“Now-now, Wife, we got to open the casket. I want you to help me see to it that Mr. Bro. Wiley look-look good for the sittin’ up.”
Ma and Papa opened the casket. I couldn’t see the body but it hurt me so bad to know he was lying in that casket. I grabbed Pole’s hand and held it real tight. Miss Lottie Pearl cried too and she reached her big arms wide enough to hug me and Pole.
“My Lord, my God,” Ma hollered out.
“The-the Lord will make a way,” Papa said.
Ma threw her arms out wide like a giant bird and hollered some more. It took Papa a while to calm her down, but he finally did.
“He sho’ look good, don’t he, Husband?”
“Yes, he-he do, Wife. He really-really do.” Papa turned and asked, “You want to-to see him, Lottie Pearl?”
“Lord, naw. I’ll wait for Jabo. I want to see Mr. Bro. Wiley with my husband.”
Papa didn’t ask me and Pole nothing! I guess we weren’t gonna see Mr. Bro. Wiley.
Not yet.
They looked at Mr. Bro. Wiley awhile longer, then came in the hallway with us.
Miss Lottie Pearl followed Ma and Papa into the kitchen, where they sat for about thirty minutes. The women held hands while Papa got them some water. When he went back into the sittin’ up room, he pushed all the windows up. Then he checked the screens to make sure no bees could get in the house. Me and Pole stood in the hall and watched till we heard Miss Lottie Pearl coming out of the kitchen as if she was on a mission from God.
“You take care till I get back, Sister. I need to get dressed,” she said.
“All right, Lottie Pearl. I’m gonna take a short nap before I get dressed.”
“Come on, children.” She motioned to me and Pole to come on the front porch.
“Bean, Stanbury going back in the field for a while. When he leaves, you the man of the house, so act like one. Pole, you stay over here till the clock say it’s five o’clock, then you come on home to get dressed. Help Sister if she needs you now.”
“Yes, Ma, I’ll help,” Pole said, but Miss Lottie Pearl had already turned her back to us and was halfway down the steps. Then I heard Papa coming down the hallway.
“All right, children. Y’all stay-stay outside. The door to the sittin’ up room is gonna stay closed till tonight.”
“Closed!” I thought to myself. Papa made me as hot as pee water. He really did. One minute he want me to be a man, the next minute he got me on the porch like a two-year-old. It just wasn’t right.
While I was trying to cool off, he just got in the truck and drove away. He left a big cloud of dust for me and Pole to choke on.
“Sho’ is hot out here,” Pole finally said.
“It’s too hot,” I answered. Then I got my handkerchief out my pocket and wiped the sweat off her pretty face.
“Thank you,” Pole said, smiling at me like she did when I gave her the flower.
She is pretty as a pie when she smiles. One of these days I’ll tell her so. One of these days I’m gonna ask her to go to the school dance with me. She ain’t no kin to me. She don’t have one drop of Jones blood in her veins and I don’t have a drop of Cofield blood. It ain’t a thang in the world wrong with us going to the school dance together.
Another hour went by and me and Pole was still sitting on the porch sweating.
“I think we need to see Mr. Bro. Wiley right now. He was our friend too,” Pole said. “We got just as much right as anybody.”
“How we gonna see him with the door closed?”
“Well, if you really want to see him, the windows ain’t closed,” Pole said, jumping off the porch.
I followed her around the house to the sittin’ up room window at the corner of the house.
“We can’t see Mr. Bro. Wiley through the curtain,” I told Pole.
She stood on her tiptoes with a stick in her hand, pushing the screen up. She moved the dead folk fabric back.
“It worked,” she said.
“Not so loud,” I whispered. “Ma might hear us.”
We looked in the window at Mr. Bro. Wiley’s casket across the room under the other window. There he was. He was all dressed up fit to go to church. His black suit looked brand new and his Mason pin stood out the most.
“He sho’ don’t look dead to me. He even got a smile on his face,” Pole finally said.
“He looks dead enough for my eyes,” I insisted. “You know Joe Gordon is the best undertaker in the whole world. He can make the dead look alive. He probably could make the people that are alive look dead if he wanted to. You know what Ma said about Mr. Gordon and why he so good at his job?”
