“What else can I do?”
“Oh, Louise, Louise.”
“Nothing else but that.”
“Louise, what people go’n do without her here?”
She stir the eggnog and don’t answer.
“Louise, us’ll take her in with us.”
“You all no kin to Auntie. She go with me.”
“And us’ll never see her again.”
She stir the eggnog. Her husband come back in the kitchen and kiss her on the back o’ the neck and then look at me and grin. Right from the start I can see I ain’t go’n like that nigger.
“Almost ready, honey?” he say.
“Almost.”
He go to the safe and get one o’ them bottles of whiskey he got in there and come back to the stove.
“No,” Louise say. “Everybody don’t like whiskey in it. Add the whiskey after you’ve poured it up.”
“Okay, hon.”
He kiss her on the back o’ the neck again. Still don’t like that nigger. Something ’bout him ain’t right.
“You one o’ the family?” he say.
“Same as one,” I say. “And you?”
He don’t like the way I say it, and I don’t care if he like it or not. He look at me there a second, and then he kiss her on the ear.
“Un-unnn,” she say, stirring the pot.
“I love your ear, baby,” he say.
“Go in the front room and talk with the people,” she say.
He kiss her on the other ear. A nigger do all that front o’ public got something to hide. He leave the kitchen. I look at Louise.
“Ain’t nothing else I can do,” she say.
“You sure, Louise? You positive?”
“I’m positive,” she say.
The front door open and Emile and Chuckkie come in. A minute later Washington and Adrieu come in, too. Adrieu come back in the kitchen, and I can see she been crying. Aunt Fe is her godmother, you know.
“How you feel, Adrieu?”
“That weather out there,” she say.
“Y’all walked?”
“Yes.”
“Us here in the wagon. Y’all can go back with us.”
“Y’all the one tore the fence down?” she ask.
“Yes, I guess so. That brother-in-law o’ yours in there letting Chuckkie drive that wagon.”
“Well, I don’t guess it’ll matter too much. Nobody go’n be here, anyhow.”
And she start crying again. I take her in my arms and pat her on the shoulder, and I look at Louise stirring the eggnog.
“What I’m go’n do and my nan-nane gone? I love her so much.”
“Ever’body love her.”
“Since my mama died, she been like my mama.”
“Shhh,” I say. “Don’t let her hear you. Make her grieve. You don’t want her grieving, now, do you?”
She sniffs there ’gainst my dress few times.
“Oh, Lord,” she say. “Lord, have mercy.”
“Shhh,” I say. “Shhh. That’s what life’s ’bout.”
“That ain’t what life’s ’bout,” she say. “It ain’t fair. This been her home all her life. These the people she know. She don’t know them people she going to. It ain’t fair.”
“Shhh, Adrieu,” I say. “Now, you saying things that ain’t your business.”
She cry there some mo’.
“Oh, Lord, Lord,” she say.
Louise turn from the stove.
“About ready now,” she say, going to the middle door. “James, tell everybody to come back and get some.”
James
Let me go on back here and show these country niggers how to have a good time. All they know is talk, talk, talk. Talk so much they make me buggy round here. Damn this weather-wind, rain. Must be a million cracks in this old house.
I go to that old beat-up safe in that corner and get that fifth of Mr. Harper (in the South now; got to say Mister), give the seal one swipe, the stopper one jerk, and head back to that old wood stove. (Man, like, these cats are primitive-goodness. You know what I mean? I mean like wood stoves. Don’t mention TV, man, these cats here never heard of that.) I start to dump Mr. Harper in the pot and Baby catches my hand again and say not all of them like it. You ever heard of anything like that? I mean a stud’s going to drink eggnog, and he’s not going to put whiskey in it. I mean he’s going to drink it straight. I mean, you ever heard anything like that? Well, I wasn’t pressing none of them on Mr. Harper. I mean, me and Mr. Harper get along too well together for me to go around there pressing.
