Now I know you been drinking, the first sinner said. Man, you high.
No, but I been studying this mess. Now when the man turns off the lights and tells everybody to take off you think these folks in the shoot-em-ups go away…
You dam’ right…
Yeah, and you think they just wait around somewhere until the nighttime comes and then they come out again.
That’s right.
I know, but that’s because you’re a fool. You ignorant. But in fact, it’s just like the moon, and folks who got sense know that the moon is hanging up there all day long….
Oh come on, man. Everybody knows about the moon.
Yeah, but you don’t understand that the same thing happens with these shoot-em-up guys. All those guys, even the houses and things, they don’t go nowhere when the lights come on. Hell naw! They just stay right here with shooting and fighting and hoss riding and eating and drinking and jiving them gals and having a ball after the man puts us out and locks the door downstairs and goes on home to inspect his jelly-roll. That’s how it really is.
Bull, the first sinner said. Bull!
No bull, nothing! Folks like us get tired and have to get some sleep and maybe eat some grits and greens, but hell, those people in the shoot-em-ups they lay right there in the bend. They don’t need no rest….
Dam’ if you don’t make it sound like they in slavery, cousin, another sinner said.
Now you got it, the deep-voiced one said. Ace, take it from me, they in slavery. And man, just like the old folks say, slavery is a war and war is hell!
They laughed.
I was disturbed. Could this be true? Could the people in the pictures always be there working even in the dark, even while they were crowded back into the machine? Forever and forever and forever?
I turned to look at the laughing men. They slouched in their seats, their heads back. One had a gold tooth that flashed in the dim light. Maybe they were just making up a lie for fun, like the boys did at school.
Bliss, Daddy Hickman said.
He touched my arm. Bliss, it’s coming on, he said.
I tensed and it was as though he knew before it happened, as though it switched on at his word. For there came a spill of light from behind us, flooding past our heads and down to become a wide world of earth and sky in springtime. And there was a white house with a wide park of lawn with flowers and trees in mellow morning haze…. Far shot to medium, to close: poiema, pathema, mathema—who’d ever dream I’d know? Me, hidden in their very eyes…. Then it happened, I went out of me, up and around like a butterfly in a curve of flight and there was moss in the trees and a single bird flipped its tail and flew up and away, and just as when watching the boys in the schoolyard I was drawn through the wall and into the action. Over there, graceful trees along a cobblestone drive now occupied by a carriage with a smooth black coachman in livery sitting high and hinkty proud holding the reins above the gleaming backs and arched necks and shining harness of the horses, sitting like a king, wearing a shiny flat-topped hat with a little brush in its band. I am above them as it moves to stop before the big house and a man opens the coach door and descends, hurrying along the walk to the porch, and I descend and go along behind him. He wears a uniform with sabre and sash, boots to his knees. Ep-aul-ets (that’s the way to say it) show as his cape swings aside and hangs behind him like a trail as he takes long strides, handsome and tall. A black man in black suit with white ruffles at the neck meets him at the columns of the porch and in answer to a question, points to a great doorway, then moves ahead to open the door and then steps aside with a little bow, like Body’s when he has to recite a verse on an Easter program at church. Jesus Wept, Body says and bows, looking warily at his mother across the pews. She had taught him a longer verse but either he’s forgot it, or refuses to recite it on a bet. It’s the shortest verse in the Bible and the other boys snicker. He’d got away with it again…. Body bowed and hurried back to his seat…. The servant’s bow is lower and he holds it until the man sweeps past and I go in behind the man and now I can see past him, over his shoulder, into a large room bright with sunlight and vases of flowers. Near a big window a pretty lady with hair parted in the middle and drawn down to her ears in little curls sits at a piano and as she looks up, surprised, and then with pleasure, I think suddenly, What is the color of her hair? And I wish to get past the man to see if she has freckles on her nose, but he keeps coming toward me and I strain to get behind him. I press on as in a dream. It’s very hard to do but I made it happen—only now she doesn’t see me as she looks up at the man who is still ahead of me. And then as I strain to draw closer something happens—and I feel myself falling out….
