BEYOND THE VEIL

I suffered greatly at the loss of Ol’ Trigger's pups. I knew what’d happened, but I didn't see them die. My cousin Emmett Moore had been killed in Germany. I was not old enough to come to terms with his death, so I just pushed it out of my mind for the time being. I’d watched the General wring the neck of many a chicken. Their heads would be gone and they’d leap about as if searching for them. Eventually, they’d collapse in a heap, quiver, their blood would pour out on the ground, and then it’d be over. I’d watched hogs being slaughtered at hog killing time. The knife would be passed over their jugular vein and the rich, red blood would flow, and life’s force would drain away. I’d watched Mr. Ira Lands come to a convulsive end. I was both fascinated and haunted by all of these events.

The General had told her children that all things were put on earth for the benefit of man. She taught us that we were to be humane in our dealing with animals, however, we were not to feel bad for slaughtering one. After all, they’d been put here on earth for our good. To take its life for food was an acceptable thing. I was taught this from my diaper days but was never totally comfortable with the idea. When the hog and chicken killing was over, I’d soon forget the pain. I’d sit down and eat the prepared food and not think of how it had all come about. I’d killed many a small animal for food while hunting. I’d shot them sitting, on the run, or at a distance. I, at times, would pick them up and feel their warm bodies. I’d feel some remorse for a few minutes then push it to the back of my mind.

About two weeks after my encounter with my friend, the panther, My Daddy and I were walking in the same general area. The water had not yet receded and many ground living animals had sought refuge on the higher knoll. It was a great place to look for small game. No doubt, my panther friend had been here for this very reason. Suddenly, a quick jump of a large something broke and ran straight out from us. It was a huge swamp rabbit as big as a house cat. Before we could stop Ol' Pal, he gave chase. In a blink of an eye, the rabbit ran inside of a hollow tree. My Daddy decided we should drag him out. Could be he was a big, healthy rabbit and the General could bake him up like an ol’ chicken. My Daddy cut a small branch from a tree, split it at the end, and reached up and started twisting. The splintered end caught in the fur, and soon My Daddy was pulling him out. He held him in his hand by his feet. I was feeling quite victorious.

My Daddy began turning him from side to side checking to see if he was healthy. I could see his white underside and his beautiful gray fur. He then commenced to lunge away from My Daddy trying to make his escape. Then, a low whine came out of his mouth, as he began to beg for his life. It was the most mournful sound I’d ever heard. It was an ancient cry coming down through the centuries. The eye of my soul looked right into a river of blood. I could hear the weeping voices of all living things past and present. It was a cry of desperation and sadness. It went right to the core of my being. I suddenly became aware of this life and death struggle between man and beast. I’d thought of my own death and had a fear of that future event. This poor animal knew that he was about to die.

I was moved to pity for such suffering. “Let him go, Daddy. Please, just let him go,” I pleaded. Then I burst into tears. My Daddy stopped and gave me a very surprised look. We’d been hunting and killing wild game together for three years. I’d no idea what he was thinking, but he turned and dashed the skull of the rabbit against a nearby tree. The poor, dying rabbit gave a final quiver and the blood ran out of his ears and nose and dripped silently onto the ground. Ol’ Pal had ran over and stood eagerly licking it up. A terrible dread came over me. I felt we’d committed a great sin. Even now I feel pain when remembering. I wish My Daddy would’ve said, “Yes, son, at times, it is good to show mercy to that which you’ve been given the power of life and death over,” and then let him run free.

I awake in the night and an inner voice says, “You will die.” I recall holding the brain in my hand and wondering of its greatest thought. I think of all of those that have gone before me. I remember Vietnam where dead Marines were stacked up like wood, waiting to be sent to their loving families. I remember the crude jokes by those attending them in their unholy trying to avoid looking into the face of their own death. My own personal struggle continues.

One mile from where we lived on the Company Farm lived a very poor family that had eight children. One of them had been afflicted with rheumatic fever. She became ill on a Friday afternoon, and died on Monday. A great sadness fell over our home. These folks were our nearest neighbors. The General and My Daddy went to their house that evening to express their sympathy to the family. The custom, of that time, was to view the body in the family home. People would come from miles around and bring food and try to give comfort to the grieving family. The men would gather outside and talk of the wonderful deeds of the deceased that had somehow been overlooked while they were living. The women would be inside preparing and distributing the food. No mention was ever made of any misconduct that might’ve put doubt as to the where abouts of the poor persons soul. A few would spend the night hovered around the coffin murmuring in low tones.

My brother, Darrel, and I were left home alone while the other four members visited the grieving family. We’d talked of little else since hearing the tragic news. The reality that the young could die too, left us shaken and full of fear. The General spoke of Jesus and the need to be ready for judgment, in case He called. That evening, Darrel was in the kitchen trying to find something to eat. I’d been thinking of ghosts and the possibility of spirits returning to the earth. I really needed to do something to make me feel alive and in control. I looked down and saw a white sheet lying folded on the bed. I’m not sure what came over me at that point, but I put the sheet over my head, and wrapped it all around me. I then ran from the bedroom, passed through the living room, on through the kitchen and toward the back door. All the time, screaming like a banshee. My poor brother dropped the dish he was holding and turned as white as the sheet I was wearing. I didn't stop. I sailed right past him and out the door in a dead run.

He soon recovered and realized what I’d done. His fear turned to anger. He then took a piece of wood that was to be used in the cookstove, and decided he’d kill me. I was very fast. We had quite a chase. I’ve no idea, to this day, why I did such a thing. My way of dealing with my own fear, I suppose. It was my one successful at trying to scare the wits out of my brother. I can't remember now if he caught me later that evening or not. I do know that he told the General what I’d done. She and My Daddy were left to ponder why I’d cry for a dumb ol” rabbit and show such little respect for a poor dead child. They’d be keeping a close eye on me.