Cole Dust Cole

by Micheal Maxwell

  I don’t really remember, but the court paper says I smart mouthed the judge and took a swing at the bailiff. I got thirty days for contempt of court and public drunkenness.

  I have promised Lloyd and Alma I will ease off on my drinking. At the honor farm I was in pretty bad shape for a while, then one of the colored guys got me a cup of raisin jack. Nice guy, his name was Calvin. He was in my bunk house. I was in with all the colored prisoners because there was no room in the white buildings.

  I was put in the kitchen and every day helped myself to a pocket full of raisins. Calvin had two batches of raisin jack going all the time. Every night we would drink raisin jack and sing songs until the guards would make us stop.

  Last week Alma got a letter from Private George Sage from Fort Benning, Georgia. He has graduated boot camp and is going to Korea. He says he is fine and not to worry about him. He will be part of the 36th Engineer Group, building roads, bridges, and landing fields. At least he won’t be out getting shot at. Sages don’t fight other people’s wars. What was that kid thinking?

  March 28, 1950

  We received a call from Freddie today. It came to Lloyd’s house because we don’t have a phone yet. Josie is in the hospital. She started bleeding and they are afraid she is going to lose the baby. I sold the car today to buy Alma a bus ticket to go to her.

  It is our first grandchild and we are worried sick. I prayed for an hour that God would protect her.

  Freddie’s mother is a nurse and she is checking in on her every chance she gets. Alma said she would call as soon as she knows anything. Alma won’t get to Bellingham until Thursday morning.

  March 30, 1950

  Lloyd woke me at 1:30 this morning. Freddie’s mother called. Josie has passed away. The baby disconnected from her womb and she bled to death before they could get it to stop. It was a boy.

  Alma will arrive at about 7:30 this morning. She will be so tired from the trip. This news will be extra hard on her. I am heartbroken, why are my children all dying before me? Only Paula and George are left and we never hear from Paula any more.

  Poor Freddie.

  August 19, 1950

  Alma came to visit me today and brought me this notebook. It is the most thoughtful thing she has ever done for me. Mamie drove her. I am in the Modesto State Hospital. I was arrested, three times in the month after Josie died, for public drunkenness. Since I was fired and had no visible means of support the court said I was “an incorrigible drunkard and vagrant”. The judge sent me to this state hospital to get “the cure”. If you aren’t buggie when they send you here, you will be before long.

  They send crazies here from all over the state. Everywhere you go there are people talking to themselves, the walls and little green men. The rest they keep so doped up they don’t know where they are. A few are violent. I saw a guard’s head smashed to mush a week or two ago. A patient hit him from behind with a chair and then jumped on him and grabbed him on each side of the head. The guy just kept pounding and pounding until the poor man’s brains were all over the floor. It took two guards beating on the guy to get him to stop. I heard later that the patient died in a fall. One of the guys in my ward said they beat him to death. A favorite trick of the guards is to put a bar of soap in a sock and beat people with it.

  I keep asking when I will get out and they say “in a while.”

  August 23. 1950

  I awoke to the strangest noise I have ever heard. At first I thought it was the DTs again. When I first got here I heard all kinds of voices. I once heard my sister Effie so clear I swear she was standing behind me. The worst thing was the bugs though. I got them so bad they strapped me to the bed.

  The noise was a grunting, growling sound combined with a high pitched whining. I was very sleepy from my pills but I managed to wake enough to open my eyes. In the bed next to me two of the patients were humping like a couple of barnyard dogs. The one on all fours had a pair of socks shoved in his mouth and the man in the back had a sheet across his face like a pair of reins. I was so repulsed I rolled over with my back to them. To my horror the same hellish scene was being played out to my left. I ran from my bed to call an Orderly. Henderson, a big ape from Alabama, grabbed me on my way to the door and held me down. His big hairy hand was over my face and he whispered in my ear that I better just be still before he did the same thing to me. “Let them have their fun,” he said.

  I told the Orderlies what happened this morning at breakfast and they just laughed. They told me next time to take a picture.

  September 1, 1950

  The Orderlies have been turning the beds inside out lately looking for “forbidden” articles. I am afraid they will take my journal so I have been hiding it in the laundry where I work. There is a nice cabinet that no one uses and I put my notebook behind a stack of old towels. I will hand it over to Alma the next time she comes to visit.

  My friend Sal took off over the gates the other night. Seems he went across the street where they have built a new bunch of houses. Some people found him in their shower. They had been in the front of the house watching the new television and heard water running. When they went to investigate, there was Sal fully dressed, standing in the shower, scrubbing all over with soap with his hospital pajamas still on. Now he is crazy.

  When Cole turned the page, he did not recognize the handwriting in the book. It looked like an old man’s quivering script. Nearly two years passed since the last entry. The first several entries made little or no sense. He had a difficult time even deciphering the words on the page. Cole felt a deep aching sadness as he read the entry for July 22, 1952.

