Obadiah glared at him as if he might have discovered a worm on the aisle floor.
The Judge looked down in John’s direction. “One of us is, but I’m not sure which one at the moment.”
John jumped up and ran the rest of the way to the dining car, furious with his mother.
Obadiah led them to a table with a spotless, if worn, white linen tablecloth and four chairs, next to a window with scenery clicking by. He pulled out a chair on the window side. The Judge felt along the top of the table to find his place.
“Sit across from me. It’s always best to sit next to a window to watch the scenery go by.”
John took his seat opposite the Judge, who now seemed to be staring out the window, although John knew that was quite out of the question. The boy took down his napkin and slowly unfolded it, trying to control his shaking hands. Then he placed the napkin just so in his lap, making the corners drape over his short pants and tucking in the sides to keep it from slipping off. There was silence as the noise of the other diners filled in around them. Ice-tea glasses clinked in the stirring; dishes clanked as they were lifted off waiters’ trays; laughter from another table drifted down the aisle.
Finally, the boy felt obliged to say something. “Do you like being on a train?” Immediately, he wished he had let the silence alone. It had sounded so stupid, so, so childish.
The Judge said nothing and then seemed to refocus his attention on John. “Yes, I like being on a train. Not many surprises on a train.” He found his napkin and changed the subject. “Are you in school yet?”
“I’m eight, going to the fourth grade.”
“Fourth grade?” The old man cocked his head, surprised like everyone else when John told people his age and grade.
“I must be slipping,” the Judge said. “I would have thought you to be five, maybe six, starting the first grade in a year or so.”
“I skipped the first grade. I’m little for my age, but I’m smart. It’s . . .” he said in a softer voice, “it’s my saving grace.”
“It’s what?” the Judge said.
John straightened his fork, lining it up perfectly with the rest of his table setting. “It’s my saving grace.” John cleared his throat of the lump that formed every time he thought of her. “That’s what my mother tells—used to tell people.” He coughed to try to get rid of the lump. “She would say, ‘I know he’s small, but he’s smart as a whip, and that’s his saving grace.’” His voice cracked on the last word. He felt the sting in his nose as tears formed in his eyes. He hated it—to embarrass himself in front of a stranger. He hated her for letting it happen.
“Oh.” The Judge fumbled with his fork, turning it over and over on the tablecloth. There was silence again.
After a time, the Judge asked, “And are you smart?”
“Yes, sir,” he said. This time, his voice was stronger. Being smart was a matter of fact that he had accepted without question since he was able to remember such things. His mother had told him this. He smoothed the napkin in his lap, feeling more comfortable now.
“Judge, what can I get for you and Mrs. Vance and the boy?” Obadiah had come back and was standing in the aisle.
“Well, Obadiah, what have you got a lot of? I’m starved.”
“I think the roast beef is plentiful. I know Mrs. Vance say that’s what she want.”
“I’ll take that, too. What’s your pleasure—John, isn’t it?”
“May I have a minute to look at the menu?” he said, reaching for the menu that was standing between the little vase of fresh flowers and the silver salt and pepper shakers.
“You want to look at the menu, do you?” The Judge turned his head toward Obadiah and raised his eyebrows above his glasses. “He says he believes he’ll peruse your menu, Obadiah. I certainly hope it’s up to his expectations.”
Obadiah laughed again to accommodate. “When I was that age, I didn’t know what a menu was, much less be pretendin’ I could read one.”
John kept his eyes on the menu and blinked hard to keep the tears away. He knew he must get over letting the least little thing set him off.
There was a long stillness before the Judge said, “Well now, if you want to know what all they have to eat, we can oblige you. How about if Obadiah tells you what’s on the menu? Then you can choose something.”
“Thank you, no,” he said. He fixed on the first item he saw. “The special of the day is meat loaf and potatoes. That’s what I’ll have, with fried apples and string beans. I’ll have ice tea with my meal and—” He stopped, not knowing whether to order dessert, since the Judge hadn’t.
“And what?” the Judge asked.
“Well, they have on the menu . . . they have here coconut cream pie. I was just wondering if we were going to order dessert.”
“Obadiah, make that three coconut cream pies.”
“And coffee with our pie?”
“Coffee? Coffee? Did you hear that, Obadiah? The boy drinks coffee. Didn’t your mama tell you that’ll stunt your growth?” The Judge’s laugh was cut short as he realized what he had said. “Three coffees, Obadiah,” and he turned toward Obadiah, “with our dessert, of course.”
“Of course.” Obadiah walked away.
The Judge rapped his fingers on the table for a moment and then said, “Well now, John, I think I must have underestimated you.” He reached down into his coat pocket and pulled out a rolled-up copy of the Montgomery Advertiser. “I was going to have Mrs. Vance read this to me, but maybe you would oblige.”
He handed the paper to John, who took it and immediately folded it open to the comic strips, as he had always done with his mother. Then he got up on his knees in the chair so he could put the paper down on the table. He glanced up to see the Judge, who had both hands on the table, looking straight ahead.
“You want me to read all the comics or just the ones you like?”
The Judge’s hand reached up to consult his beard. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind. Turn back to the front page and start there.”
