Mayhew grabbed my arm. “He has to stay with us.”
“Well, I guess that’s the way it will be,” Stewart said, regarding Mayhew with kind eyes.
Bess invited Stewart to stay for dinner and told him to bring his wife. I saw the tense look on his face when he answered, “Thank you, but I’m sure Madge is already cooking.”
He didn’t explain why Madge wouldn’t want to come for dinner.
* * *
I hadn’t told them about the clothes. Jacob drove us to the back of the store and I knocked on the door. Stewart opened it, and we all went in. I told everyone they were to pick out as many things as they wanted, and Stewart and I would help them find stuff.
“This is my dad’s store,” I said, “and my dad would want me to do this, wouldn’t he, Stewart?”
Stewart nodded. “It’s the least we can do for all you have done for Jory.”
Everyone decided that was good enough, and they scattered out, picking through khaki pants and dresses with flowered prints and blue jeans (and matching hats, which we all got), all except Jacob. I looked at him. “Uncle Jacob, this goes for you, too. You pick out some clothes, and some for Max?”
He smiled and ambled into the store. “Me, shoppin’ for free clothes? If this ain’t a first. I think I might need some help from Bess.”
50
Chevy Coupe
JACOB DROPPED US OFF at the houseboat. He couldn’t wait to give the new clothes to Max. Before he left, I asked him to look around for a good used car if he could find a good deal—I wanted to get my driver’s license.
I couldn’t wait to go back to school. When we walked in, everyone attacked me with questions, and when I told them I didn’t have to hide anymore, they cheered.
A boy my age asked, “Are you going to stay here at our school?”
I smiled at him and looked at Miss Lucy. “Yeah, I want to go to school right here.”
About a week had gone by when Jacob’s truck rumbled down the lane to the houseboat. He said he had a surprise, and after telling Grandpa we were going, Jacob left with Mayhew and me in tow. It wasn’t long before he drove up a gravel driveway to an old barn. We got out and he took us inside.
“There’s your new car,” he said, pointing at a pale green four-door car covered with dust, hay, and pigeon droppings. “It’s a 1940 Chevy Coupe. It belongs to Brown, my boss. He said we can have it for a hundred bucks. Good deal. Needs a little work, well, maybe a lot of work, but you and me can get her up and running right away.”
“Wow!” I said, as Mayhew and I ran over. I opened the door and climbed up on the bench seat, bouncing with excitement. “I love it. Oh, Jacob, thank you.”
“Hey, we gots a lot of work to do.” He opened the long hood. “She’s got a straight-six. I’d put it at eighty-five to ninety horsepower. He said she ran great when he put her in here. Tires are all flat and cracked, and she needs a battery and a lot of cleanup.”
“When can we get started?” Mayhew asked. “I can’t wait.”
We loosened the lug nuts on the wheels with Jacob’s help, jacked up each axle, and put bricks under them. We removed the lug nuts and put the wheels in the back of the pickup, along with the old battery, and headed into town.
In no time, we had four used tires put on the wheels, a decent used battery, a full five-gallon gas can, and several quarts of oil. We put everything back on, replaced the old oil with fresh, poured in the gas, and hooked up the battery. We filled the radiator with water, and after closing the petcock, we were ready.
Jacob took off the air cleaner, pumped the gas using the lever on the carburetor, and poured a tiny bit of gas into the carburetor throat. “Okay, put her in neutral and let’s see what happens.”
I climbed in, shifted into neutral, and shouted, “Ready.”
“Turn the key on and hit the starter button. I’ll take care of the rest.”
I followed instructions, and I felt and heard the starter grind and spin the engine. There was a backfire and a roar, and then the engine quit. Jacob poured more gas into the throat. “One more time,” he called. This time, the roar kept up and smoke poured out of the exhaust pipe.
“Yeah!” I yelled, jumping out of the car so I could watch Jacob work his magic on the engine. He kept moving the throttle and revved the engine. He told me to take the screwdriver and adjust the idle screw and two other little screws on the carburetor. Soon the car idled as if it was brand new.
