by Norman A. Rubin
The folks about the town had termed the late Old Man Jenkins as a screwy old loon. They thought that he was a downright 'crazy', when he was seen shuffling about with a scowl on his bloated grizzled face, and with worded curses spewing through cracked lips. "A miz'rable nutter, yes, sirree, tetched in the head," said those who had passed his once living form and dared to give a nod of how-do. Words of relief were spoken by many of the uncaring souls upon Old Man Jenkins' departure into the nether world
Old Man Jenkins was looked upon as a dirty old man who neither cared nor bothered about his appearance, always dressed and shoed in out-dated, hand-me-downs that were carelessly worn; buttons were either missing or undone, shoelaces untied, and collars frayed and dirty. A battered bush hat, slouched over of his careworn gray eyes, completed his disheveled appearance.
His tall and hefty frame was seen bent with the sack of age that had the additional weight of his wretched existence. The heaviness of his life bore heavily, and his movements on his thick veined legs were painful and slow, moving in the tempo of his wretchedness.
Old Man Jenkins had lived miserably in a run down shack at the edge of town, all alone without nary a kin or friend. Well, almost, as he had cared for some sort of a companion, being a large rheumy hound of a mixed breed; the pitiful creature was barely able to move, being fat in the belly and aged in the legs. Pitch black it was with the gray of the years flecking his short hairs. The dog followed his master all about, staggering in its slow pace. But, it had a barking howl that sounded like wailing cry of the demons and pirits of hell itself, especially when its master, on an errand, left him locked up in the shanty.
Old Man Jenkins gave neither care nor holler about the noise, but the suffering neighbors, certainly gave a complaint, "thet man, goin' about his business - locking up thet miz'rable mutt. .. an' thet' howlin' and yelpin'... goin' t' make a charge t' th' sheriff. But, there were never any calls made to the authorities, as the words usually fell on deaf ears. The mortal beings, living in the nearby neighborhood, were those down on their luck; mainly Afro folk or poor-white that society forgot.
Only at the return of its master the creature settled down. It was an end to the lonely hours of misery for the dog, when there was the opening of his bounds, the faithful joy of following in the footsteps of Old Man Jenkins, and the coming stomach filling bowl of chunks of gristly meat mixed with a large cut of the loaf and bits of leftover greens. Afterwards there was the hound's comfortable sleep on a piece of worn carpet covering the splintery floor boards.
Old Man Jenkins had never behaved in a sociable manner to his neighbors; looked down at them as being 'nohow' and good for nothing, and the persons about acted accordingly towards him. "Ah mind me own business and them folks better behave proper-like," he would mutter to himself upon their sight. He railed his stinging venom at everyone, be it a young un' or oldster. The good people steered clear from his path when he meandered around their rickety shotgun shacks. The slightly stooped, roughly dressed, hefty figure was well known by sight, and the sound of his heavy tread were deeply feared. His aging face, cursed with the bitterness of the past, gave an additional warning to those who neared.
But the rheumy hound was the opposite of its master. "Quite friendly-like to the kids hereabouts, " were the words of the old- timers. Many a time in the past, children of the neighborhood were seen in play with the dog. "C'mon Blackie," the young uns' called; and the creature with a lolling tongue and heavy legs would slowly join in the games. But, the fun would abruptly stop at the feared sight of Old Man Jenkins.
"Don' know much 'bout thet crazed fool," were the comments ejected by his neighbors when asked. But, Old Man Jenkins had a promising life, a good one that was enjoyed in the past years, according to those who had the time to recollect a thought or two.
The story of the aged fellow, told in simple terms, started in his early years. "Born to a good and righteous family, can't 'member his first name, only Jenkins," commented those that were asked. They continued in their recollection, telling of his happy childhood in one of the gracious homes of the town; that he had lived among a small contented family - father, mother and a baby sister. "Bit of a wild one," they remarked, but their phrases spoke of the naughtiness of youth, nothing more. "Well liked," were their comments describing the growing youth, "but a bit on th' mean side when he got riled up. Had a couple ov' spats wit' th' law, but his old man covered his tracks."
Words flowed and spoke about his schooling and the promise of a rewarding future. Young Jenkins' college years, with its studies and activities, were vague in the minds of the tellers; and their spoken phrases only told of the time of the seasonal school holidays, the time of his gathering with his family.
