by Jeff Fields
Then a very peculiar thing happened. The church windows began rising and falling. Starting at the rear, on our side, and moving up the length of the church, one after another would rise an inch or two, just enough to let the sunlight shine under the stained glass onto the startled people in the pews, then abruptly drop shut again.
When the window beside me went up the mystery was solved. It was Em Jojohn opening them from the outside, in search of me. As soon as his bloodshot eyes found me, relief flooded his face. He slapped a finger to his lips and frantically motioned me outside, and slammed down the window with such a loud bang the organist stopped playing.
"Said what?" shouted Mr. Woodall into the silence. The others fell to shushing him, but their whisperings only served to confuse him more, until the poor man was in such a state of agitation that Mrs. Bell and Mr. Jurgen had to lead him outside. I seized the opportunity and ducked out the side exit by the choir loft.
Jayell's pickup was outside, all decked out for the honeymoon, and Em beside it, dancing with excitement. Carlos steadied himself drunkenly at the wheel.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
Em formed his mouth to speak, but stopped, looking over my head, stark terror climbing in his eyes. I looked back, and saw that he had good reason.
It was Miss Esther coming down the sidewalk, marching as if to war.
She shouldered me aside and hung one of her wrath-of-hell stares on Jojohn. "Two seconds, mister!" she cried.
"It's old Jaybird," Em rumbled piteously, "he's down at Dirsey's, been there all night, says he ain't studyin' gettin' marr'ed!"
There was a very dark thunderhead that built over that brightly lit afternoon sidewalk, darkening us all in its shadow, centered directly over the top of Miss Esther's head. I was aware of it, and Em rolled his eyes aloft as if he could actually see it. Carlos sat quivering, more sober now than the Episcopal minister.
She looked from Em to Carlos. "Are you listening to me?"
They were.
"You climb in that truck, you go and get Mr. Jayell Crooms and have him at this church, in his wedding clothes, in twenty minutes flat—or you—will—wish—you—had—never been born!"
It was not a time to dawdle. Em hit the truck bed in a single bound and I snagged the tailgate and managed to climb aboard as Carlos was clawing away. The frightened boy squalled rubber two blocks up the street before he could get the truck into second gear. We cleared all four wheels on the railroad ramp, landed on the Ape Yard road, and careened down the hollow throwing gravel and scattering dogs, chickens and people, with Em standing at the windshield trying to spare what lives he could by shouting them out of the way. Tio saw us coming barely in time to run his fully loaded delivery bike into the creek.
Squealing to a momentary halt at the shop, Carlos ducked in and scooped up an armload of the formal wear Jayell had rented and threw it to me on his way back out. Miraculously, the whole outfit was there except for the cuff links, studs and one shoe.
We found Jayell leaning precariously on Dirsey's bar with one leg wrapped around the stool, a glass in one hand, a near-empty bottle in the other, from which he was studiously pouring whiskey on his wrist. The place was littered with empty bottles and full celebrants, sleeping peacefully where they fell. Dirsey patiently wiped a glass.
As we burst through the door Jayell turned groggily and pointed with the bottle. "I tole you . . . I ain't goin'. . ."
Before he could finish he was on his way out, Em's arms locked around his chest and Carlos carrying his feet.
Word apparently had spread, because on the return trip up the hollow, a crowd was ready and waiting. They lined the roads and hills and cheered wildly as the truck came roaring by. Tio, standing beside his dripping bike, held up soaked tatters of what were once bags of groceries and shook them at us as we passed. I couldn't hear him, but his lips read: You-gonna-pay-for-this!
Bucketing back over the railroad, Carlos cut hard by the water department, taking the most direct route back to the church, even though it took us straight through the center of town. We shot across Main Street and into the square, scattering people in the crosswalks, with Jayell floundering in the back as Em and I stripped him down and stuffed him into his wedding clothes.
"I can't do it, Em!" Jayell sobbed drunkenly, "I can't!"
"I know, boy, but Miss Esther said!"
