Speaker 1: The scarecrow.
Speaker 2: Ben.
Speaker 1: 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.
Speaker 2: 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.
Speaker 1: 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