When they went into supper that night, he ate at the dining room table with them. He had thought so many times of what it would be like. He piled his plate high with food. Then he began eating without looking up. It was pork chops with mashed potatoes and gravy, carrots in butter, hot biscuits, and, of course, ice tea. Suddenly, he felt their eyes on him. He looked around, to see them staring at him, then stopped eating and put his fork down slowly. “I . . . I forgot.” He took his napkin out of the ring and placed it in his lap, head down, waiting.
When she finished blessing them, Mrs. Vance acted as if nothing had happened.
“Well, John honey, how do you like your job at the bank? Are you learnin’ a lot down there?” she asked.
“I like it,” he said, trying to eat and talk at the same time, vaguely remembering that it was impolite.
“Do you like ridin’ around with Cal? You know everybody likes Cal. He is one of the most popular Negras in Lower Peach Tree.”
“Yes, ma’am. Would you please pass me the biscuits?”
“I think the boy is trying to eat, Adell.”
“I know he is, but I’m just dyin’ to know how he likes it.”
“I’m sure he likes it fine.”
“What’s the mark?” John asked, his mouth too full of mashed potatoes.
“The what?”
He swallowed. “The mark. Cal says Tuway has the mark.”
“Oh, honey, don’t you pay any attention to Cal,” Mrs. Vance said. “He’s just talkin’. All the Negras have all sorts of hexes and superstitions. It’s not Christian, if you ask me.”
“You just told him you wanted to know about his work, Adell.
“What did Cal say, John?” the Judge asked.
“He said Tuway had the mark and that the bank had a hundred million dollars and soon as we delivered all of the fertilizer and poison we would be able to see it because it’s in a vault in the basement. Of course I don’t believe that part.”
The Judge laughed. “I wish to heaven we did have millions in a vault in the basement. That would solve a lot of my problems. I think Cal was pulling your leg.”
He glanced at the Judge and Mrs. Vance without raising his head. “Well, I knew that about the million dollars, but what about the mark? He said Tuway could give anybody the mark if he wanted to. He said Tuway lived in the swamp when he was a baby.”
“Tuway has an unfortunate skin condition,” Mrs. Vance said. “That’s just tacky of Cal to say that.”
“I don’t know,” the Judge said. “I believe if I were in Tuway’s shoes, I would rather people think I had magical powers than ‘an unfortunate skin condition.’”
The Judge began rubbing his beard and speaking in his best Dr. Frankenstein voice. “You know, my good woman, I never knew quite where he came from. He just appeared on the sidewalk in front of the bank one day, probably came up out of the swamps one night when the moon was full.”
“Byron, what is the boy gonna think of you? You do beat all. John, don’t you pay the slightest bit of attention to him.” She got up and headed to the kitchen. “Now who wants dessert?”
“Where did Tuway truly come from?” John asked when she had left the room.
“He and his family did come from this neck of the woods. I’m not quite sure where, but he had a couple of years at Tuskegee some time back. He has a damn lot more sense than a lot of the peckerwoods around here, black or white—sorry, colored or white. The fact that he has an ‘unfortunate skin condition,’ as Adell puts it, is lucky for me. It seems to give him some sort of exemption in both communities.” He drank the last of his ice tea. “Also, I’m sure you have noticed, Tuway is rather large.”
John liked it when she was out of the room. He sat back in his chair and tried to affect a casual air. “I noticed you don’t talk like Mrs. Vance does. Did you come from around here?”
“Very astute of you, John. No, I don’t talk like she does. I hail from up around Winston County, north of Birmingham. That’s where I get my twang.”
John wiped his mouth with his napkin and tried to imitate the Judge. “And then you had a couple of years at Tuskegee?”
The Judge grimaced. “Your mother sure did keep you under wraps, didn’t she? Tuskegee is a colored school. I went to Auburn, over in Lee County.”
“Oh.”
