Dont you hear me talkin to you?
The muffled humidity quieted her.
If cows had really flown over my head in the gray of yesterday, and if they had been visible, how many of them, what colors, with wings, or did they just float?
The lump in my throat dissolved. My face felt cool, and I remembered a cold white rag when I was three years old, and I was the last Blackburn kid to get chicken pox. Mamas open hand was rough but comforting.
I was humming with Grandeddys jukebox now, Baby love, my baby love . . . Between the croons of the Supremes, Mamas words faded.
You better not turn up pregnant! You hear me? You better not turn up pregnant!
I didnt see her get up from the table or slap me. My cheek stung against the flesh of her hand. The black enamel bowl was spinning, empty, and it was over.
Mama bent over the stove to pour the last of the string beans into the four steaming pots. Get up and go wake them kids up.
After waking Benson, Daryl, and Baby Jessie, I ducked into Grandeddys bedroom, grabbed Granmamas Bible out the nightstand, and stuffed it in the back pocket of my overalls.
On my way to the door I lifted Roscoes ashy legs and slid his Keds from under him. The rug on the living room floor was musty and worn over the dampness of the wood. Little by little everything in Granmamas house had become worn, and shrunken under our growing bodies. Roscoe lay tangled in covers on Granmamas old rug of the Last Supper. His head and feet now extended past the frayed edges. Dragging his Keds wore another spot next to Jesus open hand.
There was nothing in Granmamas house for me. Snap peas, and Mamas anger. I leapt over the Last Supper andbanged through the wooden screen door, reminding myself that my own Keds had a hole in the right toe, and Roscoe wouldnt need the reinforcement as much as I would in my escape. Shoes in hand, one overall strap still unbuckled, I ran over the rocks toward mud and eleven trees that could vanish me for the day.
21
Beyond the Eleventh Tree
From my hiding place, I watched Mama do the job she had left me to do at homebathe the boys, feed them, stare at them from the front porch. She kept one eye on the boys and one eye on Grandeddy, who might be looking at how wonderful a mother she was. I watched her eyes follow Deddy. He came out on the porch in clean slacks, white short sleeves, and a straw dress hat. Grandeddy whistled through his teeth, and Deddy whistled back. Mama laughed and stood beside him and called everybody in for lunch, even me. Deddy moved past her, down the steps, and to the van with kids moving past him, but not touching him.
The sun began to burn through and filter light down through the trees. Lamont came out on the porch with a soda that I was sure was root beer, the only kind he would drink, the kind that made my throat so slimy I couldn't swallow. Heturned the bottle up and didnt let it down until he was done.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead, and I was sure he was staring at me when he walked to the edge of the porch, where he cleared his throat and spit several times. I could see what there was of muscle in his arms. He was almost nineteen, and though short for his age, his body was thick with maturity. His jeans were slightly worn where his penis rested.
The sun rose up above the trees and burned away the last moisture of morning. The smell of red and brown mud made my mouth water and reminded me how hungry I was. With my back to the eleventh tree, I looked straight up through the thick brown branches and imagined Lelands arms lowering for me.
The cracks in the trunk were like curvy highways; ants passed politely, not touching. I rested my lips on their world and thought about them moving in the valleys with my breath making warm wind. My chest felt numb against the bark, my right breast covered with T-shirt and overall, my left breast T-shirt against bark, both numb on my body like my lips after Mamas slap.
The kids came back out, and Baby Jessie yelled my name, Dessa!
I peered from behind the tree to see him in the yard, only dust and the bars of his playpen separating his eyes from my hiding place. He could see past the noise of kick ball, the goat calling her kid, the jukebox. I wanted to answer him and put his curly hair under my chin, his sweaty forehead on mine, but the field of rolled hay behind me pulleda new quiet place, maybe somewhere to lie down and nap in the day and not beseen. If I stepped out for him, there would be no more walking past the eleventh tree. Mama would beat me, and for a second I stared at him and was jealous of his smell, the smell of new life, hair still shiny from the food in Mamas blood.
