my father pushed a fork into my palm. After stuffing some in my mouth I washed it back with a big gulp of the liquid concoction. Instantly my throat stung and my eyes screwed shut. So this was whiskey. It hit my belly and radiated heat, and only moments later did I taste the undertones of honey and lemon. My first thought was that it was like sucking gasoline vapors. My second thought was that I wanted more, and down the hatch it went.
Knox was chuckling. “Those blues will be gone in no time,” he said. His eyes twinkled and his hands clasped at his heart. “A son. God is good. God is real good. ‘Sons are a heritage from the Lord,’ Psalm One Twenty-seven. This is a gift, Harnett. Don’t you throw it away.”
Harnett looked at the old man in a way that was almost affectionate, and in that moment I recognized two men with much history between them, two men on opposite sides of a battle who kept fighting despite an abiding respect.
“It’s a warm October,” Harnett said. “Good news for your arthritis.”
There was silence for a while as I ate and drank. The sun was sinking. Unexpectedly it caught the bathroom mirror and temporarily blinded me; my eyes filled with white light and my ears momentarily rang with a sound like ravens. When I again opened them, Knox was kneeling before me, gently taking the empty tumbler from my hand and replacing it with a glass of water. I blinked; I must have blacked out. Over Knox’s shoulder I could see my father outside, raising an axe at the woodpile. I could also see Knox’s car, a small, battered junker that had to be at least twenty years old. The reverend’s large hand patted mine, and I marveled at the pure whiteness of his palms.
“Your father,” he sighed. “I save what souls that I can, but only the Almighty knows which path your father will take.” He squeezed my wrist and I could feel a sinewy strength alive in the old man’s bones. “Remember your Proverbs. ‘Listen, my son, to your father’s instruction and do not forsake your mother’s teaching.’ Understand? I want the Lord to have an easier time with you than He does your old man. Amen?”
I felt myself nodding limply.
“And whatever you do,” he said, widening his yellow eyes and leaning forward until I could smell his musk of coffee and peanuts and minty cologne. “You stand clear of Mr. Boggs. You do not go near Antiochus Boggs.”
I opened my mouth to tell him I didn’t know any Mr. Boggs, but then Harnett’s steps thundered inside and I heard the crash of firewood spilling upon the hearth. Knox stood, swaying for a moment before catching himself with his crutch.
“You know what my great-great-grandma would’ve prescribed this child?” Knox called loudly to Harnett. “Another whiskey, probably.”
“A mellified,” said Knox. He glanced at me. “That’s a mummy been steeped in honey a good many years. There are those who believe eating a mellified has great medicinal value. Kind of like that drink I fixed you. Mite bit stronger, though.”
“Stop messing with the kid.” Harnett kicked the firewood against the hearth. “That crap never left sixteenth-century China.”
Knox began limping across the floor. I panicked at the thought of his exit—I felt certain that Knox and the strange knowledge he was privy to were key to explaining so much about Harnett, my mother, and me. “If you don’t think they were practicing that stuff on the bayou in my great-great-grandmother’s day, then I don’t know what to tell you. Called it mummy honey, she did. Ha!”
His breaths were labored as he hopped to the door and reached for his things. He draped a scarf over his bony shoulders and pulled a hat so low it flattened the tops of his ears. He sighed and hesitated at the open door, fishing a small set of car keys from his pocket.
“Not sure when I’ll be through again,” he said. “Plenty of Diggers to see, though, and I’ll keep sending along news.”
“And telling us all how damned we are,” Harnett said.
“That too, that too. By year’s end I hope to’ve brought a couple more into the fold. Maybe you too?”
Harnett looked grim. “Maybe.”
Knox patted my father’s shoulder. “Well. I hear tell there’s a relocation coming up this winter. Could be before year’s end. I’ll send word.”
“I appreciate it.”
“And I don’t have any real news about—” Knox paused with his mouth open,