Africaville

by Jeffrey Colvin

Omar frowns, but no one speaks for a moment, as if letting the echo from the talk of that much money reverberate off the rocks.

  “I’ll get everything this weekend, including the platforms and the rigging,” Omar says. “Dominion can drive me out there in his boss’s truck.”

  “Nice of you to volunteer me, country boy,” Dominion says. “But there’s a big trunk on Chevy’s Lincoln. Why don’t you take that?”

  “The trunk will hold the mortar casings but not the platforms,” Omar says.

  “Well, we might need the truck to do some work for Kiendra.”

  The mention of Kiendra seems to jumble Dominion’s thoughts, because he has trouble getting the rocket back into the sack. “I’ll try to get the truck,” he says, closing the canvas bag. “But Omar had better be ready when I come to get him. My boss is tight about his truck on the weekend.”

  Up the hill, Lick-the-Bottom takes a few steps down the slope. Everyone knows why he has not come closer. He has seen Buddy Taylor, who more than once has dangled him over the large crevice in the Bowl. After taking another step down the hill, Lick-the-Bottom turns and runs off.

  The young men head up the path in a single file, their heads down, each deep in thought. Behind them a soft wind blows grass, leaves, and dust across the hard floor of the Bowl.

  On June 22, 1936, two days after Kiendra Penncampbell’s death, get-well cards arrive from as far away as Ottawa. Many are from relatives and old neighbors promising to visit while Kiendra is home recuperating. Rosa collects the condolences in a big soap-powder box for the remembrance display Oneresta Higgins erects at every funeral.

  Now that Kath Ella has stopped crying, she needs to decide what she will contribute to the display. In her memory cabinet, she has half of the construction-paper bunny rabbit she and Kiendra made one Easter. During an argument about which of them should take the bunny home, she took a pair of scissors and cut the rabbit in half. “Whoever has a child first can have both halves,” she said. Kiendra accepted her half of the bunny, pretending she wasn’t mad. But Kath Ella could tell she was. It will be nice to reunite the two halves on the remembrance board, Kath Ella thinks this morning, on the way to the Penncampbells’ house.

  “Would you take a look at these?” Rosa says, showing Kath Ella several pictures she has taken out of the soap-powder box. “Some of these pictures don’t even have Kiendra in them. Kinfolk from all over, wanting their pictures pinned on Oneresta’s board. As old as I am, people still surprise me.”

  Kath Ella also carries a small bag with a new charm for Kiendra’s bracelet. She expects Rosa to open the gift in the living room, but Rosa keeps walking.

  “I don’t want to see Kiendra’s room,” Kath Ella says, remaining near the console radio.

  Rosa turns. Her slightly swollen face has a look Kath Ella recognizes from childhood, a mother intent on making her sick child swallow a spoonful of bitter medicine. “Come on, girl,” Rosa says. “Stop acting foolish.”

  Kath Ella does not know which part of her body is pushing her forward. She remembers the odd discoloration that showed in the part when Kiendra’s hair was freshly plaited. She thinks about the time Kiendra cut up her brother Dominion’s favorite girlie magazine, about the time they laughed as they kissed on the mouth. She remembers the day Kiendra lost a tooth while biting into a hunk of saltwater taffy. She enters a bedroom she has not been in since Kiendra left for Wells Bridge years ago. Two beds and three dressers occupy most of the space. An unfamiliar pink dress hangs limp on a wire hanger. The shelf near the bed is still littered with odd rocks.

  Kath Ella’s half of the bunny is still a grayish brown. But Kiendra’s half, taped to the wall, has faded to a mild ash color. Kath Ella touches the brittle construction paper. There is no use trying to hold back tears. “We made it for Easter,” she says. “Kiendra and me.”

  Rosa holds a stack of spiral notebooks. “The girl wrote letters to herself when she should’ve been writing what the teacher told her. No wonder she was always half a term behind in school.”

  As Rosa hands her the faded half of the bunny, Kath Ella cries even harder. Rosa also gives Kath Ella one of the stones from the shelf. “I’m going to send some of Kiendra’s stuff to heaven with her in the casket,” Rosa says. “But you may as well have one of her favorite stones.”

  Kiendra had told her mother and father that if she died, she wanted her funeral to be outside.