Mrs. Vance came back into the room carrying a pie thick with meringue and perched on top of a glass pedestal server. She set the server down next to John and began to cut. “Do I hear the Judge haranguin’ you with all that nonsense about different counties, John honey? We’re all the same. All over the South, we’re all the same. I know because I went to Judson College. Girls from all over Alabama came to Judson.”
She cut a big piece of pie and put it down in front of the Judge, who was already amused by what he knew she was going to say next.
“‘And the girls over there were all just lovely and they were all the same,’” he mimicked.
“It’s the truth, and you know it’s the truth,” she said. She looked at John and smiled. “It’s coconut cream, your favorite.”
CHAPTER 29
THAT night, he slept in a real bed. She took him to an upstairs bedroom and tried to give him a kiss good night, but he backed away, pretending to inspect the room. Mrs. Vance told him to undress and gave him an old pajama top that was the Judge’s. She said she would be back later.
It felt strange being there, even though he had been in this room once before. He walked around touching the bed, the chair in the corner next to the windows that overlooked the front yard. He used to feel so comfortable in a room like this. Now, somehow, he felt ill at ease and closed in. He tried to think of how it used to be but could not.
She came back later to hear him say his prayers. He had almost forgotten what to say, but mumbled a few things he thought she might consider appropriate. As soon as she turned out the light and closed the door, he scrambled out of the stiff white sheets, which felt smothering to his skin now. He went to the window and pulled the shades up to give moonlight to the room, then sat down on the floor to inspect the contents of the bookcase. The names of the books were titles he might like if he were a girl: The Hidden Staircase, Little Women, an old Uncle Remus. John took the books out one at a time, trying to read in the dim light. The words were hard to see and he thought that must have made him fall asleep and dream the rest.
He dreamed that he woke and was still on the floor, with the moon streaming through the two windows. As he got up to get back in the bed, he glanced out the front window. Through the branches of the big oak tree in the front yard, there was a light off in the distance on the other side of the graveyard. He rubbed his eyes to look again, but this time he saw nothing and was about to get in bed, when, moving through the darkness, three people came walking up out of the other side of the cemetery. When they passed under the streetlight, he could see they were all black except for the one who was black and white at the same time. The dream ended as he heard the whistle of Obadiah’s train passing through town.
CHAPTER 30
THEN next morning, Tuway had not returned, and so it fell to John to take the Judge over to the cotton gin for coffee. Saturday was the day that colored people went to town and white people were supposed to stay off the streets. The white men met at the cotton gin to “shoot the bull,” the Judge said. He told John to drop him off at the gin and then go on home. He could find his way back.
“No, sir,” he said in a matter-of-fact way. “Tuway said I better stay or—”
“Ah yes, I forgot Tuway’s admonition.”
They were standing on the front porch, next to large white wooden columns that had seen better days. A small pile of wood dust left by carpenter ants lay at the bottom of the column the Judge held to. “Probably if he doesn’t get back, I’ll have to stay over till Sunday,” John said. He glanced sideways to see the Judge’s reaction. Seeing none, he ventured further. “I probably need to so I can go to church with y’all.” He glanced agai
n . . . and nothing. “It’s because my religious education is not what it should be.”
“Is that right?” the Judge said as he negotiated the front steps, using the black iron railing Tuway had built for him.
“Yes, sir,” John said, standing close beside the Judge. They left the steps and front yard to navigate the sidewalk, skirting around cracks in the cement caused by the oak tree roots. The Judge felt with his cane for cracks he had memorized.
“And did you and Mrs. Vance come to that conclusion this morning?”
“Yes, sir, we did.”
“The part about how your religious education was suffering?”
“Yes, sir. She said the Baptists would have none of that.” He tried to gauge the Judge’s face to see just how far he might go.
“None of what? Dare I ask?”
“None of having a little person like myself left to the vicissitudes of life.”
“I think you’re pushing it there. The vicissitudes of life?”
“I’m just saying what she said.” He tried, and failed, to look innocent. “She said it right after I told her it had been so long, I couldn’t even remember how to say my prayers, only I forgot to tell her that last night, so I told her about it this morning. Probably Sunday school would do me a world of good.”
