"Then"
Living with the Movies One movie in March was so scary nobody wanted to pop paper bags. We had distributed extra posters announcing Frankenstein Meets The Werewolf and we were expecting a big crowd at the school. After school that Friday, the river started overflowing its banks as the result of spring rains in Floyd and Pike counties, upstream from us. I heard Dad tell Mom he didn’t want to cancel the show because we had been gradually losing movie goers and we needed to be there when we said we were going to be there. Besides, it wasn’t raining in Johnson County. “All we can do is watch the water to see how fast it rises,” she said. Devon went across the road to the riverbank and began inserting long bean poles at the water’s edge. The steady progress of the rushing, muddy water past the upright poles showed how fast the water was rising. By suppertime the flood had covered the road at Corb Hollow, cutting us off from the school house. In the meantime, Dad had been busy whittling away a garden hoe from its handle. “Here Devon, stick the hoe handle through the projector handle. That way you and Donald can carry it between you,” Dad instructed. “Carry it where?” Devon’s chin dropped. “The road is covered in six inches of water and the river is still rising.” “We’ll walk around the flooded creek. We’ll just walk into the woods until we get to a point where the creek is narrow enough to step across.” So we started out–a hillbilly safari, skirting the edge of the flood water and being careful to keep our shoes on dry soil and leaves. Dad led off with the screen he had recently purchased. Devon and Donald awkwardly bumped along with the heavy projector suspended from the hoe handle. Maudie and I each carried a reel of film encased in a metal disk. Mom had the popped corn in two pillow cases. We would have to bag it at the school. Christine carried the money box and Carlos Dean brought up the rear carrying a kerosene lantern. We were able to step across the backwater about a quarter mile up Corb Hollow before heading back down the other side of the creek to the road. “The flood water will have receded by the time we return,” Dad spoke confidently. We arrived at the school a little late to find a disappointing sized group of young men waiting to be entertained. While we set up the projector and the screen, they occupied themselves by tramping across the road to peer over the riverbank at the swirling waters of the growing river. Two or three times during the fifteen minutes we took to prepare to ready the film, our audience made the trek to the river and reported back that the river hadn’t crested yet. When Dad called to them that the house was open, the group brought their excitement inside with them. It was hard to follow the Superman serial over their foot shuffling and banter. In this week-to-week story Superman solved a new crime or saved Lois Lane over and over again before the feature presentation. The house fell silent, except for the soundtrack, when the mist-shrouded opening scene of the feature movie flashed on the screen. The full moon that triggered the emergence of the wolfman in the film was matched by the real moon outside the school house. Nobody ventured outside to check the water’s level during the two minute reel change. I almost felt sorry for the clumsy Frankenstein, so clearly outwitted by the tortured werewolf, until his brute strength countered the cunning instincts of the werewolf. The final battle, pitting evil against evil, created a satisfying Hollywood ending. Now, all we had to do was make our way home under a full moon with scenes of hair and canine teeth growing on a man’s face in our heads. It would be hard to convince ourselves that there weren’t real monsters out there in the woods we had to walk into in order to get around the floodwater. Dad led the way, carrying the lantern as well as the screen. Then Mom, toting Carlos Dean, who started crying as soon as the lights of the school house were doused. Maudie and I came next with Christine clutching the skirt of my dress. Devon and Donald, with their heavy load, dragged up the rear. The light from the moon lit up the road and the rushing water just off to our right. The river threatened to cover our path home in several places but as yet the only stretch of water over the road was at Corb Hollow. The drowned section of the road was wider than it had been before, causing us to enter the woods at a spot closer to the school than we had exited it on our way to show the movie. We lost the light of the moon under the trees. I struggled to see Mom in front of me. Now there was no path cut through the underbrush. Each branch, slapping by our faces, could have been the swipe of a werewolf’s paw. Looking behind me, I could no longer see Devon and Donald. “I hope there are no flooded-out snakes in our way,” I heard Mom say. A few steps further on, “Whoo, whoo,” came from above our heads. Before you could shake a lamb’s tail, Devon and Donald were on our heels. “What was that?” Devon’s voice quaked. Dad turned around with the lantern. In its glow, I could see him laughing. I started crying from fright and the warm stream coursing down my leg.
