Southern Gentility

A man digs throughout the night. Will he live to see the morning?

The acrid smoke continued to rise lazily as the Dark Man watched on. Each drag of his cigarette lit up the cherry, a fiery reminder that Dave was being watched. Not that he cared. He had hoped the Dark Man would grow tired, maybe let him go. As the hole got deeper, however, that seemed less and less likely. At the very least the rich soil was starting to drown out the nasty stench of tobacco.

 

The Dark Man sighed, pivoting on the heel of his boot, extinguishing the cigarette. “You know, I’d bet you five dollars my Grammy could dig twice as fast as you.” Dave tensed as he picked his next words carefully; even though this creature was getting on his nerves, he knew disrespect would not increase his chances of making it out of here alive.

 

“I bet she could, sir. Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.” The high, dry laughter Dave picked up after a terse moment of silence released the tension in his body.

 

“Yeah, you’re right, boy. The way I figure it, though, you owe me 7 more feet ‘fore sun-up.”  His admonition tugged at Dave’s heartstrings. Even over the rhythmic shunk and plop of his spade dislodging soil Dave could hear the Dark Man circling his hole. “That’s the problem with folks these days”, he said. “No sense of, oh what’d you’d call it? Accountability! People enterin’ deals they cain’t make good on. It ain’t neighborly. Ain’t proper. And here I thought you was different. Serves me right, I reckon. ‘Shouldn’t do business with Notherners’ my Pappy always said.” Poised at the head of the ever-deepening hole, the Dark Man spit derisively.

 

Despite the flurry of shoveling dirt and his increasingly labored breathing, Dave was able to make out most of the Dark Man’s posturing speech. Rebutting or pleading this decrepit man’s ramblings would only serve to weaken his chances of surviving the night. Instead, he focused on Martha. Sweet, gorgeous Martha. What would she make of this evenings activity? Would she be surprised the Dark Man circled her love like the proverbial vulture? Focus on Martha, he thought. She’ll get me through this.

 

Dave had heard that it was coldest just before dawn. Indeed, he had been counting on that adage to serve as a sign before the telltale lightening sky and cheery birds could signal last call. Regrettably, the increased labor and rising steam off his body made it impossible for Dave to know. So he dug, and dug some more.

 

“You better hurry, boy! I’d say you’re two feet short with nary 20 minutes ‘fore daybreak.” The Dark Man chuckled at Dave’s distress at this announcement. Try as he might, the soil seemed heavier with each scoopful. The black sky started to gray at his back with alarming alacrity. He knew he was almost there. Ten more scoopfuls of earth to expel. Six.  Two.

 

Bright light peeked over the horizon. Time was up. Dave looked up at the Man, no longer Dark in the face of the sun. Their eyes met. Dave swallowed. “Well?” An eternity passed.

 

The Man slowly grinned. He’d been waiting for this moment all night. “This is a mighty fine effort, son. The thing is, I don’t think you quite understand. I do not tolerate mixin’ business with pleasure. When Martha told me she was with child, I saw red. I’m sad to say I lost my temper, and she’s no longer in the family way.” He paused, gathering his thoughts as he stepped to the lip of the hole. Dave squinted as a bright glint shown into his eyes. The Man’s sheriff badge had caught the morning light and was reflecting down into the hole.

 

“N-n-now listen, sir, I didn’t and never meant any offe-“

 

“Shut up!” the Sheriff commanded, his left hand pointing straight down at Dave as his right drew his pistol. “As far as Martha knows, you ditched town, like the no-good Yank scum you are. My girl deserves far better than the likes of you!”

 

Dave had just enough time to shut his eyes before the rapport of the pistol reverberated throughout the clearing. As he lay there, a warm sticky feeling creeping down his sides, he saw the blue birds flying overhead. Heard the rhythmic shunk and plop of the spade hitting dirt. Shunk. Plop. Shunk. Plop. At the end, he spied that acrid smoke rising in the sky, that fiery red cherry, beckoning him on home.

Author's Note

This was the first story (first anything, really) I've written in about 4.5 years. I purposely didn't italicize character thoughts, opting for the style you see written. I understand that the motives and maybe actions of the characters may seem befuddling or their motivations unclear. Honestly I just wanted to write SOMETHING to get the wheels in motion again. So, it was really an exercise in "can I still do it?" and not "let's make an airtight plot and characterization." That being said, I'd love some feedback both positive and negative. Thank you!

Reviews

[Jaslin K]

Oh dave. You should've known better..
Very nicely written! I like how you have the scent and shovel sound the in beginning And in the end. It sort of reminds the audience of his mistake and misfortune. I thought the imagery and descriptions in this piece were outstanding. You have serious talent, sir. Keep on writing! Btw I loved the southern accent of the sheriff; it shows his mentality too.