Widow McAllister's find

         "I don't know what goes on in that cemetary, man! I'd just leave it alone. Soupy said it was some funky mess going on over there." Spunky was looking at the engine as he said this. Every time he'd speak, his cigarette would bob up and down.

         "Yeah, but they say that gold sword is buried out behind the cemetary. In the woods somewhere near old lady McAllister's grave. You know, hers is the last grave on that side, and you are supposed to be able to go ten paces past her grave and start digging." Stevie said this with enthusiasm.

         I heard it with de-thusiasm. Stevie expects me to help him in all these things he thinks up. His older brothers, Soupy and Spunky, had learned to stay far away from all of his mess after he talked them into looking through Mr. Webber's cornfield for the still he supposedly hid out there. Soupy still has the scar on his hindquarters from getting shot at when Mr. Webber's dog found them and started barking.

         Spunky spoke up again. "You never quit do you? So what if it is buried out there?"

         Stevie just responded with a shrug of his shoulders and that grin he had that came with the sparkles in his eyes.

         When I saw those sparkles, I should have cut and run. Right then and there. Because those sparkles led to sparks later. Because when you weigh what we gained against what we lost . . . well, you will have to judge for yourself.

* * *
         Even now, as an old man I remember those days. Running around with "the three S's," as we called the three Sullivan boys.

         Soupy always kept these souped-up cars. He was the handsomest one of the group, and he would always find a good-looking girl to take out in one of his cars on the weekend. He had this basso profundo voice that melted the girls' hearts. And he always had this big roll of money. He kept so much money in his pocket that some of it would fall out sometimes, and he would never miss it. We were always finding dollar bills he had dropped.

         Spunky would say anything that came to his mind. He always had some kind of jalopy he was working on. He was absent-minded, though. He would go inside to get a drink, and lay his wrench down in the refrigerator. It wasn't a surprise to get in the shower in the morning and find Spunky's screwdriver on the soap shelf.

         Stevie - well, there was so much you could say about Stevie. That's why he never had a nickname. Nobody could narrow Stevie down to one word.

         Sitting here in Golden Oaks Nursing home, running those days through my mind gives me something to do. Because of how it all turned out.

* * *
         My house was next door. Now, I don't say that I lived next door. Because I lived with the Sullivans, practically. Their skinny old daddy took up a lot more time with me than my daddy, who worked at the bank and wore a suit to work every day. Then there was Mrs. Sullivan, who made up three of Mr. Sullivan - the two of them together looked like the number ten. She always wanted to feed me. God knows my own mother didn't care. She stayed off with the Junior Leapers as I called them, because they were always leaping into bed with each other's husbands. Why, I have no idea. None of those men looked any more interesting than any other to me.

         The story about the gold sword was a legend in Nugget, where we lived. Supposedly, there had been a deserter from the Civil War who lived in the cemetery. Being part of the war, what with the lice, starvation, and filth, not to mention being expected to kill people, had made him half-witted, and somehow he wound up living with our dead. His family had money, this golden sword had come down in their family from some ancester that had been in the American Revolution. Upon his departure for the War, this boy had been presented the sword by his daddy. It was supposed to keep anybody safe who went to war. I guess its virtue had been extinguished by the time this boy got it. Anyway, they say he managed to bury it out past Widow McAllister's grave.

         A half-wit would be the only one who would walk by her grave. Anybody else that walked out that way heard that cackle of hers. I have heard it myself when I went in that part of the woods nearby to pick blackberries. It made me want to scream like a five-year-old girl. Those that pass the cemetary at night swear they have seen green glimmering thing out that way after dark. The people who mow the cemetery grass say they are always finding beads on her grave. Now, she used to like to do beadwork when she was alive.

         Superstitious people say that Widow McAllister likes having the sword buried because it keeps the evil side from coming to get her, or the good side either. She likes to hang around and see what's going on. That's why it's never been dug up - Widow McAllister always prevents it.

         Now, Stevie wanted to dig it up. What for? For the general glory of it, I suppose. I didn't even try to talk him out of it. That would have made him want to even more. And besides, I guess I still had that young boy's adventure in my soul.

         "How about Friday night?" Stevie asked me at school.

         "Friday night?" I was thinking about Mr. Williford assigning us homework this weekend.

         "To go dig up the sword, dummy."

         I looked around at him. "Just like that?"

         "Sure, what do you want to do, take out an insurance policy first?" He acted all indignant.

         "It might not be a bad idea. I don't want Widow McAllister cackling at me. They say she takes nice looking young men over to the other side with her." I grinned.

         He grinned back. "Well, that lets both of us out."

* * *
         Just like that. It took so many seconds to decide to do something so fateful for all us.

