Tuning Up

They squirmed like kittens. Mewling and whining, begging for release. And beggars get what they deserve. Can’t let’em go. Can’t let yourself get fooled by their soft fur and sweet purrs. That’s the trap, cause they always got claws and they will use’em. Cut you good boy if you let’em, that’s what his Pa always said. Only one way to deal with the kittens made by that whore cat out walking the streets. In the well. Always in the well. With the pain of memories always too close to the surface, he began to talk.

“Ya know I only cried when me n’ my Pa did it the first time.

“Ma said I could have the little brown spotted one, could make it my own. Course Pa said it plain that no son’o’his gonna play nursemaid to a whore cat. Pa made ma break a window over that’un. Said she could bandage up while we men took care of the cats.

“I just thought that the kitten would be nice. It was going to be a playmate, since Pa said that the jew-boys and niggers round the neighborhood weren’t fit to burn, much less visit with. And the girls, well Pa said girls was good for only two things and ma stank at both. When I tried to get Pa to let me keep the brown one out of the bag at least for a little while Pa made his mind plain, "No, an if you try and act all girlie-girl again I’ll treat you like a girl, and if you start crying I’ll shut your fuckin’ tears up.”

For only the briefest of moments it occurred to the small man that he could remember the scene clear as day and new all its lines by heart, but he had no real memories of the day before. He shrugged off the distraction giving credit to his Pa for being a good teacher. Then with a further tensing of his arm muscles, he continued.

“Well, I did cry and Pa made good on his promise, and it only took a single swing to shut me up tighter than a virgin on Sunday. Course Pa was good about that. Always made it plain when you broke his rules.

“I never asked to keep a kitten again, never cried again. I understood Pa. Get this, even though I didn’t get that whore cat for a pet, Pa did let me stay out a school for a whole week. Said why go n’ bitch ‘bout not being able to read the teacher’s writ, until I could see proper out a my right eye again.

“Pa was good about that sort a thing.”

As the water within the tub grew still the smallish fellow was pulled back from his ever present past and forced back into dealing with the situation at hand. The little fellow looked before him, the young woman’s body had grown still. Relaxed.

That’s how you had to deal with whore-cats.

The small man thought again of his mother as he looked at that peaceful sleep the young hooker had finally found. She had told him he was her first. That she would “do him” for a warm place to sleep for the night. She was a little thing, just like a kitten, and he had learned that if you could get them first, well you could give them the peace that the reverend had preached about on Sunday. Ma looked just like that before they took her away. She went to sleep in the tub too.

She had to. He and heard his Pa and ma arguing about her talking to the mailman. Said she was just like the cat, out walking it up and down the street. He had never told Pa he did it, and the judge gave his Pa the credit for it and took him away to live in some fancy big house up state, still he was confident Pa knew who set things right for the family.

In the distance he heard the soft tapping of a cane. There if he looked hard enough squinting the touched eye, he could just make out the Old Man. It wasn’t Pa, but somewhere deep down the small man knew they were doing the same good work.

As the figure grew ever closer the tapping became more distinct, more substantial. Finally, when the Old Man’s shadow cast itself across the doorway, he could just hear the soft whisper that he was always waiting so anxiously for, “Davy, I have a kitten that went stray. Could you do an old man a favor and chase it down for me?”