  “Impossible,” Reverend Steptoe says when Rosa broaches the matter. “Miss Penncampbell is a daughter of Basinview Baptist. I’ll say a few words outside at the burial, but inside the church is where our daughter’s life should be celebrated.”

  Rosa shows Reverend Steptoe one of Kiendra’s notebooks. He reads a page from the notebook, turns to the next page, and reads another. “Our daughter had a way with words when she was talking to herself,” he says, closing the notebook. “A pity.”

  On the day of the funeral, a group of men carry the church pews onto the grassy spot between the church and the cemetery. At ten o’clock, ushers begin seating visitors. By eleven, the air above the crowd is heavy with the smell of perfume, rose aftershave, moth repellent, and fragrant throat lozenges. Teenage boys give up seats to elderly or female visitors and stand on the grass between the last row of benches and the remembrance display.

  Reverend Steptoe refuses to allow the piano to be carried outside into the salty air. So, a little after noon, the air fills with strains of an a cappella hymn sung by the Five Preston Boys. When it is time to visit the polished pine casket, Kath Ella has to be assisted. The rich pink blooms of the tall irises hurt her eyes. So does the sight of the rose-colored shoes Kiendra wears. Neither the keepsake bracelet nor the earrings nor the imitation pearl necklace from the ladies club are on the body. Showy jewelry on a child who died so sadly would be an insult to Jesus, Rosa says. But isn’t this pink dress showy? Kath Ella wonders, heading back to her seat. And is it not also an insult to Jesus to let a child die so young? She holds on to George’s hand. No longer, she thinks, will he have to convince her the world is a harsh place.

  Because Kiendra had not yet passed her twenty-first year, Reverend Steptoe says, a child will read from the book containing the names of the deceased children of Woods Bluff. The girl has barely read the first few names when Donnita Penncampbell springs up from the front row and runs down the aisle. At the back of the gathering she leans on the remembrance display, her chest heaving with every loud breath. When a church usher grabs her, Donnita screams. When the usher attempts to pull her off the display, Donnita struggles, sending her, the usher, and the display crashing onto the grass.

  Members of the Woods Bluff Ladies Club have gotten Kiendra’s funeral expenses paid for. Reverend Steptoe and Clarence Eatten have gotten one of the white men downtown to give Guivalier a better-paying job. The boys are planning a big party. But what has Kath Ella done for Kiendra?

  Kath Ella would not worry so much about that, if it weren’t for the fact that it seems every tongue on Woods Bluff has been gossiping that she was the person who lured Kiendra into the trespassing that ended up getting her shot. Not one of the girls has said that to Kath Ella’s face. And not a single neighbor has said Kiendra’s death was Kath Ella’s fault. But she believes that is what everyone is thinking.

  It has been two weeks since the funeral and Kath Ella still has trouble concentrating during work at Chevy Platt’s business. Today in the office, when she ought to be organizing and filing documents, she is staring at an article in the newspaper. She is startled by the sound of a gray leather bank pouch hitting the desk with a thud.

  “If you hurry, you can get to the bank before it closes,” Kiryl Platt says.

  Kath Ella listens to Kiryl stomp down the hallway and then reaches for the pouch. She dumps the receipts and bills out onto the desk. She counts the money, feeling the minutes pass quickly. She will have to work quickly to make it to the bank before six. She has been wondering when Kiryl would show his annoyance. On her first day b
ack at the office, his comforting words soothed the feelings she had—that the world had thrown her face-first down the old community well. When he started saying she would feel better if she spent time with someone other than family and neighbors, she agreed. Yet each time he asked her to accompany him downtown on an errand for Chevy, she said she had work to do.

  Since the funeral Kath Ella hasn’t been that nice to Omar either. “You would be grumpy, too,” she says when Omar comes by the desk. “I’m going to have to sprint to reach the bank before it closes.”

  “I’ll drive you,” Omar says.

  Kath Ella motions for Omar to come closer to the desk. “But Kiryl already asked to drive me there,” she whispers. “I told him no. He will think I don’t like him.”

  Omar laughs and looks as if he agrees. “He went next door. If we hurry we can go before he gets back.”

  On the drive, Omar seems to sense that Kath Ella’s mood has improved. “Why don’t we take a drive out to the beach one of these days,” he says.

  “When?” Kath Ella asks.

  “As soon as I can get the car from my uncle.”

