Guns, Gods & Robots: Seven Curious Tales

Numbers 16:32

Joseph no longer wanted empty spaces in his life. When Helen passed away, he felt that he needed to keep a spot open for her. The bed, the sofa, their old spot by the window at Double Yolk diner. Yet after ten years of empty spaces and now that he was well into his eighties, he thought it was more important that she was saving a space for him than the other way around.

The folks at church were good at leaving Helen's spot open on the pew, but First Presbyterian was the last place where he wanted to feel isolated. Joseph kept coming to church because his wife would have wanted him to, but he didn't appreciate the constant reminder that his own judgment wasn't far off. No matter the sermon topic, Joseph felt the compulsion to stand up and tell Pastor Morgan about his time in Korea. To challenge the man’s bloodless description of suffering in retelling those thousands-of-years-old parables. Joseph always came to his senses though. He wasn’t mean or confrontational and nobody needed to hear his horror stories any more than he needed to dredge them up again. Even if Helen was saving a spot for him in her new place of residence, he'd have a lot to answer for in whatever constituted his performance review in the afterlife.

Joseph’s watch revealed that the pastor was only five minutes into the sermon. As far as he could tell, the homily was something about overcoming the little challenges that were disguised as big challenges. Helen would have liked it. At the end, every little victory was appreciated. Especially when an undignified death was her only guarantee.

A little boy was drawing in the margins of the hymnal with one of the golf pencils stuck in the back of every pew. Maybe if Joseph was a deacon he would have been mad, but he was more curious than angry. How could you be mad that kids draw in the hymnals if you provide them with pencils and a boring sermon? He got a glimpse of the drawing. One stick figure was vomiting on another. Joseph had to laugh. Other kids were probably drawing gun fights and worse in their church books, this was a welcome relief.

* * *

Joseph’s drug store reading glasses bounced on their lanyard as the old ’68 F-100 chugged and sputtered on the dirt mile from the old man’s mailbox to his house. The Chevy looked as beat-up and stripped-of-function as the corn fields in his 83 acres. Neither was a pretty sight, but like the truck, Joseph only needed the fields to last as long as he did.

The volunteers from the food bank had been out last week, gleaning what cobs his machines were too busted to harvest. He always enjoyed their company and hated to see them leave. After the volunteers left he'd have a whole month alone until Thanksgiving brought parts of his family home. This isolated waiting time was only a test for the real solitude that came in the first months of the new year.

Mail was uneventful. It always was. That's why he waited till Sunday to pick it all up. Some bills, coupons for dry cleaning and the fast food chicken joint, pesticide adverts, and his monthly check from Talacorp Inc. He had to admit that he was skeptical at first about leasing them the stony back corner of his lot, but they stayed out of his business and sent in the checks like clockwork. He supposed at some point they'd do something with the unkempt land, creek access, and dried-up well on that plot, but for now it seemed like they were content with just squatting on it.

Joseph spat out his spent Skoal in the yard as he opened his screen door to the porch. He'd picked up the habit again after Helen passed. It was the closest thing he had to a hobby and managing the tobacco in his cheeks gave him something to do in church.

He didn't bother to flip the light on when he walked into his house. The afternoon sun was bright and Joseph knew the way to the beer in the refrigerator with his eyes closed. He often thought that even if he lost his sight he could maneuver around his house well enough. It was one of the benefits of living in the same home for four decades.

He popped his first can of Miller for the day and settled into his La-Z-Boy. There wasn't shit-all on the TV so he sat, drank his beer and listened to the Ketner collie bark in the distance. The Ketner house was one farm over, so Joseph was surprised he could hear Daisy at all. Matty Ketner must be somewhere in his corn field with that dog. When Matty was little he liked to play fetch with Daisy using some of the dried up cobs that Joseph’s combine left behind. Nowadays the dog was just too old. Matty preferred to sneak onto his farm to smoke a joint where his parents couldn't find him and he thought Joseph wouldn’t catch him. The bored high-schooler would probably be surprised to learn Joseph smoked his fair share of reefer back in the service and didn't give two shits if Matty did the same.

In these quiet moments, Joseph closed his eyes and took inventory. First he counted and named each of his twelve grandchildren and three living children. Then he took account of his remaining cousins and their children's names. Finally he recalled the name, rank and location of each of his remaining brothers-in-arms.

His physician told him that remembering these kinds of lists kept your mind function sharp. As time wore on him and whittled down his inventory of names, he found that he needed to start counting those that had passed away in each of his categories to keep his brain from slouching. That list was longer.

The barking was closer now. Enough to motivate Joseph to get up, grab another Miller and head to the porch. Joseph looked out the screen door to find the old dog slowly approaching his house barking with every couple of steps. He always remembered the dog when she was young and bounding through his fields with the boy. Now the Collie was more gray than white or brown. How many more winters did Daisy have in her?

What do you want, Daisy? he said after taking a sip and sizing her up.

She continued barking and approaching him. For the shortest moment the old man thought to check if her mouth was foaming. The dog was skittish at best, never approaching Joseph in the past. Something was off.

C'mere. You hurt? Joseph squatted down as much as his knees would let him, but Daisy kept her distance. Now she was barking and walking back toward the field. He couldn't help but think that she wanted him to follow her. She paused, looked back at Joseph and continued her barking before slowly working her way back to the field.

