind the side room window uncle clarence caught sight of me and gave me the shoo-child and don’t-worry-none look all together, then i never looked out again. that night i went to sleep thinking there was one less mouth to feed and one less to help out with the feeding. "View