“Oh,” John said, embarrassed that he had not thought of it and disappointed that he would not get the news of the comic strips. He began to turn back the pages slowly.
The Judge shifted in his chair. “Now come to think of it, maybe you might read me one, just so I’ll know what’s going on.” He raised his head toward the ceiling as if to contemplate. “Now what’s the name of the one that I like?”
“‘The Phantom’?” the boy said.
“That’s it.” The Judge pointed his finger straight in front of him. “‘The Phantom.’ Yes indeed. Now what’s the Phantom been up to lately? And remember, son, you’ll have to tell me all about the pictures before you read the words.”
“Yes, sir.” The word son had not fallen on deaf ears.
John turned back quickly to the comic page and flattened the creases with his hands. He told the Judge all about how the Phantom was constantly getting into scrapes in the jungle and trying to protect the lovely Diana, who was always falling into the hands of the wrong sort of people. Then he explained the pictures and read the words of the day’s strip. The Judge seemed to like it, but he did say he didn’t know why the Phantom just didn’t go on and marry the lovely Diana to keep her out of harm’s way.
“I myself feel the same way most of the time,” John said, studying the Phantom’s picture.
He turned back to the front page and began to read the headlines. Halfway through an article about the state legislature meeting to consider a bill to regulate state banks, Mrs. Vance appeared. John got up from his seat and rushed to help pull out her chair. He was feeling better all the while.
“Why, John, what lovely manners.” She touched the Judge’s hand. “Isn’t that the sweetest thing you ever saw?”
“The sweetest thing I ever saw,” the Judge said.
“Thank you, ma’am.” John pushed her chair back in too close, jamming her into the table’s edge. She eased herself back out as John took his place across f
rom them. “I’m practicing up for when I go to Aunt Nelda’s house. I’ve got to be as good as everyone else.”
The Judge felt for his glass of water. “I, uh, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about losing a manners contest to the Spraig bunch.”
“Now Byron, that’s unkind.” Mrs. Vance patted his arm. “You know Nelda does the best she can, given the circumstances. Remember those children are half kin to Luther.”
“Do you know my uncle Luther?” The boy watched their faces. “I never met him, but probably he . . . he’ll like me.” John immediately pretended to straighten his silverware again. “What I meant was, I can’t think of why we wouldn’t get along.”
“Why, yes,” Mrs. Vance said as she opened her purse to put gloves inside. “I’m sure he’ll like you. Isn’t that right, Byron?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “He . . . he’s a very nice man, so I hear.”
“Does that mean you don’t really know him but you have heard people talk about him? Is that what you mean?”
Before she could answer, the Judge broke in. “Adell, don’t go telling the boy things that aren’t even close to the truth just so you can put a good face on it.”
The Judge turned his head in John’s general direction. “These women! Son, ifyou didn’t rein’m in once in awhile, you would stop recognizing altogether the real world we live in.” He cleared his throat. “Now, son, I’m the one who knows your uncle Luther. I do banking business with him. He made a crop loan with me this year.”
“You do? You know him?” John couldn’t contain himself. “Does he keep all his money in your bank? Does he wear a suit like you?”
“Well now, son.” The Judge cleared his throat again. “The hard fact of the matter is . . .” Mrs. Vance reached over and put her hand on his arm. He started again. “The hard fact of the matter is that your uncle Luther is—well . . .” He paused. “Well, I would say he is a man of no pretense. Yes, I can safely say that your uncle Luther is a man of no pretense. Do you know what ‘no pretense’ means?”
“Yes, sir, I think it means—”
“I’ll tell you. It means that what you see when you first meet your uncle Luther is exactly what he’s like.” He leaned back in his chair, smiling. Mrs. Vance let go of his arm.
“Mrs. Vance, does that statement meet with your approval?”
“Why, Judge, everything you say always meets with my approval,” she said as she took down her napkin.
The Judge smiled, shaking his head. “You have to keep these women in line, don’t you, Obadiah?”
John looked around. Obadiah was standing there holding three dinner plates and a basket of cornbread and rolls.
“How did you know he was here? I didn’t even know he was here, and I can—”
“You can see and I can’t? Well, that’s not strictly true,” the Judge said. “ I can still see large forms, but without features. However, the doctor in Montgomery said I won’t be able to see that much longer.”
“The less said about all of that, the better,” Mrs. Vance said.
“Adell, you have to face facts, and that’s a fact.”
“That doctor just doesn’t know what he’s talkin’ about, and you can quote me,” she said.
“You haven’t always been . . .” John began.
“Blind?” said the Judge. “No, this is something that has come on over the last few years. Thank you, Obadiah,” he said as the porter put his plate in front of him. The Judge felt around for his fork. “That’s why we’ve been in Montgomery.”
“That doctor hasn’t got the sense he was born with.” Mrs. Vance reached for the salt and began angrily salting both of their plates. “Probably went to school up north in some no-account—”
“He has a degree from Vanderbilt, Adell. Been practicing for twenty years.”
“I don’t care.” She put down the salt and began attacking their plates with pepper.
