The Everglades - Chapter Nineteen

19

Summer 1973. Harry Northrup took his two grandsons fishing at Hammock Lake in Coral Gables. The old man’s predilection for child-flesh waned as he aged. Hatred for that which was unlike him intensified. The older brother, Jacob, possessed an appearance strikingly similar to that of his mother. The younger boy, Phillip, exhibited muted brown skin. Obvious to the old man was the fact his youngest grandson’s father was of Miccosukee heritage.

Reality grated the old man’s sensibilities.

It angered Northrup; grandsons possessed the DNA of base-level savages. How could his daughter have stooped so lowly? Failure to accumulate any modicum of wealth during his career never dampened self-importance. Elite narcissistic visions never abated.

Jacob was seven years older than his younger brother, Phillip. The same anger and hatred for life displayed by his grandfather thrived in the fifteen-year-old. Neither conceived anything of importance beyond personal existences. The eldest child of Victoria Northrup Billie possessed an especially violent possessiveness for his mother. She’d been forcibly controlled by Marty Markham between the ages of seven and ten. Energy of destruction resonated within the woman. Jacob constantly displayed fits of anger; many directed at his younger, weaker brother.

Victoria possessed no concept of reality. No matter where she went, or in what situation she found herself, she disassociated from anti-social behavior displayed by children. The psychoses of offspring never penetrated narcissism. She bore no culpability for their lack of development; just as her father hadn’t considered himself responsible for years of rapes suffered by his prepubescent daughter.

Children remained feral; without boundaries. Prosperity arose from discipline. Victoria Billie’s offspring never protected individual value given by God. Lack of personal barriers left each susceptible to societal influences; good or evil.

Dogmatic hatred passed from mother-to-child lost its effect with her second birth. Phillip’s older brother displayed heightened maternal traits.

Binding energetic forces upon conception naturally created souls seeking balance.

Jacob had given up the fight for righteousness.

Phillip knew there had to be more to life than the anger displayed by his older brother; constantly and dogmatically.

A fifteen foot dock extended into Hammock Lake. It was narrow; incapable of allowing two adults to pass comfortably.

The grandfather rigged three cane-poles. He stood at the end of the dock, repeatedly casting his line into deep water with exaggerated swings of his pole. The man’s two grandsons stood on opposite sides of the dock; fishing along the shore.

Whenever Phillip attempted to move along the dock, seeking a different spot to fish, Jacob clandestinely elbowed his little brother about the shoulders and head. Opportunities to exhibit dominance were seized upon without hesitation.

The younger brother’s protestations were ignored by the only adult in the group. The grandfather couldn’t be bothered by trivialities beyond his own glorious existence.

Regardless of abuse suffered, Phillip Billie’s soul constantly sought happiness. He was certain there was something greater to life. He never understood the abuse suffered at the hands of intolerant family members. Even when fishing with two humans who held no value for the child, Phillip embraced all that was wholesome.

Victoria never missed an opportunity to tell children what a wonderful and cuddly man their grandfather was. Perversions of life’s principles sent offspring along paths askew from that which was deemed right and just.

Universal truths resonated within Phillip.

The boy struggled against his environment. On a day when he should be ethereally connecting with family members, the younger brother stood on the dock feeling as though he were the only person fishing.

Harry Northrup occasionally glanced in the direction of his youngest grandson. The man consciously distanced himself from the boy. Passers-by viewing the scene might think the dark-skinned child was fishing by himself.

The old man was fine with that.

Bream-after-bream were pulled from the lake and deposited onto the dock. The grandfather dutifully educated, and aided, the older boy. Proper techniques to remove hooks and place the stringer through gills and mouths were dotingly communicated.

Phillip was left to eavesdrop. Constantly fending for himself became life’s reality.

Regardless of a grandfather who so willingly wished Phillip to be ignorant of all things fishing, the youngest was quite successful pulling fish from the lake. He possessed a keen connection with nature. Lacking knowledge, the boy struggled several times against barbs hooked into fish’s inner lips. Slippery scales exacerbated battles to secure each catch. Several fish that’d been successfully de-hooked squirted through the young boy’s hands; finding refuge once again in murky water.

