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by Phil Carson
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The woman is walking from the farmhouse down the path to the barn accompanied by the cat, Candy. Their pace was not the usual good-natured stroll to the barn. The grasshoppers spring away if they come too close, whirring in haste. Candy ignores them today. The woman carries an old quilt, her favorite book of German poetry, and a thermos of tea. The cat walks proudly, her tail semaphoring an intent to hunt in the barn. Usually, there is a two-way conversation. The woman tells Candy which book she will read in the hayloft, and Candy tells the woman how she will accomplish eradicating the mice. They each speak differently but understand each other perfectly well. Today, though, the woman walks silently. Candy talks in her feline manner. Nevertheless, she hears no response.
Candy senses something is different. She noticed the change yesterday morning when the three Marines came to the front walk without coming inside. Candy curled up in the sun on the top step, feigning indifference to the three Marines, a Chaplain, a young Sergeant, and an even younger Private on crutches, missing the lower left leg, who came to talk to the old man and the woman. They asked and were not allowed to enter the home. The Death Notification Team was slightly disconcerted
The Private spoke first. “Edward was my best friend in the platoon. He always talked about how he was coming home to the farm after the war,” he said quietly. “I named my son after him.”
The disciplined Sergeant followed, “We will ship Edward’s personal effects as soon as possible. Within thirty days, you will receive Edward’s remains for interment. Edward’s life insurance and back pay will be mailed to you by certified mail.”
The Chaplainsaid, “Ellen and Edward, I was incredibly saddened to learn of the death of Edward. I am sure that your family must be going through a whole range of emotions right now, from being devastated to proud to angry, then back to devastated again. Know that he died while serving his country….”
Candy sat up, turned her back, and began to wash her face in frustration, flicking her tail in irritation. Candy mused that some people seldom talk, making each word important. Some people talk more freely, and their words all have value. The Chaplain speaks a lot of words, but his words are artificial. It is a language that has no relationship with the real world. Candy knows the love between a mother and her offspring. The Chaplain’s words have nothing to do with that love.
The Chaplain finished his recital with, “I am around if you need anything at all. Please get in touch.”
Candy turned her head around to look at the woman. The woman is a person whose words all have importance. The old man talks sparingly. Everything he says is important. The bureaucratic religion of the Chaplain uses the appropriate language without genuine feelings. Candy flicks her tail a few more times to display her displeasure with the Chaplain. The Chaplain does not notice, as his meaningless his indifference shine like a lightbulb in a darkened room.
The woman stood there. Her eyelids narrowed in deliberation. Her hands planted firmly on her hips, elbows akimbo. At length, through clenched teeth, she said, “You take away my only child, a beautiful, loving young man. You bring me back an empty box and worthless consolation.”
With that, the woman seized the only weapon Candy had ever seen the woman use, a broom leaning against the stair railing. Candy watched as the Marines, surprised at the unexpected quickness with which the woman attacked, retreated to the safety of their official sedan. She watched the ferocity of the attack on the Chaplain and the Sergeant. Candy noticed with interest that the woman excluded the young private from her assault. Although tempted to help, Candy refrained. A mother’s fury needs release. This was something the woman needed to do on her own.
The old man said nothing. He turned with his head down and walked quickly to the machine shop where he has been ever since. Candy visited him after sundown, but the old man just sat on the tractor, unmoving and quietly breathing, his eyes closed. He did not say a word when Candy spoke to him with her question voice. He was as motionless and quiet as his machines.
This morning they walk past the silent machine shop without stopping. The woman does not go inside today and speak to the man. She does not call out to him. He has the same name as the boy, but she cannot say that name again after yesterday. All night she sat with her photo albums and cried, “That damn war killed my boy.” Last night she told Candy never to say the name Edward.
The barn is a structure of nurture, built to protect and comfort Nature’s gifts to men. A simple structure made of rough sawn wood planks, nearly as old as the house. The gaps in the walls between the planks allow the entry of a cooling breeze during the hot days of Indian summer and keep the worst of the chilling North Wind out in the dead of winter. By custom, the barn is painted red with a tin roof that echoes the comforting drumming of rain during frequent spring and summer showers. Inside are two stalls for feeding and milking, a calving stall, a water tank, implements for cleaning and maintaining the stalls, feed bins, and a hayloft reached by a ladder built by the old man when he was young. The family feeds the cow in the barn. She comes in after her morning walk for a long drink from the water tank. In the spring and summer, she comes inside to wait out the rain. The kerosene heater keeps the chill of winter nights at bay.