“Looks like you done got yourself a great running car,” he said with a satisfied sigh. “With a little elbow grease inside and out, she’ll be a fine machine for you.”
He smiled at me. I reached over and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Jacob.”
“Oh, now, that ain’t necessary,” he said. “Hop in, you two.”
Mayhew and I got in the front seat with Jacob. He put the Chevy in gear and pulled out of the barn. He drove a ways down the lane and drove into a field that had been hayed. He stopped the car, got out, and told me to slide over. After a bunch of stalls, gear grinding, and jerky first gear starts, we were driving down the long lane and all around the farm. Not once during that jaunt did I cause any major damage, so needless to say, I was getting pretty confident pretty fast.
Pleased with my performance, Jacob got in his pickup and told me to follow him back to the boat. When we got to the lane, he stopped, stuck his head out the window, and said, “She’s all yours, Jory. But don’t be a driving until you get your license, or Fat Mac’ll surely get you.”
“I’ll bring you the money for the car tomorrow,” I promised. He smiled and drove off. I shifted into first and drove down the lane. We pulled up to the clearing and stopped near the ramp. I hit the horn, and after a couple of honks, Moses came out the front door. Mayhew and I waved as I shut off the engine and we got out.
Moses couldn’t take his eyes off the car. “My word, son. What’s this?”
“It’s our new car, Grandpa. It’s really dirty, but me and Mayhew will clean it up really nice, just wait.”
“She’s a beauty,” Moses said. “Can I drive her?”
Surprised, I asked, “Do you know how to drive?”
“Why, of course I do, and I still have my license. I used to run errands for Mr. Parsons when I worked for him as a blacksmith. Never owned a car, but I sure drove his old pickup a lot to get supplies.”
Sure enough, when Mayhew and Lucilla climbed in the back and I got in the front that evening, Moses drove as if he had never stopped driving. He no longer had to use the boat to get his saws or take us to school. When we got back to the houseboat, he shut off the engine and said, “Lucilla, you go and get some clean rags and the wrist-broom. You boys get some buckets, fill them with water, and get some soap, and let’s get to work on ole Betsy here.”
Bess came out smiling at her four workhorses, watching us give the Chevy a new face, and soon the car was sparkling clean inside and out.
We stood back to gaze at our work, and Moses said, “Jory, you have yourself a fine looking automobile.”
I looked at him. “It’s not my car, Grandpa, it’s yours. And don’t you say anything. That’s just the way it is. But,” I couldn’t help but cast a longing look at the Chevy, “I might want to use it once in a while when I get my driver’s license.”
* * *
Mayhew and I both had our learner’s permit. Sixteen was only a few months away, and I couldn’t wait to get my license. Shopping was much easier with the car, and Moses drove us to school every day. I told him I could drive us, but he said I had to always obey the laws, and we knew if Fat Mac ever caught me driving alone, without Moses, he’d put us both behind bars.
When sixteen finally came and went, I showed up at Dad’s store in the car with Mayhew and Lucilla and my driver’s license, and Stewart was pleased.
While I visited, Stewart told me that my dad had a life insurance policy through the store business, and the insurance money had been placed into a trust fund by Martin Hasbrook. When I turned eighte
en, it would be mine. I asked how much it was, and he told me he didn’t know for sure, but the lawyer could tell me.
We stayed an extra day so I could meet with Hasbrook. When he mentioned that the life insurance policy was worth a hundred thousand dollars, I felt a bit dizzy. He said my dad also had mutual funds through the bank, and explained what they were, or tried to. He summed it up as, “Jory, you can pretty much not worry about money.”
* * *
Moses was sitting on the front deck of the houseboat as the sun was about to call it a day. I sat next to him, quiet, wondering. The light wind cooled our faces, and the ripples lapped against the boat hull.
Rocking slowly, Moses said, “Jory, what’s troubling you?”
I looked at him. “How do you always know when something is bothering me?”
