The scarecrow. Ben. The woman stood in the doorway of the ramshackle,
tumbled down shanty. Her hands were copped at her mouth. The wind blew
loose whitish blonde wisps of hair around her face and slashed the faded blue dress
into the uncorseted bulk of her body. Benny, oh, Benny. Her
caw echoed through the still evening. Her eyes staring straight before her down the
slope in front of the house, caught sight of something blue and antiquatedly military,
standing waist deep and rigid in the cornfield. That old scarecrow. She
muttered to herself, that thou old scarecrow, with that thou old uniform on
to and too. The sun was going slowly just beyond the farthest hill.
The unreal light of the skies reflected colors held over the yellow waving tips of
the cornfield. Benny, She called again, Ah, Bennie, and then
she saw him coming toward her, trudging up the hill. She waited until
he stood in front of her supper Ben, she said, was you down
in the south meadow where you couldn't hear me call? Nah? He was
young and slight, He had thick hair, and a thin face. His
features were small. There was nothing unusual about him. His eyes were deep
set and long, with lids that were heavily fringed. You heard me calling
you? Yes, Ma? He stood there, straight and still, his
eyelids were lowered. Why an't you come along? Then? What ails?
Yo? Benny? Let me shout and shout that way nothin? Ma?
Where was yer? He hesitated a second before answering her, I was to
the bottom of the hill. And what was you doing down there? To
the bottom of the hill? What was you doing down there? Benny?
Her voice had a hushed tenseness to it. I was watching, Ma,
watchin, Benny, That's what I was doing. His tone held a guarded
sullenness. Tain't no such a pretty sunset, Benny, wann't watchin' no sunset?
Benny? Well, he spoke quickly. What do you want me to
put it there for? What do you want to do that for? In
the first place, there was birds, Benny, You know there was birds.
That ain't what I mean? What for do you put on that though
uniform? I ain't had nothing else that want nothing but your granddad's old uniform.
It's fair in rags Benny. It's all I had to put on to
it. Where you've done it yourself, Nah, Benny, Nah Oka ain't
nothing but an old uniform with a stick into it, just to frighten off
them birds. Tain't nothing else, honest, tain't, Benny. He looked
up at her out of the corners of his eyes. He was waving its
arms. That's the wind, nah Ma, waving its arms before the wind
it come up. Shush, Bennie, tain't likely, tain't. I was
watching my seeing it wave and wave. Suppose it should beckon. Suppose it
should beckon to me. I'd be going then, Ma, Shush, Bennie,
I'd fair have to go. Ma. Leave your mammy. Nh ben
Uh. You could never go off and leave your mammy, even if you
ain't able to bear this here farm. You couldn't go off from your mammy.
You couldn't not your mob, Benny. She could see his mouth twitch,
She saw him catch his lower lip in under his teeth. Ah say
you couldn't leave, Benny, say it. I hate this here farm,
he mumbled, morning and night and morning in the night, nothing but chares
on earth, and then some more of them chores, and always that their
way so it is always and the stillness, nothing, lie, nothing.
Sometimes I ain't able to stand at no house. Sometimes you'll get to like
it, Laider. Maybe no, No, Ma, you will, Benny,
Sure you will. I won't. Never. I ain't able to help
fretting. It's all closed up, tied inside of me, eating and eating
it makes me feel sick. She put out her hand and laid it heavily
on his shoulder. Likely it's to touch a fever in the blood, Benny,
I ain't got no fever. You'll be feeling better in the morning,
Ben, I'll be feeling the same. That's just it always the same,
nothing but the stillness, nothing alive. And now there in the cornfield that
ain't alive, Benny, ain't it. Ma, don't you say that,
Benny, don't. He took her hand off of him. I was watching,
he said, doggedly. I've seen it. Wave and wave. She
turned into the house. That old scarecrow. She muttered to herself, that
the old scarecrow. She led the way into the kitchen. The boy followed
at her heels. A lamp was lighted on the center table. The one
window was uncurtained, with a naked spot of it. The evening glow poured
shimmeringly into the room. Inside the doorway, they both paused. You sat
down, Benny. He pulled a chair up to the table. She took
a steaming pot from the stove and emptied it into a plate. Placed the
dish before him. He fell to eating silently. She came and sat opposite
him. She watched him cautiously. She did not want him to know that
she was watching him. Whenever he glanced up, she hurried her eyes away
from his face in the stillness. It's the only live things were those two
pair of eyes darting away from each other. Benny. She could not stand
it any longer. Benny, just you, just you. He gulped down
a mouthful of food. Oh, Ma, don't you start nothing, Not
no more tonight, Ma. She half rose from her chair. For a
second, she leaned stiffly against the table. Then she slipped back into her
seat, her whole body limp and relaxed. I ain't going to start nothing,
Benny. I ain't even going to talk about this here, farm.
