For a long time, I couldn’t take my eyes off that picture.
But I wasn’t thinking about Walter and that horse; I was thinking about that other one running round in the quarters, calling himself a General and a Laurent. “They the same two,” I told myself. “It’s Walter back.”
I had been in the room a good half an hour when Frank came in. Then I saw what had kept him so long: he had changed clothes. He had put on a pair of gray pants, a white shirt, and a little polka-dotted bow tie. To get dressed up like that had taken all the little strength he had. He looked so weak and white now, I thought he was going to fall before he got to that chair. ’Malia came in a few minutes later with her sewing and sat by a lamp in the corner. She still had the white rag on her head. Long time ago, all the house servants had to wear a rag on their heads all the time. But now the people in the big houses didn’t make them do it unless they wanted to. ’Malia still did it, just like she had done it thirty, forty years back.
Nobody said anything to anybody. ’Malia was sewing and humming a song to herself. I couldn’t hear all of the song, just a word now and then. I had hung my old leather cap on my knee, and I passed my hand over the cap every time I caught Frank looking over there at me. Frank took out his watch and glanced at the time.
“Maybe they had to tree him,” he said.
Then it got quiet again. I didn’t feel right at all in there. I wanted to get back to my shop and sharpen up something. A man used to the outside don’t feel right cooped up in a house when he know the sun is shining.
“Well?” Frank said.
I looked at him, but I didn’t answer him. I didn’t know what he was talking about.
“Do you think they had to tree him?”
“Not if he treed them,” I said.
“Don’t underestimate J. W.,” Frank said. “Not the way he went out of here with blood in his eyes.”
I nodded my head.
“I see you have little confidence in J. W.,” Frank said. “Don’t you think he’s tough?”
“Yes sir,” I said. “He’s real tough.”
“Sure, he’s tough,” Frank said. “I’ll bet you you couldn’t find a man anywhere tougher than J. W.”
I passed my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. All the time, ’Malia was over there sewing and humming her church song to herself.
“Five to one, J. W. brings him in,” Frank said.
“Sure,” I thought. “Sure. But that’s not the reason you put on that white shirt and them gray pants.”
9: Then we heard it—that yellow gal saying, “Lord, don’t tell me I got to start all over again.” Then it was quiet for about a second before somebody knocked on the door loud and quick. The kind of loudness and quickness that said, “If you don’t hurry up and tell me come in, I’m coming in, anyway.”
“Come in,” ’Malia said.
But J. W. was already in. In, walking fast, breathing hard. His white shirt was soaking wet. From the collar of the shirt to the cuff of his pants, his clothes was covered with stickers, cuckleburrs, beggar-lice, tar vine leaves, corn silk, and any other grass seed in the field you cared to name. He had to go by me to get to Frank, and I saw how his face was all cut up. The cuts was too thin to come from a knife or a razor, so I figured they had been made by corn leaves and cane leaves.
“He’s crazy,” J. W. said, even while he was still walking. J. W. wasn’t walking the way you walk in a room; he took the long strides you took in the road—like you was trying to make it home before the rain caught you. “There’s no doubt—I’m fully convinced he’s crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy. I mean absolutely crazy. Pure-de crazy.” He stopped in front of the chair where Frank was sitting. “Yes sir, Mr. Frank, he’s crazy.” He turned to ’Malia who was sitting by the lamp looking at him. ’Malia wasn’t looking at him like she was mad at him for going after Copper, and then coming back calling Copper crazy; she looked at him like she felt pity for him. Pity because she could see that no matter what had happened in the quarters or back in the fields, J. W. had got the worse of it. “Don’t mean to say nothing ’gainst your kin at all, Miss Amalia,” he said. “Done knowed you all my life, done respected you all my life. But”—he turned to Frank—“that boy crazy. No concern for human beings at all. They don’t mean no more to him than a dog or a snake. Not even a good dog, not even a good one. Crazy. Crazy.” He jerked his head toward ’Malia again. “I’m sorry, Miss Amalia.” Then he jerked his head back toward Frank. “But he crazy, Mr. Frank.”
J. W. stopped talking long enough to draw breath and swallow, and all that time Frank was looking at him like he wasn’t surprised at all. Looking at him like he had figured that this might happen—like he had already told himself what he had to do if it did happen. That’s why he had put on the starched white shirt and the gray pants.
“Crazy’s he can be,” J. W. started right where he had left off. “No concern for human beings at all. “Now, guess what he done done?”
Frank squinted up at J. W. and shook his head a little, to show him he didn’t have the least idea what had happened.
“Nearly ’bout killed half of them boys you sunt me with,” J. W. said.
“But he didn’t get you?” Frank said, squinting up at him and passing his fingers lightly over his chest.
“Sir? No sir. Only ’cause I was standing a little to the side,” J. W. said. “But you ought to see what he did Pool-Doo and Crowley.”
“Pool-Doo and Crowley?” Frank said. “What did he do Pool-Doo and Crowley, made them tickle each other half to death?”
