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10/20/2004: "The Oblong Fence"
by
Edgar Allen Twain
Mrs. Hargrove had been knocking upon the door for quite some time and waspreparing to retreat from her neighbor's porch and head home when,
suddenly, she heard the bolt on the other side of the weathered portal
slide. This was followed a loud clack and the sound of rusty hinges being
awoken and summoned to duty. The door opened a few inches so that an old
and world-worn face was now visible on the other side. The interior of the
house was dark so it was only possible for Mrs. Hargrove to make a vague
assessment of the form opposite her, which she deduced to be just a little
less than five feet tall, bent, and leaning on a cane.
"Good day, my name is Mrs. Hargrove. I've come to talk to you about your
nephew, Tom."
"What's that scallywag a gone an' done now?" Aunt Polly said in a voice
that was surprisingly strong and clear despite her advanced years. "He's
full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! He's my own dead sister's boy,
poor thing."
"I'm certain that raising a child alone cannot be an easy task," Mrs.
Hargrove said, attempting to temper her voice with a tone of understanding
"And I dare not think of interfering, except that this is a matter of great
gravity. I believe that you sent him off this morning with instructions to
whitewash your fence?"
Aunt Polly seemed to be looking through Mrs. Hargrove and into the open sky
as she replied "It's mighty hard to make him work Saturdays, when all the
boys is having holiday, but he hates work more than he hates anything else,
and I've GOT to do some of my duty by him, or I'll be the ruination of the
child."
"You should know that Tom tricked some of the other children into whitewashing
the fence for him…"
"Fool of tricks, that boy is," Aunt Polly sighed "But my goodness, he never
plays them alike, two days, and how is a body to know what's coming?"
"Well, if that were all he was guilty of," Mrs. Hargrove continued "you
have my assurance that I wouldn't be troubling you. But I have learned of
a much more serious matter. It seems that Tom was charging the other
children for the privilege of whitewashing the fence…"
"He 'pears to know just how long he can torment me before I get my dander
up," Aunt Polly said, her voice now no more than a mutter and the look in
her eyes growing increasingly distant "and he knows if he can make out to
put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it's all down again and I can't
hit him a lick…"
"If I may finish," Mrs. Hargrove demanded. It was not like her to be
abrupt; however it was clear that she would need to remain firm in order
to hold the elderly woman's attention. "My son, Bobby, was one of the
children whom Tom charged for the 'honor' of whitewashing the fence. Only
Bobby had no funds or anything of value on his person, for that matter. So
your nephew made him sign this."
Mrs. Hargrove reached into her apron pocket, removed a small, crumpled and
torn piece of paper, and handed it to Aunt Polly who lifted it to within
an inch of her eyes.
"I'm afraid I don't see as well as I use to, now that I'm old, an' old
fools is the biggest fools there is, an'…"
"I'll tell you what it is," Mrs. Hargrove said with growing indignation,
"It's a deed. It's the deed to my son's SOUL! Your nephew made my Bobby
sign over his immortal soul as payment for being allowed to whitewash your
fence. Clearly you can understand just how serious this is. After Bobby
signed that…that contract, the good Lord must've made him realize his
terrible error. Bobby snatched that retched thing from Tom's hand ran
straight home. "
"Hang the boy; can't I never learn him anything?" Aunt Polly said, her
face reddening with anger. "This just will not do!"
Mrs. Hargrove breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that the old woman
understood after all.
"No," Aunt Polly continued "this just will not do. For one thing, your boy
signed this in ink instead of blood. The Dark Master will never accept
this."
Mrs. Hargrove felt a sudden chill shoot through her body. Clearly the old
woman was mad - as was her nephew and, perhaps her entire family. Feeling
an intense need to flee from the crazed ramblings of the deranged crone,
Mrs. Hargrove turned on her heels, but was astonished to discover that her
escape was blocked by a large Negro. From behind her, she heard Aunt
Polly's voice which was once again strong and clear
"This is our slave, Jim. Jim's family had been slaves on a sugar plantation
in Haiti for nearly fifty years before my father purchased them. Some
people says that Negroes are slow and that you can't learn nothing from
them. But Jim and his family have taught me so much. Why most people 'round
these parts ain't never even heard of Voodoo…"
Mrs. Hargrove turned back towards Aunt Polly just in time to witness the
old woman raise her cane high above her head and bring it down with
surprising ferocity as the words "Oh, my!" flashed in her mind and were
gone forever.