Hold on, hold on. Lemme get the Gator, Joseph said. He stepped into the rubber boots he kept outside the door and headed for the utility vehicle in the shed.

* * *

The Gator bounced through the threshed corn fields nearly jostling out the ropes, tools, and beer cans he was too lazy to ever remove from the cargo bed. Daisy was spry for an old dog and Joseph had to hold his foot on the throttle to keep up with her once they got out into the fields.

Daisy shimmied under the chain link fence partitioning off the land he leased out to Talacorp. Joseph brought the Gator to an immediate stop. Had Matty ventured in here? Joseph hadn't even gone in here since signing the lease agreement four years ago. He couldn’t. That was one of his terms and, if nothing else, Joseph honored his agreements. Plus that would void the contract and stop those monthly checks.

Daisy was now somewhere on the other side of the fence and was back at her barking. It was hard to tell exactly where she was. Talacorp had let everything on that side of the enclosure grow wild. The fence wrapped the entire twelve acres of land they leased and, while not barbwired, it was clearly there to prevent anyone from entering. PRIVATE PROPERTY. THIS LAND LEASED THROUGH A GENEROUS PARTNERSHIP WITH THE MARTEN FAMILY AND TALACORP, INC.  He always liked the friendly tone of the sign, but now he wished it was perhaps more threatening and warning.  Something to keep Matty and kids like him out of there.

Daisy’s barking stopped. For the moment the only sound he heard was the low idling of the Gator. Then he heard another sound from beyond the fence. A screaming that sounded raw and wounded and bloodied. He hadn’t heard anything like it in what seemed like a lifetime. He hadn’t heard anything like this since Korea.

Joseph's body seized up with adrenaline. His old bones lightened and he was in the cargo box of the Gator. He found his machete, his rusty snips and started clipping a hole into the chain-link. All the while the screaming continued. Hang on boy! Joseph yelled as loud as he could, but didn't think he could be any louder than the voice coming from beyond the fence.

Once through, Joseph trampled and hacked his way through the growth pausing occasionally to make sure he was getting closer to the screaming. Daisy has disappeared into the brush long ago, so Joseph kept pushing northeast through land and toward the voice. He stopped when his ears started to betray him. The scream was coming from somewhere below. The well, Joseph thought. Matty fell down the well.

Now that he knew where he was headed, and what tool he'd need, Joseph called out to Matty Let me get my rope. Joseph was now making decisions like he had in the battlefield. Clear, specific, bullet-pointed plans of action with no minutes wasted looking down the well at Matty and his broken leg or whatever and engage in some kind of ineffective calming conversation. He only needed to traverse back to the Gator for more equipment. The rest was all squandered time.

Back at the Gator, Joseph tied an end of the rope to the rear post of the vehicle and trotted back toward the well with the other end of the line. The nylon rope was long and should have been strong enough to get that kid out of the well.

Joseph stepped into the clearing and saw that Talacorp hadn’t taken the time to replace his old wooden well cover. Helen was always worried about curious children and thirsty migrant laborers falling in to this long dried relic of another generation's farm land. She had Joseph build this cover in their first decade on the farm. Matty must have been standing on the wooden circle; there was a splintered hole right in the center of it about the size of the young man. Daisy was laying on the cover, looking down the hole.

Damn it Matty, what the hell were you doing back here? Joseph said as he lugged the lid off of the well. He looked down into the pitch black. The light ended right on Matty's face and no further. It was scratched and covered in grime. The boy had clean lines from his eyes down his cheeks from weeping. It seemed Matty must have resigned to his fate and had come to some kind of acceptance down in the well. The kid wasn't screaming or talking just silently locking eyes with Joseph. Joseph returned the boy’s unsettling stare and quickly determined that he liked the screaming better.

Joseph remembered the well being much deeper than Matty was making it look. If he was standing, then the good news was no broken legs. Here. Tie this around your waist and I'll haul you out. Gimme a tug when you're ready. He threw the line down to the boy.

Joseph's adrenaline was fading and his muscles felt jerky as he made his way back to the Gator. Daisy, ever vigilant, remained at the well staring down at Matty. Joseph sat down in the driver's seat and waited for the rope to jerk. He wished he'd have brought a couple of beers with him. The old man could certainly use one about now. He may well guarantee the kid wouldn't refuse one either.

The line jerked and Joseph slowly eased the vehicle forward. The Gator hadn't really been put to much use lately, so if anything, this would be a good break in its routine of hauling Joseph around the plot checking in on his seasonal crew. He looked back and realized that even when Matty got out of the well, the growth was so high that Joseph wouldn't know when to stop pulling. He yelled out to the brush behind him, Holler when you're out of there, so I don't drag you to death.

No response from Matty, so Joseph gave it another fifteen or so feet and hopped out of the Gator. Now that the engine was off, Joseph noted that the dog was back at her barking.  He made his way back through the hole in the fence and into the brush toward the well. Two bloodied hands were gripping the side of the well. Damn it, just shy.  Joseph made his way over to the side of the well. I'll just pull you the rest of the way. He looked over at Daisy. She was keeping her distance from the well.

Joseph grabbed the rope as best as his bum knuckles would let him, and started tugging. The hand lifted up and Joseph snared it and gave it a tug. Like pulling a decayed tooth, he came out easier than Joseph was expecting. There was enough adrenaline left in the old man to yank the kid out in one large heave. The old farmer landed on his back with the