Alfie and Papa’S Other Boys

Contents

Preface

Introduction: Alfie and Papa’s Other Boys

Papa’s Missing Toe

Saving My Neck

Whistle Britches

Sah! Pinky Sah!

A Buried Secret

The Red Apples

Then Billy Won’t Stink No More

A Nickel’s Worth Of Candy

Heavy Cotton

Alfie’s Heels Sprout Wings

Rabbit Tobacco

Alfie Talks With The King Of Ethiopia

Goat In The Manger

A Fifty Cent Piece

Willie’s High Jump

A High-Powered Bull

A Dead Boy?

Of June Bugs And Figs And Mockingbirds

Eat Crow

Bumble Bees Bite…Or Sting

Joy To The World

The Jay Birds’ Nest

An Egg In The Hand Is Better Than Two In The Pocket

Airplane In The Cow Pasture

The Buzzards’ Nest

And You Can’t Have Any Water

Bull Run

Hog-Killin’ Time

Jump Off Mountain

Junior Hornblower

A Wedding At Seeb’s House

‘Tis A Mark Of Distinction

Epilogue: A Look Back

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

This book is dedicated to my wife, Anne Ellis Buchanan. Her help has made it possible for me to offer ‘Alfie and Papa’s Other Boys’ to my reading public.

Preface

Alfie, the little boy who grew up on the one mule, red-dirt Georgia farm in the 1920’s is back. I wrote three books about Alfie’s adventures and discoveries of life: Alfie’s Story – Little Boy Growing Up; Alfie and the Moonshiners; And the Rest of Alfie’s Story.

Now I have discovered unpublished stories about Alfie in a box we brought from Kentucky to Texas. He is still the wide-eyed little boy in competition with his bigger brother Junior, but the apple of his Papa’s blue eyes. Papa knows everything, and is able to do whatever is needed, in both reward and punishment.

Alfie’s Mama is his good angel, and Ace is his demon. But Alfie returns to print with new and exciting adventures to warm the cockles of your heart just as he did when he fell into the hands of the moonshiners and his faithful dog Sandy brought Papa to the rescue with his blazing .38 Smith & Wesson.

Welcome back, Alfie! Happy Reading for y’all who have loved this little Georgia Boy.

Introduction: Alfie and Papa’s Other Boys

INTRODUCTION

Alfie is a very little boy. In the beginning of his life on the one mule, red-dirt farm deep in the heart of Georgia. In Colaparchee County. Near the town of Ocmulgee. Alfie is the littlest of Papa’s and Mama’s four boys.

His older brothers are Willie and Cliff and Junior. Willie is Alfie’s hero; Junior is Alfie’s nemesis; and Cliff is in between. But Papa is next to God. Except for Mama who speaks for God.

Alfie’s life is full of adventure. How a four or five year old boy could live so much is a mystery, and a miracle. And a wonder. But he has Willie and Cliff and Junior to make it all possible. And don’t forget Papa and Mama. And Mister Charles. And a few other most unusual people. The story of ‘Alfie and Papa’s Other Boys’ is told here in about thirty stories, each one packed with wonder. And all of them amounting to A Wonder. So let’s get started because Papa says Make haste Son, Christmas is coming!

Papa’s Missing Toe

Mama. Alfie raised his eyes from the funny papers scattered over the floor. He laid his blunt scissors down on top of the pile of cut-out pictures of Andy Gump and Joe Palooka. His eyes were fixed on Mama’s face. What happened to Papa’s little toe?

Mama was ironing Papa’s good shirt and she was being very careful to avoid scorching it. For a moment she made no reply to Alfie because her mind was on what she was doing. Mama liked to keep her mind on what she was doing. Things went better for Mama that way. Alfie continued gazing into Mama’s face and she set the iron in its rack, held the shirt up for inspection and said What on earth are you talking about? Has your Papa hurt his foot?

How did Papa lose his little toe Mama? Alfie said with the impatience born of the assumption that Mama was thinking about the same thing Alfie was thinking about. The one he don’t have no more. Alfie sat on the floor and studied his own small toes. It’s this one, I think. Pointing to the little toe on his left foot, Alfie added Only his ain’t there no more. What happened to it?

