Heisenberg’s Gold

Old Heisenberg was dead. And it was ‘bout time too, the ol’ man was ‘bout a
hunnert and four. Least ways, dat’s what dey say. Folks say he come here
close after de en’ of World War 2, an he warn’t no young un den. Dey say he
gots hisself th’owed out o’ some oder town up no’th an come here fi’teen
year ago now. Come here wit’ cases an crates an such, buy’d de ole house
outside o’ town an kept to his self ever since. Now why any sane soul’d
come here of his own choosin’ an live by his self on de edge o’ the bayou
like ol’ Heisenberg did, well, folks jes couldn’t figure. It’s po’ country here.
Land ain’t no good fer crop, water not much good fer even fishin’ round
these parts. Nope, folks jest couldn’t figure ol’ Heisenberg out. But dey
tried. Lord how dey tried! See, folks ‘round here got nothin’ much better ta
do den try an figure other folks out. Some said that old Heisenberg wuz jest
plain crazy, said dey could hear screamin’ an such commin’ from his place
some nights. Said he ate chillins for Sunday dinner. Course, no chillins ever
come up missin’, but dat didn’t never stop de stories, special when it be de
chillins dat de story bein’ tole to. Now, other folks say ol’ Heisenberg wuz
one o’ dose Natsies what we went ta war over, an dat story had some fetchin’
bout it. De ol’ man nebber said much ta no one when he come inta town, an’
when he did go ta talkin’, why almos’ no one could unnerstand his lingo.

When he died, no one knew. He’d a stayed dere a rotten fer months I reckon
had it not been fer de preacher what come from somewheres up no’th.
Damn Yankee preacher come here ta get us folk some Good Book learnin’.
Seems he went ta knockin’ on everbodies door tryin’ ta get mo bodies in his
new church over by Ratchville. Dey say he smelt de smell o’ dead body
commin’ from ol’ Heisenberg’s house an ran to tell de sheriff. Dat put de
fear in mos’ folks, havin de sheriff show up. Folks roun’ here got no truck
wit’ de sheriff, what wit de stills an’ such dat folks would jes as soon de
sheriff not see. Well, dis time de sheriff kep’ his own council ‘bout the other
stuff an’ went straight on to ol’ Heisenberg’s place by de swamp. Dey took
de body, or what wuz leff ob it dat de ‘coons an his dog didn’t eat on. Den,
wit out even sayin’ nothin ta nobody, de sheriff, he done leff. Not ebben ta
ax did anybody know if he had people. Not nuffin’. Now mind, dat’s not
always bad, cuz now folk figure dat what’s in de house belongs ta who gets
dere first. Now dat sheriff weren’t half outta sight afore folk be commin’
inta ol’ Heisenberg’s house an cartin’ off wit his truck. Now me, I were one
o’ de first inside de door. Nobody pay no account ta me when I goes in. I’s
jes po’ riff-raff f’om de swamp. I goes ta de back part o’ de house, cause I
knowed dat’s where ol’ Heisenberg keep his bes’ stuff. Now don’t ax me
how I knowed dat, I jes knowed, dat’s all. Mebe it wuz ‘couse I looked in
his winnows at night jes a’tre he come here, an’ mebe I dinent. Nobody ax
me anyhow, so I don’ bother to say.

