by Jim Grimsley
They laughed, and Mama laughed, all the older brothers and sisters did the same. They were all around us laughing, and Joe Robbie and I were alone with the knowledge that there was a monster loose.
“Where is the monster?” Joe Robbie asked.
“Shut up, younguns.” Mama heaved out of her chair and gestured to Mr. Jarman. “Would you like to sit down?”
He tilted his head and studied her quizzically. “I expect I better get back to the store, Ruby will skin me alive if I don’t come on. You know the Japs is bombing us.”
“That right?”
“That’s right. On one of them islands. You ought to turn on the radio.”
“Batteries is dead,” growled Carl.
“Get you some at the store.”
But he dragged his belly out the door before Carl could ask for credit. Mama hollered, “We sure appreciate the visit,” and stood in the doorway to wave good-bye.
“Daddy, is it a real monster?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“You ought not to talk so ugly to that youngun.” Mama spoke mildly, framed in the bright rectangle of the screen door. “He’s scared.”
Nora ran her hands through Joe Robbie’s hair and gave him a big-eyed look. “If that monster was to get in here, you couldn’t even run, could you, sweetheart?”
“Hush, Nora.”
Nora smiled and ran her hands through Joe Robbie’s hair some more. His head bobbed as he tried to watch her. I wiped the spittle from the corner of his mouth.
“It’s not any monster,” declared Otis, “that fat son of a bitch was lying.”
“Aunt Tula seen it. That’s what Daddy said.” Nora leaned over the baby’s cradle to pet its damp hair.
“Well that don’t mean nothing, Aunt Tula is crazy.”
Daddy snickered into his pouch of tobacco. He squatted in the light by the door, rolling a cigarette into a paper balanced on his knee.
“That colored woman seen it today.”
“That colored woman is crazy too.”
“Well, who eat off that dog’s head then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you don’t know everything, do you, smarty?” Nora and Carl Jr. were laughing.
“I know it ain’t no real monster out there.”
“Shut up, you little son of a bitch.” Daddy licked the cigarette to seal the paper. “Carl Jr., get my shotgun.”
“I’m coming too.”
“I don’t give a good goddamn what you do, get my shotgun like I told you.”
When Carl Jr. rushed to Daddy’s bedroom, where the shotgun rested under Daddy’s side of the bed, Mama rose from her chair and shuffled toward the fire. “You can’t leave me alone in this house with no monster out there.”
Daddy regarded this sudden transformation of Mama. “Me and Carl Jr. is going off in the woods to hunt the thing.”
“I know what you going off in the woods for, but I tell you what, you ain’t leaving me alone with these younguns and a monster running around.”
“There’s no monster going to get you in the house.”
“It might.”
“You keep the doors locked and don’t let nothing in while I’m gone.”
“Willie, you can’t leave me alone. I swear I mean it.”
When Carl Jr. entered, carrying the shotgun and shells, Daddy took the gun. Mama began to cry and Daddy shrugged. The noises she made were inarticulate, and her sobs shook the loose flesh over her shoulders. Daddy stepped toward the door and she moved as if she wanted to block him.
His hand rose, sudden and sharp like a blade. The report echoed from the high ceiling and bare boards, first the slap and then Mama’s cry. The hand rose again. Daddy stepped past Mama, who swayed.
Mama lunged toward the door, but Daddy’s heavy tread had begun to fade; he descended the steps and crossed the yard.
“Don’t you leave me here with these younguns.” When she turned, tears were draining along her cheeks and sobs shook her. She sagged in her chair. “Nora, lock the door.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We sat. Joe Robbie and I leaned against each other.
Mama pressed her palms flat on her belly and closed her eyes. “He shouldn’t leave us like this. It ain’t right.”
“I know it ain’t,” Nora answered softly.
“I’m scared,” whispered Otis.
“We’re all scared.”
“I can hear something,” Joe Robbie whispered against my shoulder.
“Be quiet, Joe Robbie.” Nora pulled her sweater sleeves over her hands.
“But I heard something.”
“Shut up, Joe Robbie. You didn’t hear nothing. You’re just a sissy.” Otis faced us fiercely, face flushed.