Oh that, Mama said, letting out a sigh of relief. She decided the shirt needed more pressing, but the iron was not hot enough. She exchanged it for a hot one from the top of the cook stove. Why don’t you ask your Papa how he lost his toe? Mama finished touching up the shirt. Alfie continued studying his own toes.

Papa’s missing toe was a source of unending wonderment to Alfie. And the source of boundless invention for Papa, who liked to pull off his heavy brogan work shoes and sit around the house barefooted, wiggling his toes, all nine of them, enjoying the freedom which this afforded him. When Papa wiggled his toes, this got Alfie’s attention, and he studied Papa’s missing toe, that is, he inspected the spot where the missing toe had been, should have been, and he wondered where the toe was. Ask your Papa about his toe, Mama said. He can tell you what happened to it.

Mama could usually be counted on for accurate information on most subjects. On some subjects which Alfie asked about, Mama would say You are too little to know about that. Mama thought it was better than telling a fairy tale about storks bringing babies. But if it was something Alfie was not too little to know about, Mama would give him a no-nonsense answer. Papa would give answers too, some of them were not no-nonsense answers though, and these were the most fun of all. Some questions had many answers, depending on Papa’s mood at the time the question was asked. It was that way about Papa’s missing toe. Alfie wrinkled his brow and studied his own toes closely, reflectively. They were all there, and they were all perfectly formed. One had a nail knocked loose because Alfie had struck it against a tree root the very first day Mama let him go barefooted. It was called his stumped toe and it was very sore, and he had to keep it out of Junior’s way, because if Junior were to step on the sore toe the pain would be almost more than Alfie could bear, without crying. Mama had assured him that he would grow another toe nail if that one came off, and that seemed to Alfie one of life’s greater mysteries and wonders, but his mind was really on Papa’s missing toe. I ast him an’ he said the Germans shot it off in the War. There was a note of doubt in Alfie’s voice. Did the Germans really shoot Papa’s toe off in the War?

Well, now, I can’t tell you whether a German shot your Papa’s toe off. You’ll have to ask your Papa about that, Mama said. She examined Papa’s shirt closely and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair so that it would dry completely and hold its shape. It was the shirt that Papa wore to church on Sundays and she wanted it to look just right. But I can tell you this; your Papa was never in the War. The War was the First World War, but nobody referred to it as the First because nobody expected another one.

Alfie pushed out his lips and tried fitting the pictures back into the spaces where he had cut them from the funny papers, but he got an Andy Gump picture in a Joe Palooka space, and this struck him as funnier than the things the cartoonists had portrayed. But he came back to Papa’s toe. If a German did shoot Papa’s toe off I bet Papa didn’t let him git away with it. I bet Papa shot that ol’ German’s head off.

Alfie’s bloodthirstiness did not meet with Mama’s approval. Your Papa never shot anybody. Mama cast one glance at the funny papers spread out on the floor. Clean up that mess you’ve made on the floor. Is that the only tale your Papa ever told you about how he lost his toe? Just that a German shot it off in the War? Mama knew there must be other stories because Mama knew Papa.

Alfie picked up the scissors and began twirling them on his finger. Mama gave him a disapproving look and he stopped twirling but kept the scissors in position to begin twirling again if Mama looked the other way. Is that the only story your Papa has told you about his toe? Mama repeated.

No’m. One time Papa said he went to sleep on the streetcar tracks and the streetcar came along and run over his little toe and mashed it off. Did a streetcar run over Papa when he was little Mama? It was not easy for Alfie to picture Papa as little like himself because Papa had always been big, but sometimes Papa would preface a story with the words When I was a little boy… When Alfie asked Mama about this she said Everybody starts out little. That was to make Alfie feel better about being the littlest one in the family; it helped some, but not much.

Run over by a streetcar? Not when he was little and not since he’s been big. Mama was rolling up some more shirts in damp towels so that when she ironed them the steam would help to take the wrinkles out. Your Papa used to drive a streetcar in Atlanta. That was way back before you were born. If he had gone to sleep on the streetcar tracks I would have heard about it because they would have fired him for it.

I bet they wouldn’t neither! Alfie rose to Papa’s defense. His eyes were big and flashing. He held the scissors in a fighting position now. I bet Papa was the best streetcar driver in Atlanta and they’d be skeered to fire him. Alfie liked the feel of the word Atlanta on his tongue. I’m gonna be a streetcar driver in Atlanta when I’m big enough… What’s Atlanta, Mama?

