Out of the Night That Covers Me

by Pat Cunningham Devoto

  He had known, in the spring of that year, when Leroy and Raymond, boys in his math class, had approached him and asked if he would like to come to a party that it sounded suspicious, but he had accepted anyway because he was lonely and because he had never been to a party or met any girls since he had been there.

  That night, he dressed in one of his green shirts. When Leroy and Raymond suggested going to visit a girl they knew at the far edge of town, instead of going to the party, he had gone along with it, because by that time it was too late to back out, but, by the way they smiled at each other, he suspected it was a joke that he had not been let in on.

  It was an old house with a red light in the window. He had not known what that meant and had commented, by way of making conversation, that it looked like Christmas. They had laughed. “And you the Christmas present,” they said as they walked up the steps to the front door.

  They began to pound on the door and yell. “Hey, Geraldine.” They gave one last knock and stepped back. “Hey, girl, ’member how you always sayin’ you want one of them spotted dogs like rides on the fire trucks?

  “Come on out here, girl. Me and Leroy done got you one, and this’un wants to wag his tail for you.” They were bent over laughing.

  Tuway had backed away from the door and they had pushed him forward again. “Go on up there, cousin. You liable to get somethin’ free outta this.”

  Leroy yelled, “Well, come on out here, girl.”

  Tuway remembered standing there with a stupid grin on his face, not understanding what was going on but trying to be part of it.

  When she opened the door, Geraldine burst out laughing. “Leroy, what you doin’ markin’ up this big boy like that?”

  When it dawned on him what they were talking about, he began to shake his head, to back away off the porch, out of the yard.

  He could hear the three of them laughing and yelling to him as he walked off down the road.

  “Come on back here, son. You don’t know what you missin’.”

  That night as he brought shovelfuls of coal from the coal bin to the furnace, he kept passing by the mirror on the wall above the sink. He had never had a mirror constantly looking at him before. Mama Tuway had never had one in the house.

  A short time later, when he had found himself standing in front of the mirror, staring at his image and holding a handful of soot from the furnace, he had thrown the black powder down the drain, run all the way back to his room, packed his clothes, and left Tuskegee for good.

  CHAPTER 21

  IT was the week after Uncle Luther got back home that Miss Belva came out. They were eating dinner in the middle of the day, when they heard a car coming up the road. John, Shell, and Little Luther came out on the porch to see who it was. Miss Belva stepped out in a dress and hat to match, a stack of papers in her arms.

  “Hello, Luther, Michelle.” She stood there with a gloved hand shielding her eyes. “And you must be the one I’ve come to see. John, isn’t it?” She took a few steps forward and stuck her hand out. He only looked at it. “I teach fifth grade over at the school,” she said, dropping the hand to her side. “The Judge—that is, we—decided that since you’re going to be a new member of school this fall, well, we decided that you could use some preschool testing. You know, to see what grade you might be in next year?”

  “Howdy, Miss Belva.” Aunt Nelda came out on the porch, wiping her hands on a towel. “What is it you say you need to do with him?” Those were the first words anyone had heard Aunt Nelda say, besides yes and no, since Uncle Luther had come home.

  Miss Belva smiled. “You see, what we decided—that is, I—or that is, the school decided, we need to test all new students who are coming in for the first time. So if you’ll just let me borrow John for this afternoon, I’ll have him back in time for supper.”

  Uncle Luther pushed the screen door open. He had been standing behind it, listening. “All new students? He’s probably the only new student in the whole county ’cept for the first graders.”

  Miss Belva smiled. “Well, that could be, I don’t know, but still he . . . well, he needs to be looked at—that is, he needs testing.”

  “He can’t go to no school testin’; he’s gotta work.” He let the door slam behind him and walked down the front steps past her and into the yard.

  “But the Judge said—” She turned to walk behind him. Uncle Luther turned around so quickly that Miss Belva nearly ran into him. They were almost face-to-face as Miss Belva stepped back quickly, but not before she could see his eye twitching. John jumped off the corner of the porch and grabbed her hand.