“You younguns hush, all of you.” Mama rose slowly from the chair, taking baby Madson from the cradle, moving into the other room, scarcely lifting her feet.
In the dim kitchen we found ourselves suddenly alone.
Otis added a log to the fire and rubbed his hands. “I’m eating me one of these biscuits.”
“There’s not much left.”
“I’m eating one, I don’t care what’s left.”
“Mama will whip your ass.”
“Mama ain’t doing shit, scared as she is.”
“You eat Mama’s biscuit, she will whip your ass, and you know it.”
From the back of the house Mama shouted, “You younguns hush that fuss right now. Don’t, I’ll come out there with a belt.”
Nora tilted back her head and hollered, “Otis is about to eat the rest of the biscuits, Mama.”
“Otis, you eat one mouthful, I’ll get your daddy on you when he gets home.” Silence, then, “You hear me?”
“Goddammit, Mama, I’m hungry.”
“You’ll be hungry and your ass will be wore out, both, if you touch one of them biscuits. Now let me lay down for a while and give me some peace.”
The door closed to the bedroom. Joe Robbie whispered, “Mama.”
From the window between the back door and the stove I could see the whole bare front yard. Wind seeped beneath the lower edge of the sash, past the rag that was stuffed into the crack. But along the road were marching black children and their mother, or at least children and some older woman, dressed as poorly as we, with bundles and bags in their hands. They were studying both sides of the road at the same time, vigilance fierce and visible. They passed quickly, and I guessed they were heading for the black Methodist church further up the road, to take sanctuary.
“Get away from that window before that monster gets you,” warned Nora.
“I ain’t scared.”
“You better get scared. Before that thing reaches right in that window and snatches you.”
“Come back here, sister,” called Joe Robbie.
Whether or not I would have obeyed was to remain undecided, for suddenly Mama reappeared, wrapping a scarf around her head. “You younguns get your coats. Nora, dress Joe Robbie and put him in the wagon. We ain’t sitting here by ourself, we’re going down to that store and wait down there till they find that monster.”
TO LEAVE THE house altogether, all of us, was unprecedented. We dressed hurriedly in coats. Nora and Otis lifted Joe Robbie into the wagon. Mama carried baby Madson against her breast. I wore the green coat that was given to Nora years ago by one of Daddy’s sisters. Mama, flush with her bravery, set a brisk pace. Otis pulled the wagon, and Joe Robbie hung onto the sides with what strength he had. I walked behind, watching him shake and quiver with each bump in the road. I was left breathless to keep up, but I managed.
“You better keep a look out in them trees,” said Joe Robbie, voice trembling with the vibration of the ride.
“Shut up, Joe Robbie, before I dump you in the ditch.”
“You better not.”
But we were all conscious of the woods on either side of the road. We crossed the path that led to the black Methodist church, and we heard the distant strains of voices. Mama rushed forward never dari
ng to look from side to side, but along with her fear shone a gleam of exhilaration in her eyes. She had become illuminated, like the moment she stepped down from the riverbank into the water in the dream I had already begun to have. Mama rushed down the road, the baby Madson huddled in her arms and another baby asleep in her belly.
More people than us had decided to gather at the Little Store. The crowd swelled past the gas pumps to the edge of the road, and laughter drifted high over the glassy waters of the pond. Men in overalls and wool coats pointed their bottles of orange soda toward the clouds. When we approached the store, some of them watched us and some of them nodded to Mama, who ducked her head and nodded in return.
We bundled near Mama with the wagon and made our way through the crowd. Joe Robbie reached for my hand and stared at the ground. It was hard for me to walk so fast and let him keep my hand like that, but I tried.
Mama stepped into the store and Otis went with her. Nora stayed outside with me and Joe Robbie. Before the door closed, I could hear Mama at the store counter, “Hey, Miss Ruby, I’m obliged to you to pay down on my bill.”
The store, the road, the pond, everything loomed larger and emptier with Mama out of sight. People were talking about the monster, which had been spotted again near the old mill. “I knew that monkster would come back. My daddy was one of the ones who seen it the last time. And didn’t nobody believe him.”
“My daddy always said that monkster lived around that old mill where the old man killed his wife. I wish the Jarmans would tear that contraption down.”