Honest, I ain't all this here, farm. I gave the best years
of my life to it. She spoke the words defiantly. You said that
all afore. Ma. It's true, she murmured, terrible, true.
And I've done it for you, Benny. I wanted to be giving you
something. It's all I'd got to give you. Benny. There's many a
man, Ben that's glad of his farm and grateful too. There's many that
makes it pay. And would all do if it does pay? Ma?
Would all do then? I? I don't know, Benny. It's only
just beginning now. But if it does pay, Ma, what do I
do? Go away from here now, Benny, not away? What would
you go away for when it pays? After all them years I gave to
it. His spoon clattered noisily to his plate. He pushed his chair back
from the table. The legs of it rasped loudly along the uncarpeted floor.
He got to his feet. Let's go on outside, he said, ain't
no sense to this here talking and talking. She glanced up at him.
Her eyes were narrow and hard. All right, Benny, I'll clear up.
I'll be along in a moment, all right, Benny. He slouched
heavily out of the room. She sat where she was The set looked pressed
on her face automatically. Her hands reached out among the dishes, pulling them
toward her. Outside, the boy sank down on the step. It was
getting dark. There were shadows along the ground, blue shadows in the gray
skies. One star shone brilliantly. Beyond the mist slurred summit of a hill.
The full moon grew yellow. In front of him was the slope of
wind moved cornfield, and in the center of it the dim military figure,
standing waist deep in corn His eyes fixed themselves to it, all uniform,
with a stick in to it. He whispered the words very low, still
standing there, still the same wooden attitude of it, his same cunning watching
of it. There was a wind. He knew it was going over his
face. He could feel the cool of the wind across his moistened lips.
He took a deep breath down there in the shivering cornfield, standing in the
dark blue shadows. The dim figure had quivered. An arm moved, swaying
to and fro. The other arm began swaying, swaying. A tremor ran
through it. Once it pivoted. The head shook slowly from side to side.
The arms rose and fell and rose again. The head came up and
down and rocked a bit to either side. I'm here, he muttered,
involuntarily. Here. The arms were tossing and stretching, he thought. The
head faced in his direction. The wind had died out. The arms went
down and came up and reached Benny. The woman seated herself on the step
at his side. Look, he mumbled. Look. He pointed his hand
at the dim figure shifting restlessly in the quiet, shadow saturated cornfield. Her
eyes followed after his. Oh, Benny, well, His voice was hoarse.
It's moving, ain't it? You could see it moving for yourself,
can't you? You ain't able to say you don't see it? Are you
the wind? She stammered? Where's the wind? Down there? Do you
feel a wind? Say? Do you feel a wind? Maybe down there?
The ain't no wind? Not now? They AND's movin. Ain't it?
Say? It's moving? Ain't it? It looks like it was dancing.
So it does if it was making itself dance. His eyes were still
riveted on those arms that came up and down, up and down and reached.
He'll stop soon now, he stuttered, it, more to himself than
to her. Then it'll be alive. I've watched it mighty often. Maybe
it knows I watch it. Maybe that's why it moves. Oh, Benny,
well you see it, don't you. You thought there was something the
matter with me when I come and told you how it waves and waves by.
You've seen a waving, ain't you. It's nothing, Ben, Look,
Benny, it stopped. The two of them stared down the slope at
the dim military figure standing rigid and waist deep in the cornfield. The woman
gave a quick sigh of relief. For several moments, they were silent,
and somewhere in the distance came the harsh, discordant sound of bullfrogs croaking out
in the night. A dog bayed at the golden full moon climbing up over
the hills. A bird circled between sky and earth, hovering above the cornfield.
They saw it slow descend, and then for a second they caught the
startled whirr of its wings as it flew blindly into the night. That old
scarecrow, she muttered. Suppose, he whispered, Suppose when it starts us
moving like that, Suppose someday it walks out of that cornfield, just naturally
walks out here. To me, What then if it walks out, Benny.