Mos’ folk come an’ took what dey could fine straight off an run out de door
t’inkin’ dey has de bes’ stuff what de ol’ man had. Dey didn’ hab nutin’,
nutin! See, I knowed where de secret do’ be hid, back dere behine where de
books was. I got no use fo’ no books, got no book learnin. Momma say I
not smart enuff ta wase good money on sendin’ me to school. I kin read an’
write some, but not enuff get me out o’ dis place, dat’s fo sho. Now some
folk seed de writtin’ in de books dey was stealin’ an’ testified dat dey haint
nebber seed no writtin’ like dat afore, so dey leff de books scattered aroun’
on de flo’. One book look powerful ol’ an worn. It say Mein Kampf on de
front. De oder t’ing it say be A. Hitler. Now I’s heard dat name afore. He
be de head Natsie, an I’s ebben seed his picture afore in a picture book about
de war. Dey say he been one ebil white man. Why’d ol’ Heisenberg hab dat
book ‘bout dat Hitler if’n he be so ebil dat eben de white folk hate him? I
don’ know, so I take de book an’ tuck it unner my shirt an walks out de doo’
like I got de right, an’ don’ nobody say nuttin’ to me, so I scampers down de
street wit de book and straight home. When I opens de book, I sees dat I
goin’ to hab some pow’ful trouble wit dis book. Like I say, I got no book
learnin’ to speak ob, but I do know some words to read an’ write, but Lor’ I
nebber seed no words in no book like dese! All de letters be funny lookin’,
and all de words make no sense, an dat’s de truff! I’z not stupid, I knows dat
it be some ferign lingo, de kind ol Heisenberg talked what nobody could
unnerstan’. I jes don’ know which it be, nor no one who do. I go’s to put de
book down an’ consider fo a bit when I see some writtin’ inside de book
cover, and names dat I can unnerstan’. One be Heisenberg hisself, and de
oder be dat Hitler man, wit som ob dat ferign lingo in b’tween. I go’s to
considerin’ again. Mebe ol’ Heisenberg knowed dat Hitler man. Now I jes
don’ know what ta think. Mebe der’s mo to dis dan I can figure. So I decide
to go back to de house when folks is not aroun’ an do some searchin’ inside
dat secret room I knows about.

It take a couple days afo’ folk stop cartin’ off Heisenberg’s prop’ty. No one
foun’ de secret room, I kep’ a good eye on dat, settin’ on de stoop an lookin’
in f’om time to time. I knowed dat iffen dem folk fine dat roon, why Lor’
what a ruckus dey would raise! Well suh, I jes walks away wif de res’ of de
folk when dey leaves an’ kind of wanders aroun’ a bit, lookin’ like dat poo’
riff-raff dat I is, but al’ays watchin’ dat house. Den de sun go down, an I
makes my way to de back doo’ ob Heisenberg’s house an slip in all quiet
like. I foun’ a little flashlight befo’ in a draw’ what hab good battries, an
now I use it to fine de secret catch to de room. I pulls de catch, an open de
book shelf doo’, slip in all quiet, an’ shut de doo’ again a’ter I discover whar
de inside catch be. Like I say, I ain’t stupid, I jes got no book learnin’.
I finds de light switch in de corner an flipps it on, an’ Lor’ hab mercy, de
stuff I did see! Dey was pitchures on de wall ob dat Natsie leader, an’ a red
flag wit’ a big eagle graspin’ on to one ob dose Natsie sign thin’s, an’ guns,
old guns dat I nebber seed ‘afore, an’ dagger knives, an’ soldier clothes like I
seed in da movie pitchures. Black soldier clothes, wid an armband dat have
a SS on it wit’ lightin’bolts. Den I seed de pitchures dat scare me de mos’,
pitchures ob nekkid folks in obens, folks bein’ shot, folks diggin big holes
wit’ shovels an den bein’ shot in the holes dey dug. Dey was mens, and
women, an ebbin’ lil chillins. An’ odder pitchures too ob teeth fom folks
mouths, an’ clothin’ an’ such. Den I seed de pitchure ob ol’ Heisenberg wit
dat gun in his hand, an’ he be shootin’ a chile in her head. Den a pitchur ob
ol’ Heisenberg wit’ dat Natsie man, an he be pinnin’ so’thin’ on ta
Heisenberg’s soldier clothes. I look to dat black shirt hangin’ on de wall, an’
sho ‘nuff, dere be dat t’ing hangin’ offen de shirt. Den another pitchur wit
dat Natsie man shakin ol’ Heisenberg’s han’. Dat Natsie man mus’ a been a
pow’ful ebil man to gib ol’ Heisenberg a prize fo’ shootin a baby chile in her
purty lil’ head. Lor’ what could hab dat chile done dat be so bad she need ta
be shot fur it? Why nuffin dat I could think ob. No chile dat little could
eber do nuffin dat ebil, no suh! I sees mo’ pitchures ob mo’ killin’s ’till my
ol’ eyes starts a cryin fo’ dem folks, an I dassent ebin know ‘em f’om no
body. Dey jes ‘pears ta be poo’ folk like me, all skinny like, an shabby, like
dey habbent et no vittles fo’ some time and be dirty. Dat don’ seem like no
reason ta be shootin’ an’ burnin’ ‘em. Mebe de soldiers be some kine’ o’
Klan folk dat don’ like de poo’ peoples.