The first man nodded and continued. “I always told Thelma, Thelma, I says, that monkster han’t gone nowheres. It’s right out yonder. A-creeping around in them woods. That’s what I says. Ain’t that right, Thelma?”
“Yup. That’s what you said.”
I was hanging onto Nora’s skirt. Joe Robbie had a line of slobber draining onto the wagon from his mouth, and I held the cloth, paralyzed in all the noise and commotion. A truck parked next to the gas pump drew a crowd; men hung onto the sides, shifting their weight from hip to hip, swapping a paper bag with a bottle in it from hand to hand, drinking and hollering. Some of them held axes, shovels, or hoes, and one of them carried a shotgun like my daddy’s. Women giggled and edged toward the men. Nora was looking around as if the clear space in front of the store had taken on a new scent. Joe Robbie made a sound like a puppy’s whimper. His drool pooled in the wagon, and he hung his head. “Dry my mouth, Ellen,” he said in his slurred voice, and I did.
Everybody was talking about the monster, snatches of voices hurtling through the air. They’d seen the monster near the Sumner Wells Baptist Church; two women coming to clean the church caught him creeping through the edge of the woods, right in broad daylight. They also saw the monster on Fork Road near the old depot, a teenage couple spotted him trotting across the meadow that runs along the air base fence. They got a good look at him, and described him as gray and shaggy-like, maybe with scales or maybe with heavy fur matted and greasy, but moving on two legs like a man. And big. The size of a bear, or bigger.
A woman at the edge of the crowd wore a blue dress the color of a clear sky, with a white belt and white shoes and white coat, and she had a white hat with a brim nested on her black hair, looking as if she had dressed for spring. She was beautiful like a bird, and I stared at her till finally she stared back, saw me with Joe Robbie and Nora, and frowned.
Sometimes others in the crowd watched us. An old woman with a gray bonnet on her head and one long yellow tooth hanging over her lip. A young man with a flannel shirt beneath his overalls. A girl in a heavy coat. We were standing apart from everyone else, and I was conscious of a new feeling. There was something about the people watching us I did not like.
Mama and Otis came back with chocolate drinks and packs of crackers and we sat down in the dirt and drank the drinks. Joe Robbie was happy and smeared wet cracker over his lips and cheeks. I got a whole drink for myself, and two crackers out of Joe Robbie’s pack. The ground chilled my legs and I stood again.
“How do, Miss Tate,” said Mama to a woman with a swarm of warts on her nose and cheeks.
“Hey, Louise. I see your younguns is all drinking chocolate drinks.”
Mama grinned as if this were a great compliment.
“How is everybody?” Miss Tate asked, licking her lips.
“We’re fine,” Mama said, “but it sure is cold.”
“It sure is. Where is Willem?”
“Out yonder with them men hunting that monster,” Mama spoke breathlessly. “He took our gun and Carl Jr. went with him. And I come down here with the younguns because I was scared to stay at that house by myself.”
“I can’t believe Willem left you there.”
Mama ducked her head, almost shy. “He’s a hard one, all right. I told him I was scared but he blowed right out the door.”
A moment of pained silence passed as Mama sipped her drink.
“Did you know Villa Ray Hawkins saw that monkster yesterday at her house? But she says she didn’t tell anybody till today.”
“No, I didn’t know that.” Mama wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “Villa Ray will tell a lie in a minute.”
“I know that’s a fact.”
“She stole five dollars from Willem one time. Right out of his pocket. I tell you what.”
“Well, she said she seen that monkster before that colored woman did. She said hit snuck right up to her back porch, and was a-peeping at her over the washpot.”
“Lord God, I would have died.”
“And she said she rushed back into the house and the oldest boy got his daddy’s shotgun and the thing was trying to get up on the porch, but he run it off shooting the shotgun, and that’s when they knew it was the monkster.” Saying so much set all Miss Tate’s warts to wobbling at once. Her skin had fine, soft crinkles, some lined with pink talcum powder. “She come down here and told Mrs. Jarman about it this morning.”