We had him clothed down to the missing shoe when Carlos ran up the sidewalk at the church. Miss Esther stood glowering from the steps, fist on her hip, pocketbook in her business hand.
"We done it," said Jojohn proudly, lowering Jayell to where Carlos could steady him. "Keep a hand on him, now." Jayell blinked about at those around him, his feet groping for moving earth.
Miss Esther came and stood before him. "Jayell, I feel like taking a stick of stovewood to you."
Jayell got her in focus, and slowly lowered his head.
"He'll start cryin' again," warned Em.
Gwen's mother was white. The minister stepped forward. "I'll explain there has been an unavoidable delay, and we'll reschedule for tomorrow."
Jayell's head came up sharply. "What?" Getting his bearings, he leaned forward, Em and Carlos still clinging, and pointed a finger in the minister's face. "What reschedule for tomorrow? The wedding's today, ain't it? These folks came from At-lanta! To see a wedding! You can't keep Atlanta folks waiting—for a wedding!" He nodded, pleased with himself. He had settled everything.
"Oh, my Lord, what shall we do?'' wept Gwen's mother.
Jayell smiled benevolently at her, weaving in his crumpled clothes. "Ma'am," said Em, removing his hat, "at least today he's this far, and he's willin'. Knowin' this boy, I wouldn't take no chance on tomorra."
Jayell nodded again, and wiped his nose with a hanging cuff.
Miss Esther sighed and turned to Gwen's mother. "There's more'n a grain of truth to that. Seems to me you better go with what you got."
Mrs. Burns consulted briefly with her husband, whose only response was a shrug, and with the minister. Finally she said in a hard voice, one that reminded me of Gwen's that morning in the hall, "Well, I don't care. Whatever happens, my daughter deserves it. She deserves it. I tried to tell her. I just thank God we're not in Atlanta!"
"Amen!" said Jayell, and pulled away from Carlos to climb the steps. But he had trouble negotiating them, and Gwen's brother stepped up to take his arm. Jayell whirled around on him. "Put your hands on me, Larry, and I'll knock you on your ass!"
"Jaaayell!" barked Miss Esther.
"Well, I didn't want him for a best man anyway! The groom's supposed to pick the best man, ain't he? And I don't want him for my best man. . ." He pointed into the crowd below him. "I want—I want Carlos!" In the moment of stunned silence that followed he leaned down and clapped the startled black boy on the shoulder. "I want Carlos. He's the—best man I know."
There was tension in the air you could taste. The minister began anxiously clearing his throat.
"Jayell," said Miss Esther, "this has been enough for one day."
And to everyone's surprise, especially Em, Carlos and me, Jayell stared right back at her, and his voice was almost sober. "It's the most important day of my life, Miss Esther. I don't want that punk to stand up with me. I want my friends. I want it to be special."
And Miss Esther understood. Through the drunkenness, the disheveled appearance, the childlike petulance, she understood that it was a special day for him, simply more than he could handle.
"Well, this," she said, "is just going too far. You're only half of all this, Jayell. You've got to remember—only half."
He considered, wobbling uncertainly on the step as he looked about. "Em, then. I want Em for my best man."
Miss Esther looked at Gwen's mother. "I don't care!" said the other woman with a quivering shake of her head, "I don't care!"
We had all started into the church when Jayell, primed by that victory, played his last card. Faking a stumble, he cried, "I can't make it! Carlos, come here
!" and before anyone could react he reached down and hauled Carlos up the steps. "Em, you keep hold of that side, Carlos, get this one. Hurt my foot!" he called to the others. "Got to have my boy here help me. Hold that door there, son," he told the usher. "Atta boy." And before he could be stopped he was dragging the two of them through the foyer and down the bright blue carpeted aisle.
The service was strained, but beautiful, and if I had thought the boarders were crying before, at the first chord of the wedding march they showed that they had only been priming themselves. Before the ceremony was half over they had used up every Kleenex and pocket handkerchief in the pew. Miss Esther, prepared as usual for all contingencies, sat dry-eyed, one ear cocked to the proceedings, casually tearing off and passing along sheets of toilet paper she had wadded in her pocketbook.