Disturbed, I fly back to my seat, hearing in my mind Body saying Man, them ghosts don’t wear no shoes as I sat back beside Daddy Hickman watching her loom shy and strange, smiling out into the dark not even seeing me in the cool sweet flooding of light. I feel high and lonely. My eyes tickled with tears, until she grew soft and hazy, still looking outward, dreamy-eyed into the darkness and then I knew.
Look, I said, Daddy Hickman, it’s her….
Un-huh, he said. He shifted contentedly beside me. Un-huh.
But he doesn’t hear me, I thought, because he’s still in the room. He’s still back in the wall there. I couldn’t see him there because he was also here, his body pressing forward in the seat. And as she moved toward the man in the elegant room, I searched his face for a sign of recognition. I touched his arm twice, then saw him looking down at me with a smile. Then his hand came up, holding the bag of popcorn toward me.
Excuse me, Bliss boy, he said. Take some.
No thank you, sir, I said. It’s her, the same one. You see?
Huh?
It’s her, I said.
He glanced at me and back again to the screen. Oh sure, he said. She’s the lead, Bliss, the heroine. She’ll be all through the picture. Because, you see, everything turns around her. Have some. He pushed the bag toward me and I took some, thinking, He doesn’t want to hear me. He doesn’t want to tell me….
Looking back to the wall, I watched them talking earnestly in the room below, then suddenly Daddy Hickman turned, listening to something behind us and I felt myself slip in again and then the man was outside the house and I was above it a ways, watching some men on horses come cantering along the curving drive, moving past the hedges and the tulip trees. They wore uniforms and flowing capes and were proud. And some had whiskers and wore swords. Then I went over their heads and was looking behind the house where some of our own people were watching them coming on. I could tell that they were excited but trying not to show it, leaning forward with hands on hips or holding the handles of their rakes and hoes, looking. Some of the women wore headcloths and had no shoes. I saw a big lazy dog come out of the hedge and bark at the horses. One of the horses, a white one, shied. Then I moved along behind the horses again. I couldn’t smell, only see. Couldn’t hear clearly either, but some. Where has she gone? I wondered.
Above the house now, I could see a road curving through rolling countryside and on it another body of horsemen, riding hard, in close formation, the dust rising from the horses’ hooves. Their buckles and buttons sparkled along the lines. They were coming on. The banner streaming, riders slanting forward in the wind.
And now they were passing some croppers’ cabins and some of our people wearing old clothes, headrags, bonnets, and floppy straw hats came out and stood and some others who were dragging cotton sacks raised up in the fields and looked at the men up high and all our people waved…. Then a sinner behind me said something and I fell out again, hard. I was mad.
Here they go again, y’all, the sinner said. Dad blame it! In a second them peckerwoods will be fighting over us again. I sho be glad when they git it over with and done.
Me too, the second sinner said. You’d think they’d git taird of the same thing over and over again.
They already taird, but they have to keep on fighting ‘til they
can tell it straight. Oh yeah, they taird all right.
Hell, Ace, they ain’t never going to get it straight. That’s why they keep on messing with it, so that they won’t have to get it straight.
Listen, you granny dodgers, a voice behind them commanded, I want you to hush up!
Hey, granny dodger, who you calling a granny dodger?
You! Granny dodger, so shut up before I kick yo’ granny-dodger butt.
They were quiet. I moved behind my eyes as when I tried to fall asleep, then I slipped in again, looking for her.
I was back in the big house now and she was coming out of the door and I thought, It’s her all right, and I started in close to see her when her face swelled up—then something snapped and I fell out. My face felt slapped. High up behind me I could hear a flapping sound, very fast—like a window shade when the spring is too tight—then slowing down to a whirr.
From my seat now I could see only a series of black numbers flashing before me in a harsh white light that danced with specks and squiggles. I was breathing hard and my eyes tickled like tears. I was straining to keep it, thinking Please don’t say anything. Please don’t say … I closed my eyes tightly and throbbed my eardrums but I heard anyway.