Mama squatted with the baby beside Joe Robbie’s wagon. She balanced her weight on her heels, as if in a cotton field she was about to start picking. I wished she would stand up. She cradled the baby against her. Madson reached toward her with small hands. “Villa Ray has always seen something ain’t nobody else seen. And she steals. She took five dollars from Willem.” Mama nodded, as if Miss Tate has challenged her, and was about to launch into the story, when a truck roared off the road and men jumped from the back shouting that they had just seen the monster around the north end of the pond.
Everybody pressed around the truck to hear the story, including Mama and Miss Tate. Nora edged toward the crowd with Otis. I sat on the edge of the wagon. The men swaggered off the truck, looping their thumbs in their overalls, grinning at the women. Many voices were telling the story at once, and the noise rose like a white wall.
Suddenly I heard Daddy’s voice, and everything got quiet around it. Daddy roared something, and Mama came stumbling out of the crowd with Daddy kicking her backside. Mama stumbled toward the road and Daddy followed her, each kick heaving her forward. “Get your goddamn fat ass to the house,” he shouted, “get these goddamn filthy younguns to the house,” and Nora was running toward the wagon and I jumped up. The chocolate drink splattered on my coat.
Everyone near the store had got quiet. They watched Daddy chase Mama down the road, and Nora dragged the wagon along the edge of the ditch toward our house. They watched me run, with the chocolate drink bottle swinging by my legs, my coat and skirt flapping high. I heard some of them laughing. The sound echoed for a long time.
WE HURRIED TO the house. Daddy chased Mama all the way there.
“I didn’t want to sit here with these younguns,” Mama wailed, as Daddy whipped his leather belt against her legs. She was climbing the porch, hugging Madson to her, shuddering, while the leather strap cut red welts into her shins. “I was scared.”
We watched from the edge of the yard. We were afraid to go closer.
“Get in the godda
mn house.” Daddy lashed the belt back and forth. Mama had almost climbed to the porch, and now the belt landed on her dress. She sheltered Madson against her, or else used him as a shield for her face. She opened the screen and slid through the door. Daddy followed, still roaring.
We hurried to the edge of the porch. We could hear him beating her inside. She cried far louder than when we had to go to the neighbors for Madson to be born. Otis stood close to Nora, who hung her head. Joe Robbie whispered for me to wipe his mouth again, and I stayed near.
After a few minutes Mama’s yelling stopped, but suddenly Madson was screaming, and then Daddy rushed through the door and hurtled to the bottom of the steps. He glared at us, pointing his long thin finger. “Get your asses in that house and stay there. Now.”
He stood there while Nora and Otis hauled Joe Robbie up the steps. I sneaked in front of them, afraid to be last.
Inside, Mama sobbed at the sink. Madson lay flat beside the washbasin, his forehead bloody, his cries piercing the house. “Your daddy hit him with the belt,” she told Nora. “He hit him. Poor little thing.”
She sobbed and wiped her forehead. Blood drained around her grimy ankles from the lashes on her legs.
Otis built up the fire. Nora washed Mama’s legs. Madson calmed and slept. The belt had struck across his tender forehead, a tiny line of red. Dark, drying blood glistened.
YEARS LATER I went back to the Jarman’s store in the ’62 Impala I bought with my own money, earned by working in the elementary school cafeteria. My own children were with me, clean and neatly dressed, and I wore my hair freshly done from the beauty parlor. My dress was sky blue, with a wide white belt, and I wore white shoes, but instead of the white hat, I wore a white rayon scarf tied around my hair. I carried my purse into the store. The reflection of myself in that store window took me back, suddenly, to that day when the monster was loose and Mama walked us to the store for chocolate drinks. I could almost smell the same hint of clean dirt and rain.
Inside, Miss Ruby smiled at me politely though she never recognized me, that time. I bought drinks for all my children, and cold hot dogs, and a loaf of white bread, for the journey. She eyed me over like she might know me, she put on her glasses to work the new cash register and then eyed me over again. She was stooped herself, her skin gone all to pin wrinkles. She handed me my change. For a moment I wanted to tell her who I was. I’m Ellen Tote, I wanted to say. In a clean dress with a scarf on my hair. But I never said a word. She bagged my merchandise. I paid deposit for the drink bottles, which I hated to do, and drove away.