“No, what did Miss Magnolia say?”
“Well, she said the man is dignified. She said he is a friend to the friendless and family to those who ain’t got nobody. So that makes him real special.”
“Friend to the friendless, that’s Mr. Gordon,” Pole said, sounding just like the deacons in the amen corner at church.
“Okay, now hush up before someone hears us and we get a whupping or worse.”
“I can’t imagine what’s worse than a whupping,” Pole said.
“Worse than a whupping? Are you crazy? You know our folk will catch us out here peeping at Mr. Bro. Wiley and not let us go to the final sittin’ up tonight. That is worse than any whupping to me.”
This is our first time going to a sittin’ up and I wasn’t letting nobody, not even Pole, mess up the last night for me. We always had to stay at home in the past when a sittin’ up was going on; but not this time.
I gave Pole a hug as we stood there looking at Mr. Bro. Wiley. Then I looked up at the big cloud over our heads. A storm surely was on the way. I thought about how Mr. Bro. Wiley used to say his bones would be hurting before every storm. When that happened, Mr. Bro. Wiley would walk down to the river to check the water. When he got back home, he had a full weather report for us.
“Christmas,” he’d yell through the screen door, “that river got waves as thick as a log of wood and my knees hurting. A storm is surely on the way.”
“Yes, Mr. Bro. Wiley, so stay away from that water. And you best stop taking Bean and Pole down there. All y’all gonna end up in the bottom of Ole River.”
“What you talking ’bout? I didn’t take Bean and Pole nowhere. Bean is right here with you, and Pole home with her folk.”
“Well, you had them down there last week. I saw you,” Ma would fuss.
“Bean and Pole young folk. They can run home where it’s safe if a storm come. Don’t worry about me. I’ll go on to glory if Ole River decides to wash me away. Yes, sir. I will just steal away from here.”
Ma kept on fussing but Mr. Bro. Wiley got so tickled.
FOURTEEN
Me and Pole were still peeping in the window at Mr. Bro. Wiley when we heard Papa’s truck in the yard. There was no need to run ’cause Papa would have chased us down like runaway slaves and wore our hind parts out. His limp ain’t never stopped him from chasing me when he wanted to and the Cofields gave him permission to whip Pole if she stepped out of line one inch.
“I know-know you two not-not disrespecting the dead!”
“No, we just looking at Mr. Bro. Wiley, that’s all,” Pole answered.
“Let Mr. Bro. Wiley rest-rest in peace. I ain’t-ain’t gonna tell you again,” Papa said to us as he climbed down from the truck.
“That’s right. We got to let him rest in peace, so I’m going home right now,” Pole said.
“You do that, Pole. You go-go on home and don’t come back without your folks.”
“Yes, sir,” Pole said. Papa was gonna tell on us as soon as he saw her folks. I knew it.
“Bye, Pole,” I yelled.
“Bye, Bean. I’ll be back.”
Papa didn’t say a word to Ma about me and Pole peeping in the window. Maybe he di
dn’t want to upset her. She didn’t look as sad. That nap did her some good. I started bathing for the sittin’ up ’cause I knew our house would be chockablock full soon enough. There had been talk all week ’bout how many folk from Occoneechee Neck and Bone Town were coming over to see Mr. Bro. Wiley. Not to mention all the folk from Rehoboth Road and Bryantown Road. I knew for sure that Cousin Braxton and Cousin Babe were coming with their daughter, Cousin Mer. Cousin Mer had three children, Coy, Barb Jean, and the youngest, Pattie Mae.
Cousin Braxton’s grandchildren never missed school because he moved out of the Low Meadows long before they was born. Mr. Bro. Wiley said Cousin Braxton was a smart man like Mr. Creecy and Mr. Gordon without all the degrees. Just common sense in his head.
“That Braxton Jones is a man,” Mr. Bro. Wiley told me and Pole.
“Why is that?” Pole asked as she always did when she wanted the long version of what Mr. Bro. Wiley was saying.
“Braxton said, ‘No grandchild of mine will miss school to sharecrop. Let the white folk keep their own children home from school,’” Mr. Bro. Wiley confided. “So Braxton purchased him a backhoe and two mules. He started to rent land from white folk and buy his own seed. That way the children didn’t have to work for nobody but him.”