“Sir? No sir. It wasn’t no tickling—no sir. He just cracked both of them side the head with that little scy’ blade handle. I mean hard as he could, Mr. Frank. Hard as he possibly could.”
“Where did he got a scythe blade handle from?” Frank asked.
“I don’t know, Mr. Frank, but he had it. A brand new one—like it hadn’t left the store, yet. Could still see the label.”
“You saw the label, but you didn’t get close enough for him to crack you side the head?”
“Sir? No sir. I was standing to the side. And guess what he did poor Simon? I’m sure you have no idea what he did that poor boy.”
While Frank was trying to guess what Copper did Simon, J. W. wiped the sweat from his face and caught two or three quick breaths of air.
“What did he do Simon?” Frank asked.
“Sir? What he did? He made that poor boy jump in a ditch—a ditch full of yellow jackets—yellow jackets, Mr. Frank.”
“I suppose Simon jumped out again?”
“Yes sir. Yes sir. Poor boy. All stung up, all stung up.”
Frank passed his hand lightly over his chest again.
“Go on,” he said.
“I don’t know what happened to Cadilac and Grease.”
“Cadilac and Grease?” Frank said.
“Yes sir. Last thing I seen, they was headed toward the swamps running and hollering. I don’t know if they got lost back there or if they fell in the bayou and drowned. The way they was running, they wasn’t looking too close where they was going.”
J. W. had been talking fast, and now he had to wipe his face and catch his breath again. While Frank was waiting for J. W. to go on, Frank passed his fingers over his chest. He didn’t rub hard, just lightly—like even those little light touches was enough to keep his heart beating.
“I honestly think that boy’s crazy, Mr. Frank,” J. W. started again. “I swear, I honestly do. ’Cause a sane person wouldn’t dare act like that—not a sane one.” He looked at ’Malia sadly. He was sorry for her for having a crazy nephew on her hands. He turned to Frank again. “Back there checking on everything. Oak trees, pecan trees, berry bushes. Even caught him counting the joints in a stalk of cane.”
“Did he look at the cotton?” Frank said.
“Sir? Yes sir. That too.”
“Corn?”
“Sir? Corn too. Everything. Everything you can name, he looked at it. Checking them a
nd writing them down in that little tablet. Last thing I seen, he was shelling a yer of corn in his hand and tasting the grains.”
Frank sat back in the chair and squinted up at J. W. a long time. J. W. wiped the sweat from his face again. He was still breathing pretty hard; I could see the back of his shoulders going up and down.
“How did you get that shirt so wet—you stopped for a swim before you got back here?” Frank asked.
“Sir? No sir. Just running full speed,” J. W. said. “ ’Cross cane rows, corn rows, cotton rows—jumping ditches—to tell you what happened.”
“All right, you told me; you can leave.”
“Yes sir,” J. W. said, turning away. Then he stopped and looked at Frank again. “Yes sir, he told me to tell you, ‘When a General ain’t got no more army, ain’t but one thing for him to do.’ ”
Frank nodded. “Did he say where he would be?”
“No sir. He just said, ‘When a General ain’t got no more army, ain’t but one thing for him to do.’ ”
“Go on,” Frank said. “Wait. Go back in the field and round up the rest of those worthless niggers; bring them up here so that gal can look after them.”
“Yes sir,” J. W. said. “Thank you, sir. I’m sure they’ll ’preciate that.”
J. W. went out, wiping his face and walking fast. Not the way you walk out of a room—the way you walk down the road when you was trying to get home before the rain caught you.
“Felix?” Frank said.
“Yes sir?” I said, getting up from the chair.
“Go back in the quarters and get me everything that can walk or crawl.”
“That’s about it,” I said. “Unless you mean Aunt Jude, Aunt Johnson, and the rest of them. But being in their seventies and eighties and can’t back-paddle fast as J. W., I wouldn’t want send them on Copper. Not the way he’s swinging that little scy’ blade handle.”
“How about dogs?” Frank said.
“Few of them down there, but putting them all together, I doubt if they’d ’mount to one good one,” I said. “And the way Copper’s swinging that little scy’ blade handle, you’ll need at least six or seven. Now, the Cajuns there got some good ones. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind lending them to you. We ain’t had a good lynching in a long time; they probably wouldn’t mind going themself to get him.”
“You through, Felix?”
“Yes sir.”
“How long do you think they’ll let him live if I let him force his way through that front door? Have you thought about that?”
“Can’t you let him slip in tonight sometime?”
“Slip in?” Frank said. “Don’t you know slipping in to him is the same as coming in through the back?”
I nodded. “I reckon so.”
“Even if they didn’t lynch him, I wouldn’t let him come in through that front door,” Frank said. “Neither him, nor you, nor her over there. And to me she is only the second woman I’ve had the good fortune of knowing whom I can call a lady. But she happens to be black, Felix, and because she’s black she’ll never enter this house through that door. Not while I’m alive. Because, you see, Felix, I didn’t write the rules. I came and found them, and I shall die and leave them. They will be changed, of course; they will be changed, and soon, I hope. But I will not be the one to change them.”