He told the Judge a curb was coming up. They walked across the street in silence. John kept watching the sidewalk but continued selling. “Did you realize she’s been the organist at the First Baptist Church of Lower Peach Tree for ten years? Did you know that, ten years? I was just amazed.”
“I’ll bet you were,” the Judge said.
They were entering the cotton gin grounds. Empty wagons with tufts of cotton caught in wire-mesh sides sat idle on a dusty dirt field that served, when cotton was in season, as the assembly line for wagons from all over the county. An aging tin roof covered the building that held the bailing mechanisms. Jutting out from its side was another roof, which held a giant vacuum tube ready to suck raw cotton from the wagons that pulled beneath it. Hours later, it would disgorge onto the back loading dock a giant white brick wrapped in burlap and steel bands—proof of a whole year’s labor.
The Judge and John walked toward the side of the gin building where the office was located. “I must remember not to let you two get together too often. You’ll devise a plan to conquer the world.” He felt for the latch and opened the big wood door.
“All right, sit down out here on the bench and try to stay out of trouble.” He walked through the door.
John could hear the other men greeting the Judge. Just before the Judge shut the door, he had turned to John. “Perhaps you might try praying a little while you wait—you know, to keep yourself from a life of sin and degradation.”
John jumped back up off the bench. “Yes, sir.”
“Good, good.” The Judge put his tongue in his cheek and closed the door.
John sat down on an old wooden bench directly beneath a sign advertising Garret snuff. It was shady under the tin roof that covered the small porch area. A bee buzzed around his head and then darted off into the sunny gin yard to search around the clumps of wild daisies that had survived the comings and goings of wagon wheels and trucks by growing in out-of-the-way places next to a fence post or underneath the fringes of the loading dock.
He didn’t stay seated long, because it was his duty to see what they were talking about—just like Tuway would do. He stepped off the porch and went around to the side of the building where the office windows were open.
“You take it black, don’t you, Judge?”
“Thanks, Red.”
“Debo, what the hell kind of cigar is that you’re smoking? Smells like blackstrap molasses,” the Judge said.
“I’ll have you know it’s the finest Cuban blend. Got it while I was in New Orleans last week at the Federal Land Bank meetin’.”
“Probably out cattin’ around with some of them honeys in the Quarter. Thought the fancy cigar would give him more charm.” It was L.B., by the sound of his voice.
“With Lee Ann along? All we did was eat at every high-priced restaurant she could find. I musta gained ten pounds. I’m happy to get back here to God’s country. Too much farmin’ goin’ on right now to stay away long.”
“Did I hear you got yourself a new hauling truck, Red?” the Judge asked.
“Bought it off a fellow over in Demopolis that went broke. Couldn’t resist takin’ the chance that maybe the cotton will be good this year.”
“Hell, the crops can be as good as gold. If you ain’t got nobody on shares, what good does it do you?” L.B. said.
“You know more and more people are giving up farmin’ on shares, L.B. You ought to think about it,” Debo said, “especially with all that stuff goin’ on in Montgomery right now. Did you read the paper the other day? That colored wouldn’t get out of her seat on the bus and—”
“Oh hell. They don’t know what they’re doin’ up in Montgomery. Listen, one politician is just as bad as the next one.”
“Did you ever find out what happened to R.C. and his family?” the Judge said, changing the subject.
“Nope. Can’t figure it,” L.B. said. “I asked Ed down at the station if he had seen them get on a train. He said if they went by train, he would know about it ’cause either he’s there or George. Said they hadn’t seen any coloreds leavin’ by train. And R.C. and Willa hadn’t had a car since he wrecked that last one back five years ago.”
“You know I don’t mind so much about R.C. He’s on the road to drinking himself to death anyway. I just hope nothing bad came of Willa and the children,” the Judge said.
