01/18/01

I know what you’re thinking: It’s been well over two weeks and how many pages already and the dumpy Redneck Asshole still hasn’t told me how the fuck a meteorite landing on Porch Rot’s farm led to solving Phil Palfrey’s disappearance.

Well, it was easy enough to see that Porch Rot was having none of it in terms of allowing meteorite hunters to search his farm for other fragments that may have fallen nearby --- apart from the fragment that killed his Holstein--- any one of which could be sold for a small fortune. There were plenty of people, myself included, who showed up at Hiram’s door willing to pay a tidy sum just to look around for the day whether successful or not in finding anything. He was turning away a lot of desperately needed money, and it just didn’t make sense. And the other thing to it was the media coverage: Surely if Phil was still out there at liberty to hear all the stories about what was happening back home he would have shown up to see things for himself and be part of it. Ultimately Hiram brought attention to a spot of ground between his old barn and his house that put the matter in clearer focus for me. He towed out his old El Camino that had been kept under cover in his garage for decades and left it outside in the elements, said he needed to make room in the garage for a tractor instead. Like that made any fucking sense. Then it occurred to me that I had visited that spot where the old car now rested with my father when I was a child. As I recalled, we were helping the Palfreys to put in hay at some point in the late 50’s and we tried to pump up a drink from the old hand dug well that was there. Dad blamed our difficulty on the leathers being dried out. Dad told me he had dowsed the place for the well to be dug when he was a mere boy, when he became renowned for his water divining talents in newsreels as Dowser Boy. I had not realized the well had been filled in and obliterated at some point since then. It seemed funny to me that here at a time when folks from the outside world were stopping by seeking to search over the ground as a possible strewnfield, that Hiram would seek to cover over a particular spot like that. He was betraying something with his actions, and I was the only person with the background knowledge needed to pick up on it.

I say: Hiram, don’t shit me. I know something funny is going on. What the hell you got buried in this well?

And all of sudden it’s like the water works are turned on, and he starts sniffling and snorting.

Joe, he cries out, don’t you go telling’ nobody. I found Phil hanging by a rope in the barn. I know it wudn’t right, but I didn’t want people to know that’s what he done to himself. I didn’t know what to do, Joe. Believe me, I just didn’t know what to do. I put him down in the well. He’s down there at rest. That’s where I think we should leave him. What good would it do anyone to bring him out of there, Joe? What good would it do? He’s at rest, Joe. He’s at home.

It still amazes me that I would enter into a conspiracy of silence with Porch Rot Palfrey regarding a dead body in his old well, but that’s just what I did. I just asked myself, if that was you instead Joe, what the fuck would you do? Really, how do I know I wouldn’t do the same fucking thing?

Of course I’ve had my own trouble with stuff buried on my place. I had to plead guilty on that, there was no other way. That’s how I got into this whole convicted felon probation fix in the first place. No guns anymore, but at least I’m not being sodomized right now.

I really have to be careful now to keep this on disk and keep it hidden somewhere. They could stop by at any moment to check in on me and take a hard look at all this. I don’t live in the same world as the rest at this point. My ass is owned. Seems anything I think or do is subject to examination at any moment.

Not to say my PO ain't a sweet gal or nothin.