I hold my cup there and let Baby put a few drops of this egg stuff in it; then I jerk my cup back and let Mr. Harper run a while. Couple of these cats come over (some of them aren’t so lame) and set their cups, and I let Mr. Harper run for them. Then this cat says he’s got ’nough. I let Mr. Harper run for this other stud, and pretty soon he says, “Hold it. Good.” Country cat, you know. “Hold it. Good.” Real country cat. So I raise the cup to see what Mr. Harper’s doing. He’s just right. I raise the cup again. Just right, Mr. Harper; just right.
I go to the door with Mr. Harper under my arm and the cup in my hand and I look into the front room where they all are. I mean, there’s about ninety-nine of them in there. Old ones, young ones, little ones, big ones, yellow ones, black ones, brown ones—you name them, brother, and they were there. And what for? Brother, I’ll tell you what for. Just because me and Baby are taking this old chick out of these sticks. Well, I’ll tell you where I’d be at this moment if I was one of them. With that weather out there like it is, I’d be under about five blankets with some little warm belly pressing against mine. Brother, you can bet your hat I wouldn’t be here. Man, listen to that thing out there. You can hear that rain beating on that old house like grains of rice; and that wind coming through them cracks like it does in those old Charlie Chaplin movies. Man, like you know—like whooo-ee; whooo-ee. Man, you talking about some weird cats.
I can feel Mr. Harper starting to massage my wig and I bat my eyes twice and look at the old girl over there. She’s still sitting in that funny-looking little old rocking chair, and not saying a word to anybody. Just sitting there looking into the fireplace at them two pieces of wood that aren’t giving out enough heat to warm a baby, let alone ninety-nine grown people. I mean, you know, like that sleet’s falling out there like all get-up-and-go, and them two pieces of wood are lying there just as dead as the rest of these way-out cats.
One of the old cats—I don’t know which one he is—Mose, Sam, or something like that—leans over and pokes in the fire a minute; then a little blaze shoots up, and he raises up, too, looking as satisfied as if he’d just sent a rocket into orbit. I mean, these cats are like that. They do these little bitty things, and they feel like they’ve really done something.
Well, back in these sticks, I guess there just isn’t nothing big to do.
I feel Mr. Harper touching my skull now—and I notice this little chick passing by me with these two cups of eggnog. She goes over to the fireplace and gives one to each of these old chicks. The one sitting in that setting chair she brought with her from God knows where, and the other cup to the old chick that Baby and I are going to haul from here sometime tomorrow morning. Wait, man, I mean like, you ever heard of anybody going to somebody else’s house with a chair? I mean, wouldn’t you call that an insult at the basest point? I mean, now, like tell me what you think of that? I mean—dig—here I am at my pad, and in you come with your own stool. I mean, now, like man, you know. I mean that’s an insult at the basest point. I mean, you know … you know, like way out.…
Mr. Harper, what you trying to do, boy?—I mean, sir. (Got to watch myself, I’m in the South. Got to keep watching myself.)
This stud touches me on the shoulder and raise his cup and say, “How ’bout a taste?” I know what the stud’s talking about, so I let Mr. Harper run for him. But soon ’s I let a drop get in, the stud say, “ ’Nough.” I mean I let about two drops get in, and already t
he stud’s got enough. Man, I mean, like you know. I mean these studs are ’way out. I mean like ’way back there.
This stud takes a swig of his eggnog and say, “Ahhh.” I mean this real down-home way of saying “Ahhhh.” I mean, man, like these studs—I notice this little chick passing by me again, and this time she’s crying. I mean weeping, you know. And just because this old ninety-nine-year-old chick’s packing up and leaving. I mean, you ever heard of anything like that? I mean, here she is pretty as the day is long and crying because Baby and I are hauling this old chick away. Well, I’d like to make her cry. And I can assure you, brother, it wouldn’t be from leaving her.
I turn and look at Baby over there by the stove, pouring eggnog in all these cups. I mean, there’re about twenty of these cats lined up there. And I bet you not half of them will take Mr. Harper along. Some way-out cats, man. Some way-out cats.
I go up to Baby and kiss her on the back of the neck and give her a little pat where she likes for me to pat her when we’re in the bed. She say, “Uh-uh,” but I know she likes it anyhow.