“Hell, you know nothin’ came of’m. They’re on their way up north to Chicago, but I’ll be damn if I can figure out how,” L.B. said. “They didn’t have a nickel.”
“What matter does it make, L.B.?” said Debo. “If they’re gone, they’re gone.”
“The hell they are. I’d stop’m. I’d repossess their car or whatever they have to make’m repay their debts.”
“You can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip, L.B.,” Red said.
“It’s none of your damn business what split I take, Red.”
“The hell it ain’t. Every time another family leaves, it means less cotton for me to gin. Sure as hell it’s my business. You want some more coffee, Debo?”
Red poured Debo more coffee and then got back on L.B. “You need to stop cheatin’ the men and screwin’ the women, L.B.”
There was a noise like the raking back of a chair. John stood on tiptoes to look through the window. L.B. had jumped up out of his chair and was facing Red.
“Listen, you son of a bitch, just because no woman ever gave you a second look.” L.B. grabbed a Coke bottle off the table and took a step toward Red.
The Judge stood up, putting himself between the two of them. “All right now, boys, I have a feeling things are about to get out of hand here. You wouldn’t hit a blind man, would you?” He laughed. “If you do, I won’t know which one did it. So now just sit down and cool off.”
“That’s right, L.B. Back off, man. The Judge is right. It’s too early in the mornin’ to be drawin’ blood,” Debo said. He let his chair, which he was leaning against the wall in, come forward, ready to get up and help out the Judge if need be.
“I keep telling y’all, coloreds or the lack thereof ain’t our problem; it’s change. The times are changing and we need to change with them. Ain’t that right, Debo?” the Judge said, still standing between Red and L.B.
L.B. gripped the Coke bottle tighter, watching Red and talking to the Judge. “You beginnin’ to sound like your judge friend, the one they just appointed up there in Montgomery. Weren’t you two brought up in the same county? Didn’t you tell me you knew Judge Johnson when he was a boy?”
“Now you’re really reaching, L.B.” The Judge tried to laugh. “Times ain’t changing that much, but they are changing; ain’t that right, Debo?”
“You might have a point,” Deb
o said, still eyeing L.B. “I ain’t sayin’ you do, but you might.” He put his coffee cup down on a nearby table and stood up.
With that, L.B. knew he was outnumbered. He threw the Coke bottle on the floor and turned toward the door. “You bastards just can’t see the forest for the trees.” He walked to the door, jerked it open, and was gone.
Red walked over and picked up the Coke bottle to put it back on the desk. He looked over at Debo. “What are you shakin’ your head for?”
“You didn’t have to bait him like that, Red. He’s a lot younger than we are.”
“Hell,” Red said, “he is cheatin’ the coloreds, and he does have the worst zipper problem in the county. We all know it. He’s got to grow up. He’s got too much acreage to be so irresponsible. He’s laid every colored girl that’ll come within ten miles of him and couldn’t even get his wife pregnant.” Red walked over to the cold-drink box and lifted the top up to get a bottle of Coke. “Why do you think she left him? And where do you think he got his name? It may be Lamar Braxton on the birth certificate, but the coloreds changed that years ago. ‘Who’s Love Boy humpin’ this week?’” He opened the Coke and took a long drink that half-emptied the bottle.
Debo picked up a pack of peanuts off the display rack on the counter. “Yeah, I’ve heard Cal talkin’. They know what he’s like. They say he’s had one honey or another over in Selma since he was old enough to get in a car and get over there.” Debo poured the peanuts into his Coke bottle. “Boys will be boys,” he said, “but I think he has a point about the niggers disappearin’. Seems strange to me.”
“I know boys will be boys, Debo,” Red said, “but they say he’s rough with the women. I’ve heard rumors.”
“Besides, he’s not a boy anymore,” the Judge said as he moved back to his chair and sat down.
Debo took a swallow of Coke and peanuts. “You gotta have some sympathy for him, sittin’ in that big house night after night all by himself. No wonder he drinks so much,” Debo said.
Out of the Night That Covers Me Page 16