He turned his head toward me and smiled. “When two people are connected, they just feel it, they each know, even if you don’t realize it. You and I are in touch through our kindred spirits. You only need to listen to yours.”
He was right; he just listened better than I did. I lowered my head and watched the waves. “Grandpa, why do some people hate colored folk? Why does that stupid cop want so much to take me away from you? I don’t understand.”
“Son, there are many things we can’t easily explain, and sometime it is best not to try. Instead, just concentrate on love. Love is like the breeze.We feel it. It is real, even though we can’t see it. How would you describe the breeze on your face?”
I thought about it for a moment. “I don’t really know. It just feels good. It’s just touching my face, a touch by something I can’t see or describe.”
He nodded. “You just explained love.”
51
Chocolate Anger
A FEW DAYS AFTER MY MEETING WITH THE LAWYER, I announced at dinner that we were going into town for ice cream, and Mayhew and Lucilla shouted for joy. I parked the car in front of the drugstore, went in, and ordered the two-scoop ice cream cones in the flavors of choice. While he prepared the cones, Howard asked me how things were going. He mentioned that a couple of the neighborhood bully kids were just in there, and I needed to be careful. He smiled and placed the cones in a cardboard holder, and I headed for the car.
I pushed open the screen door with my foot, holding the cardboard tray with both hands, and stopped in my tracks. Two boys were standing by the driver’s window, each with a hand on the car. As I continued toward them, I saw one of them lean forward and look in the car. I heard him say, “If it ain’t them darkies with the white boy slave. You’s the only coloreds I ever did see with a white slave.”
“Excuse me,” I said. “You mind letting me in the car?”
“Well, it’s the white boy slave getting ice cream for his masters. Now I thinks if’n you can gets them darkies ice cream, why you can just be giving us ice cream, too. Right, Butch?”
The other boy nodded. “Yeah, I’m thinking I want that chocolate cone right there.”
Moses was watching me, and I did my best to think and act as he would. I wanted him proud of me. “These aren’t for you. They are for my family. Now if you’ll move aside, please.”
“Looks to me like there be two of us and one of you,” said the first boy. “You best be giving us them cones, lessen you can’t count, nigger lover.”
I tried to ignore the words. “I told you, they are for my family, not you.”
“Family? You color blind?” He looked in the car at Moses. “Hey, old darky, can I have your ice cream cone?”
Moses said in an impassive voice, “You can have it if you’ll just be on your way.”
“Why, thank you,” the kid said, “but yous ain’t gonna be telling me I need be on my way.” He looked in the back seat and whistled. Lucilla was sitting between Bess and Mayhew. “Why, lookie there. I’ll bet that pretty little darkie girl gets it on with her white boy slave.” He eyeballed me. “Is she good?”
A horrible taste rose up in the back of my throat, and I almost dropped the tray, my hands were shaking so much. I gritted my teeth to hold back my rage. “Just let me in the car. You got no call to be causing trouble.”
The boy grinned. “Hey, Butch, why don’t yous hop in the back and see how good that there chocolate girl is while I have me an ice cream cone?”
Chocolate girl! My thoughts were ablaze. I’ll show you chocolate. I held the paper tray with the cones sticking through it in one hand, and lifted a chocolate cone out of the tray. “You want this chocolate cone?” I asked.
He sneered at me, “Damn right, I wants that chocolate cone, while Butch has him a chocolate girl.”
I slammed the ice cream cone into his eye. Chocolate ice cream flew everywhere as he screamed, dragging both hands over his face. Instantly, Butch was charging me with his right fist drawn back. I leaned away to my left, and just as he was upon me, I threw all my weight into a kick. My foot struck his crotch with full force, and he fell to the ground grasping his groin. Jacob was right; kicking someone in the balls sure put their lights out.
The other kid was next to him, still holding his face and cursing, eyes closed. I wanted to kick him between his legs, but Moses would not be pleased.
Howard came running out of the store and stopped in front of the downed boys. “Man, I thought you were in trouble, Jory.”
“I’m sorry,” I said to him.