I have to admit, it finally got to me too. Whether it was the decorations, the music and the flowers and the romantic atmosphere, seeing Jayell down there looking as helpless as all grooms look at the altar, or the knowledge that Gwen was moving out of the house, I don't know, but it was all I could do to keep from choking up.
Gwen almost choked too, when she appeared in the aisle and saw the rumpled condition Jayell was in, and Em and Carlos looking sheepishly at her on either side of him. But aside from that initial jerk of surprise, she never showed it; she gritted down and kept coming. Knowing Jayell, I guess she expected that the wedding might be different in some way.
Jayell looked hung out and dried. He stood stolidly through the rites, haltingly murmuring his vows, with the toes of his stockinged foot laid over the one with the shoe.
There was one awkward moment with the ring, a little chicanery I don't think anyone else caught, but which I recognized as pure Jayell, having his wish at last.
Em had stood listening intently for his cue, the ring handed to him by Gwen's brother clutched tightly in his fist, and when the minister called for it to be placed on the prayer book he shoveled it out on his glistening palm. But at that moment Jayell's elbow bumped Em's, and the ring dropped to the floor.
Instantly Jayell bent to retrieve it, and in a moment of apparent confusion, turned and shoved the ring on Carlos. The startled youth returned it to the prayer book with the speed with which he might have hand-fed a moccasin.
The minister took it to the altar for the blessing.
Jayell turned to Carlos and smiled.
As soon as they were pronounced man and wife, Jayell flipped up Gwen's veil and kissed her, and started hauling her down the aisle. Mrs. Burns caught up with them at the door, and amid the confusion of congratulating boarders, Em and Carlos breaking for sunlight and small boys throwing rice, she reminded them about the reception.
"You go right ahead and have it, darling," shouted Jayell.
"It's all right, Mother," said Gwen, catching at her gown as Jayell dragged her down the steps.
But as Jayell reached sunshine and fresh air, all the strain, exhaustion and booze seemed to hit him at once. He wavered unsteadily, recovered, pulled Gwen toward the truck.
"Jayell," cried George Martin, "you're taking my car," which sat all decorated at the curb.
"It's all right, Mother," said Gwen vacantly, and I realized the poor girl was feeling the strain too.
Jayell pulled at her, staggered again, and went down flat on the sidewalk.
Em hurriedly lifted him and stretched him out in the back of the truck, from which he raised himself momentarily in the shower of rice and yelled, "Carlos, get us out of here!" before collapsing again. Poor terrified Carlos obediently jumped behind the wheel and fired the engine.
"Y' ain't got your bride!" screamed Em, and quickly hoisted the girl and dumped her in the battered cab beside Carlos. Fighting her gown and veil with a fist full of flowers, Gwen finally got rid of the bouquet by flinging it in a high backward arc.
Gwen's mother stood on the steps sobbing hysterically, aimlessly shoving her husband's arm back and forth. Mr. Burns, well braced by Burroughs and Rampey, simply stood smiling as his daughter was driven away to her honeymoon in a truck with her groom passed out in the back.
Carlos, a wrung-out case of nerves, with a white girl in a bridal gown beside him, clutched the wheel and drove carefully this time, with such depth of concentration that I don't think he took note of it when he cut too short at the corner and pulled the front fender off of Larry Burns's Thunderbird.
BOOK TWO
14
One of the finest things to do on a dull Sunday afternoon was to go inner-tubing on the Little Iron River, and the Sunday following Jayell's wedding seemed perfect. The day had all the markings: the heat, the sluggish stirrings, the musty smell, like yesterday called back for another shift. By midmorning even the clouds seemed to knock off and head home, dragging their shadows over the clothesline. When I went down after breakfast to wake Jojohn, he rubbed his soles on the blanket, scratched the insides of his thighs, opened one eye and hung a string of profanity across a full minute. It was just that kind of a day.
