Original Sins

by Lisa Alther

  “Oh, I like that jacket,” Deirdre said, touching the black leather.

  “Get away from me, woman,” he snarled. He felt consumed with disgust looking at her eager ugly painted pink face, with her tiny little close-set piglet eyes.

  She looked startled.

  “I’ve missed seeing you, Donny.”

  “Yeah, I bet you have.”

  “But I have.”

  “How could you miss me, you white bitch, when you don’t even know me?”

  “I’ve been trying to get to know you, Donny,” she insisted in an injured voice.

  “Naw, you haven’t, Deirdre. You don’t know that I couldn’t get it up for several months a while back. You don’t know that my TV set got repossessed down in Tennessee. You don’t know that I used to be a basketball star and a church deacon. All you know is that I got a long black cock between my legs. You honkies is sick. You see a black man and all you can think of is a good hard fuck. Well, they’s a lot more to me than that!”

  “But that’s not true,” Deirdre gasped as he stomped toward the door. “How can you say that?”

  He made no reply.

  “If that’s what you think I’ve wanted from you, Donny, then you don’t know me either!”

  He slammed the door behind him.

  Donny got up early to supervise at the breakfast program for the children before going to work. He’d started out a buck private in James’s group but was now a corporal. As the little children ate their cornflakes in the store that had been turned into a community center, they glanced up at him and Lucille real shy-like. Like they was heroes or something. He felt proud to be doing his part toward raising up the children of the black community to be strong and courageous warriors.

  He recalled the morning when he realized it was time to get his own family up here. Nicole and Isaac were down in Pine Woods looking up with respect at that old Tom, Reverend Stump. And at his “clever” grandmaw. They were good people, meant well and all, but was just plain backward. You didn’t get nowhere with these white motherfuckers by asking politely year after year. They took good manners to mean you was weak, and could be exploited that much easier. He wanted Isaac looking up to Leon and to James, and to himself as he was now. He wanted Nicole copying Lucille.

  He looked over at Lucille. That woman was something else. Hair kinking a foot out from her head, like those Africans he was all the time seeing in front of the parking garage, on their way to the United Nations to run their countries. Had a mouth on her like a machine gun. Didn’t take no shit from nobody. But she could be tender, too, sitting in a child’s chair telling those little children stories about Harriet Tubman and Nat Turner, Sojourner Truth and Brother Malcolm. Urging them to eat a good breakfast and do good at school so they could help in their people’s straggle to be free. Leon was right. Lucille was a woman who left you no choice but to respect her. Made you look at all women different. He knew he had to get Rochelle up here right quick, expose her to Lucille and the other sisters, let them turn her head around, get her over this diddly thing she had about living in some motherfucking ranch house.

  He had phoned Rochelle and told her to get ready, he’d send bus fare. She seemed thrilled and scared to death, both at once. He worried a little about bossing her around like that, but she seemed to like it when he did it over leaving Pine Woods himself. And she seemed to like it this time. Maybe it made her feel secure to know that he was in charge now.

  “Where we gon live at?”

  “I’m gon find us a place right quick.”

  “A house?”

  “Can’t afford no house.”

  “Well, make it a big place, Donny.”

  “Woman, you just get your ass up here. I’m the man. I’m running this show.”

  “Well, I declare,” she laughed.

  He met them at the Port Authority. She grabbed him and spun him around, while Isaac and Nicole tried to climb up his legs. He splurged on a taxi to take them uptown with all their junk.

  Rochelle glanced around the small fifth-floor apartment doubtfully. “You fixed it up real nice, honey.”

  “It’ll do. Where you live at ain’t important.”

  “To who?”

  He looked at her. “Rochelle, just shove it. Don’t start in on me, woman. Ever again.”

  Stunned, she said nothing. That night in their new bed with the children asleep in the next room, they made love with the old fervor that Donny had thought was gone for good. They both cried a little, laughing in between the tears. Seemed like the pieces of his life was starting to fall into place.

