Rattlesnake

The sun hung near the horizon, cascading the sky in illustrious shades and vibrant colors. It glowed as we trotted through the woods—Pa, his dogs, and I—all out hunting. Cumulus clouds hung on a line overhead, dyed a light yellow and red, hovering the sunset. The smoky texture of the south was filled with darkness. The chilly air pounced sometimes, but it was almost unnoticeable. I shivered and was happily greeted with a burst of warm air. Pa pulled aside a wild grape vine from the trail. He said, “When there’s trouble waitin’ for you, you jest as good to go meet it.” Without warning, a rattlesnake struck Pa from under the brambles of the grape vine. I saw a flash, and Pa staggered back and fell under the impact. I heard him thunder to the ground as he cried out from the pain of the venomous bite. I felt like falling and due to burst with voices and cries, but I stood there, unable to even murmur. It had to be something else, just something other than a deadly rattler. Pa shouted for me to get back, grab the dogs before it could strike again. It was enough to brake me of the trance and take action. I held Julia and Rip by the scruff of their thick necks. They barked and wriggled, desperate to free Pa from the snake. Pa backed away cautiously and then fired with the rifle on his shoulder. I feared that he would miss, but he didn’t. Pa turned and stared into my eyes, “He got me.” He lifted his right arm out of the two puncture holes, a single drop of blood dripped slowly from each. I let go of Rip. He immediately ran toward the dead snake. He barked furiously, then finally pawed at the body to determine it was indeed dead. He then sat patiently for a command. Pa’s head lifted, turning quickly, beginning to free himself of the brambles of the vines. He started walking directly for home. He plowed through other vines and scrubs. I couldn’t see where we were going. I was terrified for Pa. Would he make it?

It was strange to walk in silence, it felt odd and unwelcoming. Then Pa stopped. Something stirred in the near brush. A doe leapt from the safety of the scrub and Pa held his breath. He lifted his gun and pointed right for her head. I thought he was insane. Hunting? At a time like this? We didn’t need meat that badly. Pa fired quickly, before it could get away. The female deer leaped in the air and but landed with an ungraceful thud. It twitched a bit, then it laid there, motionless. Pa kneeled over the fresh carcass. I watched in disbelief. What was he doing? Instead of slitting the throat, Pa cut overtop the liver. He changed his knife into his left hand and slit across his wound. Crimson blood oozed quickly and ran down his bicep. He applied the warm meat to his swollen arm and pressed hard. He took the meat away and stared. It was green with venom, he flipped the meat over and applied more pressure to the wound. He handed me the knife and told me to cut more chunks of venison from the area of the heart. He took it away and cut another slit, higher up where the swelling had progressed and blackened the color of the skin. Sweat streamed down his cheeks and face. Pa stood, fatigue and I watched helplessly. He told me to run for the Forresters—to tell them to give word to Doc Wilson. He then turned back to the trail and I followed. Over my shoulder, a rustle came from the scrub of the doe. A spotted fawn, young and trembling, stared at me. I shouted excitedly to Pa, “The doe’s got a fawn!” He only replied, “Sorry boy. I cain’t he’p it. Come on.” The fawn slowly wobbled to the carcass of its mother and bleated a plea for it to wake. I ran for the Forresters quickly, in case Pa were to fall dead in the road or passed out. For the moment, I placed the orphaned deer out of my mind.

I felt I was like on a hamster wheel, going around and around, seeing the same trees and scrubs as before. I was afraid—not only for Pa, but of the Forresters. It hadn’t been long since the encounter with Lem and Oliver. I wasn’t sure at the time they would help, for we had supported Oliver, not Lem. I made it to the door of the wooden house and yelled for Fodder-wing. Curls of smoke arose from the chimney. I continued calling for Fodder-wing until the door swung open. I stopped short inside, all eyes on me. Lem confronted me, “You leetle varmint. What are you after here?” It was too much, I couldn’t take it anymore. I told him the entire story, excluding that we left a fawn to die miserably in the woods. Buck offered to pick up Pa and make sure he got home safely. Mill-wheel fled for Doc Wilson. I was overcome with relief. I walked alone in the rain all the way home. Candles were lit all in the house. I walked in soaked, and straight into Pa’s bedroom. Doc said that he could make it, but there was still a chance of not. Pa had spoken the first time he had been home, telling me I’d catch a cold. It was a bitter-sweet relationship, Even when Pa lay there, possibly dying, he was still concerned about me. I left to help Ma, but she was in denial. I tried to comfort her but she really wanted to be alone. I put dry, clean clothes on that Ma had given me and went to bed. Except, all I could think about was the lone fawn in the woods. Wet, scared, and bleating for its mother.