Gun Control

It was one of those silly, small spats that happen with people who are close and it surely would’ve died a natural death if only it hadn’t been between Old Hat and Glad.  Each of the sisters could argue with a fence post all night and that particular night, they’d commenced to drinking just after sunset and by midnight were pie-eyed with moonshine.

Sparrow, making his slow way home along the dirt road from the canteen, heard the commotion and the gunshots and scrambled for the ditch, diving in wooden leg and all.

Knee walkin’ drunk they was, he told Nana the next morning, both wavin’ them old scatter guns like the damn Union Jack and screechin’ about who was the better shot!

I could tell my grandmother wanted to laugh but was trying hard not to. 

Nobody hurt though, she observed, trying her best to sound sympathetic.

Not fer want of tryin’, that’s fer damn sure!  Sparrow complained bitterly, I ain’t sayin’ I was anywheres near sober as a judge but when them two old gals get likkered up, they’s both just crazier’n a run over dog!

Nana winced at the expression.

What was they fightin’ over? she asked.

Rockin’ chairs!  Sparrow wailed, Them two rockin’ chairs that Hattie’s got settin’ on the porch!  Glad done set herself in the left ‘un and Hattie weren’t havin’ it but Glad wouldn’t move and next thing you know, they’s shootin’ and I’m in a goddam ditch!   He shook his head and sighed mightily.  Them chairs are exactly the same, Alice, jist exactly!  It’s them wimmen that ain’t normal!

And, he added with a scowl, They scared the livin’ sh…... scared the blazes out of my ol’ dog!

 Nana tsked and shook her head but I could see the corners of her mouth twitching.  She tried to cover it with a cough then a cigarette and finally busied herself pouring more iced tea and holding a paper napkin to her mouth, trying to wipe her lips as delicately as she could.  It was no good though. Just when I thought she might pull it off, her shoulders began to shake and she busted out laughing, spraying a fine mist of iced tea all over her apron and narrowly missing her shocked guest.

It ain’t funny, Alice!  Sparrow protested indignantly but that just made her laugh all the harder.  Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her face – they left smeary red streaks in her carefully rouged cheeks – and when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she gave a gasp and doubled over in her chair, ineffectively clutching at her sides.  My calm and reserved grandmother howled with laughter, ruined her makeup, dropped her glass of iced tea.  Sparrow watched all this with an icy glare but when it became clear that she wasn’t going to stop – couldn’t stop to save her soul – he couldn’t help but relent.  I watched the glare soften then turn into a smile, then into outright laughter.

Yes, it is, you old fool!  My grandmother finally managed to choke out, Only you would end up in a ditch!

She took a massive breath, laid one hand on her heaving bosom and wiped her eyes with the other, finally able to get hold of herself.  Sparrow grinned and gave her a wink.

Mebbe I made too much of it, he said ruefully, Ain’t the first time them old hags gone at it.  Don’t ‘spect it’ll be the last.

No, Nana agreed, Don’t ‘spect it will.

Sparrow survived his encounter with the crazed sisters and was even persuaded to call off the mounties who arrived the following day and delivered a stern lecture to Hattie and Glad about firearms, respect for their neighbors, the perils of alcohol and keeping the peace.  The two old women, still badly hungover and both in vile tempers, were cagey enough to listen and convince the officers that they’d meant no harm and had certainly learned their lesson.  The shotguns had mysteriously vanished – safely stashed in the root cellar or hastily buried in the back garden, many thought – only Sparrow knew they were resting in the dark water off the breakwater, precisely where he’d flung them and the ones before them.  The old pirate had been trying to disarm Hattie for years.

Reckon they’s a regular arsenal down there by now, he told Nana as the mounties waved and drove off, Ever’ time I pitch one, old crone seems to come up with three more.

Well, my grandmother told him with a wry smile, Leastways her aim ain’t improvin’ none.

Sparrow laughed, intact and back to his old self, lit his pipe and made his way down the front path, ready for the next round, be it buckshot or bullshit.  You never could tell.