Any Known Blood

by Lawrence Hill

  “He wants to give me a sliver. I don’t WANT to say thank you,” Mill said.

  “Hey, I’m off,” the ice man said.

  “How much do we owe you?” Rose asked.

  “Free ice to first-time customers.”

  “Thank you,” Langston said. He instructed his daughter to say the same. She looked at her shoes. Langston tried to lead her inside. She pulled her hand free. He reached for it again, and she hit it. He lifted her up and carried her, kicking, into the house. Rose heard the slap from outside. She heard Langston order the girl to her room. And she heard the petulant footsteps tap along the oak floor.

  “She’s so angry, she won’t even cry in front of you,” Rose told Langston.

  “I won’t have her walking over us, or ignoring our instructions.” “I don’t like it either, but you’re going to have to win your daughter’s affections and respect.” “I don’t know how.”

  “Relax,” Rose said. “Be yourself. Treat her the same way you treat adults. Leave the disciplining to me. If you keep hitting her, she’ll never talk to you.”

  “I don’t know what her problem is.”

  “It’s not just her problem. It’s your problem, too. You haven’t had the chance to get used to each other. You haven’t spent enough time together.” Rose rubbed her man’s back. “Give it time, Lang. Time is all it needs.”

  Four days later, Aberdeen and his sister Renata — a young woman twice his size — knocked on the door. Rose, who had just put on makeup and a dress with a print of red poppies, shook their hands and invited them in. The woman introduced herself as Mrs. Williams. She nudged Aberdeen as Rose led the way to the kitchen table.

  “You two sweet on each other or something?” she whispered.

  Rose heard the question and turned. “I’ll tell you what, Mrs. Williams. I’ll speak respectfully in your house, and you’ll do the same in mine.”

  Renata Williams stared at Rose. Rose stared right back. She took a moment to measure the big-boned woman. She was in her twenties, and dark, like Aberdeen. All two hundred and twenty pounds of her.

  “Don’t mind her, Rose,” Aberdeen said. “She didn’t mean anything by it. You know, sisterly teasing, that’s all.” “You two are siblings?” Rose asked. “What’d you call us?” Renata said, her tone arching. “Brother and sister,” Rose said.

  “That’s not what I heard her say,” Renata muttered to Aberdeen. “She said sib something.”

  “Siblings means brother and sister. But drop it. Let it go. Let’s start over. Would you like some biscuits and tea?” “Her cooking any good?” Renata asked her brother. “She don’t look like her cooking is any good. No meat on her at all.”

  “The biscuits are from the bakery. We’re still settling in here and I haven’t had time to do any baking. Tell you what, Renata,” Rose said.

  “It’s Mrs. Williams to you.”

  “Where I come from, people leave their surnames at the door.”

  “This isn’t where you come from. To you, it will be Mrs. Williams, please and thank you.”

  “Then it will be Mrs. Cane to you. And as I was saying, you can eat a biscuit civilly and close that mouth of yours, or you can remove yourself from my house this moment.” Rose slapped a biscuit down on the table. No napkin. No plate. No knife. No butter.

  “This parsonage belongs to the African Methodist Episcopal Church. And I’m the head of the Ladies Church Auxiliary. I fixed this house up for you. Cleaned the walls. Washed the floors. Even cleaned the bathroom. This is our church’s house, Mrs. Cane. You’re just living in it.”

  Rose was holding a fork when she heard that. She wanted to stab it into the woman’s arm. She was tempted to take the brewing pot of tea and dump it on the woman’s lap.

  Langston, who had been at the dry goods store, came up behind Rose and patted her bottom gently, in a way that Aberdeen and the woman next to him couldn’t see.

  Rose spun around. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed, and left the room.

  “I wouldn’t let any woman talk to me like that,” the woman said.

  “She isn’t any woman,” he said. “She’s my wife.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put up with it,” the woman said.

  Langston forced a smile and introduced himself.

  “I know who you are, Reverend. I’m sister Rennie. Renata Williams. President of the Ladies Church Auxiliary.” She nibbled on her biscuit. Langston brought her a plate, a knife, and butter. He did the same for Aberdeen. He poured them tea, and listened to Rennie Williams ask why he hadn’t invited the congregation over. Wasn’t he going to meet with his parishioners before Sunday? What time would service be?