Oh, Atlanta’s a big city where your Papa and I used to live. That was right after we were married. Before any of you boys were born. Mama remembered the halcyon days before all the boys were born and her days became an endless round of cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, churning, sewing, canning fruits and vegetables, and picking up behind them all.

You’re making a mess on the floor, she said. Pick up those papers. And stop twirling those scissors before you hurt yourself.

Alfie gathered up some of the papers in his hands. Was Margaret born then, Mama? When you and Papa lived in Atlanta. Was Margaret born when Papa used to drive a streetcar? Alfie could remember Margaret but he couldn’t remember much about her. Mostly he had impressions that he thought were memories. Actually they were the things he had heard Mama say about Margaret so many times that he thought they were his own memories of Margaret. Papa didn’t talk much about Margaret. When Alfie asked Papa about Margaret, Papa would change the subject and pretty soon he would say that he had work to do. Alfie could remember that the last time he saw Margaret she was lying quiet and still and her eyes were closed and he thought she was asleep, but when he called her she wouldn’t wake up and open her eyes the way she had always done. Was Margaret born then? Alfie waited, sensing the change in Mama.

Yes, Margaret was born then but you weren’t. Mama’s face became drawn and her voice choked up a little, and when Alfie studied Mama’s face he could see the tears brimming in her big brown eyes. Ever since Margaret died it was that way with Mama whenever anyone mentioned Margaret. Why don’t you go and ask your Papa about his little toe if you want to know what happened to it? Mama didn’t want to talk about Margaret now. Nor about Atlanta and Papa’s missing toe. But Alfie wanted to keep the talk going. He went back to Papa’s missing toe.

Junior said Papa told him he cut his toe off with the choppin’ axe when he was choppin’ wood. That was way back when Papa was a boy an’ he was choppin’ stove wood and he wasn’t careful and he chopped off his toe an’ he said for Junior to always be careful with the choppin’ axe ‘cause he might cut hisself.

Mama suspected that it was really Alfie that Papa had warned about the axe and that Alfie had said Papa warned Junior in order to hide his own fumbling attempts to use the axe. Well, that’s a more likely story than being run over by a streetcar, or shot by a German when he wasn’t even in the War. Anyway, you let it be a lesson to you and don’t try to chop with the axe ‘til you get bigger. You just stick to picking up chips and bringing stove wood for me. That’s a job for a little boy. You just leave that axe alone.

Yes’m, Alfie said. He wanted to say that he was big enough to swing the axe but he was afraid that if he said that Mama would know that he had been trying it. Papa’s toe was a safer subject than the axe. Cliff said Papa told him he got his little toe caught in a steel trap. He said Papa set the trap to ketch a wharf rat in the corn crib and when he went to get fodder an’ corn for the mule he forgot about the trap bein’ there and he stepped on it and the trap caught his little toe and pinched it off. When he told this Alfie illustrated the action of the trap with his hands and he managed somehow to catch his own finger in his handmade trap.

Mama put another stick of stove wood in the cook stove and opened the damper to make it draw more air. The fire crackled and flamed up. Alfie was so absorbed in this latest version of ‘How Papa Lost His Little Toe’ that he stood too close to the stove and a spark popped out onto him and he said Ouch! Anyway, Cliff said that Papa said his toe was just hanging there by the skin and they had to go ahead and cut it off to git Papa out of the steel trap.

Well there comes your Papa now. Mama brushed a wisp of dark hair from her forehead and turned to check the bread in the oven. He’s just come from the field and I haven’t got dinner on the table because you talk so much I can’t keep my mind on things. Mama’s mind had been on things; even the ironing and the cooking could not keep her mind off things, could not keep her from remembering Alfie’s questions about Papa and Margaret. And he didn’t wait for me to ring the bell. He always waits for me to ring the bell before he comes to dinner. Mama glanced at the clock and saw that it was past twelve o’clock. Well, no wonder! Now you run out there and tell your Papa that dinner’s not quite ready yet. Alfie turned to run and Mama said While he’s waiting for dinner he can tell you himself what became of his little toe.