Ben O
I back under the bed and touch the slop jar, and I pull back my leg and back somewhere else, and then I get me a good sight on it. I spin my aggie couple times and sight again and then I shoot. I hit it right square in the middle and it go flying over the fireplace. I crawl over there to get it and I see ’em all over there drinking they eggnog and they didn’t even offer me and Chuckkie none. I find my marble on the bricks, and I go back and tell Chuckkie they over there drinking eggnog.
“You want some?” I say.
“I want shoot marble,” Chuckkie say. “Yo’ shot. Shoot up.”
“I want some eggnog,” I say.
“Shoot up, Ben O,” he say. “I’m getting cold staying in one place so long. You feel that draft?”
“Coming from that crack under that bed,” I say.
“Where?” Chuckkie say, looking for the crack.
“Over by that bedpost over there,” I say.
“This sure’s a beat-up old house,” Chuckkie say.
“I want me some eggnog,” I say.
“Well, you ain’t getting none,” Gran’mon say, from the fireplace. “It ain’t good for you.”
“I can drink eggnog,” I say. “How come it ain’t good for me? It ain’t nothing but eggs and milk. I eat chicken, don’t I? I eat beef, don’t I?”
Gran’mon don’t say nothing.
“I want me some eggnog,” I say.
Gran’mon still don’t say no more. Nobody else don’t say nothing, neither.
“I want me some eggnog,” I say.
“You go’n get a eggnog,” Gran’mon say. “Just keep that noise up.”
“I want me some eggnog,” I say; “and I ’tend to get me some eggnog tonight.”
Next thing I know, Gran’mon done picked up a chip out o’ that corner and done sailed it back there where me and Chuckkie is. I duck just in time, and the chip catch old Chuckkie side the head.
“Hey, who that hitting me?” Chuckkie say.
“Move, and you won’t get hit,” Gran’mon say.
I laugh at old Chuckkie over there holding his head, and next thing I know here’s Chuckkie done haul back there and hit me in my side. I jump up from there and give him two just to show him how it feel, and he jump up and hit me again. Then we grab each other and start tussling on the floor.
“You, Ben O,” I hear Gran’mon saying. “You, Ben O, cut that out. Y’all cut that out.”
But we don’t stop, ’cause neither one o’ us want be first. Then I feel somebody pulling us apart.
“What I ought to do is whip both o’ you,” Mrs. Leola say. “Is that what y’all want?”
“No’m,” I say.
“Then shake hand.”
Me and Chuckkie shake hand.
“Kiss,” Mrs. Leola say.
“No, ma’am,” I say. “I ain’t kissing no boy. I ain’t that crazy.”
“Kiss him, Chuckkie,” she say.
Old Chuckkie kiss me on the jaw.
“Now, kiss him, Ben O.”
“I ain’t kissing no Chuckkie,” I say. “No’m. Uh-uh. You kiss girls.”
And the next thing I know, Mama done tipped up back o’ me and done whop me on the leg with Daddy belt.
“Kiss Chuckkie,” she say.
Chuckkie turn his jaw to me and I kiss him. I almost wipe my mouth. I even feel like spitting.
“Now, come back here and get you some eggnog,” Mama say.
“That’s right, spoil ’em,” Gran’mon say. “Next thing you know, they be drinking from bottles.”
“Little eggnog won’t hurt ’em, Mama,” Mama say.
“That’s right, never listen,” Gran’mon say. “It’s you go’n suffer for it. I be dead and gone, me.”
Aunt Clo
Be just like wrapping a chain round a tree and jecking and jecking, and then shifting the chain little bit and jecking and jecking some in that direction, and then shifting it some mo’ and jecking and jecking in that direction. Jecking and jecking till you get it loose, and then pulling with all your might. Still it might not be loose enough and you have to back the tractor up some and fix the chain round the tree again and start jecking all over. Jeck, jeck, jeck. Then you hear the roots crying, and then you keep on jecking, and then it give, and you jeck some mo’, and then it falls. And not till then that you see what you done done. Not till then you see the big hole in the ground and piece of the taproot still way down in it—a piece you won’t never get out no matter if you dig till doomsday. Yes, you got the tree—least got it down on the ground, but did you get the taproot? No. No, sir, you didn’t get the taproot. You stand there and look down in this hole at it and you grab yo’ axe and jump down in it and start chopping at the taproot, but do you get the taproot? No. You don’t get the taproot, sir. You never get the taproot. But, sir, I tell you what you do get. You get a big hole in the ground, sir; and you get another big hole in the air where the lovely branches been all these years. Yes, sir, that’s what you get. The holes, sir, the holes. Two holes, sir, you can’t never fill no matter how hard you try.