“Do you think my daddy and Mr. Stanbury smart too?” Pole asked.
“Sho’ I do. They ain’t as old as Braxton. Life teached him more.”
A thousand feelings were in my heart about Cousin Braxton and all the other menfolk that Mr. Bro. Wiley told us about. I felt bad knowing how much they had suffered for us children to have a better life.
Of course Ma interrupted my thoughts.
“Bean, are you taking your bath?” she yelled from the kitchen loud enough to wake the dead. Loud enough to wake Mr. Bro. Wiley.
“I’m bathing, Ma,” I said.
I kept on sitting in the silver washtub and thought about my old friend. I thought about how much I really did love him. He was mighty good to me.
Sometimes on Saturday evening while Pole was sewing with the womenfolk, me and Mr. Bro. Wiley would stay down at Ole River until the sun faded away. We would do us some fishing and talking.
“Hold your pole tight, boy,” Mr. Bro. Wiley said the last time we were at the river together. I had a big catfish waiting on the other end of the line.
“I got it, Mr. Bro. Wiley. I got it.” Before I could say another word that fish had yanked me halfway in the water.
“You got it, huh?” Mr. Bro. Wiley laughed as I finally pulled our dinner into the grass.
I would never tell Papa, but I liked going fishing with Mr. Bro. Wiley a lot more than I did with him. Mr. Bro. Wiley could catch a tin tub full of fish and Papa could only catch about five. That’s all—five.
It wasn’t just the fishing that made me want to sit at Ole River. It was the stories Mr. Bro. Wiley used to tell. He told me all about being a slave when he was a little boy. Mr. Bro. Wiley’s sad childhood made me appreciate living in the Low Meadows. At least we were free people. We might have been poor, but we were free.
“Bean, I done lived back here all my life. My papa was a blacksmith for Mr. Thomas’s papa’s pappy. It was his job to shoe all the horses. I helped him many a day and night. I would hold the nails in a tin cup while he put the new shoes on. When we weren’t making horseshoes for the Wileys, they would send us into town to work for the other white folk. We could build fences and take care of their horses. They would pay Massa Wiley, but we never saw a dime of that money.”
“What happened to your daddy?” I asked Mr. Bro. Wiley.
“I just remember my mammy cried for almost a year when they sold him away to a plantation in Fayetteville, North Carolina. I reckon I was ’bout eight, but I remember real good.”
“You mean you never saw him again?”
“Never. Massa Wiley’s money got low ’cause he had a bad cotton season that year. My pappy had been their blacksmith for so long that he wasn’t much good in the field. They sold him while my mammy was cooking supper at the big house that used to be right over yonder. When she got home, Pappy was gone.”
“What happened to your ma?” I asked as I looked at the empty space where the big house once sat.
“She cried herself to death. Her heart broke in half. Yes, sir, my mammy went away from here the next year. I lived with my sisters and brothers till I married Celie Mae.”
Mr. Bro. Wiley didn’t say nothing for a minute. His old black wrinkled face looked darker than ever.
He stared at Ole River. The waves were big like Mr. Bro. Wiley said they get before a storm, but no storm was coming. That day the sky was bluer than I had ever seen it. Not one cloud, but the river was moving as if Ole River was talking back to him.
“There are things that don’t nobody but me, the Lord, and Ole River know.”
Then Mr. Bro. Wiley helped me pull another big fish out of Ole River. He never looked at me. Not one time. He kept his eyes on the water. I reached over and touched him on the knee. I wanted him to know that I was there for him the way Ma said folk supposed to be when they love somebody.
• • •
I thought about all the good times we had together as my bathwater got cold. At least I had his mama’s picture to hold on to. I had his watch and the slave papers. I would surely take good care of his things.
No sooner had I’d washed under my arms, Mama yelled from the kitchen again, “Bean, drag your water outside and dump it before folk start to come. Don’t nobody want to see your nasty bathwater.”
“Yes, Ma,” I answered. I finished washing up and put on my clothes. Then I drug the bathtub with wheels on it outside. After I dumped the water in the backyard under the pecan tree, I ran in the kitchen for supper.