He turned to look at ’Malia.
“You crying over there, Amalia?” he asked her.
She shook her head, but she wouldn’t look up.
“Yes,” Frank said. “If he won’t come here, then I must go there. I need some fresh air. I’ve been in here too long.”
“Mr. Frank,” ’Malia said, getting up and coming to him. “Don’t go down there fooling with Copper. If anybody must go, let me go again.”
“No, you stay here,” Frank said. “It’s me he wants. Can’t you see it’s me?”
“Don’t go down there, Mr. Frank,” ’Malia said. “Please, don’t go down there.”
“I must go, Amalia,” Frank said. “I can’t let Copper in here.”
“And your heart?” she said. She was crying; the water had run down her face to her chin.
Frank stood there looking down at her.
“Poor Amalia,” he said. “We all hurt you, don’t we, Amalia? Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. He won’t kill me that easily.” He turned to me. “I’ll have to get my cane and my coat. You must be properly dressed when meeting a General. Meet me in the back; we’ll go in the car. You’ll have to drive, Felix.”
He went out. I put my arm round ’Malia’s shoulders and led her back to the chair. She sat there crying. I tried to talk to her, but she was crying too much to answer me.
I left the room, thinking, “Poor woman, poor woman.” If it wasn’t one of them hurting her, it was the other. Walter did it when he messed up with her niece; the gal did it when she took the boy North; and here was the boy back, hurting her just like his mon and his paw had done before.
10: By the time I had backed the car from under the house, Frank had come down the back stairs. He looked even sicker and weaker. I’m sure if he wasn’t using that walking cane he wouldn’t ’a’ been able nonindent stay on his feet. I held the door open to let him get in the car. Then after he had set himself good, I shut the door and went and got in on the driver’s side. We had to drive under the trees to reach the gate. Frank looked out of the window at the trees. It had been a long time since he had been out of that house.
“Felix, why didn’t they bring Copper in?” he asked, turning to me. “They didn’t want to?”
“They couldn’t, Mr. Frank.”
“Why? Because he’s a Laurent?”
“No sir, that’s not it. They couldn’t ’a’ brought back anybody who didn’t want to come.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because it’s not like it used to be, Mr. Frank. They not scared of you like they was scared of Mr. Walter. They knowed you wasn’t going to do them anything. They knowed Mr. Walter would ’a’ half killed them, and they would ’a’ done anything in the world before they came back there empty-handed.”
“So it’s fear that makes them move?”
“No sir, not exactly. Fear make them move when that’s all they ever knowed. But when you lose the power of the rod, of the gun, they ain’t got nothing to fear no more.”
“I see; they fear the other man who picks up the rod or the gun.”
“Yes sir, that’s who they fear then.”
“Do you think the time might come when they would join up with Copper against me?”
“That I don’t know, Mr. Frank.”
“Would you, Felix?”
“Well, for one thing, I’m old, Mr. Frank. I don’t have too much time left to be joining up with anybody. Another thing, I don’t believe in joining up with anybody from fear; I do what I do from respect.”
“Do you respect what Copper’s doing?”
“Well, I look at it this way: I don’t like to see him hurting his aunt like he’s doing. But I don’t know if I wouldn’t slap a few of them up side the head, too, if they came for me like they went for him.”
“Then you don’t think it’s wrong what he’s doing?”
“Like I said, Mr. Frank, I don’t like to see what he’s doing to his aunt.”
“Well, how about what he’s doing to me?”
“I don’t know if he’s doing anything, Mr. Frank, Mr. Walter wouldn’t ’a’ done.”
“Walter would have done it,” Frank said. “But not Copper’s mon. And there is the difference, Felix. And that’s why it’s wrong.”
We was already in the quarters. Far as you could see was nothing but this long road of white dust. It hurt your eyes to look at so much dust, so much whiteness, so much heat rising up from it. It was the hottest part of the day—between one thirty and two—and there wasn’t another person anywhere in sight. The tall blood weeds on both sides of the road made the place look even hotter. We was coming up to ’Malia’s house. I could see two c
hairs on the gallery. They wasn’t there when I came down the quarters the first time.
“He’s waiting for me,” Frank said. “Stop the car.”
“He made it from the field that quick?”
“He’s there,” Frank said. “Stop.”
I stopped and we looked at the house. Copper didn’t show up. Just the two chairs on the gallery facing the road. I mashed on the horn, but he still didn’t show up.
“Want me to go and knock?” I asked Frank.
“He’s there,” Frank said.
I mashed on the horn again, and we waited. About a minute later, Copper came to the door. He had taken off his shirt, and he had a white towel hanging over his shoulder. Me and Frank both looked at him a long time.
“He doesn’t look much like a General from here,” Frank said. “But I suppose no General looks like a General with his shirt off.” He twisted his mouth a little to the side, then he nodded his head and grunted. “Yes, he does look like Walter. Yes.”
Bloodline: Five Stories Page 18