"Repass: Seven Accounts Of Van's Re-Visit"

Fragment: Ray's Account, Pt. 1 of 2

"Repass:  Seven Accounts Of Van's Re-Visit"

(Part I of Ray's Account)

By Craig Davidson

All rights reserved 2011

 

[The following is a 2004 recording of Raymond Hannison's personal account concerning events that happened in a small southern town during the summer of 1951.] 

 

                                                                      Raymond Hannison

 

     I was ten when Van came strolling through town.  I guess people had been talking about him for two weeks before I actually ran into him.  Thing about us kids back then, we played outside all day and that kind of schedule left us no time to mind the conversations of adults.  I had no clue there was a stranger walking the streets of our town.  If I did, I would have kept my behind in the house.  Well, looking back, I figure if the adults felt there was any danger they would have made something more of it than backyard gossip.  Never the less, there was a young man roaming the streets and fate would have it that we should meet.

     It was a hot Sunday afternoon right after church.  I can remember the day clearly because Pastor Mitchell preached on the rapture that day.  Screamin’ about folks just up and disappearing and the Devil having free reign to cause all kinds of havoc.  He was throwing his hands in the air and squirming behind that podium like a mad man.  “The moon shall turn to blood” he shouted.  “Men shall seek death and it will flee them!” I was thoroughly spooked!  Why they teach that kind of stuff within earshot of children anyway?  Can’t no child decipher biblical symbols, I took it literal.  

     Anyhow, I was riding my bicycle to Smitty’s Dairy to buy some candy with the money mama gave me for the offering.  As usual, I took a short cut through the ditch--that’s what we kids called the abandoned rail track in those days--I was racing through the dirt kicking up as much dust as possible until I saw this guy sitting under the bridge.  I thought he was the pig man the way he was just sitting there.  See, the pig man was a hermit with the body of a man but the head of a pig.  He lived down in the ditch waiting for some unsuspecting kid to grab hold of and eat.  If his last meal still satisfied him, he’d store the surplus in cages until he felt like eating again.  Let me tell you, about a year prior to that Sunday, under that same bridge, I heard the sorrowful moans of a youngster who'd gotten snagged.  I told my mama but she just waved it off as some alley cat in heat.  You know cats moan like babies when they ready to mate but you couldn't convince me that was a horny cat.  I was certain!  Some poor kid was stored up in one of pig man’s cages lying face to face with the creature and his ever increasing appetite.  

     It looked like I’d be next on the menu because there I was speeding straight into the path of the beast.  I frantically reversed peddling to set the brakes but the chain popped and I went flying to the ground like a sack of potatoes.  I squirmed on the ground with the wind knocked out of me and a mouth full of dirt trying to get the dust out of my burning eyes.  That’s when I heard the foot steps rushing towards me.  Man, I started screaming and bawling like crazy, “Mama! Mama! The Pig Man! I can’t see! Somebody help me!”  Running away was out of the question.  You know fear has a way of seizing your body when you need it most.  So I just laid there screaming and flailing like a fish out of water until he took me up by the arm and lifted me to my feet.  I heard him say “Take it easy young blood” then he started blowing the dust out my face.  When I was able to open my eyes, I was ashamed to realize it wasn’t the pig man at all.  This fella was tall, handsome and had a bright smile to match.  There was no sign he fancied the taste of children.  I can remember it like yesterday.  The straw hat on his head was laid back to a tilt, he wore a bleach white collard shirt, all wrinkled up, but still whiter than snow, some khaki army shorts, and brown sandals.  Out of a green satchel he had strung over his shoulder he gave me a towel and asked if I was okay.  Trying to sound as cool as possible I murmured, “Yeah, I’m alright.  Just popped my chain.”  A big smile came over his face when he asked, “What’s your name young blood?”  Mama used to tell me not to talk to strangers but something about this guy eased my spirit so I responded, “Raymond, but they just call me Ray.”  He sort of chuckled then held out his hand, “I’m Van.”

     We shook hands and he offered to fix my bike if I took him to old Miss Matte's place on my way back home.  Before I could agree he was already walking towards the bike.  I started to dust my clothes off but when I looked down, there was no dirt to dust off.  I was clean as before the fall and there was no taste of dirt in my mouth.  I started to go show Van but when I looked up he was already standing in front of me with the bike all repaired and cleaned up.  A chill crept up my spine and I couldn’t speak.  I could only look up with my mouth wide open as he looked down with that bright smile.  But a soft sternness overcame his face when he warned, “The candy you are about to buy with the Lords money will be sweet to your tongue but sour to your stomach.”  My heart jumped.  How did he know I was going to buy candy?  How did he know I held on to the churches offering?  He continued, “Now, you promised to come back and get me.  I’ll be waiting right here Ray.”  Let me say it again, I told no one about  holding back on the offering and there was no way he could have known where I was heading that day.  The only thing that made sense was some busy body must’ve found out and went around spreading the news.  Right then and there, my mission changed.  I no longer had a taste for ill gotten candy.  I had to get back to the church and leave the offering before word spread any further.  And I had to do it without being suspected of having the conscious of a guilt ridden thief.

     I got on my bike and rode off as if headed towards the store, but when I was out of his sight I made a bee line straight to the church praying someone would be there to receive the money.  When I arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the door was still open.  Pastor Mitchell was reading from his bible in the pews so I quietly approached him.  The money in hand, I told him I fell asleep during offering.  He took it and placed it in his breast pocket then gave me a scolding for sleeping during service and promised to tell my mama when he finished his work in the sanctuary.  I’ll tell you what, mama finding out I slept in church was a whole lot better than her discovering I was a thief.      

     On my way back, I went through the ditch again to fulfill my end of the bargain but when I got to the bridge, Van wasn't there.  I called out his name but got no answer.  Not wanting to try my luck more than once that day, I took off before the real pig man could catch my scent and cage me up for the eating.

     With a solid alibi, I would easily explain myself if anyone got it in their head to accuse me of stealing.  Relieved, I peddled home quiet impressed with my craftiness.  Even the uneasiness of pastors wrathful message began to wain from my spirit.  

     When I pulled up on the block, there was a crowd of people gathered on Miss Matte’s yard vying for a view inside the open door.  As I made my way down the street I came up on Janae, a young girl who lived next door.  I asked her what was going on.  She said Miss Matte fell over while gardening and took to shaking on the ground.  I remembered Van asked me to take him to her place so I started over to see if he had made it.  But before I left, I asked Janae if she knew anything about people claiming I stole money from the church.  She folded up her arms and stood on one hip and answered, “Ray, everybody know you hold on to the offering your mama give you for church.  Aint no body gotta tell me nothin’.  You the one going to Hell not me.”  “Forget you, I aint stole no money.  Go ask pastor!  And you the one going to Hell standing on your hip like you a grown woman.”  At that I left her standing there to think about the plank in her own eye. 

 

                                                                                End of part I

 

               In memory of Mr. Raymond Hannison who passed away before the publishing of this account.

 

                                              (Ray's full account and that of six other's coming soon!!!)

Reviews

[whispereversolightly]

This held my attention all the way through. Hope you have more of these. You write with passion. I can feel it with this write. Amazing detail and imagery as well. Like your style.