  July 22, 1952

  I am writing this over. I cannot read what I wrote before very well. I tried to read this notebook from the beginning, but I got too tired. The lady said it is something I write in every day. I don’t know why. She said I should write, it will make me better.

  I was released yesterday. I am very weak. I know I should know the lady who picked me up but I just don’t remember. I heard a man call her Alma. She called him Lloyd. I think they are my family but I don’t know for sure.

  My memory is not so good since the shock treatments. Little things come to me from time to time. I have dreams. I think my brain is trying to heal. My hands shake very bad and my legs have what the doctor called tremors.

  July 29, 1952

  Each day I get a little stronger. Alma is a very kind woman. She is patient with me when I spill or piss myself. We had a nice talk last night. She cried and said she was sorry for what they did to me. I cried too.

  August 5, 1952

  Today a handsome young man in an Army uniform came to visit, he is my son George. I think everyone knows that my memory is bad. George is getting married next month. He showed us a picture of the girl. She is very pretty and lives in southern California.

  Lloyd is my brother-in-law.

  August 12, 1952

  I had a dream last night. I woke with the feeling that it was a memory. I can’t explain the feeling but I know the things in my dream were real.

  I was having a picnic in a grassy field with a beautiful woman. She was dark and had long wavy hair pulled back with a ribbon. There were two little girls, one was colored I think. Her hair was kinky and cut short to her head. She had a beautiful smile. The other girl looked very much like her mother, almost like an Indian. When she turned to look at me, half of her face was gone.

  In the dream I went to the top of a hill. When I came back the woman was gone and the little girls were crying. In my dream I was crying. It hurt my heart and I woke up.

  I want to ask about these people but I am afraid.

  September 11, 1952

  We took a bus trip to a small town that is not too far from Los Angeles, according to the the road signs on the highway. I can’t remember the name. George’s new wife lives there with her family. The wedding is tomorrow. I am very tired. Alma went to the rehearsal at the church. I will stay here at the motel and rest.

  Sept
ember 12, 1952

  I read the notebook today. I was a drunk. That is why I was in the hospital. The notebook is very sad. I cried and Alma came in and saw me crying. I told her I was going to burn the notebook. She said I should not because it is a history. She said I had many more in a trunk in the closet. I am ashamed of who I was.

  Alma told me I have written them my whole life. She said she always hated the books but someday George will want to read them.

  At the wedding everything was nice. Lots of people were nice to me. I saw some looking at me and whispering though. They must think I am simple, or worse.

  George made a very nice toast to Alma and me at the reception. Alma cried and squeezed my hand. He said he had never seen his parents so happy. I think he carries a lot of hurt. I hope it is not all from me.

  September 22. 1952

  Today I went for a long walk. I walked along the road where the peach orchards are. As I walked along I started to hum a song. Then I suddenly started to sing the words. “Many a month has come and gone since I wandered from my home in those Oklahoma hills where I was born.” The more I sang, the more words I remembered. I sang louder and louder. I felt like a cloud was lifting from my mind. I sang:

  In the Big Rock Candy Mountain the jails are made of tin

  And you can walk right out again as soon as you are in

  There ain’t no short handled shovels, no axes, saws, or picks

  I’m a goin’ to stay where you sleep all day

  Where they hung the jerk that invented work

  In the Big Rock Candy Mountain

  I started laughing and crying and shouting and singing like a crazy man. I remembered my father. I saw my mother’s face in front of me. I saw the woman from my dream! Her name was Mattie. I remember loving her. I don’t know how or when though. I am remembering things.

  I sang songs all the way home. When I got home I picked Alma up and danced around the room with her. She said to try not to remember too much. Last night just before we fell asleep I sang this song to Alma; I could feel her tears on my shoulder.

  Come and sit by my side, if you love me

  Do not hasten to bid me adieu

  Just remember the Red River Valley

  And the cowboy who loved you so true.

  October 3, 1952

  I walked into town today and had a cup of coffee at a café. Walking helps me think and the exercise is making me stronger. The old boy at the café likes to talk and that helps me too, I think.

  I told him I was in the hospital for being a drunk and he said that he used to be a drunk but he got religion. Today, an old man was sitting at the counter near where I usually sit. Walter, the café owner, introduced me to him. He called him Brother Drake; the old man said his name was Eldon.

  The old man is a preacher at the little Pentecostal church on the corner. He is from outside of Norman and came to California back in ‘38. He has an easy way of talking and before you know it you’re telling him your life story, or at least what you can remember of it.

  He invited Alma and me to his church. I told him I hadn’t darkened the door of a church in thirty years except for weddings and funerals and he said the invitation was still good.

  October 5, 1952

  I thought about that old preacher all day today. I feel kind of guilty I didn’t take him up on his invitation to go to his church. I’m a bit afraid to bring it up to Alma. She would probably think I was even crazier that she already does.