  Luther spit out juice. “What the hell does the Judge have to do with it? I thought you said it was the school’s doin’.”

  “It most certainly is the school’s doing,” Miss Belva said. “It’s just that, well, it’s just that I happened to see the Judge, just by chance on the street the other day, and he said to me . . .” She began to fumble with the papers in her hand. “Well, he said to me, ‘Belva, I was just thinking about Luther Spraig the other day because he probably will be coming in to pay off his crop loan one of these days . . . and I remembered that he has a new boy out there I think you should see about . . . see about school next year.’” She studied her papers.

  “I don’t care who he is. Ain’t nobody gonna tell a man what he can or can’t do with his kids.” He glared at her.

  “Oh, I certainly agree with that. That is an inviolate rule, Mr. Spraig. I’m sure the Judge would agree.” She cleared her throat. “If anything, the onus is on me. I am the one who would be remiss in my duty if . . . if the Judge didn’t think I had attended to these matters. So you see, as the head of the household, you would be doing me a great favor if you would let me take John in for . . . for preschool testing.”

  Uncle Luther’s mood changed. “Well, I ain’t never said I wouldn’t do nobody no favors.” He smiled and spit out into the yard. “We all got to tiptoe round the Judge, don’t we?” He looked down at John holding her hand. “He ain’t much count in the fields anyway. You can have him for this afternoon.”

  “That’s very gracious of you, Mr. Spraig.”

  John dropped his hand from Miss Belva’s and walked back to Aunt Nelda, who was watching everything. “Do I have to go wherever she wants to take me?”

  “Go get in the car before Luther changes his mind,” she said.

  He walked slowly over to the car and got in the front seat.

  Miss Belva had started the engine and the car was bumping over the roads before she said, “I thought you came to hold my hand because you wanted to go with me.”

  He looked straight ahead, embarrassed for her that she was so stupid. “I was holding your hand so you wouldn’t move. Didn’t you see he was getting mad?”

  CHAPTER 22

  WELL now, John,” the Judge had said, “how would you like to have a job?” They hadn’t gone to the school. They had driven straight to the bank and waited until the Judge could see them. John and Miss Belva sat in chairs out in the lobby, and the people who worked there looked at them but did not comment as they walked by. Miss Belva gave him some papers to fill out. Eventually, Miss Maroon, the Judge’s secretary, came to get them. She addressed Miss Belva and gave no notice of John. “I don’t know why, with everything else that’s going on around here, he wants to get involved in this.” She tilted her head John’s way.

  “Come on, John honey,” Miss Belva said.

  It was not the best room he had ever seen, but it made him feel like it should be. The Judge’s desk was in the center. Big legal-size bookcases lined the walls. There were doors leading off to other rooms, and chairs that sat opposite the Judge’s desk. They sat in the two wing-back chairs, facing the Judge. He turned in Miss Belva’s direction. “Any problems?”

  “No more than we anticipated.” She cleared her throat and glanced toward John. “You know, he looks—”

  “I know, I know. I heard every detail after church the other day. Now mayb
e Adell will let me get some peace and quiet,” he said.

  Miss Belva laughed. “That’s not what she tells me. She says this was all your idea.”

  “You women, we can’t live with you and—”

  “Never mind. I know who the softy is. I’ve got an errand to run. Why don’t I leave you two and I’ll be back in awhile to get him.” She got up and walked toward the door. “John, give the Judge all the papers you filled out.”

  John gave him the papers and the Judge, putting them aside, said, “How would you like a job?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “What kind of a job?” He sat up very straight, trying to look mean like Little Luther. “I ain’t got time for no job, what with the hoeing I do all day long.”

  “You ain’t got time for no job? What kind of language is that?”

  Tears came, but he didn’t care because he knew the Judge couldn’t see. The room was quiet while he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat so as not to sound scared. Then he stood up and walked over to grab the edge of the desk. He said with all the meanness he could muster, “I don’t have time to do another job. I get up in the morning and I hoe all day. When I finish, I walk into town to get the mail. By the time I get back, it’s time to eat and go to bed.” Then he shouted, “I don’t have time to do another stinking job.”