  But Rochelle didn’t want to model herself on Lucille. She just wouldn’t quit trying to straighten her hair. And when he asked her to go to meetings with him, she’d say, “Can’t. Too tired.”

  “But I need you beside of me, Rochelle. To support me in the struggle.”

  “Honey, you gon have to struggle by yourself this evening cause I’m plumb wore out.”

  She called the group his “gang” and spent her spare time, when she wasn’t clerking at Woolworth’s or looking after the apartment, with his mama and Arthur. Seemed like her and his mama was thick as thieves now. Donny reckoned Rochelle spent a lot of time complaining about him because his mama was always lecturing him on letting other people do like they wanted. After she’d spent half her life telling him what to do.

  Every morning it was a big deal to get Nicole and Isaac out the door to the breakfast program. “Wanna eat with Mama,” Isaac would wail, while Rochelle watched ironically.

  “Come on, you little bastard.”

  On the way to the center, a child holding each hand, he gave them instruction. “See those men?” He pointed down an alley to some ragged winos. “They’re drunk. Do you know why they drink so much?”

  Isaac was staring straight ahead, sucking two fingers. “Do you know why, Isaac?” Donny jerked at his hand. His grandmaw and his mama were hopeless. Even most people his own age were hopeless, like he was starting to think Rochelle was. They’d been raised up under oppression and took it for granted. But it’d be different with the children of the community. He was determined they’d grow up with a head start on understanding the plight of their brothers and sisters. Rather than in some fairy tale land where everybody but the witches was full of goodwill and justice. His children would face the realities of life for black people in this country, rather than scrambling around in some dumb tree with a bunch of spooks thinking you was something extra special.

  He removed Isaac’s fingers from his mouth. “Want to eat breakfast with Mama,” he whined.

  “Do you know why, Nicole?”

  “Because the white man won’t give them good jobs or money. So they’re sad.”

  “That’s right.”

  Pitiful Phil with his red hair and freckles and black grandfather was still hanging around the office, wanting to be useful. Brothers flicked switchblades in his face and called him a honky until they were blue in the face. He wouldn’t be budged. They called him a leprous white pig and a blue-eyed devil and the son of a motherfucking slavemaster. He smiled and begged for errands.

  Donny thought up a job for him. He invited Phil to his apartment. Phil was thrilled. Donny brought out Isaac. He pointed to Phil and said, “White man.” He pinched a piece of Phil’s forearm. “White.”

  “White,” Isaac repeated, looking in Donny’s eyes for approval. Tentatively Isaac touched Phil’s arm. “White, Daddy.”

  “White man, Isaac.” Donny jabbed his index finger at Phil’s chest.

  “White man.”

  Donny nodded to Phil.

  “You sure this is a good idea, man?” Phil asked, picking up the child.

  “You all the time asking how can you help. I done told you. Now do it.”

  Phil held Isaac at arm’s length and smiled at him. Isaac smiled back. Phil bounced him playfully. Isaac grinned. Phil tossed him gently in the air and caught him. Isaac giggled.

  “White man,” Donny repeated.
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  “White man!”

  Phil suddenly tossed Isaac almost to the ceiling, letting his arms fall to his sides. Isaac crashed to the floor and began screaming.

  “White man, Isaac!”

  They stood over him while he shrieked. “Watch this, Isaac.” He kept wailing. “Isaac, watch me, son.” He looked up, hiccoughing with sobs. Donny drove his fist into Phil’s mouth. He hadn’t told Phil about this part of the deal.

  “What you doing to that child?” Rochelle called. She raced in from the other room and swept Isaac into her arms, glaring at Donny.

  “What you gone and done to him now, nigger?”

  “I’m the man here, woman. I’m in charge of raising him up to be a warrior.”

  “You in charge of turning him into a crippled nutcase, is what you is, Donny Tatro. You ought to be shamed.”

  “Just keep talking, woman.”