Papa already had his dirt-caked brogans off when the screen door slammed and Alfie ran to him. Papa was sitting on the top doorstep and rubbing his feet and wiggling his toes. He pushed the brogans aside and began selecting a pod of pepper from the pepper plant growing in a pot on the steps. Is dinner ready? Papa said when he had made his selection of a long keen green pod of pepper.

Nos’r. Alfie watched as Papa clipped the pod with his pocket knife. Mama said it ain’t ready yet. Mama said for you to tell me what happened to your little toe while she gits dinner ready.

Papa settled down on the top step, sliced off a piece of the pepper and put it on the end of his tongue. What do you want to know? Papa said. The pepper must have been hot enough to suit him because he laid it beside his knife on the doorstep and said Hand me a dipper of cold water here Son. I’m awful thirsty.

I want to know what really happened to your toe, Papa. Alfie brought a dipper of water from the cedar bucket on the shelf by the well. He sloshed out about half of it before he reached Papa.

Papa took the dipper and held it to his lips. He emptied the dipper, swallowing rapidly, and handed it back to Alfie, licking his lips with the tip of his tongue. That wasn’t cold, Papa said. It’s been settin’ all mornin’ in that cedar bucket. Bring me a dipper full out of the well bucket. I just drew up a fresh bucket out of the northeast corner of the well. And try not to slosh it all out on the floor.

Alfie wondered how Papa could always sink the bucket in the northeast corner of the well. He had tried it himself and the ol’ bucket just went where it wanted to go instead of doing what Alfie wanted it to do. Besides, how could he tell what was the northeast corner of a round well? But he didn’t want to get Papa off the subject of his little toe by asking him about the northeast corner of the well. He brought a dipper full of water from the well bucket. That is, he started with a dipper full and when he got to Papa on the top doorstep it was better than half full. He watched Papa’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down while he drank. That was better. Papa gave the dipper back to Alfie and sighed deeply.

Alfie stood on the step beside Papa, holding the dipper in his hand. I want to know what really happened to your little toe. I mean really.

Well Son, Papa said looking at the pod of pepper again and thinking about chipping it up into his peas if Mama ever got dinner on the table. I’ll tell you what really happened to my little toe if you promise never to ask me anymore questions about it. Ever!

I promise. Alfie’s eyes said ‘cross my heart and hope to die’ but his lips formed the words Papa required. If you tell me what really happened to it I won’t never ask you anymore questions about it. Ever.

Hold up your right hand when you say it. Papa held his hand up the way he had seen men do when they were sworn in court. Alfie lifted his left hand, realized his mistake and switched to the right. I promise I won’t never ask you no more questions about it.

So help me God. Papa said, still holding up his right hand.

So help me God. Alfie repeated after Papa.

Papa’s hand dropped. Well, it was bit off! Papa said, and he bit into the pod of pepper again to make sure it was hot enough. That’s what happened to it, Papa said, coughing. It was bit off.

The pepper had taken hold of Papa’s tongue at about the same time that consternation clouded Alfie’s expectant brown eyes. But what…? Alfie was about to say What bit it off? when he remembered his promise. Papa’s blue eyes were watering because of the pepper, and a self-conscious grin began to spread over Alfie’s face. Aw Papa, he said. You tricked me. That’s what you done. You tricked me.

Saving My Neck

Are we really gonna eat dinner at Miss Maggie’s? Alfie’s face lit up like a Christmas tree at the prospect.

Yes, Mama said. And you watch your manners. To Papa, Mama added Maggie insisted on it. She said she had plenty for everybody. Already fixed. I just hate to be so much trouble.

Trouble? Lordy mercy! You’re no trouble at all, Miss Maggie had reassured Mama as they had stood talking in the church yard. Now you just come on and don’t let me hear anymore argument about it. You’re going home with me and Charles for dinner and that’s it. Inviting people to Sunday dinner was as much a part of going to church as listening to the sermon, and Mama and Papa were special friends of Maggie and Charles.

For Alfie it was the good part of Sunday. The sermon had been long and the subject matter – the superiority of baptism by immersion over sprinkling from a salt shaker – of no great interest to him. The weather had been hot and the hand-powered cardboard fans donated by Hart’s Mortuary served inadequately to keep the humid air stirring. The gnats and flies played a larger part in keeping