The Farmer's Son

Chapter 9 Tales Under the Moon

Alan sat on a stack of wood that was going to be their fence posts, knees up with his back against the house. In front of him, the grain bins and shed were bathed in silver moonlight, and the field beyond swished gently in a cool wind. Pulling his jacket closer around him, he crossed his arms and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and sighing. He was just beginning to doze, when a finger jabbed him hard on the top of his head. Shouting in pain and alarm, he threw himself sideways, his startled cry echoing in the air, joined by laughter. Turning back, he saw a tall figure dangling from the window above him.

"That's a good scream," Ray said, dropping to the ground beside the woodpile. "Top ten I've ever heard."

"Jesus," Alan said, hand over his heart, laying his head on the wood and breathing hard. "I forgot you lived here. How did you know I was back here?"

"The plaintive sighs of a troubled soul beneath my window woke me," Ray said, reaching into the inside pocket of his denim jacket.

"Please don't call any sound I make 'plaintive'," Alan said.

Ray laughed. "Beer?"

Alan opened his eyes to the sight of a frosty, dark colored bottle dangling in front of his face. "You read my mind," he said, sitting back up. "None for you?"

"I'm good."

"You're going to make me drink along?"

"Well, since you insist..." Ray said, bringing another bottle out of his inside pocket. As Alan laughed, Ray leaned against the house, one leg propped up, one hand in the pocket of his jacket. "So, this is your hideout? Behind the house?"

"It used to be the storeroom off the kitchen, but a stray lives there now."

"Damn right, I do," Ray said. As Alan laughed, Ray turned to face him, leaning one shoulder against the house, hand in his jean's pockets and ankles crossed. "Talked to your Pa?" 

Alan's laughter ended in a sigh. "There's no talking to him," Alan said in frustration. "He's stuck in the past, and it's going to bury us. We can't handle another farm. We can barely handle this one."

"What would you do with it?" Ray asked. "If it was up to you?"

"I wouldn't have bought it in the first place."

"Come on."

Alan sighed. "I don't know," he said, taking a swig from his beer, the liquid sloshing around inside the bottle. "He won't sell it to the subsidiary—that would mean they'd own more of the land and eventually drive the rest of us out. There's leasing it," he added, frowning in thought. "The subsidiaries do that all the time, providing equipment and all."

Alan gave another sigh and took another drink of beer. "We could also split it up and share it out to the surrounding farms. Not that they could afford it any more than we can." Alan's gaze dropped to the sweating bottle in his hand. "Pa wants it to stay together, and family owned. But that's not possible," he said, voice lower than the rustling of corn. "Not anymore."

Ray glanced at the frowning eyes and downturned mouth. "Maybe it's not possible right now," he said. "But it could be, one day. Another family could move in."

Alan gave a bitter scoff. "People move away from here; they don't move in. Even you're leaving at the end of the season." Alan quickly glanced up at him. "Ah, sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that."

"It's fine," Ray said. "It's true," he added with a shrug.

Alan looked down, his face hidden. "The truth is," he said, quietly, almost as if he didn't want to be heard. "I envy you."