“It’s back yonder,” Devon pointed. I cringed, expecting Dad to yell, but from what I could see, he was enjoying the spooky night, our fright and the menace of the flood. Dad left us huddled in the dark as he retraced our steps to find the projector. His laughter floated back to us. “It’s alright,” Mom cooed, reaching out to touch each one of us as we crowded in to get next to her. “We’ll be home soon.” She began to sing “I’m only going over Jordan,” her voice gaining strength as she sang. Soon we spied the lantern returning. When he was almost upon us, we saw him toting the projector in one hand and the hoe handle in the hand carrying the lantern. “Here, you boys carry the screen on your shoulders and I’ll bring the projector,” Dad said as he handed the hoe handle to Mom. “You can point this in front of you to scare away the snakes.” “Don’t make fun of me bein’ scared of snakes,” Mom said, “You know I’ve always been afraid of them.” “I wish we didn’t see that movie,” Donald whined. After seemingly endless tramping, I heard Dad say, “We can jump across the backwater here.” Like ducks in a row, we crossed to the other side of the watery barrier and hurried toward home. Once we emerged from the woods into the moonlight, Donald and Devon ran ahead with the screen. Mom’s and Dad’s longer legs kept them ahead of us girls. Maudie, Christine and I kept glancing behind to make sure nothing was creeping up on us. We had to skirt around our flooded lower yard to get to the porch. At the last minute Maudie and Christine sprinted for the front door. I burst breathlessly through the door. The last one in, I slammed it shut and leaned against it, feeling safe. But, a door couldn’t keep out the mud-colored water. When Mom checked the cellar door, as she did every night before bed to be sure it was locked, she saw the concrete floor covered in water. It had entered our cellar through the drain pipe located at the lowest corner of the room. “Don, come look at this,” she yelled. “We’re goin’ to be flooded out.” Dad stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the liquid invader. “It’s never been this high. I’m sure the water will start to go down anytime soon.” “Don’t you think we should move the furniture upstairs?” Mom’s voice shook. “No, there’s seven feet between the water and the top of the cellar stairs. I can guarantee you the water won’t rise seven feet. But, just to make you feel better, I’ll lengthen the mooring line on the boat so’s it’ll reach the porch. That way, we can leave if things worsen.” “At least, take the cedar chest upstairs,” Mom begged. While Dad and Devon hoisted the cedar chest up the steps to our second floor, Mom pulled and shoved the heavy overstuffed chair from the living room into the hallway, next to the cellar door. She intended to stay up all night to watch out for the flood! I climbed into the chair beside her rigid body, afraid to go to sleep in my room. However, I must have slept because Mom shook me awake as a rooster announced day break. “It’s goin’ down,” she said, smiling. “The worst is over.” I scrambled out of the make-shift bed to peer into the cellar stairwell. The first step down was wet! The water had almost come into our house. Even now, I could count only two steps before I saw dirty water filled with floating Mason jars of canned tomatoes, blackberries and green beans. When I looked back at Mom, I saw Dad’s sleepy face, behind her, peeking out of their bedroom. “The river has crested. It’s goin’ down,” Mom told him. I didn’t stay to hear anymore. I hurried to the front door. I wanted to see where the river stood in relation to our house. I stepped out onto the front porch where our dog, Ginger, sat huddled against the side of the house. The river stretched, unbelievably wide, from our front porch steps to the top of the river bank on the far side of the river, near the railroad. I had a hard time seeing through the early morning mist, now swirling over the rushing water. But I could make out that the new corn in the cornfield at the crest of the riverbank had been flattened by swift currents. Dad joined me on the porch. In silent awe we watched whole trees float down the turbulent middle of the river. The eerie quiet of the drowned valley gave way to groaning sounds as floating logs bumped into other water-borne debris. “Look, somebody’s boat is loose,” Dad pointed at midstream. “I’m glad I brought the truck up behind the house. It would have been under water if I hadn’t.” Devon, Maudie, Donald and Christine joined us one by one at our observation post. We stood, mesmerized by the vast expanse of water until Devon picked up the shivering Ginger and held her as we continued to stare. Was our yard and the flight of steps really still there underneath all that water? Mom called us in to a breakfast of fried mush. As we sat around the round oak table eating, Dad said, “Well, we got through it alright. Even the boat is still tied to the front porch post.” “But the cellar is goin’ to be a mess. Mud all over everythin’, spoiled potatoes and tainted canned goods,” Mom fretted. “Could have been worse,” Dad countered. |