The Bacco Stick

THE BACCO STICK

  Loin Bowen

  Published by: Loin Bowen

  Copyright 2013 Loin Bowen

  Thank you for reading my story. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing the story.

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  THE BACCO STICK

  A short story by

  LOIN BOWEN

  Ever wonder why a man. . . Who is dying of cancer, constantly hides from vicious killers, Lives in a hole in the ground, is known as . .Lucky Mishka?

  Mishka didn't care that he was making too much noise.

  He clinched his teeth as hard as he could, and sucked at the frosty morning air. He hoped the air might somehow dilute the pain that was buried deep in his head, on his good-ear side. But he pressed too hard as one of his molars suddenly sprang loose and lodged between his tongue and gums. He rolled the jagged tooth around in his mouth for a moment, savoring the salty flavor, which took some of the edge off of the foul taste leftover from his coughing jag. He finally spit the bloody stump into his open palm and stared at it despondently.

  "Third terrist-lovin' one this month," he mumbled as he pitched the brown stained chip as far as his frail arm would allow. "Keep this up Mishka, and you'll be eating nothin' but falfa mush from here on. Of course, that's meaning you got to find some first!"

  "Can I have some falfa mush too?" Plebo asked in his high pitched gravely whisper.

  Mishka spit several more times in a vain attempt to rid his mouth of the salty and bitter phlegm. Another harsh coughing spasm produced some more of the vile substance, until at last he stopped. Exhausted, he knelt down and began taking slow controlled gulps of air, pausing only to puzzle over the inexplicably fruity sweetness of his breath. Slowly, the pain dulled, and his pale red face faded back to milky white.

  "Sure, boy," Mishka answered. "When I gets some, you gets some".

  He started turning toward the boy sitting on the broken railroad tie, but he stopped suddenly. He stared in disbelief at the brownish green object wedged under a scrap of metal, lying in the shadow of Plebo's pencil legs. He craned his neck, quickly searched the immediate area, and then slowly stooped down to retrieve the treasure. He cradled it protectively in cupped hands.

  "A bacco stick!" he whispered. "Almost new, and damn near six centa's long!” He looked around again, his eyes misty from the combination of exhaustion, excitement--and fear.

  "Could be a trap, boy,” he said, as he reached over to retrieve his dog stick. Using the club as a brace, he painfully pushed himself up. "Them kill-for-nothins done it before."

  Plebo quickly stood and drew his small dog stick, joining Mishka in a wide-eyed scrutiny of distant shadows and faint noises. "Don't see no body," Plebo said. "And there ain't none of them run-away sounds, like the metal clicks, or the loud hurtin hums. Nah. Ain't no way you gonna miss them loud, smell awful, two wheeled 'chines they travels on, Mishka." He turned and stared at the closed fist, only inches from his face.

  "Git your sneaking nose outta there, boy!" Mishka said. "Ain't nothin for you." Mishka tapped his dog stick on the top of Plebo’s covered head. "Get on with you now. I has got important business to do."

  Plebo retreated a few steps and slumped on the railroad tie. He pulled off his old felt hat, massaged his head and pouted. He looped his thumb and forefinger and gave Mishka the evil eye, but quickly erased it before Mishka saw it. He watched Mishka out of the corner of his eyes.

  Mishka wedged his dog stick into his belt and began walking down the old track bed, cradling his treasure in closed palms, as carefully as he might carry a wounded bird. After several backtracking maneuvers, he finally stopped in front of a large pile of rubble capped by a chunk of twisted metal train roofing, itself propped up by several warped rails and an assorted lot of broken branches and tree stumps. All of this was cemented together with rain packed gravel and dirt.

  This particular mound wasn't much different from hundreds of others that dotted this rocky and desolate area. Mishka didn’t think much about these mounds, except to wonder why the whole valley looked as if someone went around sweeping up piles of trash but then forgot to scoop them up and haul them away. It was the only land that Mishka had ever known. He'd heard talk of other, maybe better places. But, he wasn't sure. So many lies.

  He looked around again, squinting particularly hard at the nearest ruble mounds. Satisfied that he was alone, and therefore safe, he stooped down and pulled aside a half section of a metal barrel, exposing the convex side that had most of the vivid red and yellow colored letters still readable on its silvered surface.

  "That sure is purty!" said a voice from behind him.

  "Some Bitch!" said Mishka as he drew his dog stick and swung around in the direction of the gravelly whisper. "What you doing here! I told you to git!" He moved menacingly toward Plebo, then stopped when he looked at the face ducking behind a tree stump. He let out a deep sigh. "Ah, come on," he said, lowering his club, "I guess you's here now, ain't ya?"

  Plebo rose slowly and walked toward him, staring at the brightly colored barrel. "That sure is nice, Mishka. Can I see the colors? Is that your hider? Can I come in? I won't tell nobody. They say you is `Lucky Mishka', cause you got the best hider in the whole world. I didn't know you didn't want me to come, though."

  "Oh, hush up," said Mishka. "I already said you is here now, didn’t I. But you swear, right now, on your better-dead-n-red oath, that you will tell no one about it. You hear? And show me the sign!"

  "Yes, sir." Plebo whispered, lowering his head and swallowing hard as he slapped himself twice on the mouth.

  Mishka stared menacingly at the boy and then turned aside to cover the smile creeping onto his face. He then banged his stick around the opening of the dark entry hole. Taking a final look around, he bent down painfully and began crawling backwards, disappearing into the small opening. He extended his head back out and looked at Plebo.

  "OK, boy. Start backing in here, and pull the cover back as you come. Make sure the color side's in, to the opening. Don't want some scrounger finding her and the hider too!"

  He continued crawling backwards, pausing only to watch Plebo pull the metal cover tightly into place. Soon they both stood on the mud-packed floor, in the dank blackness of a large artificial cave.

  Waving his empty hand, Mishka located the rusty chain dangling from a small flu cut into the ceiling of the dugout. Pulling with all of his strength, he listened as the familiar grating sounds allowed a faint light to filter into the wide expanse. Mishka stared mutely through the dancing motes and the complex patterns of shade and light created by the dim radiance, searching for signs of movement. Satisfied, he looked down at the rag covered figure squatting on the floor, and smiled at the expression on Plebo's face.

  "Figure she's six steps wide by near nine steps long," he said, sweeping his arms in a wide arc. "Big steps, I mean, boy. Of course, it's more room then a ordinary man ought need."

  Plebo watched Mishka intently as he walked to the wall opposite the
entry hole. It had several deep shelves chiseled into its rough surface. The big man stared at his hand for a moment, and then placed something on one of the shelves, next to what appeared to be small mounds of roots and vegetables, and some other, unidentifiable food stuff. On the shelf above there was a straw basket. Higher up, just beyond where Plebo might be able to reach, were several jagged-edged objects, too hard to identify in the dim light. Probably some of Mishka’s best treasures. He turned and squinted toward the end of the large room.

  "What's them for, Mishka?" he asked, pointing to small piles of twigs and straw, scattered next to the far wall.

  "None you mind, boy." Mishka said, as he looked toward the nests he had built for the small animals to use, when they needed a fast respite from the sudden summer storms. He walked over and began fluffing up a large feather stuffed canvas mattress lying on the hard floor next to the shelf. He motioned to Plebo.

  "Sit, boy", he said. "Though you be careful, as that sleeper's so soft, you might just fall through the floor!"

  Plebo squatted on the mattress and then bounced up and down in delighted surprise. "What's that?" Plebo asked when he settled down, pointing to a long stick with many strings attached to it.

  "You ain't living under no tree, boy", Mishka said, pulling a basket from the shelf. "A civilized man use