  I dream an awful lot. Even if I fall asleep in a chair I have the craziest dreams. Sometimes I wake up feeling plum giddy from how nice it was in my dream. I think I remember about Mattie. I have no one who I can talk with about her. Last night I dreamed we made love in a house that was on fire. I wish I could understand why I can’t remember things. The doctor said it would eventually come back, but I really want to know. I worry there is somebody who needs me that Alma and Lloyd aren’t telling me about.

  October 16, 1952

  I am feeling strong. My mind is losing that wooly feeling. My dreams are going away. The last few I have had were peaceful.

  The strangest things happened in my dream last night. I was with Mattie. We were sitting on the porch of a house. I remember the house. Two little curly headed girls were playing out front. They kept calling out “Look Daddy! Look!” As they played, I turned to look at the house and it was on fire. Mattie stood and took my hand. She said, “I love you, come with me.” We walked to the door and the flames were shooting out of the windows. Inside the door the fire was bright orange. Mattie crossed the threshold and I let go of her hand. “I’m not ready,” I said to her and she said, “Come to me soon.”

  She turned and walked into the fire. Her dressed turned to a white flowing gown. She smiled and waved and walked into the fire. She disappeared.

  I turned to look at the little girls and the taller one came running onto the porch. “Come on!” She ran into the house and disappeared into the flames. I looked for the other little girl everywhere but I couldn’t find her. I woke up with Alma shaking my shoulder. She said I was having a nightmare. My face was wet with tears.

  I am so angry that I do not know who Mattie is EXACTLY! I know I love her very much. I feel an aching for her every time I dream about her. I just can’t put that last piece in the jigsaw puzzle. Were we married? Are the little girls I see our children? Alma has shown me pictures of our children. She has told me how one died in the war and another in childbirth. We have a daughter in Chicago who writes to Alma a couple times a year. I do not remember her.

  I wish it would all come back to me. I am so tired of fighting to remember things.

  October 20, 1952

  I am a grandfather! A letter arrived today from George. His wife had a baby boy. They named him Coleman. That seems a mighty big name for a baby. He will have a lot to grow into. Alma went and bought a little blue nightshirt and mailed it to them. She had me sign the card.

  Sometimes I feel like a stranger in this house. Alma looks at me with eyes that are hiding something. Lloyd says we have had some real rough patches. Perhaps it is her memories that cause the looks I get. Maybe that is the good side of losing your memory!

  October 23, 1952

  I write this tonight with a strange feeling in my soul. I won’t say I got religion but I think my mind has finally found peace. I am thankful I had this notebook so I was able to write down what happened while it was fresh.

  I went to the café this afternoon just to have a cup of coffee and to get out of the house. I have been taking paper to the Café and writing everything I can think of. Sometimes I bring my notebook and do my daily telling.

  The old preacher, Eldon Drake, was at the counter reading his Bible. Nobody else was in the place except Walter and he was in the back cleaning up. Eldon asked me what I was writing. I explained the writing I had been doing for my brain.

  “Is it working?” was all he asked at first.

  I told him that it seems to be bringing back sketches here and there. I don’t want to count chickens before they hatch but I remember more and more every day. I told him of my dreams too. I told him about Mattie and how I was afraid to ask anyone about her. I told him I felt like everything in my life had been given back but I had no way of framing it so it hung right in my mind.

  “Do you think she is alive?” he asked.

  I had to truthfully tell him no.

  “Then you will meet again in heaven.”

  “Probably not,” I answered.

  “You ever heard of Horatio Spafford?”

  “Can’t say I have. Who is he?”

  He told me a story of how Spafford was a successful lawyer in Chicago. He had it all; property, a big house, big family, everything a man could want. I couldn’t see how somebody like him had anything to do with me. Eldon said that everything was going his way until his only son died of scarlet fever. A year or so later, Mrs. O’Leary’s cow kicked over a lantern and burned down Chicago. It ruined him. All his buildings burn
ed. His family had taken a real beating.

  “Sounds like me,” I told him. “Everything that could go wrong has, does, and will. I was just born a Job.”

  The old man started flipping pages in his Bible. “There was a reason all that bad stuff happened to Job, you know.”

  “I know, he was a big sinner and that was his punishment.” I did not want to get preached at, especially since I can’t remember half of the sinning I’ve done.

  In a soft voice nothing like the preacher’s voice he sometimes fell into, Eldon read:

  (I copied this part out of an old Bible when I got home so I’d remember. I changed some of the words to regular English.)

  Job 1:6-12

  6 Now there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the LORD, and Satan came also among them.

  7 And the LORD said unto Satan, Where have you come from? Then Satan answered the LORD, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.

  8 And the LORD said unto Satan, have you seen my servant Job, that there is none like him in the earth, a perfect and an upright man, one that fears God, and shuns evil?

  9 Then Satan answered the LORD, and said, Does Job fear God for nothing?