Forward IV: Clemsy Comes to Town Twice

I think you'll meet Ma and Pa in the storyline (There will eventually be one.) sometime later on. After composing Forward III, I found these two characters rather promising and decided they should be moved up in the credits and developed further. Of course that complicates the issue addressed in Forward II, but I'm sure something will come to me while brushing my teeth or talking to the dog.

Anyway, Clemsy grew apace into a tall, gawky eighteen year old. His basic character description goes something like this:

Name: Clemsy Diggs

Height: 6'1'

Appearance: lanky but strong with shaggy blond hair that won't stay combed, face so innocent you could cry.

Magical Tendency: "Well, i don't know bout no tenencies, but Ma iz allus tellin me I had a nak fer puttin one fut in the way of t'other."

Weakness: see Magical Tendency. Spelling. Loses the ability to speak, think, and respire in the presence of an attractive woman. Or a glimpse of one 200 yards away out of the corner of his eye. (He is 18 after all.)

Strengths: Excels at all manner of excavation and drainage. Also has an intuitive skill with explosives, which doesn't go well with his Magical Tendency.

Other: Animals regard him as exceedingly harmless.

The lad was quite handy around the farm keeping the cellar dry and digging sweet water wells, but eventually he woke up one morning and decided, "Today I yam a man!" The glance between Ma and Pa when Clemsy expressed the desire to make a go of it on his own didn't quite say "At last!" but didn't quite not say it either. Pa's weather sense told him a major winter storm was in the offing, but weather and he had an understanding so the hours into town and back again didn't worry him. That Clemsy chose such a day during such a season could have been considered a bad omen and all concerned would have gone back to bed, but if 'bad omens' were to guide Clemsy's life, his Ma would still be trying to get him out of the womb.

Clemsy's first entry into town went something like this:

Clemsy got down from his Pa’s sleigh as the snow swirled and blew.

“Now you watch yerself, Clemsy,” said Pa. “The folk round here are peacable and God fearin’. They won’t let ya freeze ta death, but if you want to try an dig graves in weather like this ya just might anyway! But its your decision, boy. Yer a man now. If things don’t work out, you jes come on home. Remember to let us put away the breakables before comin’ thru the door. Good luck!”

“By Pa!” yelled Clemsy, “I’ll make ya right proud!”

Clemsy shouldered his bag, shovel and pick axe and walked through the driving snow. His father shook his head, turned the horses around and headed out of town.

Clemsy leaned into the wind and stopped by the town bulletin board. After mouthing the words and scrunching his eyebrows he stopped short and dropped everything to put his hands on his hips.

The sign read:

Nede help digin Mr. Averys grav. Munday mornin. ~Tanner

“Tarnation! Ya caint pick axe through this herekinda frost! I reckin I got here jist in time. Man’ll hurt his back fer shur! This'll need an all night fire, or maybe a bit of black powder! A' course keepin the deceased in the ice house til spring... Nah!”

Clemsy picked up his excavating tools and duffle bag and, completely oblivious to the worst storm in fifty years, walked right into a hitching rail, did a complete somersault, and landed smack on his back. The pick axe landed point end down in the snow not 3 inches from his head. Unconcerned, he sat up and whacked his head on the rail.

“Shoot,” he said.

Looking around he noticed, as if for the first time, that he could barely see his hand in front of his face for the snow.

“Looks like my shovel'l come in mighty handy affer these flerries is over.”

Brushing himself off and once more picking up his gear, he headed down the street towards the cafe.

For purposes of illustration, we'll watch Clemsy come into town once more, this time after visiting his folks. Pa gave Clemsy the horse his son seemed to get on best with. The beast was really more trouble than he was worth, considering he does have a mind of his own. Really. He even has his own character description:

Speaking of animals, Clemsy rides a huge, brown, shaggy draft horse named Sidetrack, so named for his tendency to follow his nose to pies cooling on windowsills when he should be doing something else, like pulling a wagon of cow manure out to the field. The result then is Sidetrack, Clemsy and the cow manure looking for the pie while Clemsy yells and uselessly pulls the reigns. Sidetrack is quite confident that he is smarter than Clemsy. You may think so too. Sidetrack also keeps company with an orange tabby named Runt. Runt, an excellent mouser, has the run of the town and tends towards mischief.

In fact, perhaps a vignette starring Sidetrack is in order here. Note: Sidetrack's words are a translation of body language and the author's whimsy. The kitten's body language, however, speaks for itself.

Clemsy led Sidetrack into the carriage house and his stall after a day inspecting Main Street for any needed repairs. Sidetrack moved his massive body to the feed bin, snorted in surprise, raised his head and eyed the orange kitten he found curled into a purring ball in his food. ("What the....!" is how it translates.)