I seed all ob de pitchures I cares ta see, an starts to inspec’ de room close. At

de en’ ob de room, in a dark corner I sees where de stone be loose wit no
mortar aroun’, so I commences ta wiggle de stone jes ta see do it come out.
Sho ‘nuff, it do. But dey be nuttin in de back ‘cept dirt. I’s jes about ta put
back de sone when I seed dat dere was a bit of a hole above de stone. I
reach into de little hole an’ comes out wif a pitchure an’ a paper wif numbers
on it. Now I knows what de pitchure is, it’s de lan’ next to ol’ Heisenberg’s,
jes a few feets f’om de house, only dere be a stake in de groun’.
Now some folk say dat ol’ Heisenberg bury somet’ing jes atter he come ta
town, some say it was gol’, but mos folk jes laugh at dat talk. Dey sey what
good did he hab to bury anyway? If he had val’ables, why he would hab
libbed in de big city. Folk say dat once some chillins come ‘roun’ an
commences ta dig on ol’ Heisenberg’s lan’. Dey say dat dose chillin’s
warn’t nebber seen again. Nobody ‘members der names, o’ nuthin else ‘bout
em, so I consider dat story ta be de bunk.

I consider dat iffen a man take a pitchure of his neighbor’s groun’, why den
he got to hab a good reason. Well suh, I close up de secret room and shagtail
it out de back doo’ to ol’ Heisenberg’s shed. Ob course it be empty by now,
what wit’ de townfolk makin’ off wit all de ol’ man’s truck an all. I fine’s a
ol’ shubble behine Heisenberg’s neighbor’s house, an’ begins ta scout fer dat
place where de stake be pushed inta de groun’ in de pitchur. I sees de place,
an’ sees right off dat so’ethin’ jes ain’t proper wit de groun’. All aroun’ der
be grass, all green an’ good, but where de stake was, nuthin’ growed. Not
ebben de weed growed der, like so’ebody done tilled de groun’ ever day an’
tramp de groun’ flat again. I shoulda knowed den dat t’ings was pow’ful bad
wrong. Shoulda knowed de debil was in dis place, yas suh, I shoulda
knowed, but cu’osity done got hol’ o’ me an’ I commences ta dig wher der
ain’t no grass growin’. De moon was out full, an’ showin’ whar ta put de
shubble, so I turn off de little light an’ put it in de pocket ob my pants. I
stopps ever now an’ again fo’ ta catch my breaths, an when I does I swears I
hears soun’ comin’ f’om de hole, ebil kine o’ soun’s, like folk cryin’ an’
screamin’ all jummled t’gether. Gots ta be de win’ an’ de night soun’s I
calc’late. De byou hab it’s own soun’s, an day not like oder soun’s, but de
fudder I digs, de louder de soun’s gets. I know dat I shoulda stop diggin’
den, Lor’ knows I shoulda stop, but I didn’, I kep diggin like de foo’ I is.
Well suh, I dug dat hole deep enuff ta stan’ in up ta my ches’ afo’ I comes ta
tappin’ on so’thin’ hard. Den I considers dat ebbert’ing be quiet. No soun’
f’om de ho’e . No soun’ above de ho’e. No soun’ anywhere. Like de debil
be waitin’ fo’ me ta open de box an’ let out de little debils an demons.
“’Twar a big box what I done dug up dat ebil night, an, hebby too. I tries ta
lif’ it out ob de ho’e but I can narry budge da thin’. I sees dat de top be fixed
wit’ screws an’ such, so I gets me outin’ de ho’e ta fetch a screwd’iver f’om
somewhar. Soon as I gets out ob de ho’e, de soun’s start up again, de
screamin’ an cryin’ getting’ louder dis time, an I commences ta be afeared o’
dis whole sit’ation. But fool dat I is, I runs off ta fine a screwd’iver, fo’ to
unsc’ew dat top.
I decla’e it was a long time afore I gots back to de ho’e wid dat screwd’iver,
an I almos’ drop everthing an run when I sees dat half ob de dirt I dug f’om
de ho’e be back in de ho’e an de soun’s be louder dan befo’ eben wit de dirt
on top o’ de box. I consider dat any man who wasn’t a foo’ woulda shubbled
de res’ ob de dirt back inta de ho’e an walk away, countin’ his blessins’ an’
prayin dat de Lor’ fogib him fo disturbin’ de debil’s work. Bein’a no
account riff-raff, wit’ no sense mo’ den de Lor’ gib a toad, I commences ta
dig de dirt back out again, flingin’ it as fur as I kin so’s it don’ fine it’s way
back to de ho’e, all de while de voices f’om de ho’e be gittin louder an now
I ken hear ‘em like dey was makin’ sense instead ob jummled up soun’s.
Dey was cryin fur der lifes in dat ferign lingo dat Heisenberg talked, sad an
scared all at once were dose voices, an me, I’s cryin’ f’om hearin’ ‘em, like
de pitchers on de wall in de secret room. Folk dat I don’ know, dat I can’t
see makin’ dis ol’ fool cry like a little chile, an I don’ know why. Den I fine
de screwd’iver in my han’ an I’s unsc’ewin’ de lid to de debil’s own work,
unner a full moon, jes pas’ de midnight hour. Lor’, Lor’, on’y a rabin foo’d
do a t’ing like dat.