  “Don’t you threaten me, sugar. Everbody else may be scared of big bad Donny Tatro, but I know you from way back when. And don’t you forget it.”

  “Seem like you don’t know when to shut that hole in your face, woman.”

  “Honey, I don’t know what’s got into you. You getting uglier than any honky that ever was.”

  “Well, ain’t that what the white folks wants from us? And, mama, you know I aims to serve em.”

  Donny pulled up in front of the Princes’ yellow palace. Walking up the sidewalk were two white men—one in a suit, the other in overalls and a suit coat and work shoes—and three children. He got out and walked toward them, a child holding either hand.

  This definitely wasn’t his favorite thing to be doing. As he got closer, he realized the one in the suit wasn’t no man. It was Emily Prince. Now, what was she supposed to be? And that was Raymond there in the overalls, looking like a farmer. Some kinda costume party going on here. The children—must of been Emily’s and Raymond’s—dressed up all fancy.

  “Daddy, looky there at that big old house,” Nicole whispered.

  “Yeah.” Donny was remembering crawling through the shoes in an upstairs closet playing Hide-and-Go-Seek on rainy afternoons, and thinking he’d never seen so many shoes in one place before in his whole life, except in a shoe store. Hiding in the pantry and eating everything in sight while he waited to be found. Hanging blankets over card tables in the den to make houses. Jed and Sally in one house, Raymond and Emily in another, and him in a third. They were going to get married so their children could be double-first cousins. And he was going to be like the uncle who came to visit.

  And now Jed was dead? Didn’t seem possible so much time had gone by. He felt a stab of pain.

  He shook himself. Pack of ignorant kids with their self-deceiving games. Wouldn’t never happen to his children. He hoped he could pick up that Christmas tree right quick and get on back to Pine Woods without having to talk a lot of “how are you” junk. Really he wished Rochelle hadn’t been so dead set on coming down here for Christmas. He would of rather stayed in New York and gone to dinner with James and Leon and Lucille and them.

  He realized he’d timed it bad. Maybe they was just back from church or the funeral parlor or somewheres. But would you go to a funeral looking like that? Hell, wasn’t no telling what honkies might do.

  Chapter Four

  Sally

  Sally watched Creech Owl and his brothers lower Jed’s coffin into the ground with cloth straps. Her and Jed’s families and neighbors surrounded her. She imagined how she must look: so young and beautiful to be all alone with two children to raise. And where was the man she’d pledged herself to her life? Where was the father of her babies? Dead on the highway with another woman, with his best friend’s wife.

  She began weeping noisily. Raymond put one hand under her elbow, and the other arm around her shoulders. He was about as comforting as Li’l Abner, showing up at his own brother’s funeral in dirty overalls. Mrs. Tatro joined her, sobbing against her husband’s chest. Sally’s parents clenched the muscles in their jaws and looked embarrassed. The whole Tatro clan took up the refrain, wailing vigorously.

  Sally wasn’t sure she’d ever speak to Mother Tatro again. When the Tatros arrived at her house after receiving the news, Mother Tatro hissed, “If you’d been giving my son what he needed, he wouldn’t of been roaming the highways in the middle of the night!”

  “Now Mother, just stop that!” barked Mr. Tatro.

  Sally had begun sobbing. “I gave him my life. What more could I give him?”

  Was there any truth to this horrible accusation, Sally wondered as his relatives wailed. Hadn’t she devoted herself to Jed and their home and children?

  As she regained control of herself, the Tatros began to quiet down, too. She discovered she could lead them in weeping for Jed just as she used to lead the crowds in cheering for him on the football field. So young and beautiful, and all alone. Where was her sweet Jed? She began weeping again, and so did they.

