Best Entry in Prose

Day After the Harvest
by Kevin Kelly ’04

Real Estate and The Apostle hunched over the bar drinking and laughing at each other’s silly jokes. They were well into it now. It had started somewhere else, some amount of time earlier, with some others joining in here and there. But, it was only the two of them now and the bartender who hated them and their stupid jokes and their crumpled bills and their exact change. He stood alone at the other end of the bar and scowled when they called for him and wished more that he were not there than they.

The bartender’s bitterness made things more enjoyable for the two of them sitting there and they nursed the last beers they could afford and had no idea what time of day or night it might be until the front door swung open and a third of the room filled with afternoon sunlight. Real Estate stared into the blindness of the sunshine and for some reason felt compelled to wait out the burning pain it caused him. When the door swung shut, a perfect vision appeared before him. The silhouette of an angel cut out from the dim bar light. A voluptuous farm girl with full lips and thick strawberry hair.

The Apostle was struck by fear as he watched the vision move toward them at the bar. There was virginity, without question, in her seamless tender skin, but just as clear to him was the curiosity and ambition behind her eyes. Real Estate would see this, too. He would see her shoulder where the dress strap fell off, that it was tanned and tight and smooth. Her ankles, thin but strong. Her neck, soft, and her cheeks flush. He would see the way the vertical seams over her hips stretched as she took her seat on the bar stool and he did, and his pulse quickened and his back stiffened and he did not notice the gaunt, leather faced farmer who’d followed the girl in.

The Apostle did, though. It had been the source of his fear. The farmer looked mean and judgmental. He pulled out a stool for his daughter and pushed her in once she’d wiggled into a comfortable position. He actually lifted the stool and the girl and placed her forward and set her down without showing any kind of strain. He looked over at the two of them and nodded in greeting. His teeth were brown and crooked. His daughter’s were straight and white. Real Estate didn’t notice the old farmer at all until he took the stool next to his daughter.

“That time again already?” the bartender hid his bitterness from his new customers.

“That’s right,” the farmer said. “Had a good one too. God give us this good weather for it and we done two good truckloads.”

The bartender managed something like a smile. “Now don’t tell me this little one drove one a them trucks to town.” The farmer showed his displeasure at having his pride spoken of in such a way. He showed it through his eyes, in the way he looked at the bartender. “No. I’ll be back tomorrow with the other. My little girl ain’t staying with them hands I got. Buncha damn driftwood, those sonbitches. That’s all.”

“No offense sir. A cold beer for you? And something for your daughter?”

“Yes. A beer and a whiskey. And fruit juice. You have that don’t you? Fruit juice?”

“Anything you like, sir.” The bartender drew the beer and poured the shot and allowed the bitterness to return to his face as he turned and shook orange juice and grenadine until it foamed. Then, he forced it away again when he turned to pour the girl’s fruit juice.

“Oooooh!” the daughter let out a little squeal as she tasted the drink. “It’s delicious,” she said and went back down to the straw again.

Real Estate had not yet removed his stare from the girl. When she finally noticed it, she gave a dreamy stare back and smiled, sending lustful tremors through his anesthetized limbs. A vague but purposeful plan was forming in his mind. It would take him a while to exact the details, but the general goal was set and the desire to achieve it grew every time the girl adjusted her seat.

Two ladies had come in looking for coffee while the bartender shook the juice. He was put off by it
and informed them that it would be “a while” for him to brew a pot. The farmer wiped the corners of
his mouth and matted down his bushy eyebrows and turned to the ladies.

“Nothing but the freshest for ladies as fine as you,” he said more awkwardly than he might have had he more often the opportunity to use such lines.

The ladies smiled at him and sat at a table to wait. “Daddy, you’re such a flirt,” the farm girl said to her father.

“I am not. I was just being friendly to those ladies.”

“Flirting.”

“No,” he said. And, while his daughter giggled at her little joke, the farmer fixed his eyes on Real Estate. “No, I don’t start things I can’t finish. When I was younger, yes, and I found out the hard way. Like everyone does.”

“That’s a good philosophy to live by,” Real Estate piped in. The Apostle winced as he heard his friend’s voice. “I try to follow it myself.”