That was the end of the reel, Bliss, Daddy Hickman said. Just sit tight a second and it’ll take up where it left off….
Yes, sir, I said. I wanted to ask him again but was afraid that now he’d understand and say no….
I chewed some popcorn. My throat was dry, thick. The sinners were laughing behind us.
They call this doo-doo history, one of them said.
Yeah, but it’s got the trots, it don’t stack worth a dam and smells like hell.
I closed my eyes. Why doesn’t Daddy Hickman shut them up, I thought. Then the sound of flapping began again and for a second the light came back again very bright, then faded to become soft and full of wiggles, and there was Daddy Hickman’s face smiling in the dim light.
You see, Bliss? he said.
Yes, sir. I was looking hard.
You like it, Bliss?
Oh, yes, sir.
Does it come up to what you expected?
It’s better, I, Bliss, said; it’s pretty keen.
Yes it is, Daddy Hickman said. It’s marvelous and at the same time it’s terrible, but that’s the way the world is, Bliss. But shhh now, it’s started again.
She was back, sitting down at a distance in the room looking at a book and I strained to be there and went in. She wore pointed white shoes, with buckles. I was glad…. But then the house … the house was not there and that old fool high coffin and that strumpet doing splits on the floor without her drawers what the—Then I was with a soldier galloping on a white horse through a tree-lined lane. Fast, this time, his long cape streaming in the wind. Things tossed. The road ran wobbling up and down before us, the trees tearing at my face, as the hot horse went tearing along with a smell of oak and leather. Too fast now to see all but suddenly I could hear the leather and the brass creaking and straining and it was like sitting in the barber chair and hearing Mr. Ivey say, Gentlemen, I swear, when that ole hoss went into that backstretch he was running so fas’ you could hear him sucking air straight up through his ass!I held on tight, ducking the branches. Then someone was rushing behind us but I couldn’t see. We were stretched out now and suddenly we turn and fire a pistol and now I can see the man on the black horse coming on. Then we’re through the trees and approaching a big house with cabins behind it. It’s her house and we leap off while the horse is still in motion, tossing its head as we yank on the bit and throw the reins to a servant who looks like he knows us. But his face isn’t happy. Then we’re inside the house and coming into the room where she stands wearing a long white cape and as she comes forward and sees us, she stops short, then throws out her arms and runs forward and her face painful with eyes closed, flies toward me, filling the room and I screamed….
Daddy Hickman whirled in his chair. What’s the matter, Bliss?
It’s her, the lady … I was crying.
What lady, Bliss. Where? This is a moving picture we’re watching.
I pointed toward the light.
She’s the one. She tried to take me out. The one who said she was my mother…. Goodehugh…
He sighed. Oh no, Bliss, he said, and talk low. We can’t be disturbing the other folks like this…. This is a moving picture we’re watching, Bliss.
But it’s her, I whispered.
No, Bliss. That’s not that woman at all. She only looks a bit like her, a bit, but she’s not the one. So now you sit back and enjoy yourself. And don’t be afraid, she cain’t hurt you, Bliss boy; she’s only a shadow…
No, I thought, it’s her. He doesn’t want me to know, but just the same, it’s her…. And I tried to understand the play of light upon the dark whiteness, the rectangle of cloth that would round out the mystery of my mother’s going and her coming.
They’re only shadows, Bliss, Daddy Hickman whispered. They’re fun if you keep that in mind, they’re only dangerous if you try to believe in them the way you believe in the sunlight or the Word.
Yes, sir, I, Bliss, said.
But for me now the three had become hopelessly blended in mystery: My mother gone before memory began, then she who called me Goodehugh Cudworth, and now she I saw as once more I entered the shadows.
Say there, Mister Dreamer Man, she beside me said.