  Emily was watching her with a look of irony. Now, whatever was that supposed to mean? Emily was a man-hater. You couldn’t expect her to understand how it felt to lose the man you love. Emily thought all week she was being so helpful, but she always said the wrong thing, like agreeing when Sally moaned that Jed was nothing but a low-down bastard. Emily assumed they had all these bonds just because they were sisters. The truth was, they’d hardly seen each other in years. Sally didn’t want to hear that Emily had separated from Justin and was now sleeping with several different women. What a time to pick to tell her something so disgusting. And then she’d acted as though Sally should be pleased she’d told her, saying, “I’m so glad we can finally be up front with each other after all these years, Sally.” Sally had nodded vaguely, wondering what “up front” meant. It had something to do with telling people revolting things about yourself that they didn’t want to know.

  Mr. Marsh dumped a shovelful of dirt into the grave, talking about dust. to dust She remembered Jed asking her in high school when she wouldn’t go all the way, “Who’re you saving it for, Sally? The worms?” And now here he was, his huge muscled body he’d spent so much time building already beginning to decay. She couldn’t believe the door wouldn’t open tomorrow night, and in would clomp Jed, grumbling about who had done what horrible thing at the mill and opening the refrigerator for a beer. Couldn’t imagine not having to mop up the bathroom floor after he left for work. Couldn’t imagine reaching out in bed and being unable to wrap her arms around that big furry chest. She stopped crying and became still, as the reality of the situation began to seep through the hysteria she’d concocted in order not to face it.

  Standing across the grave from her was Hank, looking white and haggard. Betty’s funeral was tomorrow. Sally wasn’t sure if she should go or not. Probably not. Hank was Jed’s friend, but she wasn’t Betty’s. Hank had said to her at the funeral home, “When this is over with, let’s you and me get together and talk it out.” She’d agreed. Maybe together they could figure out why their spouses had done this. But she doubted if knowing that would bring much solace.

  She looked at Joey and Laura, who held Emily’s hands. They looked baffled, kept asking, “When’s Daddy coming home?”

  The limousine dropped off Jed’s parents at their house. Mr. Tatro said, “We be up at Tsali Street directly.” Sally decided she was just about all cried out. Her father was patting her hand. He’d been wonderful, making all the arrangements, sorting out Jed’s messy finances. But there wasn’t much else he could do to comfort her. Jed and she had been dead to each other for such a long time that lowering him into the ground was just a formality.

  She felt bad thinking that way. Just because they were washed up as a couple was no reason for him not to have gone on with a life of his own. He was probably right when he used to insist that she was stuck on herself. But he was pretty stuck on himself too. Really, it was about the only thing they’d had in common.

  He’d been a big man during Raymond’s strike, running around with his rifle. Almost happy, she’d o
f said. Especially compared to how he became later. But then Coach Clancy was found dead in the Whirlpool at the high school with his hands bound behind his back and a plastic bag tied over his head. For a long time they called it suicide. Then the Newland News did an exposé claiming he’d been rigging ball games for his entire career and had been murdered for failing to throw the state basketball championship that year. Jed took it hard, harder than you would have thought normal for a grown man. Started frowning like a clenched fist all the time, till his forehead turned dark red with white frown lines.

  “Coach Clancy couldn’t of thrown games without you knowing it, could he, darling?” she’d asked one night at supper.

  “Sure he could of. You call the wrong play, substitute the wrong player, call a time-out and break up your momentum. Hell, I remember times when I wondered what he was doing. But I thought he knew best, and was watching out for us all.” He rubbed his jaw with his hand, which was trembling badly.

  “But you played the best you knew how, honey.”

  “That ain’t the point. You work hard, play fair, you try to do what’s right. And you’re nothing but a sucker. Other people is just using you for their own gain.”

  She tried to comfort him, but he wasn’t finding her real comforting at that point because the whole town was laughing about her and Hank under the Chevy. Seemed like Jed was the only one who failed to see the humor. Said it would undermine his authority on the job. Maybe it would get back to her father and keep him from making Jed foreman. It wasn’t right—his wife, the mother of his children, running around acting like Betty French in high school.