Hungry for lunch and more quiet, I ran away from Baby Jessies voice and onto someone elses property. There I scrunched behind the hay and held my knees to my chest. The sun made my brown skin hot like tar. I hid my lopsided face on my knees, tears for Mama not to find me, and for Baby Jessie not to cry for me. Snot and tears made mud out of the caked dirt on my knees. As the sun slowly arced and dimmed to crimson, I forgot about Mama and Baby Jessie and transformed the field of hay and myself into many wonderful things in my dreams.
22
Through Rows of Rolled Hay
Adeep voice called me out of hungry dreams. It was far away at first, but then closer. Whose child are you?
I smelled the air of night coming, and hay poked through the back of my overalls, but dreams of moon pies and cornflakes pulled me away from the voice and back toward a deep sleep. A hand reached inside the thick liquid of my dreams and snatched me up. My eyes strained to register the reality of shadow, the absence of daylight. With every beat, my heart pushed into my throat like the jawbreakers I was always swallowing.
Before me stood a grown-up silhouette that was thick and smelled like Mama when she sweated. The sky left only enough light to remind me of blue. You Bos kin?
No, I answered without needing to think. Grandeddy always said if anybody is to mess with us around his place, just say no when they ask if we know him.
What you doin sleepin out here?
I shrugged my shoulders and left them huddled around my ears; my hands made fists in my pockets. I knew I was in trouble for being on somebody elses land, for not going back to the house before dark.
Well, if you dont say somethin soon, Im gonna just keep on my way and leave you out here for the mosquitoes.
The shadow turned toward the fading light, revealing breasts, and I lowered my tense shoulders.
Im Odessa.
Whose child are you, and what you doin out in these peoples hay?
I caught the bus here from Chicago to visit my aunt, I lied, and saw in my mind people and settings that didnt really exist.
Whats your aunties name?
Oh . . . shes dead. The Laceys told me that the old shack I was tryin to get to had burned down a long time ago. I blinked and rubbed my sore left eye under my glasses. I wondered why I wasnt being more careful with my lie. Using Mamas maiden name was almost as good as telling the truth.
But what was your aunties name?
Uhh, Elizabeth. Before thinking I blurted out Granmamas name and realized that this was the first time her real name had traveled through my body and out into the air with my voice behind it. I hoped the shadow of this woman didnt know my family well enough to consider how little sense my story made.
Yeah, that be just like them to be talkin about somebody dead. Her silhouette spit snuff out into the field, and the last of blue sky gave in to black.
Her voice was warm and sweet like the dampness of thehay. In my mind her thick body shrank to fit the calm of her voice. The only lights now were the three points behind meUncle Jos house, Grandeddys house, and the store.
Well, you caint just stay out here in the dark talkin about lookin for folks you say is dead. Come on home with me and get some food in your belly.
In the darkness I listened for her steps. Her smell was not like Mama now, but distinct, like Granmamas. I reached out for her hand, which was thick and rough, and pretended I was three, reaching for the hand that was thin and textured by sun, the hand that closed around my round fist years ago.
Twice she p
ried open barbed wire for me to step through, and twice I cut my shin.
After a while I was used to the dark and to the size of her figure forcing into the invisible space. We seemed to be floating in a rhythm, changing lead and follow as she separated weeds and wire for me to step through. I fantasized the gates of hell at the end of this journey; the devil laughing and thanking his giant wife for bringing me home.
I thought of how this would end in slaughter, like the child molestation movie at school. It frightened me that even though I had these thoughts, my heart was calm and my breath seemed cold on the sweat of my lip. I didnt care where I was going, just that I was. For a moment I wondered if my body really lay dead behind the roll of hay.
She said to me, when we reached the three steps of her porch, You here now. Anybody ask who you is, tell them you Elizabeths kin. They ask you what you doin here, you say hanging out.