That's what I'm thinking of all the time. If it takes it into
its head to just naturally walk out here, what's going to stop it?
If it wants to walk out after me once it starts moving that way,
what Benny couldn't do that it couldn't. Maybe it won't. Maybe it'll just
beckon first. Maybe it won't come after me, not if I go when
it beckons. Kind of figure it'll beckon when it wants me. I couldn't
stand the other couldn't wait for it to come out here after me. Kind
of feel like it'll beckon when it beckons, I'll be going, Benny.
That's sickness coming on. You take no sickness. The woman's hands were clenched
together in a lap. I wish to God, she said, I wish.
I ain't never seen the day when I put that there thing up that
their cornfield. But I ain't thought nothing like this could never happen. I
wish to god, I ain't never seen the day. Tain't got nothing to
do with you. His voice was very low. It's got everything to do
with me, so it has. You said that for yourself, and you
was right, and I put it up, and I looked high and low
the house through. Ain't that old uniform of your granddad's being the only brag
I could lay my hands on? Was there anything else I could use?
Was there? Oh? Ma? Ain't we needed a scarecrow down there?
With them birds so awful bad pecking away at the corner, and pecking ain't
your fault? Ma. There wasn't nothing else but that thou old uniform.
I wouldn't have took it otherwise. Poor Paul, so desperate, proud of
it, as it was him fighting for his country, and it always saying
that he was he couldn't be doing enough for his country, and that the
old uniform meant so much to him, like a part of him. I
used to think it, and you wanting to say something, ben ah Nah.
He wouldn't even let us be burying a minute. Put my country's flag
next to my skin, He told us, when I die, keep the
old uniform, just like a part of him. He thought it. Wouldn't
I've kept it, falling to piece it as it is, if there'd I've
been anything else to put up there in that there corn field, She felt
the boy stiffened suddenly, and with him a soldier. He broke off abruptly.
She sensed what he was about to say. How Benny, that was
different, honest it was. He weren't the only one in his family.
There was two brothers. The boy got to his feet. Why won't you
let me go? He asked it passionately. Why do you keep me here?
You know I ain't happy? You know all the men have gone from
these here parts. You know I ain't happy. Ain't you going to see
how much I want to go? Ain't you able to know that I want
to fight for my country the way he did is fighting. The boy jerked
his head in the direction of the figure standing waist deep in the cornfield,
standing rigidly and faintly outlined beneath the haunting flood of moonlight. Nah, Benny,
you can't go. Nah? Why ma, Why do you keep saying
that? And saying it? I'm all alone, Benny. I've gave all
my best years to make the farm pay for you. You got to stay,
Benny, You got to stay on here with me. You just plain
got to. You'll be glad someday, Benny, later on, You'll be
right glad, she saw, and thrust his hands hastily into his trouser pockets
glad. His voice sounded tired. I'll be shamed, That's what I'll be.
Nothing. Do you hear nothing but shamed? She started to her feet.
Benny, I know of fears, shook through the words you wouldn't wouldn't
go. He waited a moment before he answered, If you ain't want me
to go, I'll stay. God, I guess I've plane got to stay.
That's a good boy, Benny. You won't never be sorry, now,
how I promise you. I'll be making that up to you, honest
I will. There's lots of ways I'll he interrupted her. Only, Ma,
I won't let it come after me. If it beckons, I got
to go. She gave a sudden laugh that trailed off uncuddinly. Tin't goin
to Beckon, Benny. If it beckons, Ma, tain't goin to Benny.
It ain't nothing but the wind that moves it. It's just the wind.
Sure, maybe you got a touch of fever. Maybe you better go
on to bed. You'll be all right in the morning. Just you wait
and see your good boy, Benny. You'll never go off and leave your
ma on the farm. You're bune lad, Benny, if it beckons,
he repeated, and wearing mon a tone, tain't Benny, I'll be going
to bed, he said, that's it, Benny, good night, good
night Ma. She stood there, listening to his feet thudding up the stairs.
She heard him knocking about in the room. Overhead, a door banged.
She stood quite still. There were footsteps moving slowly. A window was
thrown open. She looked up to see him leaning far out over the sill.
