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Show Chick Sales 5 One day when he was supposed to knock on more doors with his father, Herman woke to the sound of hammering. He noticed the briefcase full of catalogues half-shoved under his father's bed. "What's Papa building?" "A chicken coop," answered his mother who was sweeping the plank floor of the two-room house. "We're going to try chickens awhile." The greenhorn-built coops didn't satisfy the Idaho biddies though. They took to roosting at the edge of the hole in the outhouse. One day, a hen f e l l in. His father, brother Jack, and Herman puzzled over a way to save the lost chicken. "Herman," Alf said as his eyes l i t up with a solution. Anchored by his father, he dangled down into the hole from a rope around his waist. He eased past the scratchy tree roots that poked at his eyes and drew long white marks on his arms. Herman kept checking the round dab of sunlight above. Sometimes he saw Jack's head blocking the light and his shadowed eyes squinting into the darkness. At those moments, Herman f e l t some satisfaction in being the only one who was the right size and weight for this job, and he dangled with a certain sense of pride. But the close earthen walls crowded his pride. He closed his eyes and held his breath. Mechanically, he rolled the woven hemp between his fingers and stroked the wisps that had escaped the braid. He thought about a fish at the end of a l i n e , the one that he and his dad had caught in Big Creek. Pretty f i s h , blue/purple/silver, except for i t s eyes that didn't blink and i t s mouth where the hook had been. |