A brief image of the fading photograph of Granmama flashed behind my eyes while she spoke. I thought maybe she had looked into my eyes and called out my Granmamaa trick to get me to be friendly with her.
Why am I supposed to say that? With my head cocked to one side I waited for her response. She only looked back at me with the gaze of an angry dog, and I could not stay strong and stare her down. In her eyes I could see that she knew I was weak and afraid, and that I had not wandered around looking for the house of some dead aunt, but had very quietly walked away from being a Blackburn, putting darkness and barbed wire between me and them.
You supposed to say that because you say you was lookin for me, so here I am.
I was confused and wasnt sure if she heard and understood me. But I didnt want her to know I was uncomfortable, so I held my neck-rolling stance. All I could see of her now was her height and the whites of her eyes. I said my name over and over to myself to avoid her spell. I made myself sound tough, like Gretal. You dont know why I came here.
At this she turned and ascended the stairs. Her figure melted into the vastness of dark all around me.
Its dark, I whined into the space that grew between us. Her footsteps rested, and her voice came steady like her stare.
Its never dark.
The wood frame of the door clapped behind her, striking up the song of crickets and cicadas. In that moment I realized that I feared seeing her face. I feared going inside, staying outside, attempting the walk back to Grandeddys. I was nobody who was nowhere, and I didnt feel strong any longer.
I pushed all thoughts of Baby Jessies crying away from me and felt my way up the stairs. On her porch I groped in thedark and found a cushioned bench that smelled strongly of mildew. There I lay down on my side and stared. I listened to the silence behind the invisible walls of her home. I thought that maybe nothing lay behind the walls, endless nothing, and no one had ever led me away from the haystacks. I lay clenched and pushed back the need to cry. My eyes stared out at nothing until eventually the darkness offered up a crape myrtle with blossoms that glowed. It stood silent in front of the porch. It was then that I closed my eyes.
23
Fifth-Born of Eight
When I woke up, she sat on the stairs with her back to me, long dark hair and broad shoulders. The air was much too heavy and damp for the denim jacket she wore. I lay still and observed her masculine movements, the way she picked her teeth with a piece of straw, and I wondered how I would leave the porch without her seeing me. Her voice rang out deep and solid, "Good mornin!" I didn't answer, and she didn't turn to me. The sound of one lone whippoorwill's call swelled as the silence between us grew noisier. "Good mornin!" and she turned to me. Her face was as much like any man's as I had ever seen, angled bones, reddish brown skin worn by the sun, like the dirt that settled on the stairs of her porch. Though she looked like kin whose faces were stored someplace distant in my mind, she looked like no one I had ever seen before.
You aint got to be scared of me, child. If I was gonna bite you, I wouldve done it last night while you was snorin loud enough to wake up the cows.
Reluctantly I smiled, but quickly blanked out my expression.
She turned around. My name is Elizabeth, and despite your lying, I know I done stumbled upon one of Bernice and Lonis chilrens. She went on talking, but my mind was stuck on Elizabeth.
My head pounded, and I got to my feet and said in a very direct manner, I think you should walk me back. Im already gonna get the beatin of my life for being gone. Its even too late for makin up a story.
Is that how you got that big black eye? Look like from what I can remember folks aint supposed to punch somebody who wear glasses. I was on the edge of crying and got up to push past her massive body and the crape myrtle. But her smell went with me. It was the smell of her sweat, of dirt, of the hem on Granmamas cotton dress.
I thought I could hear Baby Jessie in the distance. I could feel his eyes still locked on me beyond the trees. On the way to Mississippi I had wanted so desperately to disappear, to leave them all in their happy van and to simply disappear. But now I wanted nothing more than to take a hot bath and listen to Towanda go on and on about Mississippi State, hiding her fear of leaving. I wanted to look at LaVerns turned-up nose and know that who she was helped me to understand who I wasnt. I missed Baby Jessies new smell, still like milk.