* * *

         We met at the gate and marched down the main avenue. Stevie had talked Soupy into coming, Lord knows how. He probably paid him - Soupy loved money. All three of us had shovels. We skirted around the widow's grave, but she seemed to be peaceful enough on this night. Then we realized we'd have to go ten paces past the gravesite. Well,we had come this far. We went right up to headstone. All three of us looked at each other. Soupy was white.

         "What's the matter with you?" Stevie noticed it too.

         "Uuuuuhhh, nothing," Soupy mumbled.

         Stevie just turned back around and started pacing out towards the woods. ". . .eight . . . nine . . .ten." He stopped and stuck his shovel in the ground and put his elbow on the handle. "Well, what are you guys waiting on?"

         At that moment, Soupy started wheezing and flailing his arms. Stevie and I just stared at him at first. Soupy managed to point to his throat. I came to my senses. I grabbed him around the chest and did a quick upthrust. A blue bead popped out.

         Soupy took a deep breath. Then looked down. We stared at the bead. Then we took off.

         When I made it to the gate, I looked around. Stevie was gaining on me. When he saw me look at him, he turned around, too. Soupy wasn't coming. Stevie and I looked at each other. And kept going.

* * *
         Sitting here in my bedroom, I think about that night. A lot of people blamed us for not going back. It wasn't a conscious decision, it was just what we did. We just thought Soupy would come on, I guess. He came on, all right. Just not in the way we thought.

* * *
         When we got to the Sullivans' house, nobody was there. We called the police, and Deputy Anderson answered. He was used to boys with wild notions doing weird stuff on the weekends, so he didn't stop to fuss at us. He called Deputy Michaels and they went to the cemetary together.

         All they found were Soupy's clothes.

         Soupy's body was never found. No bones. No teeth. Just his clothes. I couldn't help but think about Widow McAllister wanting to take a nice-looking young man to the other side with her.

* * *
         All we did for a few weeks after the memorial service was watch TV. Even Stevie didn't have any fresh ideas.

         "Man, come on." I looked up from Jeopardy to see Stevie and Spunky at the door. "Come on and let's get a banana split. We've got to do something. We're going to wear our eyeballs out watching the tube."

         I got up and followed them without much thought. It didn't matter to me.

         We drove up to the cafe and got out of Spunky's jalopy. I was thinking about how hot it was when I heard it.

         "Come get the golden sword."

         I stopped and looked around. I know this sounds crazy, but it was Soupy's voice. You know, deep.

         All three of us looked at each other. Stevie grinned. You know, I mean
grinned. "Did you guys hear that?"

         Spunky saw that look and came to his senses first. "Nope," he said, shoving his fists into his pockets and starting to walk away.

         But he had. Stevie and I both had seen the startled look in his eyes.

         Stevie ran and grabbed Spunky's arm. "Let's go."

         Spunky stared at him. "You're out of your flappin' mind."

         "Yeah, maybe. But that would be just like Soupy to figure out how to get the sword to us from the other side."

         All three of us stared at each other. We knew Stevie was right. I saw their eyes begin to kindle, and felt my mouth begin to grin.

          We stopped for shovels and drove straight to the cemetery. I don't think we could have managed it at night, but this was broad open daylight.

         At the gate we huddled up together and started walking. All the way to Widow McAllister's grave. We couldn't help but stop and look.

         There was a one dollar bill on the headstone.

          We didn't mess with it. We walked ten paces from her grave and started to dig. That's when we found it. I felt my heart beating against my ribs. It was the hilt of a sword. Stevie reached down to try to pull it out. That's when the cackling started.

         All three of us looked up. Then we heard a deep voice say, "Shut up, old woman," and abruptly, the cackling stopped. We looked at each other.

         Stevie took the hilt and pulled the sword out. Holding out in front of him, it gleamed golden in the sunlight. Without a word, the three of us started walking. We got in the jalopy and drove straight to the police station.

         Officer Anderson looked up from the desk when the door opened. When he saw the sword his mouth fell open. In the back of my mind, I thought I heard a deep laugh.

* * *

         We got interviewed on the six o'clock news. I had never seen my mom and dad so proud of me. Dad actually gave me a hug. "How about going out for pizza, son?"

         I couldn't believe it. My dad, eating pizza? "Sure dad." We wound up having a good time.

         With the money we received from the city for finding a genuine historical artifact, Spunky set up an auto-repair shop.

         Stevie and I went to college. I majored in psychology. Stevie majored in - what else - archeology.

* * *
         Here in the nursing home, thinking on my long career giving psychological help to boys who were neglected by their parents, I wonder what would have happened if, that day in the Sullivan's garage, I had cut and run.