  “That would be nice.”

  In the middle of the following week, at the small quiet beach at Vicksham Cove, Omar spreads out his great-aunt’s Mexican blanket on the warm sand. After dipping her toes in the surf, Kath Ella lies down and closes her eyes. Feeling the warm sun on her face, she decides a picnic is just what she needed. After they eat their cold fried chicken, Kath Ella is drifting off to sleep when she feels Omar’s hand sliding under her skirt. They begin to kiss.

  After the long, slow lovemaking, Kath Ella falls asleep. She wakes up disoriented by the sight of the ragged granite in the overhanging roof of the cove. On the drive back, the dull ache that has plagued her head since Kiendra’s funeral starts to recede.

  The next morning, Kath Ella arrives at the office feeling better than she has in weeks. Gone are the hard memories of those men in Montreal. Seeing more of Omar will be good for her, she thinks. Refusing his past invitations seems silly now.

  Several times during the day, Kath Ella finds herself daydreaming about what she might do in Kiendra’s honor. Whatever she decides will require money. On the bus ride to the office she had considered asking Kiryl to give her an early paycheck. But Kiryl is as tight as his father, Chevy. And besides, she saw the look he gave her first thing this morning. Perhaps he knows about the trip she made to Vicksham Cove yesterday with Omar. Clearly Kiryl’s feelings about her have cooled.

  Kath Ella stands in line at the bank, the hot air from the ceiling fans blowing onto her head. The closer she gets to the counter, the heavier the pouch she’s carrying feels. To her surprise, the office systems at Chevy’s business in Simms Corner are sometimes in more disarray than those at the Hardware Barn. Would anyone at the office notice if a few bills were lost? By the time the teller is counting the deposit from the pouch, Kath Ella has filled out a form to make a withdrawal from the Sebolts’ account. My, how well she imitates her father’s signature. She withdraws thirty dollars, fifteen of which is her savings.

  Here she is acting out again, Kath Ella tells herself outside the bank. Just like the trouble she got into with Kiendra. For the trespassing she now has an upcoming hearing with a peace officer. Her parents will tell the officer that their delinquent child will, in the future, be dependable and trustworthy—but not if George discovers she has stolen family money.

  It is hot in the office later, so Kath Ella and Omar carry their lunch to the house next door. It feels good sitting next to Omar on his grandfather’s parlor sofa. With the window fan cooling her body, she listens to Omar tell her that he has already gotten the money for the fireworks. “I asked my great-uncle and what do you know, Chevy said yes.”

  Watching Omar count the bills, Kath Ella feels the sadness draining from her body. What she feels now seems even nicer than what she felt at the beach, lying on the blanket beside Omar. It has been months since such feelings have filled her body.

  “I’ve gotten some money, too,” Kath Ella says.

  “What will you do with it?”

  “I don’t know. But I also want to do something for Kiendra.”

  Omar places a few of the folded bills into Kath Ella’s dress pocket. He listens for sounds from the upstairs bedroom to indicate whether Chevy is asleep. Before Omar can turn, Kath Ella has leaned forward and placed her head on his chest. These are good feelings she will miss in the fall, when she is away at school. But going away is the only thing she can do to promote a lasting heal from Kiendra’s death. The long kiss feels good. But a kiss won’t keep her in Woods Bluff. Not here with all these fresh memories ruining her days. She intends to go back to Montreal.

  Nearly an hour’s drive northeast of Halifax, Exposition Fireworks operates out of a former gristmill beside a slow-running river. This morning at the beginning of August, Omar steers a white truck close to a side door of the business. He is humming as he loads the wood-and-metal platforms, the double line of mortar sleeves, and the crate containing a dozen rockets.

  “Those Big Stellars will arc wide as a moon rocket for the show for Kiendra,” he says, climbing into the driver’s side of the cabin. “There’s more bang in one of those than in a thousand of those cheap fireworks the other boys are buying.”

  Beside Omar on the front seat, Donnita Penncampbell looks over her shoulder, through the back window at the haul. When the truck arrived in Simms Corner, Omar was surprised to see her at the wheel and not her brother, Dominion. He was not surprised to hear that Dominion had gotten home at daybreak and was still passed out drunk. But he did not believe Donnita could drive the truck as well as her brother.