The barn is where the cow brings new life into the world. Candy always leads the woman to the calving stall on the day of the cow birthing. Fresh straw will be spread on the floor. The smell of the fresh straw is the smell that announces the coming of new life. Clean blankets are then carried into the stall. The woman, the boy, Candy, and the cow await the new arrival with joy. Together they greet the new life with a song—cleaning and drying the newborn calf with affection. The cow gives her milk to her family in the barn.
Candy also brings life into the world in the barn. Candy leads the woman to the calving stall on her birthing day. New straw is spread on the floor. A small box is prepared with soft and warm blanket scraps. Each newborn kitten is greeted with joy and love. They sing to each one, cleaning and drying, and then welcoming them into a loving family. The cow hangs her head over the gate, encouraging the new life. A gentle soul, the cow shares without reservation.
After the boy left for the Marines, the woman came to the barn every day. After milking and feeding the cow, she would talk to the boy as Candy watched. Candy believed that although the boy was away, he still heard the woman. She always brought books to read and read aloud. The man does not visit the barn. He stays with his machines and leaves nature to the woman. The cow, Candy, and the barn owl are the only audience to the woman’s reading.
The cow looks at the woman forlornly. She has not been fed or milked today. With the boy gone, it is up to the woman to care for the animals in the barn. Candy rubs the cow’s lowered face affectionately. She tells the cow something is amiss.
“Not now, Flicka,” the woman says in a flat, emotionless tone.
Candy knows the boy named the cow when he was younger. The cow always greeted the boy when he walked into the barn at feeding time. He brought her fresh apples, pears, carrots, and other treats whenever he came to the barn. The boy always milked the cow with Candy’s help until the Marines took him away. He knows how to milk her better than the woman or the man. The boy sings to her while he milks. After yesterday’s visit, the woman told Candy she would no longer sing to the cow.
The woman bends down and picks up Candy, placing Candy on her shoulder. “Up we go, Candy,” she tells the cat as they climb the ladder into the hayloft. Candy can get to the hayloft by herself, but today Candy senses that the woman does not want to wait until after the hunt for her company, so she allows the humiliation. The mice will live for another day.
Candy and the woman settle down on hay bales. Wrapping the quilt around them, she pours herself a cup of tea from the thermos and opens her book. This is how they read poetry together. Candy curls up in the woman’s lap, giving all the comfort she can.
Candy listens, and the woman reads a poem by Stefan George, “Come to the park they say is dead and see…” Candy is delighted that today’s selections are about life. Candy enjoys the German Lyric Poets more than modern free-style poets. She likes the music of life in their words.
Candy gives the woman her most fruitful purr, with full tonal qualities that are not as a rule given. The purr begins with a musical tone created during the intake of breath, followed by an unusually loud purr on the breath out. There are no gaps in its lyrics. Candy only gives this special purr on two occasions, when she is ecstatic or comforting a loved one. Like poetry and music, the purr delivers the uppermost level of the expressions of joy or comfort between two beings. This expression is freely given and graciously received.
When the tea is finished, the woman continues to read. They read aloud until the sun is low in the sky. Poem after poem, she reads to Candy. Candy never leaves the lap of the woman. Comfort is the most precious thing you can give to a friend. After the woman stops reading, she tells Candy, “Now I know what I want to do, Candy. Come, we are going to look for life. We have a cow to milk, and we will write a letter to Private Lund and ask him to visit with his son Edward so we can get to know them better. Pappa will like another young boy around.”
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Phil Carson has an MFA in Writing from Eastern Oregon University. He lives in Eugene Oregon with his wife Tabitha and two German Shepherd Dogs. Phil comes from a military family. His father served aboard the USS Oriskany, his two older brothers joined the Navy and served in Viet Nam. Phil is a US Navy Veteran with a combined active duty and reserve service totaling twenty-eight years.
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