  He asked her what she thought he should do. She liked that. She liked that very much. Already, Langston thought, as her answers whizzed over his head, he’d have to get this woman tied up in committees and report writing. He’d make her put so many reports together that she wouldn’t have time to get in his way. He drifted back to the essence of her hectoring. She said the members of the congregation wanted to meet him before Sunday.

  “Come on over,” Langston said.

  “Are you serving food?” she asked.

  “There will be food,” Langston said.

  “Expect forty people,” she said.

  “Bring them for dinner. We’ll hold it on Friday night. We’ll have a pot luck. That means everybody brings a dish or a plate of food, and something to drink. The Reverend and his wife and child are exempted from this work, by virtue of this being their first week in Oakville, of their having a million things to organize in time for the first service, and of their having no money.” That worked. She laughed. Langston could see that he’d have to keep this woman busy, and laughing. Aberdeen chuckled a little, too.

  “Lang.” Rose called him from the other room. He stepped out to see her. “I’m sorry I was rude to you. Tell you about it later. But if you’re inviting forty people, make sure they bring their own dishes, too.”

  Langston returned to the kitchen and told Aberdeen and his sister not to forget the plates, bowls, cutlery, and so forth. “Dishes for forty, please. You organize it, Rennie. I’m leaving it in your capable hands. Let’s say Friday at the supper hour. Friday at six.”

  Rennie shook Langston’s hand. “The people will like you, Reverend.”

  Langston walked with them to the door. “Pleasure meeting you, Rennie. Aberdeen — come again.” The brother and sister stepped out. Langston turned back into the house, and Rose came up to him.

  “I’m so glad you came at that moment,” Rose said. “If you hadn’t, I might have taken out your.45 automatic and plugged that woman. She is as coarse as a bear.”

  “But be careful,” Lang said. “I was out walking yesterday, trying to find out the Negro section of town. I ended up near the lake. I can tell you that our people don’t live in that area. The houses are opulent down there. I was walking by one when I saw that woman. I couldn’t help but notice her, being big and black and in such a rich area. She was entering the side door of a big home. So she works for rich people. Let’s not forget that she has the power to put us in a poor light in the eyes of white people.”

  “You mean I don’t get to shoot her after all?” Rose said. “Pity.”

  The day of the party, to get out of the house, Langston asked Aberdeen to take him on a walking tour of Oakville.

  “Where do the colored people live in town?” Langston asked.

  “We don’t really live anywhere,” Ab said.

  “You’ve got to live somewhere.”

  “We’re just sort of here and there. Not in just one place.”

  “Where do you live, Ab?” “Here and there.”

  Langston resolved not to press for details. He had noticed that Aberdeen wore the same clothes every day. In the street, a little brown boy caught up with them. “Reverend Cane? Mrs. Cane said you’d be walking on Colborne. Mary Coombs has a sick son. She says he’s dying.”

  “I know where they live,” Abe
rdeen said. “I’ll take you there.”

  The first thing Langston noted about Hope Street was the mud. Colborne was paved. And on the nicer streets in town, the earth was packed down hard. Not here. There were no car tracks, and hardly any horse cart tracks. There were sheds, shacks, and cottages, half of which looked as if they’d been bent out of shape by a hurricane. Children in the street — most of whom were white — had runny noses and torn clothes.

  A woman ran outside to meet them. Aberdeen introduced her as Mary Coombs.

  “My boy, Reverend, my boy is dying. He’s not been too good lately either, stealing and lying and carrying on, and I want him prayed for before he meets his maker, oh Lord, oh Jesus, what am I to do, don’t let my baby die!”

  Langston put his arm around her shoulder. “There’s nobody going to be doing any untimely dying today. Take a breath, Mary. Good. Slow down. Breathe in. Take me to your son.”

  The one-room shack had no running water, or electricity, or wooden floors. Langston felt the bumpy earth under thin rugs. It was damp in the room. The wood stove gave off no heat. Langston touched it. Cold. A boy, thirteen or so, lay on a mattress. A brown overcoat covered him.