When I commences ta remobe de sc’ews fom de lid, I sees dat de lid hab
writtin’ on it in dat ferign lang’age dat I seed in de Natsie book, an’ it hab
one ob dem eagles grippin dat Natsie sign too, jes like on de flag ‘ol
Heisenberg hab in his secret room. Dey was long sc’ews in de hebby wood,
an it took a long time afore I got ‘em all out ob de box. All careful like I
takes de cubber offen de big box, an’ fine a metal box inside, all shiney.
Shiney? Box dat been buried dis many years got no call ta be shiney.
Should hab rus’ on it, lots ob rus’. Den I ‘members dat der be de kine ob
steel dat don’e russ, an dat make me feel better, at leas’ a little. Now suh, de
steel box hab some catches on it, but no lock o’ nothin’, so I unhooks de
catches an steps back as much as I kin in dat ho’e, an’ sees dat de steel box
hab dat eagle an Natsie sign stamped in de metal. De sign ob dat debil man.
Now I hears on’y one voice f’om de box. It de voice ob a li’le chile, a girl
chile, but she be talkin’ dat lingo dat I don’e un’erstan’, an I tell her so, but
my words come out ob my mouff in her lingo! I knows what I be sayin’ in
my lingo, but de words be in hers! I can’ un’erstan’ de words I be talkin’,
but in my head dey be right! Now I be really skered! I done fit ‘gators wit
my bare han’s, kilt cottonmouff snakes wit my bare feets an nebber been dis
skered afore! Dat li’le chile say to open de lid an’ see inside. Den de voices
stop. Stop like dey be waitin’ fo’ me ta look inside. My ol’ han’s be shakin’
now I be so skered, but de chile want me ta see inside.
Slowly I liffs de lid on de steel box an’ looks inside. De box be filled wid
bricks! Jes plain ol’ bricks! I takes one ob de bricks an’ goes ta th’ow it
outtin de ho’e, cause now I be mad. All dis wo’k an de demons an such jes
leadin’ me to a box o’ bricks. I’s goin’ ta th’ow em all out de ho’e! Quick as
a blink I drops it again, dat brick be hot. Hot as a furnace. When it fall on
top o’ de oder bricks it make a soun’ dat ain’t like no reg’lar brick, soun’ like
metal, an it hebby like metal too. I wrap my shirt aroun’ my han’ an picks de
brick up again, an’ dis time I fling it outin’ de ho’e, den I looks inside de box
again. Where de brick was now is filled in wit some da’k liquid. I takes out
de little f’ashlight an’ shines it down. Blood. New blood oozin’ outta de
bricks! Den I see faces be showin’ on de bricks. A face come and look at
me, den fade off like he see me an’ don’ like what he see, den another do de
same, an’ den another. Each brick got his own faces what come an’ go, an
ebber face dat show seem to add to de blood an’ take away some o’ de brick.
Den de voices come again wid de faces, de faces axin’ me why I kilt dem.
Again, I knows in my head de t’ings I say, but my mouff make soun’s I don’
un’erstan’. I’s talkin’ der lingo, but I don’ know der lingo! I tells de faces
dat I nebber kilt nobody, dat I be jes a li’le chile when de woa be fought. I
say don’ go blamin’ dis boy fo’ killin’ yo, blame dat ebil debil Hitler fo yo
killin’s, blame Heisenberg! Den de faces all fade ‘cept one, de face ob dat
li’le girl chile f’om de pitchur dat I see Heisenberg shoot wit’ his gun, all de
while he be smilin’. Dat chile’s face get big, an’ clear while she talk wit’
me. She tell me de story ob her people an’ how dat Natsie man want ‘em all
dead jes fer bein Jews, an dats why dey all be kilt an th’owed inna furnace.
De bricks, she say, be gold. True gold taken f’om de tooths ob de dead folk,
an’ f’om dere jew’ry an such. De souls ob her people be in dat gol’. De gol’
be cursed for ebber wit de heat ob de obins der bodies was burned in. No
man can trade de gol’ fer nuttin’ cause ob de curse. Den she say what I gots
ta do. De chile say dat I gots ta take all ob de Natsie t’ings fom de house an’
put it in de box wit de gol’ an den bury it again an’ nebber again try an’ dig it
up no mo’.

