came in the kitchen.
âScare you?â he asked and sat down. He wore his hair in the same fashion that heâd worn when he was eighteen. The Elvis pompadour thing, even though he wasnât much of a fan of Elvis. He wore a red work cap with marble dust splatters on it, cocked to one side so that his pompadour wouldnât get too smashed. His hair used to be so black it was nearly blue, but now it was turning gray around the edges.
âYeah,â I said. âYou scared me.â
âSorry. Got any coffee made?â he asked.
âI think thereâs some sludge in the bottom of the pot,â I answered.
He got up and filled his giant, filthy QT mug with my wonderful sludge and sat back down. He lit up a cigarette and I handed him a saucer.
âWish you people would get ashtrays around here,â he grumbled as he took the saucer from me.
âNone of us smoke,â I said. âIt just never occurs to us to get an ashtray.â I walked over to the table and sat down with my half full glass of milk. âUncle Melvin go home?â
âYeah, Iâm about ready to head out myself.â
âBefore you go,â I ventured, âI was wondering. How exactly was it that Great-grandpa Keith died again?â
He looked at me strangely and raised an eyebrow. My father hated it when I knew something about his family that he did not. He felt like it was his family, he knew them before I did and so he should know everything first.
âWhy?â he asked.
âJust tell me how he died.â
âWhy?â
âCome on, Pop, just humor me.â
âWell,â he said and took a drink of the sludge. He actually grimaced but took another sip anyway. âIt was August.â
âWhatâs in season in August?â
âThis was the forties, in the country. You can hunt whatever you want,â he said, irritated. âThey were hunting squirrel, though, I imagine.â
âOkay,â I said.
âIt was August and Grandpa Nate took his son, Uncle Granââ
âYou mean Granville?â
âUncle Granville,â he said. âAnd my dad and Jed along with him. I heard theyâd been drinking a little, because it was so hot and everything.â
These particular ancestors of mine didnât need the excuse of the heat to be drinking, but I thought it best not to express my opinion on this. Dad continued.
âAnyway, they got turned around in the woods and couldnât figure out where they wereââ
âWhy would they go so far in the woods if they were just hunting squirrels? You could practically find them in the backyard,â I said.
âAre you gonna let me tell this damn story or not?â he asked. He was slightly annoyed. Ticked would be more like it.
âSorry,â I said all sheepish.
âSo, anyway, Uncle Jed suggested that they just go in the opposite direction of the sun and eventually theyâd run into the river because theyâd be heading east,â he said. âGrandpa Nate wouldnât hear anything of it. He wasnât going to listen to no snot-nosed grandkid tell him which way to go in the woods. He knew those woods like the back of his hand.â
âEven though this snot-nosed grandkid was twenty-eight years old?â I asked.
Dad gave me the eyebrow again and I shut up.
âAnyway, so Jed decided he was just going to head for the river. He didnât really care what Grandpa thought. So, him and Dad, which was your grandpa, headed for the river. Well, Uncle Gran decided about five minutes later that his dad was being foolish and that yes, he was going to go with Jed. Well, about ten minutes after they were headed to the river, they heard a gunshot.â
He stopped talking and looked at me as if I was going to butt in. I shrugged my shoulders that I didnât have anything to say, really, and he went on.
âThey ran back and found Grandpa Nate. They said that