Ray 2

It was growing dark and Ray had already lit a lantern when I got out of the truck, grabbed the raccoon from the back, and walked apprehensively to his front porch. Ray was wielding a sharp knife on his left hand and a blank stare on his young face. I was amazed at his youth, not more than twenty-five from my judgment. I'll tell you more about that later. He took the coon and laid him, belly up, on an unlevel, homemade table, that looked like some warped 2 X 4s and some old scrap boards nailed together with a bad hammer in a big hurry. 

"How would you do it?" he asked.

"I'd cut him here, and here, and here," I said pointing, "and then skin him out from there."

He didn't say anything. He just started skinning him a different way, and I asked a few questions while he worded. Being as shy as I was, I didn't ask near about as many things as were on my mind, though. I found out his name was Rhouga Azel. I wondered what kind of name that was, but I didn't ask. I wanted to know what happened to his daddy, but I didn't ask. I wanted to know how he made a living, but I didn't ask. 

"How come people call you Ray?" I did ask. He said folks first started calling him R.A., short for Rhouga Azel, and then it changed to Ray. When I asked him did he want me to call him Rhouga or Ray, he said, "Folks been calling me Ray for more'n 150 years." He would say stuff like that every now and then, but I just figured it was talk, that it didn't mean anything. I didn't ask.

He made one cut that I would have made and then it was all another method. In short, he started with a cut from the back legs to the anus, he got the bone out of the tail, then he hung him by the back legs and skinned him down just like you do a deer. When he came to the ears, he showed me how to make the cut so not to have a big hole in the hide. He showed me how to do the eyes and the mouth. When he finished, he tossed me the hide and said, "That's called 'casing' him. Put that in the freezer and when the fur buyer stops in over there on Humphrey Highway the first Saturday of the month, you can get some good money for that."

I asked him how long he had lived here. He said that he remembered when that-- he pointed to the road-- was an Indian trail. I didn't believe him, of course, but that's what he said, and I didn't ask more questions about that.

He noticed me looking at the snares hanging on a nail in a rafter on the porch.

"Gotta know what you're doing to use those."

Then he noticed me eyeing the steel traps that hung from a nail in a log in the front wall.

"I'll teach you," he said. "Needs to get a little colder first." 

He asked me if I'd be staying for supper. It was totally dark now, and for the first time I was pretty much at ease. I wasn't scared, wasn't nervous, wasn't on edge to cut and run if he came at me with that knife. I told him I had to go home. He didn't say anything else, and I awkwardly walked off, got in my truck, and drove away. That was the beginning, the start of a long friendship between me and Ray Azel. I'll tell you about it. Like the cave, though, if you don't believe, keep it to yourself.