The faces of the gossipers beamed in gentle smiles as they spoke of the day when the youth came to the hearth accompanied by a presentable young lady. "His kin folk sure did like th' young missy. Yes siree, they sure did like thet' Miz' Sally," cackled the voices. Commendable words highlighted the beauty of the girl, telling of a fine face with clear skin, high cheekbones and a sweet bell-tone voice. Their words continued and told of her slim statuesque figure, full of vibrant vitality. 'Miz' Sally was a beauty, yes siree," praised the voices.
Those with a slight bit of memory told about that day Young Jenkins returned to college together with the girl of his choice. The memories of the family's happiness upon their departure at the train station were recollected by the ones who had witnessed. "Tiz' was a glory day fer his kinfolk, with kissin' and huggin'."
Then the words were whispered hesitantly. The olemn tones continued as the phrases spelled out the dreadful meaning of that fateful period that followed.
"Let's see! yep, do 'member.. waz' in th' papers.."
An act of murder was in their words. Their narration told of the finding of a beaten body of a young girl near the campus of ________ College; details of the discovery of the body could only be remembered vaguely. The identification of the body proved to be the beloved of the young man, a report that sent waves of shock and revulsion through the immediate family and the college community.
The spoken phrases were muted, as they related the details of foul murder; that the remains were marked with severe blows of a heavy hand, the obvious cause of death. Relief was in the voices when they spelled out a few comments from the official coroner's report which referred, that there were no signs of sexual abuse; only a sign of indecent assault was seen in her torn clothing. "Prob'bly the gal put up a mighty fight," they whispered.
The resulting investigation to the crime had revealed that Jenkins and his girl Sally had a falling out; the cause was unknown as the young man was termed a loner with no close affiliation to other students. It was reported that their bonds of love ended with a loud argument, coupled with a great deal of shouting; and at the heat of the quarrel, the youth had spewed out verbal threats. The frightened girl had taken to the words and fled from his sight.
Spirits then flowed through the lips of the youth of promise. Witnesses, who saw him at a local tavern, testified that they heard him call out his story of the dispute through intoxicated breath, and, with a slurring tongue, had said "that with a bit of loving on his part, their past quarrel would be soon forgotten".
"Words, just words were spoken in the heat of disagreement", claimed his lawyer, at the opening of the trial. The prosecutor disagreed, pointing out that the young man was known for his moody behavior, and that he had been involved in fights when his temper flared; it was emphasized, that he was cited twice for aggravated assault by the courts. "I might ask," charged the prosecutor in a harsh voice, "what kind of loving can a drunken person give? Only sexual abuse!"
It was pointed out during the trial that the Young Jenkins had no positive alibi to his whereabouts at the time of the committed deed, as the fumes of the bottle had clouded his mind. Evidence was presented by the police - shoe prints that matched the size of his foot, scratch marks on his arm, and a thread of the victim's clothing snared on a button of his coat. The testimony of the pathologist, a court appointed psychiatrist and a forensic expert were presented. A witness told of seeing a person of his build near the scene of the crime, but the dark of the night prevented a positive identification. The defending lawyer tried to dismiss these pieces of evidence as being circumstantial; but the finger of guilt was slowly directed at the youth of promise.
Continuing words of a sensational trial had been blazoned on the front pages of the daily papers; the medium repeatedly detailed, in bold letters, of the incident of murder and of damning guilt. Young Jenkins pleaded his innocence, but the press had condemned him. The court hearing was long, and it attracted those who took in its fiendish pleasure; they jostled and fought for seats in the crowded courtroom.
Despite the desperate efforts of the family's legal counsel, the youth was found guilty by his peers. Through mitigable circumstances, the death sentence was not pronounced. Instead the young man was given a life term of imprisonment, but his cry of innocence was echoed as he was led to serve out his sentence.
"Wal, as ah' kin re'collect... didn't spell out his stretch.. no, siree! Found th' feller who done did thet killin' of the lass."
Twelve years he had served the penalty. During that time, the youth of promise had aged, not only in body, but in the depth of mind. The other convicts had feared him, as he constantly stared at them with evil eyes, full of hate, rarely talking; only at odd times, when asked, he would repeat sentences of his innocence. Troublemaker was the guards' thought of him, as he constantly lashed out with the fearsome strength of his fists to those who neared him.