Her eyes went down the slope of the moonlight bathed cordonfield. Her right
hand curled itself into a fist ol scare crows. She half laughed. She
waited there until she saw the boy draw away from the window. She went
into the house and bolted the door behind her. Then she went up the
narrow steps. That night, she lay awake for a long time. The
heat had grown intense. She found herself tossing from side to side of the
small bed, the window shaded. Stuck at the top of the window,
the moonlight trickled into the room. She could see the wind framed, star
specked patches of the skies. When she sat up, she saw the round,
reddish yellow ball of the moon. She must have dozed because she woke
with a start. She felt that she had a fearful, evil dream.
The horror of it clung to her. The room was like an oven.
She thought, the walls were coming together, and the ceiling pressing down.
Her body was covered with sweat. She forced herself wide awake. She made
herself get out of the bed. She stood for a second uncertain, and
she went to the window. Not a breath of air stirring. The moon
was high in the sky. She looked out across the hill. Down there,
to the left the acres of the potatoes. Potatoes were paying. She
counted on a big harvest. To the right, the wheat. Only the
second year for those five fields, she knew that she had done well with
them. She thought, with a smile running over her lips, back to
the time when less than half of the place had been under cultivation. She
remembered her dreams of getting the whole of her farm in work. She and
the boy had made good. She thought of that with savage complacency. It
had been a struggle, a bitter, hard fight, from the beginning.
She had made good with her farm. And there down the slope, just
in front of the house, the corn field, and in the center of
it, standing waist deep in the corn the antiquated military figure. The smile
slid from her mouth. The suffocating heap was terrific, not a breath of
air. Suddenly she began to shake from air head to foot. Her eyes
wide and staring, were fixed on the moonlight white and corn field. Her
eyes were held to the moonlight streaked figures standing in the ghostly corn moving.
An arm swayed, swayed to and fro backwards and forwards backwards, the other
arms swaying. A tremor ran through it. Once it pivoted. The head
shook slowly from side to side. The arms rose and fell, and rose
again. The head came up and down and rocked a bit to either side.
Dancing, she whispered, stupidly dancing. She thought she could not breathe.
She had never felt such oppressive heat. The arms were tossing and stretching.
She could not take her eyes from it. And then she saw both
arms reach out, and slowly, very slowly, she saw the hands of
them beckoning. In the silence of the room next to her, she thought
she heard a crash. She listened intently, her eyes stuck to those reaching
arms and the hands of them that beckoned and beckoned Benny. She murmured Benny
silence. She could not think it was his talk that had done this.
Benny's talk. He had said something about it walking out, if it should
come out, moving all over like that, if its feet should start,
if they should of a sudden begin to shuffle, shuffle out of the cornfield.
But Benny wasn't awake, He couldn't see it. Thank God, if
only something would hold it, if only it would stop. God. Nothing
stirred out there in the haunting moonlighted night. Nothing moved, nothing but the
figure standing waist deep in the cornfield. And even as she looked, the
rigid military figure grew still still now but for those slow, beckoning hands.
A tremendous dizziness came over her. She closed her eyes for a second,
and then she stumbled back to the bed. She lay there, panting.
She pulled the sheets up across her face, her shaking fingers, working the
tops of them into a hard ball. She stuffed it between her chattering teeth.
Whatever happened, Benny mustn't hear her, She mustn't waken Benny, Thank
Heaven. Benny was asleep. Benny must never know how out there in the
white night, the hands of the figure slowly and unceasingly beckoned and beckoned.
The sight of those reaching arms stayed before her. When hours later she fell
asleep, she still saw the slow moving, motionless hands. It was morning
when she wakened. The sun streamed into the room. She went to the
door and opened it. Benny, she called, Oh, Benny. There
was no answer, Benny. She called again, get on up, it's
late, Benny. The house was quiet. She half dressed herself and went
into a room the bed had been slept in. She saw that at a
glance, his clothes were not there down in the field, because she'd forgotten
to wake him. In a sudden, stunning flash, she remembered the crash
she had heard. It took her a long while to get to the little
closet behind the bed. Before she opened it, she knew it would be
empty. The door creaked open, his one hat and coat were gone.
She had known that he had seen those two reaching arms. He had seen
those two hands that had slowly, very slowly beckoned. She went to the
window, her eyes staring straight before her. Down the slope in front of
the house caught sight of something blue and antiquatedly military, standing waist deep and
rigid in the corn field. Your scarecrow, she whimpered, Why you standing
there? She sobbed, What are you standing still for? On now End
of the Scarecrow by G. Ranger Warmser