  “What’s your name, son?”

  “Ken.”

  Langston touched his forehead. The boy was burning up. “Can you stand up?”

  “No.”

  “How long have you been sick?” Langston asked. “Five days.”

  “When was the last time you had something to drink?”

  “He can’t drink nothing, Reverend,” his mother said. “Can’t keep it down. Reverend, did you bring a Bible?”

  Langston turned to the woman. “Mary, your boy needs help. Medical help. Go get two strong friends.” She didn’t move.

  “Am I gonna die?” the boy asked.

  “No,” Langston said. “You’re going to live. That’s an order. You’re going to live.”

  The boy sighed. “I got the runs again. I got to go.” “Where’s the toilet?” “Outside,” Ab murmured.

  Langston carried the boy to the outhouse. He managed to get Ken’s pants down and put him on the seat. Langston backed out, heard what sounded like water running on and on and on, and then a loud thud. The boy had fallen backward. Unconscious. Langston lifted him out of there, pulled up his pants, and carried him back to the shack. “Where’s the hospital?”

  “We don’t go there,” Aberdeen said.

  “Is there a doctor who works with colored folks?”

  “He moved away.”

  “Let’s carry him to Colborne Street. Someone there can help us get him to the hospital.”

  “We can’t go there, Reverend,” Mary Coombs said. “It’s useless. Just pray for my boy. Pray for him.”

  Langston cleared his throat, and assumed his army officer voice. “Mary, there are times for praying, and there are times for doing. This is a doing time. You called for my help, woman, and I’m going to give it. I will personally see to it that your boy receives medical care. Is that clear enough?”

  “Yes, Reverend.”

  “I’m going to take your boy to a doctor. Do you want to come?”

  “No, Reverend. Not now. I’m not feeling up to it.” “I’ll send for you once we have someone looking after your son.”

  Langston carried Ken south on Kerr to Colborne Street. Then he turned the boy over to Aberdeen. “Hold him upright till I find us a ride.”

  Langston tried to wave down a man driving a horse and buggy. The driver called down that he was in an wretched hurry, and clipped by.

  “Try Hillmer’s,” Aberdeen said. “They’ll stop for you.”

  “What’s Hillmer’s?”

  “That motorized livery service coming along.”

  Langston stood out in the road and hailed the bus, which had a hood, lamp lights, tires out front, and a boxlike contraption for the driver and passengers. The driver sounded a shrill horn. Langston stood his ground and kept waving. The brakes squealed. The driver, who had a woolen cap pulled over his head, leveled clear blue eyes down at Langston.

  “What’s the big idea stopping me in the middle of the road?”

  “Sorry, mister. I’ve got a sick child. We need to get him to the hospital.” Langston climbed the three steps before the driver had time to say no. The bus was empty. “Come on, Aberdeen. Bring that boy up here.”

  Aberdeen had trouble making it up the steps with the boy slung over his shoulder, so Langston skipped back down to help him. He grabbed Ken under the arms and Aberdeen held him under the knees. They lifted him up into the bus.

  “You’re lucky I have nobody in this bus,” the driver said.

  “This boy needs medical attention. If you can take us to the hospital, I’ll make it up to you.”

  “All right, all right, sit down, let’s not block the road any longer.”

  Langston seated the boy next to the window, and sat next to him to keep him from keeling over. They turned north on Dundas Street and were at the hospital in minutes.

  “What do we owe you?” Langston asked the driver.

  “Forget it,” the driver said. “Just get that boy to the doctor.” The driver let the bus idle and helped Langston carry Ken down.

  “Thank you,” Langston said. “You’re a good man.”

  “Don’t mention it,” the driver said. “And don’t take any guff from the nurse inside.”

  As Langston and Aberdeen carried the boy inside, a nurse accosted them. “Whoa — whoa. Wait! Where do you think you’re going?”

  “This boy is sick. He needs to see a doctor.”

  “The doctors are busy. Do you have an appointment?”

  “No.”

  She told him he’d have to make an appointment. He said he was there to make one — immediately. She said that would be impossible. Langston saw the futility in arguing with her and decided to go over her head.