  “Party, party is all my knucklehead of a brother does these days,” Donnita says. She looks out the windshield of the truck as they speed along a stretch of highway with wide fields on both sides. “Daddy says he’s irresponsible, but I think Dominion doesn’t like being at the house anymore. You’d understand if you lived there these days. Rosa and Guivalier have been nasty to each other since Kiendra’s funeral. Lord, give me a break.”

  The cab is quiet for several minutes. “I heard you’re quitting your job at the cafeteria to attend beauty school,” Omar says.

  Donnita nods, looking now at a red barn in the distance. When the barn is no longer in sight, she turns from the window. “And I heard you’re going to Mississippi.”

  “In a few weeks.”

  “Miss-ee-sip-ee. Miss-ee-sip-ee. Where-it-is, I-cannot-tell-thee.”

  Omar downshifts and the truck slows behind a tractor. Donnita is biting her lip and seems to be counting to herself, using her fingers like a child. He’d once seen Kiendra do that. This is the first time he and Donnita have been alone together in a long while. Without the other girls around, Donnita seems mislaid. The church ushers earned a spot in heaven, given how much work it took to calm Donnita enough for her to attend the burial. Omar has already noticed that her blue blouse has several buttons loose at the top. She must know he would take note of the bit of chest visible through the parted blouse. Like Kath Ella, Donnita will need time to warm the bones that have gone chilly with Kiendra’s death. Kath Ella seems to be ready to allow him to help her cope. But he is not sure what to say to Donnita. A few summers back, before he decided to work hard to get Kath Ella’s attention, he entertained the idea of asking Donnita to one of the Elks Lodge dances. Billy Ovits was chasing after her at the time, but what did that matter?

  His arm out the window, Omar feels the air hitting his palm. He wishes he wasn’t so prone to thinking about Kath Ella. Chances are good she will not return to Halifax when she graduates college. Given all those books he used to see her reading on the bleachers at baseball games, she may well become a teacher. He knows there is more work for a teacher in Montreal or Toronto. Did Kath Ella have to say it? Omar closes his palm, trying not to look at Donnita. Maybe he ought to have tried harder with some other girl these past two summers. Donnita is no traveler. He apprecia
tes that today.

  There is only forest beside the road now. Omar drives on, wondering if he ought to stop thinking about these bluff girls and do what Chevy advises: put his mind on his future. Platt’s Insurance and Surety already has a manager. And the only other job he imagines himself doing is repairing machines at a factory. Or begging Chevy for a loan to buy one of those portable kitchens to sell snacks at the Negro league baseball games. Neither of those options is appealing.

  After they have filled the tank at a gas station, Donnita takes over the driving. “Let’s go by the apartment building,” she says when they are on the city streets again. “I want to show you what the girls did to the windows.”

  “I hope they didn’t break any.”

  “Just threw some paint is all. But if I’d been there I would’ve broken all the windows.”

  When the truck turns onto Gottingen Street, Omar notices a return of the solemn face Donnita wore at her sister’s funeral. With each passing block, she stares at the windshield with a harder face. When the apartment building comes into view, Donnita stomps on the accelerator.

  The truck is roaring at forty miles an hour. At first Omar laughs, but when Donnita runs through a stop sign, he places his hands on the dashboard. “Slow it down, girl.”

  Though the truck starts to rattle, Donnita keeps her foot on the accelerator, her eyes ahead. Gray smoke pours out of the front of the truck and begins rushing into the cab. After the next intersection, when the truck weaves into the adjoining lane, Omar reaches over and turns the ignition key. The engine dies, but the truck races on, heavier smoke now flowing into the cab.

  Omar yanks one of Donnita’s hands off the steering wheel, but with the other she gives the wheel a hard turn. The truck jumps the curb and hurtles toward the building. After pushing Donnita’s knee out of the way, Omar stomps on the brake. Brakes screeching, the truck skids across the grass and crashes into the corner of 920 Gottingen.

  This Monday sunrise begins a week that Kath Ella fears her body is in no shape to endure. She lies awake in bed believing that in some ways it might be better to be flayed alive. In the afternoon she can make no sense of the words in Reverend Steptoe’s sermon during the services before Donnita Penncampbell is laid to rest. The following day she wakes up feeling numb, but the numbness does not insulate her body from the pain that seems to chew at her insides as she sits through the funeral for Omar Platt.