It was an unforgiving hot and dry summer day in 1961. The heat had come early that June. The sky was cloudless and the air was perfectly still. The brome grass was waist-high in the lawn of Pres's old farmhouse. Grandfather Floyd had concocted a plan for him and me to feed about 15 hogs for the duration of the summer, and then to sell them in the fall and split the profit. I would do the feeding. He would provide the capital.
The hogs would be fed at Pres's place where the old well hadn't pumped a drop since Reub and Thelma moved away some years earlier. We didn't even know whether the electric pump motor would still work if we brought power to it. Floyd had called his nephew, Russell to help get the pump running. Russell was the only mechanically gifted person in the family, and he worked for free for family members.
We sweat through out shorts clearing away weeds and vines, putting fuses in the old electric box, repairing the line from the fuse box to the well, replacing the frayed old v-belt with a new one, oiling the bearings of the pump. At last, everything seemed to be in good order. I pulled the switch on the power pole at Russell's request. Sparks shot out of the wires connecting to the motor. Russell motioned to me to cut the power. He dug around in the old motor with his yellow knife and a screwdriver, unscrewed the wires, clipped off the connectors and replaced them with new ones. Then I threw the power switch on again. The old motor began to spin, the v-belt slipped, and then grabbed hold, and the pump jack started slamming up and down. There was much noise, much pumping, but no water came. I shut off the power for the second time. We got Floyd's stone water jug from the truck and poured its contents, now hot from the heat, down the well casing hoping to wet the leathers so they would soften and pump water. At Russell's signal I threw the power switch on again. More noise, more clattering of the pump jack and then the water came. At first it was dark brown with rust. The rusty water spilled off the concrete platform and soaked into the thirsty ground. After more pumping the water began to clear.
Satisfied that the water would soon run crystal clear, Russell and Floyd began to search the area for something, I didn't know what. There was no talking as the motor and pump jack were making too much noise. Russell found an old, rusty tin cup in a tangle of vines, and cut it free with his yellow knife. Floyd quit searching as soon as Russell found the cup, so I knew they were both thinking "water cup" at the same time, while the pump and motor were making all that noise. Russell showed me the inside of the cup. It was filled with a spider web and the spider's nest was down at the bottom of the cup. Russell used his yellow knife to clean scrape the web and nest free of the spider's nest and web. He didn't get all of the web and nest material, but he got most of it. I remembered seeing Russell use that yellow knife to castrate hogs the previous fall. I had seen him clean grease from under his fingernails with it just the day before.
The water was running crystal clear now. Russell filled the rusty, dirty cup with water, swirled the water around in the cup and threw it on the ground. He repeated this several times. Seeing the water being thrown about, Russell's black dogs showed up panting and thirsty, begging for water. The pump and motor continued their work and, in this noise, I expected Russell to offer the aging and ill Floyd the first of the clear, cold water. But he filled the cup and let the first black dog drink his fill from it, tongue lapping, lips slobbering into the cup. The other dog was eager for his turn and Russell filled the cup again and the second dog slobbered into the cup and licked its rim while drinking his fill. Russell did not look up after the second dog had finished, but filled the cup again and drank a full cup himself, without rinsing it after the dogs had slobbered into it. Once more he filled the cup without rinsing and offered the cold water to Floyd. Floyd did not hesitate or order Russell to rinse the cup out. He drank it down straightaway and handed the cup back to Russell. Russell filled the cup one last time, again without rinsing, and handed it to me. As I accepted the cup, both Russell and Floyd watched closely to see whether I would drink from the cup the dogs had slobbered in, that Russell had cleaned with his oily, bloody castrating knife. I held the cup for a second in the noise of the motor and clattering of the pump jack. Both men stared at me intently. I knew this was a test. I lifted the cup to my lips and tipped it up, drinking it all down before taking a breath.
Both Russell and Floyd smiled at me. Their pale blue eyes sparkled.