Goodehugh-cudworth, she called me Goodehugh. If not my mother, who moves in the shadows? And again as I look through the beam of pulsing light into the close-up looming wide across the distant yet intimate screen I’m enthralled and sweetly disintegrated like motes in sunlight and I listened as when in the box, straining to hear some sound from her moving lips, holding my breath to catch some faint intonation of her voice above the printed word which Daddy Hickman reads softly to me, explaining the action. And I knew anguish. Yes. There was the wavery beam of light. There was the smoke-like weaving of the light now more real than flesh or stone or pain pouring at a slant down to the living screen. And there behind me now I hear a whirring, a grinding, a hum, broken by the clicking of cogs and rapid wheels. But from her no sound…
I would like to have seen you when you were a little boy, she said.
That was a long time ago, I said.
Did you have a happy childhood?
I looked into her serious eyes. She was smiling.
It was blissful, I said.
I’m happy. I’m very happy because now there’s something sad about you, she said. Something lonesome-like.
Like what?
She turned to rest on her elbow, looking into my eyes.
I don’t rightly know, she said. It’s something moody, and in the way you look at me sometimes. Do you feel sad?
No, I said, I just have a lot on my mind these days.
Yes, I guess you do, she said. Must be a lot on your hands too, judging from the way it’s wandering.
I removed my hand. I’m sorry.
And is your hand sorry?
Yes.
Then give it here.
I gave it and she looked at me softly, taking my hand and holding it against her breast.
I didn’t mean to be mean, she said.
I came close now, breathing the fever, the allure playing about her lips, her quick breath.
Please, I said, Please….
You’ll be good to me? Really good? Her eyes were frightened, the whites pale blue.
Oh yes, I said, Oh yes!
Come back, Body! … How it hurts, here and here and there and there. His soles flashed in the dust as he ran. I stirred the hulls at my feet, disconsolate below….
Ho, all that the seed, for all that became the seed of all this, the Senator thought—hearing, Bliss? What are you trying to tell me, boy? Want me to get you the nurse?
Tell? Ah yes, tell…. How she looked when I took her there in the shade,
beneath the flowering tree, that warm brown face looking pa
st my head to the sky, her long-lashed eyelids dreamily accepting me, the stranger, and lifelove the sky—What? Who? Fate? All creation, the rejected terms I fled?
Mister Man, she said, you’re making me a problem I never had before.
What kind of a problem?
She teased me with an elfish smile, then for a while she seemed to dream.
What is the problem?
Well, I’ll tell you the truth, Mister Movie-man—I’m so country I don’t know where the long nose you have is suppose to go….
She laughed then, placing the tip of her fingers there, tweaking my nose. Her own was barely flatter than mine and I was provoked, sweetly. My face suspended in her breath, the moisture came and I went through, upon the sweet soft lips I rested mine….
Bliss?
… And I could tell you how I drew her close then and how her surrender was no surrender but something more, a materialization of the heart, the deeper heart that lives in dreams—or once it did—that roams out in the hills among the trees, that sails calm seas in the sunlight; that sings in the stillness of star-cast night…. The heart’s own that rejoins its excited mate once in a lifetime—like Adam’s rib returned transformed and glorious. I can tell you of her black hair waved out upon the grass with leaves in it; the demands of her hand, soft and soothing, with the back of my neck in it; her breath’s sweet fever inflaming my face. Even after all these years I can tell you of passion so fierce that it danced with gentleness, and how the whole hill throbbed with silence, the day gathering down, ordered and moving radiant beneath the firm pumping of our enraptured thighs, I can tell you, tell you how I became she and she me with no questions asked and no battle fought. We grasped the secret of that moment and it was and it was enough. I can tell you as though it were only an hour past, of her feel within my arms, a girl-woman soft and yielding. Innocent, unashamed, yet possessing the necessary knowledge. How I was at rest then, enclosed in peace, obsessionless and accepting a definition for once and for once happy. How I kissed her eyes, pushed back the hair from her smooth forehead, held that face between my palms as I tried to read the mystery of myself within her eyes. Spoke words into her ear of which only then I was capable—how the likes of me could say, I love, I love…. And having loved moved on.
Three Days Before the Shooting . . . Page 45