“Sorry? Hell, they got just what they deserved. You want another cone?”
“No, thanks.”
“You just head on out of here. I’ll take care of these two.” He looked into the car. “I’m sorry, folks. You take care, you hear? And you do come back.”
“Thank you, we shall,” Moses replied.
I opened the driver’s door. The cardboard tray shook in my hand as I handed the cones to the back seat—I couldn’t meet Lucilla’s eyes. I started the car and drove away.
“I decided to give my chocolate cone to the creep since he wanted it so bad,” I muttered at some point down the road, mostly to myself. “Maybe it’ll help him be a better person.”
52
Sticks, Stones, and Words
WHILE RELAXING IN THE LIVING ROOM ONE AFTERNOON, I wondered how different it might be if Moses and his family were white. Would Moses be a college professor, or maybe an engineer who used tools? Would he have taken me in and made me part of his family had he been white? Looking at Moses sitting in his chair, my mind took me to the many times I had heard Moses and Mayhew called so many harsh names.
Without meaning to, it just came out. “I hate those words.”
Moses looked at me and tilted his head slightly. “I reckon you mean ‘nigger’.”
“Yeah, and those other words.”
“You must remember, Jory, people who use such words are submerged in a very ugly quicksand of prejudice that drains them of anything worthwhile. They deserve our sympathy. Would you want a life with nothing but anger and hate? Of course not. But it is all they have. It makes them feel important. You can only feel sorry for such people.”
“But I don’t. I get angry.”
“I know. It is a normal reaction to unfairness. Anger is the skin of unfairness. It’s the first thing we see and feel.”
“But you never get angry, Grandpa. Why?”
“Oh, believe me, son, the anger is there, but I don’t let it drive my reaction. I don’t give it control. Otherwise, I would be giving those people what they want. I just won’t let them control me.”
“But it’s hard not to get angry.”
“You are young, and it takes a great deal of self-control not to show anger when you are really mad. It’s hard, Jory, but the more you work on it, the easier it becomes, I promise.”
53
Revenge
LEAVING JACOB AND MAX ONE DAY, I headed home with groceries in the car. Just before I reached the lane to the houseboat, a red pickup truck passed me, then quickly slowed down. I hit the break hard as another truck appeared behind my car. The truck in front came to a compl
ete stop in the middle of the road, forcing me to stop, and I couldn’t back up with the second truck against my bumper. What I saw next made me panic. Two men in white sheets got out of each truck.
I rolled up the windows and locked the doors as they approached. One tried to open my door, and with no success, another raised his arm. A tire iron hit the side window, smashing it to bits. A hand reached inside and unlocked the door, which then flew open. Two men grabbed me even as I struggled, pulled me out of the car, and dragged me to the pavement, where two more joined them. Jacob had never told me what to do if four men had me down, and I knew it was because there was nothing I could do to stop what they had in mind. Two of them lifted me up and each held an arm at my back. I faced my attackers with no plan and no hope of defending myself.
I looked into eyes looking back at me through two holes in a white mask; then I heard his voice.
“What I hate even more than a nigger lover is a nigger lover willing to fight for ’em. Give my boy a black eye, and just see whats you get.”
The kid I hit with the ice cream cone. When I saw it coming, I twisted my head to the side just as his fist struck my face, hard. I lost sight in my left eye and nearly blacked out—I would have for sure, had he hit me square on. I wanted to kick his crotch, but if I did, I knew my own privates would never survive. His clenched fist struck my stomach, wrenching me forward, shoving every bit of breath out of my lungs. I couldn’t inhale, gasped for air, struggled to breathe, but I couldn’t. I saw his fist coming up under my jaw, and I flinched away as it struck a glancing blow across my jaw, cheek, and nose.
“Look at me, nigger lover!”
Another white-masked devil grabbed my hair and yanked my head back so I could look at the stranger in front of me. I saw my blood on his fist and on his mask. The pain in my jaw and nose was severe, and I needed to inhale. I fought to breathe, fearing I would lose consciousness.
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