The Judge drummed his fingers on the table. “Adell, are you trying to fix it so I’ll die of a stomach ulcer before I go blind? Sounds like you’re dumping every condiment you can find on my plate.”
Adell Vance looked down at the Judge’s plate and laughed. “Oh my. I guess I did overdo it a mite, but those doctors make me so mad.”
“Well, why don’t you take it out on them and not me.”
“I’ll just fix everything. Don’t you worry one bit.” She began to scrape the pepper off his roast beef slices.
The Judge waited patiently and turned his attention back to John. “Life takes some tough turns, son. You have to learn to cope with them. Mrs. Vance told me about the death of your mother and how you’re coming to live in our town. I’m sure you’ll learn to cope with your uncle Luther and your cousins.” He rubbed his hands together, dismissing the subject. “The roast beef smells wonderful.”
Mrs. Vance had cleared the pepper and cut up his meat.
John ate meat loaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, fried apples, and three cornbread sticks and drank two glasses of tea.
Mrs. Vance stayed busy eating her own meal and fussing over the Judge. “Now Byron, you be sure and eat your bread.” She guided his hand to the bread plate.
“I’ll eat my bread, woman,” he said, pulling his hand back. “Have you ever known me to lose my appetite?”
After a time, Obadiah arrived with the coconut cream pie and coffee. He placed each dish just so, then moved away.
John watched as Obadiah walked on up the aisle, supervising other waiters who were serving meals. “Judge, do you know the name of every porter on the train?”
“Well, let me see. I do know the names of quite a few of them, since we’re back and forth to Montgomery all the time, but no, not all. Obadiah is special because he was born and raised in Lower Peach Tree. I know all of his family, one of the finest colored families in the county; matter of fact, one of his cousins works for me.”
“He doesn’t say much,” John said. He could see Obadiah at the other end of the car, hands folded, watching.
“You don’t have to say much when you’re in control, son. This is Obadiah’s car and he runs it like a drill sergeant, knows everything that’s gone on and is gonna go on in the future. No coloreds and very few whites mess with Obadiah. If they do, they’re long gone.”
He pointed his fork in his wife’s direction and smiled. “Now watch me get a rise out of Mrs. Vance, son.
“Let me tell you about the time a white man disappeared on this very train one night. They said he was from up north and started drinking too much. Came to the dining car and started acting out. The next thing you know, while the train was on the trestle over the Black Warrior, that man up and disappeared. Never has been heard of since.”
“Byron.” Mrs. Vance jerked to attention. “Will you stop fillin’ that boy’s head full of Negra stories that everybody knows are not true. My lands above, you’ll have him thinkin’ we’re a bunch of heathens down here. Don’t you pay the slightest bit of attention to the Judge, John honey. There is not one ounce of truth to that tale.”
The Judge laughed out loud. “I told you that would get a rise out of her. I’ll tell you the rest of that story some other time, when it’s just us men,” he said.
“You’ll do no such thing,” she said.
They heard a long whistle from the front of the train as it rounded a curve, sending them deeper and deeper into south Alabama.
The Bend
THE lantern glowing through the kitchen window was the only illumination out into the swamp night. Inside the cabin, the old woman had finished washing up supper dishes. Her hands, rough from years in the fields, brushed crumbs off the table and spread a paisley-printed tablecloth across its surface, smoothing out the wrinkles. Next, she went to the same drawer the tablecloth had been stored in and brought out candles of various sizes, which she placed in predetermined locations around the room. They were calculated to give it a warm but mysterious glow. She stepped over to the lantern in the sink window and turned down the wick until the
flame went out. When she looked around to see the effect, she was pleased. The candlelight gently shifted as a breeze from the screened door passed through the room.
She was ready for her first client of the night. Actually, they were her only clients for the evening, a young couple pregnant with their first child. They were willing to pay her—in eggs, four dozen—for the privilege of finding out if it was a boy or a girl. That many eggs would feed her household breakfast for four or five days.
She had already seen the pregnant girl at church last Sunday. She already knew it would be a boy, from the way it rode in its mother’s womb, from the color of the mother’s fingernails, and from all the other signs her mother and grandmother had taught her. Of course, if it wasn’t a boy and the parents came back wanting an explanation, she would always say the reason was because the child was so special that God had not let her see into the womb. This meant this baby was predestined for great things.
This would please the parents even more. “This baby so special, Mama Tuway couldn’t even tell what she was gonna be.”
Her mother had taught her that, too. This way, the parents would give extraordinary love and care to the infant and, more than likely, the child would grow up with some singular talent or ability, probably because of the exceptional pampering the baby received.
Sometimes she thought she should say this to all the mothers and fathers by way of getting them to treat each child with great care, but most of the time the signs were too obvious. She could tell immediately if it was a boy or girl, without going through the pretense of the tea leaves or the cards. Of course, she always did one or both of those things, to help them believe.
It was strange, though; for a long time now, the tea leaves and even the cards had said someone, some colored person, almost holy, was destined to come and lead the people of the Bend. She never mentioned it to her clients. They might get the big head. Besides, her mother and her grandmother had told her not to get too carried away with the cards or the leaves. They were usually more wrong than right.
Out of the Night That Covers Me Page 3