  Just then one of the side doors opened. John caught his breath. A huge man stepped in to scowl at him. He was like no one the boy had ever laid eyes on before. His face was half white and half dark brown. The skin was brown on some parts and white on others. Not shades of brown, but brown and white. Where it was white, it was like John’s skin color. He looked like a black man, but he was not a black man, or maybe he was. John didn’t know. The boy started to back away. He thought this man could probably beat the livin’ shit out of him if he wanted.

  “You need me, Judge?” the half-and-half man said, still looking straight at John.

  John backed up toward the wall, looking for the nearest place to hide.

  The Judge smiled. “Tuway, may I introduce Mr. John McMillan.”

  “What’s you yellin’ like that, boy?” The man’s voice was as thundering and low as he had meant it to be. “The Judge is gonna skin you alive, makin’ so much noise, and if he don’t”—the man stepped closer to John—“I will.”

  “He’s”—the Judge nodded toward John—“beginning to remind me more of one of my board of directors than a future employee. Thank you for your concern, Tuway, but I believe I can handle him.”

  “You probably could handle him with one hand tied behind your back.” Tuway glared and moved out, slowly closing the door.

  “Who . . . who was that?”

  “That was Tuway, one of your bosses if you elect to take this job, son. Oh, sorry, I forgot you don’t like to be called that. Come back over here and sit down, John.”

  The Judge sat back in his chair and smiled. Tuway’s appearance always had that effect on people when they first met him. It happened so seldom now because everyone in the county knew Tuway or knew of him. His size and his skin color had been one of the reasons he had hired Tuway in the first place, when Tuway had appeared almost out of the blue that day so many years ago.

  The Judge’s attention turned back to John. “I didn’t mean that you had to work another job in addition to the one you have now. I meant that I would like to employ you to work here instead of in the fields, if you and your uncle are amenable. However, we won’t for one minute put up with that kind of language and that temper around here.”

  “My . . . my uncle won’t be amenable,” he said, easing back over into his chair but still looking at the door Tuway had closed. “He needs me in the fields even if I’m not worth shi—worth anything hoein’.”

  “Your job would include working at the house, helping out in the yard, doing odd jobs. Maybe even reading to me from time to time, if you can handle it. What do you think?”

  “Uncle Luther—”

  “Never mind about your uncle. I’ll take care of that. I’m asking you if you would like to do it?”

  “What about the mail? I have to pick up the mail.”

  “You can pick up the mail on your way home every day.”

  “Do I get to come seven days or just five?”

  The Judge smiled and stood up. “Only five. You can have the weekends off.”

  “I don’t need the weekends off. I can come seven.”

  “No, five will be fine. Let’s shake on it.” He held out his hand. “School will be starting soon; then it will let out again after a few weeks for cotton picking. When that happens, we will have to adjust your hours accordingly.”

  John grabbed the hand that was sticking out in the air and held it as long as he could before the Judge pulled away. “I have other business to attend to right now, John. Why don’t you just sit right here and wait for Miss Belva to come get you.” He pushed a button on his desk. Tuway came through the door. “Is everything set up for the board meeting?”

  “Jus’ like you like it.”

  “Good. Why don’t you stay here. I’ll call if I need you. Miss Belva will be coming to pick up John.” He left his chair and walked to a side door with such familiarity, one would never suspect he was blind. Tuway held the door for him and closed it almost all the way, leaving only a crack, then sat down in a chair just beside it. Tuway paid John no mind. The boy sat all the way back in the big leather wing-back chair. His feet were so far off the floor, he crossed them Indian-style and seemed almost swallowed up by the chair’s dark leather covering. Now and then, he peered out from behind its wings to steal a glance at Tuway.

  He could hear people gathering in what must be a conference room behind the door. The Judge could be heard calling the meeting to order.

  Tuway sat with his elbows on his knees, his head bent forward, close to the crack in the door.