Time approached noon. The old man squatted down and grabbed the stringer. Its end was wrapped around the piling driven furthermost into lake waters. The old man pulled with one hand; drawing the nylon braided rope through the palm of his other. Once the fish were exposed above the water’s surface, Harry grabbed the rope firmly with his off-hand and lifted the bundle completely out of the water. 

“Jacob, you and I have had a pretty successful day.”

“I’d say so, Grandaddy.”

Phillip knew he held a place in the group’s success. “What about me? I caught some too.”

The old man glanced between his youngest grandson and the plethora of bream. “I see a couple on here from you, but they’re quite small. I think we’re going to have to throw them back into the lake so they can grow bigger.”

“But…” The boy’s protestation fell short for lack of a valid reason to keep immature fish.

The old man smiled at Jacob.

Indiscriminately he pulled the top three fish off the stringer and threw them back into the lake.

Phillip’s heart sank. Emotion welled, resonating fully within his soul. Tears accumulated; blurring vision. The young boy fought hard to keep moisture from eclipsing lower eyelids. He didn’t wish to confirm to brother and grandfather he possessed weakness.

Finally, he wiped away excess moisture.

Jacob’s innate hatred and anger took pleasure in seeing his little brother experience emotional pain. Like a poker stoking a fire, the boy felt compelled to express ire physically.

All three dutifully cleaned hooks of excess worm guts and inserted barbs into the lower end of cane-poles.

Harry led the three off the dock; carrying the tackle box in his left hand and fishing pole in his right.

Phillip followed behind his grandfather. The youngest’s desire to step in front of his older brother further stoked the teenager’s hatred of all that dare contradict perceived superiority.

Jacob imagined himself pushing his younger brother into the lake.

Desires became visceral.

As the three stepped off the dock and made their way up the slope toward their car, Jacob spied a dark-brown, pile of broken glass at the base of a pine tree. The pre-teen stepped forward, placed his hand on his younger brother’s back, and pushed him toward the tree.

Phillip dropped his cane pole and thrust his hands forward; attempting to prevent his head from impacting the tree. He landed on all fours. Broken glass ground deeply into the skin of the boy’s right knee.

Jacob nonchalantly walked past his screaming brother; closing the distance between him and his grandfather. Plausible deniability was to be established.

The old man turned and saw his youngest, brown-skinned grandson writhing in pain at the base of the tree. “What happened?”

“He fell down like the idiot he is.” Jacob attempted to get ahead of his younger brother’s certain accusation.

“I did not. Jacob pushed me.”

Harry became disgusted that a man of his stature was made to deal with a weakened savage. “There’s nothing we can do here. Get up. Let’s go.”

The eight year old sat, rocking on his bottom; holding his knees to his chest. He blew onto the bloody scrape. It stung mightily. Tears streamed down the young boy’s cheeks. Why was there so much anger and hatred within his own family. Animus toward life made it difficult for Phillip to envision the world’s inherent beauty.

The boy turned and looked over his shoulder. He witnessed his grandfather and older brother walking away; rods and tackle boxes in hand. He’d never felt so isolated. The half-breed offspring was aware of only one presence to question when experiencing such vile circumstances. “God, there must be more to life than this?”

Jacob spent his life caught within a vortex of hatred. He’d never known from where it originated. The brother’d attempted to exert oversized self-conception upon teenage peers on a basketball court. Beaten into submission, Jacob learned what all paedophiles learn early in life; predilections must be thrust upon the weakest in society.

Phillip battled between that which had been bestowed by his grandfather; passed through his mother; and challenged spiritual sensibilities of his Native American heritage. There would be a productive place for anger to be focused. He didn’t understand that for decades.

Regardless of inter-generational destruction, calling upon the name of the creator established an undeniable connection. It took a lifetime for Phillip Billie to find his place in the universe.

Once at home, the boy’s mother repeated the acceptance of hatred as she cleaned her son’s bloody knee. “You’re simply going to have to rise above it, Phillip.”

Victoria continued the pattern of deference to evil impulses; actions not shielded by a Godly barrier. She kept the three men in her life dancing upon pin-heads. Never would Phillip be taught boundaries; nor consequences of actions. Each subsequent year, opportunities to instill discipline were foregone in favor of feral behavior.

The young boy suffered intergenerational consequences for acts committed by his grandfather eighteen years before his birth.