Ch. 3 post 8- end of chapter

Ellard stroked his freshly grown beard, a beard which had thwarted him, not that it grew sparse. No. He cut it off where it came to his neck. It scratched too much, he said. The rest of it was brown and long, and speckled with trace hints of red, and went long ways from his chin. Apparently his ma had squirreled away a bic razor, who would search her, and now Ellard’s neck shaved clean, and populated with the red bumps of agitation that also lesioned his mind.

 Did you deliver the letter?

 No.

 Waiting for the time, the right faction to overcome.

 No. That’s not it.

 What’s the problem then?

 You can’t unload that on me. Not without a fair trade.

 See, I’ve taught you well.

 You ain’t taught me a damn thing, that’s my point.

 If you’re mother caught you talking like that, you’d not make it far or long on this green earth.

 Ellard, it’s me, your couin, talk English for a change. I ain’t gonna tell nobody.

 Listen, Clement, I’m fixing to get out of here.

 What?

 My mother has saw fit to get a lawyer, who thinks he can get me a bail appeal, and spring me loose.

 You said this was the best thing that ever happened to you.

 And now it’s time to move on.

He pulled my hands toward him and took another bite of the sandwich. What about me, I asked him, you said you would enlighten me. He tapped another book.

  This is what I meant. My heads a filter still, weeding out the songs of one Ronnie James Dio , while preserving the lyrical allegory of these myths. Do you know the story of Lycurgus, or Daphne, the price of a drachma?

 Course I don’t Ellard, you know I don’t.

 All of it mixes together and makes up one gigantic mess of misinformation. Ronnie James Dio sang Turn up the night. What use is that to me? Lycurgus was torn apart and eaten by wild horse, Daphne was a nymph who later became a laurel tree, though not of her own volition. I dunno what a drachma’s really worth, but I imagine it to be a fifty cent piece, or a dollar, fifty cents doesn’t buy what it used to.

We were lost. Ellard rambled on, caterwauling ruins of stories he half knew, and half invented. He ate the sandwich, and when the deputy delivered his lunch, Ellard defiantly pushed the basket to me, and winked. This is not his insanity, I thought to myself, as I delivered piece after piece of Jessamine’s freshly fried chicken to my mouth, hoping to be convinced. In person, Ellard’s own myth ran wild, and if it presented such a show, it sure enough delivered what show he wanted. I edged further away from him on the bunk. He lay down and crossed his legs. One moment he spoke about Ozzy, the next he pardoned Hades.

 Isn’t he the one responsible for hell, I asked him.

 Well, now see, there you go, the Awesome Lord of the Dead is what the Greeks called of Hades. They had to name him so many times, he spelled them with his wily ways. The bible lifted Hades, and made him Lucifer, like I told you before, and also Satan.

 Momma hates that name. She says it makes her skin crawl.

And then he was off again, scurrying all over our family history. Family struck a chord in Ellard, as his confinement controlled his ability to reach out and touch any one of us.

 Let me tell you the story, our story, the way no bible will tell you. We are a family of men, a strong group of men, outlaw, religious, natural through and through. Ok? Listen. Benjamin Franklin Abelard begat Alvin Loyal Abelard, who in turn had three daughters and they each bore sons of different surnames, one of whom was Calvin Ellard Clancy, your great great great great  grandfather. Calvin Ellard Clancy begat Ellard Alvin Clancy, who begat a daughter Melissa Madison Clancy, and she died alone. Her brother was Ellard Alvin Clancy junior, and he begat a third, who in turn made two girls and a boy, an accident of chance that came once the girls were grown and married off, and I can’t remember their names, married or otherwise, the boy however, our great grandfather named him Sterling Berea Clancy, because he had seen the names of the towns he wandered through, and liked the way they sounded clumped together like that. And Sterling likely never knew what hit him when he came across our grandmother, Hazel Mae McCreary, who bore him two children, Augustus Alvin Clancy, and Margaret Mae Clancy. As you know, Augustus Alvin Clancy begat Calvin Ellard Clancy, restoring the C to its proper place in our story. Ever the stickler, Pappy. Never did one of those men leave the great state of Kentucky, but for the wars that came along and got ‘em. Some buried over in the Bramble plots, the latter ones in Hunt’s Cemetery off Slate Valley road. Out in the distance, that’s the grass they cut today. Reeks of death, that grass. Got a song to it, too, a mournful song. You know, they say that smell overlooks all logic, in the face of memory, and resurrects dead people in your mind, quick as it comes.

I faced his window, with the bars set into concrete, and masoned in by more beige bricks, pretending not to hear. Beige was someone’s idea of what color repentance should be, I decided. Beige defeated purpose. Beige might be the color of death.

 Did you meet our grandparents Ellard?

 I met them, ‘deed I did. Too young to tell you how it went.

 What about all them others? Who told you that story?

 My Daddy, and your Uncle. We’re the last of the Clancy men. You’re family, but you don’t bear the surname, so I figured it was my right to tell you about your past.

 What are you gonna do with yourself, Ellard?

 Momma got me a lawyer. I assume he’ll get me out on bail appeal. And I got a pal works down in the Avondale Shipyards.

 Where’s that?

 Louisiana. Listen, I’m right tired, now, Clem.

 Ok. I’ll go.

 You’re right about that letter. I’ll figure something else out.

I left him to his books, and dreams, and lazy premonitions of grandeur in Louisiana. The deputy had gone so I walked back down the hallway, counting imperfections in the brickwork, and then there was uncle Gus.

 C’mon Six, I’ll give you a ride home. First I gotta ride over and check on ‘em squatters.

 Who?

 Flood Mountain people.

My breath leapt out of me. Gus let me sit beside him, after he stowed his shotgun in the trunk.

 What did he have to say? You were in there a while.

 He said he wanted out.

 He’s gon’ get out, too. Hired a lawyer to shut his Mother up.

 You hired the lawyer?

 I did. Don’t feel right having him in jail. Had to arrest him, otherwise I wouldn’t win reelection, given to preferential treatment and such. That’s how the folks in town would see it.

 Why don’t you visit him?

 Same reason kept you away. He talks funny, makes me feel inconsequential. I can talk normal to you, and Cub, your pa. Ellard, that boy beats a drum only the crickets know.