So, with nothing ahead more promising than a snake handler with cottonmouths everybody knew were defanged coming to Lamb of God Pentecostal that night, we decided to pick up Tio and have a day's run on the river. It would be good for Tio, too, we figured. Despite his and Em's nagging, Mr. Teague still hadn't come around to the notion of investing his small savings in a complete remodeling job and giving the supermarket a run for its money, and the store had continued to lose business.
There was more in store for us that day than we imagined. Indeed, the world I had known was about to start coming apart at the seams. But at that moment, the only thought in our heads was to try and get around the corner of Sunday.
Starting eight miles up at Shady Point, where an obliging cutter let us off, we shucked our clothes, shoved off in the inner tubes Em had rescued from a construction site, and spent the afternoon drifting home.
That part of the river is gone today, the miles of fertile bottomland engulfed by the backwaters of the great Oconostee dam, and of course the speedboats would make it unsafe for tubing. But that summer of 1953 was a different world, and there was a Little Iron River to go tubing on.
I was trailing a fishing line as usual, though I snagged and lost more books than I ever caught fish. Once I hooked something really big, a catfish, Em said, since nothing else grew that big in the river, and I quickly discovered that a skinny boy in an inner tube is in a poor bargaining position with a fish of any size. We had a circular good time for several minutes until I capsized against a log. Em carried on so he nearly upset his cooler of beer, and Tio, naked except for his hat, laughed so hard he slipped down through his inner tube and nearly drowned.
After we had been on the water about an hour the sky began to darken and it came up a shower, a brief summer spill that hung like a curtain over the river. As the chill set in we slid off the tubes and floated alongside.
"Done this with a girl one time," called Em.
"Done what, Em?" said Tio, kicking closer and holding on tight to his hat.
"Went swimmin' in the rain. Purty little gal that lived down the road from us." He hung his elbows over the side of his inner tube, in a soft mood, a wistful look on his face. "God, she was a fine little gal."
"Were you in love with her?" I asked.
"In a way, I reckon I was. But that was when I was young and didn't know nothin'."
"How come you didn't marry her?" said Tio.
"She was white," he said.
"Somehow, Jojohn," I said, "I can't see that stopping you."
Em paddled along with one hand, the rain draining down his face. "Like I said, I was young, and didn't know nothin'."
"Maybe it ain't too late," said Tio, seizing on it, "I'll bet you—I'll bet you she ain't married to this day. She lives alone, and clerks in a store, and goes home every night and sets by herself. And she's got this big old clawed-up tomcat that reminds her of you, and she just sets and looks at him. Why, I'll bet if you went back there today . . ."
We drifted along for a while in the cold gray splashing, moving slowly, without purpose, flowing where the river took us.
Finally I said, "Are you still in love with her?"
"Sometimes," he answered, "when I need her."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Love is a thing to take out when you need it, then put it away someplace. Nobody could stand it all the time."
"Jayell could, he's got to have it all the time."
"Jayell don't understand what it's all about. That's why he's in the shape he's in. Fools let it lead 'em around by the nose, like they do everything else."
"You mean to say you don't wish you'd married that girl, so she could be with you now?"
"If we'd got married, that'd have been one life. This one's another. That's all."
"But what's the use of loving somebody," I said, "if you can't have that somebody with you?"
Em pulled his hair out of his face. "Earl, all that's between a man and a woman is the same that's between two cats, or a couple of them fish down there. It's just nature sayin', 'Get in there and replace yourself, bring on some more of your kind before you die!' Love is a thing in your mind. But," he said, "you get attached to anybody or anything in this world, and you're askin' for trouble. What if the person you love happens to be the wrong color, or you get separated for some reason; what if they marry somebody else, or they die? What are you going to do, let it tear you apart, and lay back and waller and cry!"
He tapped his skull. "This is where you live, where all the things that matter are stored, where nobody can't get at 'em. You keep squared away up here, you're all right, it don't matter what goes on outside.
"So, they come to take away a love you got—they can't do it, any more'n they can take your good times. It's closed off, safe and warm, and whenever you need it, it's there. It's the only place it ever was anyway."