Throwaway Moses

Throwaway Moses by Ed Lynch Go back, Moses. Come ashore at the next town, where there's no price to pay for the desire of the wicked. il mmm¦viH4I*^^ ?-- fc- & ^*&>U«*t*"~^M%./ r$ 'r,. The flood was so close to the store that Wayne could lean out the back window and spit into the water, which was shaded milky brown, like coffee with too much cream. He filled his mouth with more tobacco from a crumpled foil pouch and watched the garbage float by the main channel. There were tables and chairs, boxes, and clothes floating in the current. The river had even picked up a brown collie who paced back and forth on a jumble of 33 dogs, its dark fur matted down by the light but steady rain. "There's a dog out there. Let's take the boat and go get it." "We ain't messing with the main river," his father said. "Besides, we've got about three thousand dollars worth of stock that needs to be moved." Wayne picked up another load and started for the truck. He could barely see over the top of the box and nearly fell on the uneven steps in front of the store. "Watch it," his father said, shoving him in the small of the back. "You've done enough harm lately, without costing me more money." "It wasn't your money. I earned it." "About the only thing you've earned is a black mark on this family. I can't say if it'll ever wash away." Wayne dropped the box into the bed of the truck, then jumped back at the sound of the shattering glass. "I'm going back to the house," he said. "You can load the rest yourself." "Then you just keep on going," his father said. "You just keep on going until you wind up in hell." Wayne walked with his head down, cheeks flared out, kicking gravel in the direction of the river. He heard his father shouting until he was way past the first bend, and he was halfway home before he unclenched his fists and slumped his shoulders into his normal walk. He walked along the one-lane road, which was boarded to the north by a nearly vertical ridge with thick stands of oak and pine. A creek, swollen by the rain, ran fast down the hill, clearing gravel from the road and depositing the egg-shaped rocks into the still rising floodwaters. The river now lapped at the edge of the road, already surrounding the boxlike houses that formed a row along the bank. Only one building seemed untouched. It was a two-story house, made of the same wood planks as the rest, but it was kept clear of the rising water by thick oak beams placed at each corner. On the sagging porch, a white-haired woman swept the boards clear of the pooling rainwater. The paint was chipping and, along with the rain, she swept chunks of wood and gray paint off the side of the porch. Wayne climbed into a dented green johnboat that was tethered to a mailbox about thirty yards from the house. The woman stopped her sweeping and walked over to the metal ladder at the edge of the porch. "She's already past the mark," Wayne said, gesturing with his hands how far the water had risen since he left the house three hours before. "Is it cresting?" "She won't crest for a while. The current's still fastest out in the middle." "Give me a hand up here," Wayne's mother said. "Then you'd best go back and see to your daddy. I'm sure there's plenty of work that needs to be done." Wayne climbed up the ladder and followed his mother into the kitchen. She walked to the wooden table and started stacking family treasures into a cardboard box. First went the souvenir plate with a picture of President Eisenhower. Then it was a picture album overflowing with black and white snapshots, and finally, the thick Bible she kept on a stand in the living room, always propped open to the Psalms...