'Innocent' was the word the warden had offered Jenkins. The wretched prisoner heard the official's phrases telling of the confession of man indicted in a murder trial in some distant city; the avowal told of a series of additional criminal acts committed by the guilty offender, which included the killing of the inmate's intended. Official apologies were given to the wronged, and the time of his release from penal servitude was hurried.
Innocent was the word, but the message couldn't reach out to the Jenkins' family. The trial was costly to the health of his father; the exertion led to a heart attack, debilitation for a year or so, followed by the specter of the hand of death. His mother passed away soon after. Events came quickly; his sister was taken in the care of a maiden aunt, the house and all its belongings of value were sold, and the pages of the man's former life closed.
"Jest turned up one day... jest like thet', 'bout three years ago, ah reckon. Came wi' thet miz'rable dog of his," whined one of the narrators.
According to the story told, Old Man Jenkins returned to the town of his birth after a goodly number of years. He had found an empty shack, and just moved in without nary a bother to ask of the owner if here be such a person. He was followed about by that found, mixed breed of a hound, as he lugged in pieces of furnishings. Nothing of value was brought, only a screechy iron cot and a thin mattress, a couple of worn chairs, a wobbly deal table and an assortment of used kitchen utensils. He did his cooking outside on some rough stones, and when the weather was bad, he simply fared on cold food. But, his loyal, graying companion was always fed with proper food.
Old Man Jenkins was not completely alone; he had one visitor, who came to him at infrequent times. The folks of the neighborhood knew of the coming; a chauffeured limousine was seen by them when it pulled up to the elder's shotgun shack. They spelled out the repeated scene in simple terms: that, at the close of the engine, the driver rushed to open a passenger door, allowing a veiled, black draped frail woman to alight; with the aid of her chauffeur, the diminutive figure tottered to the dwelling. They told how the dog was first to greet the visitor; that the creature wagged its tail in recognition, and his bark was muted to a whine of joy. Parcels were brought. The folks remarked that the visitor only stayed for only a short period; but they continued, that after the dust from the wheels had settled, Old Man Jenkins was seen momentarily fitted out in proper, comfortable clothing.
"Two days. yep, do 'member it were two days and at the nights thet th' black hound was callin' out a fit of yelpin' from Old man Jenkins' shack. Called th' sheriff, right time too," complained one of the nearby irate neighbors.
It was an incident of the recent past. The official authorities had been notified of the crazed barking of Old Man Jenkins' dog for the past two days and nights. Somehow, the sheriff listened to the complaint and sent two of his deputies to investigate. The dog's barking was hoarse and loud, deafening to the ears, as reported by the investigating officers. The report also spelled out the need to force the lock of the door, and when entering, they had found a shadowy figure dangling from a rope tied to a roof beam.
The folks about spoke of the events of that fearful day. Their excited words told of how the crazed dog bared its teeth as the deputies neared the hanging body. Its angry barking and growling from a spittle drooling mouth, and the fierce lunging by its aged body warned of danger. But the threat had not been imminent, as the creature was impeded by his leash being snarled on a fallen chair, allowing only fearsome pulling and leaping.
The faithful dog remained the watchful guardian of its master till the last breath. Nothing could be done by the deputies to lure the dog from its position. Their entreaties of "Here boy, here boy, c'mon, (whistle)," was to no avail. The dog continued to snarl and to leap threateningly at the men.
A gun was drawn....
Clucking tongues told of the comments of the onlookers when the body had been lowered, and scowling face revealed. "Yep, it's Old Man Jenkins, thet mad fool," with additional phrases telling of their disgust with the deceased at the way he used to depart from his miserable existence. Continuing words told how the deputies made a cursory examination of the shack, looking for evidence of the suicide. a note was not found explaining his reason for ending life; only two torn pieces from a newspaper were clenched in his right hand.
"Shore waz' a puzzler," spelled the curiosity of the folks about.
Subsequent investigation had revealed that one of the pieces of print contained a death notice of a prominent citizen, namely a known woman in her retiring years. The second torn piece, a sidebar to the printed announcement, was a short article that commented on the passing away of the elderly Miss Jenkins, a respectable member of the community; it told of the spinster's simple but rewarding life. A few added sentences printed her connection to a sensational trial of the years past; a trial that wrongly condemned...
"The dog being the emblem of nobility." (Plutarch)
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