I feels sorry fo’ de Jew peoples, but I’s poo’ an’ a box o’b gol’ cou’d get me
a right fine house in Atlanna, an I tells de chile dat! I seed her shake her
head all sad like, seed de bullet ho’e in de side ob her head where Heisenber
shot her as she begin ta fade away. De blood in de box begin ta boil, an it
smell pow’ful bad, I calcalate dat de hot bricks be boilin’ de blood. Den I
seed dat de gol’ be disapearin’, but de voices be getting’ louder, de souls ob
dem poo’ folk be a sufferin’ so. I runs to de house, fetchin’ de mos ob dat
Natsie truck I kin fine an’ th’ows it inta de box. Well suh, I’s hea ta tell ya
dat de flame f’om dat fire what ‘sploded f’om dat box bu’nt de tall branches
ob de cypress tree dat growed nex to dat ho’e. Ifn yer don’ beliebe me, yous
can go out dere an look fer yerself! Now dat fire on’y burn fo’ a minute o’
so, an jes as quick as it start, it be done.

I goes ta look in de box ta see ifn der be anyob de gol’ lef’ fo an ol’ man, but
no, der’s nuffin. De steel box be all twist, an’ de wood box be nuffin but ash
in de bottom ob de ho’e. I smells smoke comin’ f’om de house an goes ta do
what I kin ta sabe de place, t’inkin’ dat mebe somebody see me inside an
blames me fo’ settin’de on fire. I runs all aroun’ seein’ nuffin, but still
smellin’ de smoke, ‘til I come to de secret room. Li’le puffs ob smoke be
comin’ f’om de walls whea de pitchurs was. Each pitchure catched fire an’
burnt up, one after de oder. On’y one stay an’ not burn up. De pitchure ob
de li’le chile bein’ shot by dat ebil ol’ Heisenberg.

I takes de pitchure down an’ puts it safe ‘tween de pages ob de Good Book
dat be in de book shelf. I takes de book wif me an goes back to de ho’e,
figgurin’ ta fill it in as bes’ I ken. Now suh, de ho’e be a’ready filled up, fill
to de top an ober, like a new grabe. Mo’ dirt put in dan I taked out. Nuffin
scare me now, nuffin’ worry dis ol’ no-accoun’, not ebin dat de shubble be
stuck in de moun’ ob dirt like some body leff it dere affer a hard job. I’s
about ta turn away an go home ta try ta calculate dis t’ing out when I see de
shine on de groun’. It be dat gol’ brick dat I t’rew outin de ho’e. All shiney
an b’ight in de mo’nin’ light. Well, I touch de brick, jes ta make shoa dat it
not be hot like it were de night befo’. It were cool, jes like metal should be
in de mo’nin’, so I looks aroun’ ca’ful like an’ g’abs dat gol’ ba’, puts my
shirt ober it, an runs like de win’ fo’ home.
Inside my shack by de bayou, I unwrap de brick an’ lay it down on de table,
an’ den is when I sees de pitchures stamp on de gol’, de pitchures f’om de
wall ob folk in de obins, an dem hills ob teeth, an dats when I knows whar
de gol’ come f’om, an why it be cursed.
An’ dat suh, be why you can’t hab it.

Dat’s de en’