  The hospital door opened. An old woman with a cane walked in. She was as white as a starched shirt.

  The nurse turned to her. “What is it, dear?”

  “Swollen legs again.”

  “Just sit down over there, and we’ll see what we can do,” the nurse said. Langston signaled to Aberdeen to take the seat next to the woman. Then, in an inspired moment, he laid the boy down on the floor. Langston took off his jacket, rolled it up, and placed it under Ken’s head.

  Another woman appeared a few minutes later. She wore a white overcoat, and white shoes. She was about fifty, and had lake-blue eyes and gray hair pulled back in a bun. She conferred for a moment with the nurse and approached Langston.

  “Hello, sir. What is your name?”

  Langston identified himself, explained that he was an ordained church minister, and that he had been asked by a distraught mother to help this boy. He asked if they could see a doctor.

  “I am the doctor on call, Reverend Cane,” she said. “Dr. Evans is the name.”

  Langston didn’t miss a beat. “Wonderful. Where should we take this boy?” “In here.”

  They carried Ken into an examining room. She asked the men to strip him down, put him in a clean green gown, and have him lie down on the table.

  The doctor returned a minute later, and began prodding, touching, asking questions. The boy was delirious, drifting in and out of consciousness.

  “Where does he live?”

  “Hope Street,” Aberdeen said.

  “Where does he get his drinking water?”

  “From the creek, from wherever,” Aberdeen said.

  “Has he had diarrhea?”

  “Yes. A great deal, according to his mother.”

  “He’s dehydrated,” Dr. Evans said. “He’s got some kind of intestinal bug. We’ve got to build his body fluids back up. His pulse is weak. His blood pressure is low. You can die from diarrhea, you know. Children, especially, are susceptible. But I think we can turn him around quickly enough.”

  The doctor told a nurse to give the boy a tepid bath right away. She also told her to prepare a glucose
and saline solution. She wanted him to drink a cup every half hour. Dr. Evans helped the nurse get the boy into a bath, and then she returned to Langston.

  “I’ll have a church collection taken up to cover the medical costs,” he said.

  “Don’t bother, Reverend. I can waive fees, when it’s warranted, and circumstances appear to warrant it now.”

  Langston smiled at the woman. He had found an ally. Perhaps this woman could deliver Rose’s baby. “What’s your name?” he said.

  “I told you. Dr. Evans.” “Your first name.” “Wendy. Dr. Wendy Evans.”

  “We are holding a party this evening for our church congregation. Drop by, if you like. We live in the parsonage next to the African Methodist Episcopal Church on Colborne Road.”

  Langston and the doctor shook hands.

  “Ab,” Langston said, “why don’t you stick around the hospital for a bit? But be sure to bring Mary Coombs to the party tonight.”

  Aberdeen Williams stopped in at the Oakville bakery late that afternoon. It was run by Adam Cullen, an old schoolmate.

  “Adam, do you have anything broken around here?”

  “We got a toilet that won’t work. Why?” “Let me fix it for you.”

  “Sorry, Ab, but I don’t have the money for that.” “You don’t have to pay me.” “Then what do you want?”

  “Give me ten pastries, for a party. Now show me that toilet.”

  Aberdeen climbed up on a chair to reach the tank, which was up on a shelf near the ceiling. In less than five minutes, he had fixed the tank. It had a round ball that was supposed to fall with the water line and, when it hit a certain point, trigger a flow of water back into the tank. But its arm had snapped. Ab replaced the broken section with wire.

  “These here odorless toilets are more trouble than they’re worth,” Adam said. He had been watching Aberdeen. “You ever heard of someone having to fix an outhouse?”

  For his work, Aberdeen received ten chocolate cream puffs. When he got to the party, he noticed that the parsonage had been split into two camps. The living room area, near the front, was run by his sister. Rennie had punch and iced tea out there. She poured refreshments for each guest and introduced all of them to the Reverend, who in turn introduced guests to his wife and daughter. The kitchen, on the other hand, was under Rose’s control. In between introductions at the door, she set up plates and cutlery and arranged the food on tables joined together.