What if they leave without me? What if I die here? I started to run, but I stopped before reaching the broken-down wooden fence at the edge of her yard and realized that when Mama gotme alone, she would do more than yell at me. I would be slapped or whupped with a green switch from behind the house. And Deddy would come out and beat me like I was his wife, not wanting to lose me under his strength, but strike me just hard enough to leave his mark and to show Mama that he could succeed at hunting me.
I turned to Elizabeth, who was standing on the porch now, and for a moment she was Granmama, but thicker and more stern. None of the sounds in my head, the impulses to run, to speak, nothing was kin to anything else. All the things I wanted to use to steady myselfthe counting game, the songs from church, Motown recordsall ran into each other in my head. Elizabeth paced the porch and ran her fingers through her hair. The rhythm of her boots and the squeaking boards comforted me and frightened me. Someone with no place in my world hovered. Her presence had shifted my family tree, leaving the lives and deaths of hundreds of relatives scattered about in my mind.
Elizabeth struggled with her words and shouted from the porch to break my trance. Well, whether you is goin or whether you aint, you aint had nothin to eat, so come on in here and let me fix you somethin.
I was dizzy with hunger and let myself fall to my knees. I felt like I was going crazy. What was this place, and who was this woman with Granmamas name?
Elizabeths hand was rough but cool on the back of my neck, where already the morning sun was baking me. She sat down in the dirt next to me and started talking, her voice dark and quiet.
They aint good to you at all, is they? I didnt answer but kept my face down so that she couldnt see my nose running.
Family supposed to be good to you, but they be the main ones to keep you chained up and scared to death.
And when your own kin hurts you, it hurt worse than the same transgression comin from other folk.
I wasnt crying anymore but said into the curl of my body, Why do you have my Granmamas name? Are you her? She laughed, deep and hard with her head thrown back like Grandeddy.
Im her daughter. Dont you remember losin your Granmama?
Yeah, I said back defensively. I hid a smile. I knew she was my kin.
Sit up here, now. You aint gotta be cryin about nothin.
I sat up, and the two of us stayed in the dirt with our backs to her rickety wooden fence until the haze of morning gave way to the stark Mississippi sun.
Elizabeth reached in the breast pocket of her jean jacket and pulled out an old black-and-white bandanna. Clean your face.
I took the bandanna and reached in my pocket and pulled out Granmamas Bible, all rounded off by the photos that bulged from t
he inside.
I know Granmamas dead, but I didnt know you. Nobody ever said anything about an Aunt Elizabeth. She reached over and engulfed the Bible with her massive hand.
They dont call me Elizabeth. They call me Ella Mae.
She turned to the first page of the Bible and said, See Fifth Born of EightElizabeth Mae Lacey, and right here next to it, Ella Mae.
I shielded the sun from my eyes and glared up at her.Nobody ever said anything about any Aunt Ella Mae either, except in that game.
What game?
A game all the cousins down here play and taught to all the cousins on Deddys side, and taught to us, and Mama knows it, everybody knows it. Ella Mae is the ghost of a crazy woman who had drowned in Grandeddys well after Granmama had helped deliver her born-dead baby. After she was found dead in the well, her ghost could be seen in the bathroom mirror at night, moaning for her baby.
Child, what you talkin about? She had shifted in the dirt and was looking down on me, squinting from the sun.
I went on, It was supposed to be that if you went in the bathroom and turned off the lights and called her name over and over, she would come out and scratch you to death with her killer fingernails.
Aint that some shit. They can hide me the hell away and then make up somethin about what happened like Im some kind of goddamn mythological bein.
She stood up and towered over me. If you wanna come in here and eat some breakfast, I be glad to tell you exactly who I is and what is ghost story and what is just regular old tellin-the-truth story. Otherwise you can go on back and tell them Ella Mae aint dead nor crazy as they think she is.
Despite the fact that she had given me an option, she picked up the Bible in one hand and grabbed me by the arm with the other. I was scared of the strength in her grip, but I wasnt scared of her. I didnt hear Granmamas voice in my head telling me to run.
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