Clemsy came over, smiled at the creature who was eyeing them both the way a cat will when roused from a nap without invitation.

"Well now!" said Clemsy reaching in to remove the stowaway. "Thet ain't no bed fer a WHOOF!" That last was the sound Clemsy made as Sidetrack swept his head into Clemsy's midsection and sent him into a pile of straw.

Sidetrack eyed Clemsy and stamped a hoof for good measure. "My stall. My feed bin. I'll decide about the guest." Sidetrack poked his snout close to the kitten for a good sniff. The ball of fur started purring and gave the horse a long, lazy blink.

"Suit yerself, Sidetrack," said Clemsy getting his breath back and climbing to his feet, "but I was jest thinkin' thet havin a critter in yer food might, well, spoil the taste, iffin ya take m' meanin."

Sidetrack's ears stuck up as he raised his head, looked square at Clemsy and snorted. "When Clemsy has a point, Judgement Day can't be too far behind. Well boil me down to a tub of glue."

He stuck his snout down close to the cat. "Hey you," he huffed, "I see you scratching in there I'll fling you clear into a foreign language." The kitten rolled onto his back and started batting Sidetrack's nose with his front paws. He suddenly stopped and commenced to wash, hind leg in the air, his nether regions.

"Well now, " the horse chuffed as Clemsy started brushing his flanks. "A cat's one undignified gesture. At least I know to call you a he. Hmmmm...up between my shoulder blades if you wouldn't mind there Clemsy. Well my diminutive feline friend, I find some of your breed somewhat full of themselves, and others just this side of good company. You can stay until or as long as you don't become the former. Just the same, I think we'd both be better off if I arrange more suitable sleeping arrangements. I saw a most worthy mother cat do this once..."

Sidetrack bared his teeth, reached in and lifted the kitten gently out of the feed bin by the back of the neck and placed him in the straw which recently broke Clemsy's fall.

Clemsy's jaw dropped at the sight. He went to scratch his head and gave himself a good whack with the brush instead. "Sidetrack," he said rubbing his left temple, "if you ain't the dangdest horse in all a the good Lord's creation..." The cat sat in the straw and yawned. His right front paw then required attention. Sidetrack looked at both of them.

"If you're done assaulting yourself," the horse said with a piercing gaze, "you might want to start on my neck. And think up a name for the cat while you're at it."

Clemsy began grooming the horses neck and shaggy mane. "Well," he said "I guess I should think up a name fer the cat."

"Good boy," the horse nodded.

So now you know who everyone is, so far, but let's watch Clemsy come into town one more time:

He came out of the late afternoon shadows at the end of town, riding slow and easy atop a mountain of a horse. From under the brim of his hat came the sound of a ruby whistle. Those on the street stopped and stared, believing the instruments strapped to the sides of the great beast to be some new type of firearm. Who was this peculiar and unkept stranger? Someone bound to break the peace? Someone intent on upsetting the ordered lives of the community?

As the stranger came closer, the pedestrians smiled and stood easy. The weapons on the horse turned into a shovel and pick ax. On the rump of the horse an orange cat lay curled asleep. The stranger took his hat off to the passers by to reveal a shock of unruly blonde hair, deep blue eyes the color of innocence and a smile known to melt the ice off the eaves in winter.

He rode up to the Inn and swung his long, lanky body off his shaggy steed. His right foot, however, didn’t seem to want to come out of the stirrup. At that moment the horse decided it didn’t quite like the hitching rail it was about to be tied to, and ambled off to find a better one.

“Whoa! Sidetrack! Whoa dang it!” exclaimed the rider, hopping alongside the horse. The cat, wakened by the disturbance, sat up and looked at the young man. Anyone close enough would have heard him purring loudly. “Sidetrack, ya dang fool horse! You stop right now!” The horse, apparently having found a hitching rail worthy enough to be tied to, stopped.

Clemsy, however, didn’t. He bumped into the horse, lost his balance, swung around by the stirruped foot and landed, in a puff of dust, outstretched on the road. That his head hadn’t collided with the hitching rail he found to be very fortunate… indeed a good omen.

He always hit his head on a hitching rail when he came into town.

“Sidetrack,” said the prostrate figure, “you did that a’purpose!”

The horse looked down at him and nodded his head as if to say, “Well, that would be about right.”

The cat looked down at him and uttered a little feline chirp which said, quite plainly, “Well, we’re here. When do we eat?”

As long as I'm documenting the problems I'm having with the storyline (which I haven't even gotten to yet), I have to admit I also have great affinity for Runt and Sidetrack. The three really do make a team. (I'm thinking Marx Brothers.) The cat may be fairly easy, but how do I squeeze a draft horse into a present not quite here?

And I may be just about out of Forwards.