The scarecrow. Ben. The woman stood in the doorway of the ramshackle,
tumbled down shanty. Her hands were cupped at her mouth. The wind blew
loose s whitish blond wisps of hair around her face and slashed the faded blue
dress into the uncorseted bulk of her body. Benny, Oh, Benny,
Her call 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 corn field. That old scarecrow.
She muttered to herself, that thou old scarecrow, with that thou old
uniform on too 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, Benny,
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? No?
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. Yo, heard
me callin yer? Yes, ma? He stood there straight and still,
his eyelids were lowered. Why'n't you come along? Then? What ails?
Yeer? Benny? Let me shout and shout that way? Nothin? Ma?
Why was yer? He hesitated a second before answering her, I was
to the bottom of the hill. And what was you doin down there?
To the bottom of the hill? What was you doin down there? Benny?
Her voice had a hushed tenseness to it. I was watchin' ma,
watchin, Benny, That's what I was doin. His tone held a guarded
sullenness. Tain't no such a pretty sunset? Benny? Wan't watchin no sunset?
Benny? Well, he spoke quickly, What do you want me to
put it? Therefore? 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? Whatfore do you put on that their 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 onto
it. Where you done it yourself? Na, Benny, Nah, ain't
nothing but an old uniform with a stick into it, just a frighten off
them buds. 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, Na, Ma, waving its arms before the
wind it come up. Shush, Minny, 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 goin then, Ma, Shush Benny,
I'd fair have to go. Ma. Live your mammy, naw,
ben, h 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 you'll mob Benny. She could see his mouth twitch.
She saw him catch his lower lipping under his teeth. Oh say you
couldn't leave, Benny, Say it. I fear hate this here farm.
He mumbled, morning and night and morning to night, nothing but choes 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 later, Mabby. No, no, Ma, you will, Benny,
sure you will. I won't. Never. I ain't able to help
Threaten. It's all closed up tight inside of me. Eating and eating it
makes me feel sick. She put out a hand and laid it heavily on
his shoulder. Likely it's a touch of fever in the blood, Benny,
Oh, I ain't got no fever. You'll be feeling better in the morning,
Benny, I'll be feeling the same ema. That's just it, always
the same, nothing but the stillness, nothing alive. And now they're 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 the 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, emptying 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, 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 nothin', 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
that's 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 a form, Ma. It's true, she
murmured, terrible, true. And I've done it for you, Benny.
I wanted to be givin 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 what I'll do if
it does pay? Ma? What all do then? And I don't know,
Benny, it's only just beginning now. But if it does pay,
mall, what'll I do? Go away from here? No, Benny,
not away? What would ye 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. There ain't no sense to this here. Talkin an
talkin'. 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 grain 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. Oh uniform with a stick in to it. He
whispered the words very low, stale, 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? Ain't no wind? Not now?
They And it's moving, ain't it? Say it's moving? Ain't it?
It looks like it was dancing. So it does, like as 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, when 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 seeing a waven ain't you?
It's nothing? Bend Look, Benny, it stopped. The two of them
stared down the slope at the dim military figure standing rigid and waist deep in
the corn field. 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 bull frogs 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 corn field. They saw its slow diss
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 walks
out of their 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, It 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, the 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 their 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. It ain'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 afore yourself, and you was right,
And I put it up, and I looked hard and low the house through.
Ain't that old uniform of your granddad's been the only rag 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 corn and pecking Thain't your fault?
Ma? Now? Wasn't nothing else but that the old uniform. I wouldn't
have took it otherwise. Poor Paul, so desperate, proud of it as
he was, him fighting for his country, and it all was 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 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 fallin to piece it as it is? If there'd I've been anything else
to put up there in that there cornfield, 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 warn'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 his 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 Ama, 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 some day, Benny, later on you'll be right. Glad, she
saw, and thrust his hands hastily into his trousers pockets. Glad His boy
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 the fear shook through the words you wouldn't wouldn't go. He waited a
moment before he answered, if he ain't want me to go, I'll stay.
God, I guess I plane got to stay. That's a good boy,
Benny. You won't ever 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 unsuddainly. Tain't goin to Beckon, Benny.
If it beckons, Ma, tain't goin to Benny. It tain't nothing but
the wind that moves it. It's just the wind. Sure, maybe you
got a touch of fever. Maybe you'd better go on to bed. You'll
be all right in the morning. Just you wait and see. You're good
boy, Benny. You'll never go off an leave your man the farm.
You're buying lad, Benny, if it beckons, he repeated, and weary
on 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 Sioux. Her eyes went down
the slope of the moonlight bathed corn field. Her right hand curled itself into
a fist ull scarecrow. 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
shade had stuck at the top of the window. The moonlight trickled into the
room. She could see the wind famed, 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
heat was terrific, not a breath of air. Suddenly she began to shake
from head to foot. Her eyes wide and staring, were fixed on the
moonlight, white and cornfield. 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 as
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 have 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 moonlight at 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 and night, the hands of the
figure slowly and unceasingly beckoned and beckoned. The sight of those reaching arms stayed
before her. When hours laid her she fell asleep, she still saw the
slow moving, motionless hands. It was mourning. When she wakened. The
sun streamed into the room. She went to the door and opened it.
Benny, she called, Oh, Betty. 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
a standing still on now end of the scarecrow? By G. Ranger Warmser