“Stop that running, Bean,” Papa said while loading his plate with food. We had more food on the table than we’ve had all year. Mama didn’t seem to be looking, so I filled my plate with food too.
“Slow down-down with your eating, boy. You gonna choke to death,” Papa said.
“Don’t talk like that when you know Mr. Bro. Wiley is dead in the other room. That is downright disrespectful,” Ma said to Papa.
“You-you right, Wife.”
“Can I be excused now?” I asked, swallowing my last piece of chicken.
“What about dessert?” Ma asked.
“I’ll eat dessert later.” She reached over and touched my forehead.
“You sick, Bean?”
“I ain’t sick at all. I just want to go on the porch and wait for Pole.” I looked at Papa. He still hadn’t said a word about me and Pole peeping at Mr. Bro. Wiley.
“Go ahead,” Ma said.
Truth was I wanted to see who else was gonna bring sweets over. I knew it wasn’t right to lie like Uncle Goat. As soon as I thought about him, he came walking through the back door still dressed in his work clothes acting as if he didn’t know about the sittin’ up.
“Hey, Sister. Hey, Bean. Hey, Bro.” He gave Ma a big kiss.
“Hey, Brother.”
“I heard tell two hundred folk coming tonight,” Uncle Goat said, grabbing a piece of chicken.
“Wash your hands, nasty.” Ma pushed her lying brother’s hand out of her chicken bowl. “And who in the Sam Hill told you two hundred people coming over here tonight?”
“Yeah, who-who, Goat?” Papa asked.
“Folk in the ’bacco field said so today,” Uncle Goat said with his lies in his eyeball.
“Folk like-like who? I worked today and I didn’t hear that.” Papa was determined to break his brother-in-law from lying. I reckon breaking Uncle Goat from lying was harder than trying to bring Mr. Bro. Wiley back from the dead. There was no need for me to sit in there and listen to them make a fool of him, so I kissed Ma on her fat cheek and headed to the front porch to wait for Pole.
“What abou
t the dishes?” Papa asked.
“Let him go. I can do the dishes faster and I want my kitchen clean ’fore folk start to come,” Ma said as I rushed down the hall. But then Ma said, “Bean, stay right where you are. You need to pay your respects to Mr. Bro. Wiley before company come.” Papa still didn’t tell her I saw Mr. Bro. Wiley earlier through the window.
Papa, Ma, and Uncle Goat and I stood together in the hall. Uncle Goat reached over my shoulder and opened the door. My heart began to hurt. All I could hear as I walked across the floor was the knocking of our shoes.
When I got to the casket, Papa put his hand under my arm to make sure I didn’t faint. Ma wrapped her warm body around me and pulled my head close to her big belly. I could feel the baby kicking real hard. Uncle Goat was breathing hard as he stood over me. We stared down at the ole slave man. I looked real hard. He did have a smile on his face just like Pole said.
“You want to touch him?” Papa asked as he rubbed Mr. Bro. Wiley’s head.
“Yes, sir, I do.” My mouth said yes, but my hands froze. Ma pulled my hand away from my leg and moved it towards my friend. I could hear Mr. Bro. Wiley’s voice in my head.
“Don’t be scared of dead folk, Bean. The living are the ones you have to watch out for.”
I touched him right where I reckon his heart might have been. Ma was holding me so tight that I could feel the life growing inside her move again, but Mr. Bro. Wiley’s life was over. I touched his hand. Those old hands were hard and stone-cold.
“Why is he so hard, Ma?”
“Child, that’s just Mr. Bro. Wiley’s shell. He ain’t here at all. Mr. Bro. Wiley’s in heaven with the angels.” When Ma said that, Uncle Goat got to crying like a little girl.
Then I heard a thump. I turned around and there he was—Uncle Goat had fallen down on his knees just like the womenfolk do on Sunday.
“Bless you, Mr. Bro. Wiley, bless you!” he said over and over. I felt sorry for him because he loved Mr. Bro. Wiley just like I did. Papa helped my uncle up, so I turned around and looked in the casket again to study his face. His skin didn’t look so wrinkled. He somehow looked younger and his black suit looked some kind of nice up against the ugly necktie Ma made him out of the dead folk fabric.
The Sittin' Up Page 8