  “This is not a regularly scheduled board meeting, so let’s keep it informal. Miss Maroon will take notes, but only to refresh my memory.” There was a shuffle as people began to settle comfortably in their seats.

  “L.B.,” said the Judge, “you’re the one who wanted to have this gathering, so why don’t you take the floor.”

  A rather young, sarcastic voice spoke up. “I don’t need to ‘take the floor,’ Judge, for everybody to know what’s goin’ on. Hell, Debo here’s got the same problem.” There was a pause. “Don’t go shakin’ your head, Debo,” the voice said. “Your niggers are leavin’, same as mine.”

  “I’d leave, too, if I was your niggers, L.B.”

  “Anybody with half a brain ain’t gonna farm on no sixty-forty split, L.B.,” another voice said. “Since that great little innovation of yours, you’ve scared off half the coloreds and most of the whites on shares in the county. They all think we’re gonna do the same thing.”

  “Debo’s right, L.B. What in the hell did you do that for? Pretty soon we won’t have anybody left farmin’ on shares, and I don’t know about y’all, but I ain’t got the money to fork over for one of them fifty-thousand-dollar cotton pickers.” There was silence again as chairs shuffled about.

  “Now they’re heading up north by the carload, whereas before it was just a few at a time,” somebody else said.

  “They’re going, but I don’t think by car. That’s a long trip, and you gotta have gas money. I don’t think that’s how they leave or how they come back,” the Debo voice said.

  “How, then?” someone else said.

  “Gentlemen, that’s neither here nor there.” It was the Judge’s voice. “How they get the money to go up north or how they stay there is none of our business. Why are we here today? What does all this have to do with the Planters and Merchants Bank of Lower Peach Tree?”

  “You know damn good and well what it has to do with the bank, Judge. I say let’s put the economic squeeze on ’em,” the young voice said.

  “What do you want us to do, L.B., foreclose on their land? It’s not their land, rem
ember?”

  John sneaked a peek and saw the Tuway man smiling and shaking his head. When Tuway looked up and saw him, John grabbed a magazine from off the side table and pretended to read it. The conversation continued in the next room.

  “Smile if you want to, Red,” the young voice said, “but you’re gonna be smilin’ out of the other side of your damn mouth come the end of summer and you ain’t ginnin’ no cotton.”

  “If it happens, it happens,” the man named Red said. “What do you want me to do about it, chain’m to the porch? I don’t think the feds would go for that.” He laughed, and so did some of the others.

  “You’re sittin’ around here like you always have, not realizin’ what’s happenin’ ’til it’s too late,” the young voice said. “They’re disappearin’ in droves. I went by Lester and Lucy’s place this mornin’. Been workin’ for my family for forty years. Their place was empty, cleaned out. Now they may be back in the fall and pay me rent, which don’t amount to a hill of beans, and God knows where they get the money, or they may stay up north for good, and I’m still out the cotton cash.”

  “Things change, L.B.,” the Judge said. “That’s why I keep telling you gentlemen we need to start talking about attracting some kind of industry in here, like maybe a—”

  “To hell with some Damn Yankee company comin’ in here and rapin’ the land. As long as I’m a major stockholder in this bank, I say no damn money-grabbin’ Yankees are gonna come in here and—”

  “How ’bout some damn money-grabbin’ southerners?” somebody interrupted. “I hear over in Atlanta they—”

  Just then, John jumped. Miss Belva had come in the room and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “John, I need to be getting you back home. Your uncle will wonder what’s happened.”

  Miss Belva stood, shading her eyes from the late-afternoon sun, which was making its way down the sky back of the house. Aunt Nelda was on the porch, impatient that she had been interrupted from preparing supper.

  Miss Belva told her that John had done very well on his tests and that the Judge would like to give him work doing odd jobs, if that was all right with Mr. Spraig. She also said that naturally the Judge realized John was too young to handle the small amount of money that he would make, so that Mr. Spraig had better come by the bank every Friday and pick up John’s pay and save it for him. He hoped that arrangement would be satisfactory.