“Good,” the farmer nodded and grazed Real Estate with an eye of caution. “I’m glad we agree on that.”

“You bet.”

“Well, good then,” The Apostle interrupted. “That’s good we all agree. You and me better shove off now though, boy. We got plenty a work to get done yet.”

The bartender heard him from the other end of the bar and was appalled. “When’d you ever do a lick a work in your life?” he sneered.

“We work plenty,” The Apostle said. “You just mind yours and we’ll take care of ours. Don’t you worry none about what we do.” He’d risen to defend himself, and Real Estate had risen too and had slipped away during the distraction. The farm girl was gone to freshen herself and Real Estate was heading for the dark corner in the hallway that led to the ladies room. It was a spider’s web. The perfect trap in which to cage victims of passion and lust. Real Estate could often be found there, waiting for prey. He was on his way there now and asking for trouble. The Apostle ignored the bartender’s insulting response and tracked down his friend just before he entered the dark corner.

“Real! What are you doing?”

“Oh, God.” Real Estate took his breath quickly. “Don’t step up on me like that. I’m doing nothing, brother. Only taking a little taste of sweetness and youth. She looks delicious, does she not?”

“Yes, brother, delicious. But, did you not hear the old man? He warned you quite clearly.”

“So he did. But, I have no fear of his warning. I will finish what I begin.” Real Estate rubbed his hands together as he spoke. His tongue moved in his mouth. The details of his plan were tightening. “I will take it to the very end. And, I will enjoy every minute of it.”

“Brother, listen to me. You have misunderstood the old man. When he said, ‘Finish what you start,’ he meant, ‘you break it, you buy it,’ and nothing less than that.”

“You mean …”

“Yes, brother. That’s right. When was the last time you got up before sunrise to milk cows and feed
chickens?”

“Well, there was that time we was over in Ortonville.”

“No, brother, feed chickens, not steal them.”

Real Estate looked hurt and a little confused, then a light flickered in his head. “I’ll make it so she
won’t tell,” he said triumphantly. “No one will ever know.”

The Apostle shook his head. “You are a moron of great proportions, brother. I thought I knew stupid men until just now. I wish any one of those unfortunate imbeciles was here at this moment to bask in his brilliance, because even he would know what a ridiculous notion it is you’ve presented.”

“I have to though,” Real Estate pleaded. “I must.”

“No, brother. It is exactly the opposite. You must not.”

“But, I don’t have the strength not to. Did you not see her body? Did you not see those lips? How am I supposed to turn away from that?”

“This is it, brother. This is what you must do. Ask yourself this question. What would Jesus do?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s right. Thank you, brother. That is exactly what I must do. It makes things so clear. I
cannot take the girl or the old man will kill me.”

“He will slice you like ham.”

“Yes.”

“And, if we are unlucky, he will saw off a shotgun and many of us will die with you.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“Or worse, for you, he’ll hold the barrel to your back until you’ve become well situated in a perfect hell, stinking of cow udders and chicken shit and wishing we’d all gone together in one wide spread
blast.”

“You’re right, brother, I know. I know it’s all true. But, her skin is so fresh, and her fragrance lingers
still here in the air.”

“You can’t have her, brother. What would Jesus do?”

Back on their stools, they watched the farmer’s daughter bounce out of the darkness of the hallway
and then out the door behind her serious father. Real Estate waved goodbye regretfully. His heart was breaking. The girl giggled and waved back and disappeared into evening sunlight beyond the swinging door.

“I’ll never forget her,” Real Estate whispered desperately.

“Of course you won’t, brother. What was her name again?”

“I don’t think we ever heard it.”

The bartender was listening and sneered with disgust. “You can always ask her tomorrow if you
can beg enough money for a beer between now and then. But, I know you’re both broke now and I
want you the hell out.”

Yes. Tomorrow, Real Estate thought. Yes, there was the second load to haul in. He’ll bring the little
angel again or risk leaving her to the bidding of those vile farmhands. The corner will be dark, and I will be waiting. And this time I’ll get rid of this meddling Apostle first. What would Jesus do, indeed.