2006 Subaru Forester

Hatchback

functional

Automatic

JF1SG676X6H738700

Salvage

Shippy drove his rattletrap cart along Through the dusty evening, worried and ill at ease. He ought to have taken the other road by the creek But he'd wasted too much time at Pollet's Hotel Looking for Sophy - and hardly seen her at that-- And now she wanted a bottle of scent. His soul Shivered with fear like a thin dog in the cold, Raging in vain at the terrible thing called Life. --There must be a corner somewhere where you could creep, Curl up and be warm - but he'd never found it. The big boys always stole his lunch at the school And rubbed his nose in the dirt - and when he grew up It was just the same. There was something under his face, Something that said, "Come, bully me - I won't bite." He couldn't see it himself, but it must be there. He was always going places and thinking, "This time, They won't find out." But they always did find out After a while. It had been that way at the store, That way in the army, that way now as a spy. Behind his eyes he built up a super-Shippy Who ordered people around, loved glittering girls, Threw out his chest and died for a bloody flag And then revived to be thanked by gilt generals, A schoolboy Shippy, eating the big boys' lunch. It was his totem. He visioned that Shippy now, Reckless Shippy with papers sewn in his boots, Slyly carrying fate through Rebel lines To some bright place where-- The off mule stumbled and brayed. He cursed it whimperingly and jerked at the reins, While his heart jerked, too. The super-Shippy was gone. He was alone and scared and late on the road. My God, but he was scared of being a spy And the mute-faced woman in Richmond and war and life! He had some papers sewn into his boots all right And they'd look at the papers while he stood sweating before them, Crumple them up and bully him with cross speech, "Couldn't you even find out where Heth's men are? Can't you draw a map? You don't even know about Stonewall Jack- son? Why don't you know it? What's this ford by the church? My God, man, what do you think you are out here for? You'll have to do better next time, I can tell you that. We'll send you over Route 7. We had a man there, But he's been reported killed--" Oh, there is a hole Somewhere deep in the ground where the rabbits hide, But I've never found it-- They stuck up signs and a flag And it was war and you went and got scared to death By the roar and the yells and the people trying to kill you Till anything else seemed better - and there you were, Driving mules with papers sewn in your boots, But people still wanting to kill you - and no way out. If you deserted, the mute-faced woman would know And that would be the worst - and if you went back, It would be Bull Run and yelling and all that blood When it made you sick to you stomach. Even at school You always had to fight. There was no way out. Sophy was sweet and Sophy was a good girl And Sophy was the warm earth where the rabbits hide Away from danger, letting their hearts go slow, But you couldn't stay with Sophy, you couldn't stay, And she'd say she'd be a good girl-- but, in spite of himself, He saw a big boy tearing a cardboard box Apart, with greedy hands, in a bare school yard, Where a Shippy whimpered-- Honest I will! Oh God, just let me get through, Just this one time - and I'll pray - I'll be good _ oh God, Make these papers something they want!" He clucked to his mules. Another mile and he'd be out on the pike And pretty safe for a while. His spirit returned To build the super-Shippy from dust again. His head began to nod with the sway of the cart. . . . Half a dozen men rode out from a little clearing And casually blocked the road. He pulled up his mules, Staring around. He saw a face he knew, Now queer with triumph - Sophy filling a pail And that gangling fellow lounging against the pump, Hungry-eyed-- It happened too fast to be scary. You got stopped such a lot. It was only some new patrol. "All the boys know me," he said. "Yes, I got my pass." They took the pass but they did not give it back. There was a waver shaking the dusty air, The feel of the cord grown tauter. How dry his throat was! He'd be driving on in a minute. "Well boys?" he said, "Well, fellers?" They didn't answer or look at him. "I tell you that's the man," said the mountaineer. John Brown's Body, by Stephen Vincent Benet, 1927 Rinehart & Company, Inc. illustrated ed. 1954, pp. 262-265