So you wrap yo’ chain round yo’ tree again, sir, and you start dragging it. But the dragging ain’t so easy, sir, ’cause she’s a heavy old tree—been there a long time, you know-heavy. And you make yo’ tractor strain, sir, and the elements work ’gainst you, too, sir, ’cause the elements, they on her side, too, ’cause she part o’ the elements, and the elements, they part o’ her. So the elements, they do they little share to discourage you—yes, sir, they does. But you will not let the elements stop you. No, sir, you show the elements that they just elements, and man is stronger than elements, and you jeck and jeck on the chain, and soon she start to moving with you, sir, but if you look over yo’ shoulder one second you see her leaving a trail—a trail, sir, that can be seen from miles and miles away. You see her trying to hook her little fine branches in different little cracks, in between pickets, round hills o’ grass, round anything they might brush ’gainst. But you is a determined man, sir, and you jeck and you jeck, and she keep on grabbing and trying to hold, but you stronger, sir—course you the strongest—and you finally get her out on the pave road. But what you don’t notice, sir, is just ’fore she get on the pave road she leave couple her little branches to remind the people that it ain’t her that want leave, but you, sir, that think she ought to. So you just drag her and drag her, sir, and the folks that live in the houses ’side the pave road, they come out on they gallery and look at her go by, and then they go back in they house and sit by the fire and forget her. So you just go on, sir, and you just go and you go—and for how many days? I don’t know. I don’t have the least idea. The North to me, sir, is like the elements. It mystify me. But never mind, you finally get there, and then you try to find a place to set her. You look in this corner and you look in that corner, but no corner is good. She kind o’ stand in the way no matter where you set her. So finally, sir, you say, “I
just stand her up here a little while and see, and if it don’t work out, if she keep getting in the way, I guess we’ll just have to take her to the dump.”
Chris
Just like him, though, standing up there telling them lies when everybody else feeling sad. I don’t know what you do without people like him. And, yet, you see him there, he sad just like the rest. But he just got to be funny. Crying on the inside, but still got to be funny.
He didn’t steal it, though; didn’t steal it a bit. His grandpa was just like him. Mat? Mat Jefferson? Just like that. Mat could make you die laughing. ‘Member once at a wake. Who was dead? Yes—Robert Lewis. Robert Lewis laying up in his coffin dead as a door nail. Everybody sad and droopy. Mat look at that and start his lying. Soon, half o’ the place laughing. Funniest wake I ever went to, and yet—
Just like now. Look at ’em. Look at ’em laughing. Ten minutes ago you would ’a’ thought you was at a funeral. But look at ’em now. Look at her there in that little old chair. How long she had it? Fifty years—a hundred? It ain’t a chair no mo’, it’s little bit o’ her. Just like her arm, just like her leg.
You know, I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t. Emile passed the house there the other day, right after the bombing, and I was in my yard digging a water drain to let the water run out in the ditch. Emile, he stopped the wagon there ’fore the door. Little Chuckkie, he in there with him with that little rain cap buckled up over his head. I go out to the gate and I say, “Emile, it’s the truth?”
“The truth,” he say. And just like that he say it. “The truth.”
I look at him there, and he looking up the road to keep from looking back at me. You know, they been pretty close to Aunt Fe ever since they was children coming up. His own mon, Aunt Lou, and Aunt Fe, they been like sisters, there, together.
Me and him, we talk there little while ’bout the cane cutting, then he say he got to get on to the back. He shake the lines and drive on.
Inside me, my heart feel like it done swole up ten times the size it ought to be. Water come in my eyes, and I got to ’mit I cried right there. Yes sir, I cried right there by that front gate.
Bloodline: Five Stories Page 21