The closer I got, the brighter the lights got. I'd never seen our house so bright. Like Christmas, only brighter. I didn't even know we had enough lights to make it that bright. That's when I seen it wasn't lights a'tall. It was fire! Flames whipped out from the windows and poured from the front door.
"Ray!" I yelled. "Ray?" He didn't answer. I stepped onto the porch. The boards burned my bare feet and hot ash from the flames scorched the front of my hair. I knew I'd be in all kinds of trouble if I went in there, so I ran around to the back. The door was open and that's where I found Ray, sprawled on his stomach, his head twisted to one side. His fingers was wrapped around an old flour sack, black with soot, the edges burned and ragged. Ray's face was burnt bad, but his hands was worse. I heared him breathing, but not the way he breathed the last time I seen him. He breathed like a paper sack with holes in it, whistling and rattling.
"Ray, get up! Get up!" I leaned down and yelled in his ear. He wouldn't answer. I drug his arms over his head and pulled him hard as I could. He didn't budge. Splinters of wood tore into my toes. I yanked at him harder. He moaned real good.
"Ya' gotta help me, Ray! The fire's fixin' to git us both," I said. Which weren't no lie, neither. The flames was moving into the kitchen from the front room. They'd already burned out a corner of the ceiling. It come crashing down with a whooooosh. Nearly scared me dead.
"Come on, Ray! Come on!" I screamed at him, but I couldn't get him to help me none. I went around to his backside to try and twist him about by his feet. The fire'd moved into the kitchen and it weren't long before the flames got hold of the back of my shirt. I felt hot fingers bite into my skin and grab hold of my hair. I wanted to run from that house as far and as fast as I could, to run and never look back. Something inside me said if I run, I'd die for sure. I laid on the floor next to Ray and rolled to the door. Over and over I rolled back and forth between him and the door. Smoke poured from my shirt and my hair. This bad stink come pouring from my head. I reached up and found the fire had give me a haircut. But I had no time to worry about that. Now the fire was done with my hair it was coming for the rest of me. My hands was growing these blisters, hurt something awful. Somehow I got on my knees and pushed myself back onto my feet. Bits of skin was peeling off my face, my clothes was half burned up, and my arms was near black. I screamed for someone to come help us.
"Somebody!" I yelled. "Heeelllp! We needs help!" No one answered. No one a'tall. It was up to me, and that was a real sorry fact 'cause I wan't doing a real good job of helping us none. Then I remembered God might could help us if 'n he had it in mind to.
"You gotta help me git Ray outa here, God, or he's gonna die," I said. I jerked Ray's legs around to the door and tried to drag him down the back steps, but he was just too heavy. The fire was licking at my bare feet, turning my toenails black. "Is that what you want?" I asked. "Do you want him to die?" He must not of wanted him to 'cause the next thing I knew I done drug Ray right out of that kitchen doorway lickety-split. I had strength in my arms come from Samson or somebody kin to him for sure. I was David and the fire was Goliath. I was David and I won. I got Ray out onto the stoop and pushed him a good one right over the edge of the steps and down onto the ground. I drug him clear away from the house. The flames shot out of the windows and swallowed up the rest of the porch. What was left of the house weren't a house no more. It was a stick thing with no walls. The edges was all that was left and the fire was eating those parts up fast. Heat come at us as the flames got madder. I drug Ray farther and farther from what was left of our house. I drug him 'til I couldn't walk no more and fell down next to him in the dirt. The cool air stung the burned skin on my back. My eyes burned all blurry. My nose choked trying to get air, and I was coughing and gagging somethin' awful. Ray wasn't moving none, but air still rattled out of him. His fingers still clutched the flour sack. Bits a' burnt green paper was coming out of the top. I pulled it loose from his hand, and I shouldn't a' done that 'cause his fingers was black and clear melted into the folds. When I yanked that flour sack loose, some of the skin on his fingers pulled clean off with it.
"I'm sorry, Ray! I'm sorry!" I said, but he just laid there. More green bits flew out from the top of the sack. Some of it wasn't burnt at all. Money. It was money! More money than I ever seen in my life.
"Where'd Ray get all this money?" I said right out loud. But I knew. Only one place he could git hisself money like that.
"Good Lord," I said, "don't let me be right where he got all this money." But I knowed. I knowed for sure. I leaned over and threw up some yellow stuff. I didn't know if it was the smoke making me sick or the truth, but I puked 'til nothing more come up.
I checked myself over to see if I made it. My toes was crusty as old bread, my arms black as burnt toast, my hands was all puffed up and blistered, but 'least I was alive. Ray lay at my feet not looking like he was. I could still hear that funny breathing sound coming from his chest, though, so I knowed he was for the time being. I had to run quick and get some help, but first I had to hide the money. No telling why he took it. Most likely he was crazy out of his head with worry and drink, what with Mama leaving him and all. He didn't even know how to cook. Probably went nuts. I was sure when he come to his senses he'd want ta' give it back, make it right, git that job with Mr. Jenkins, make us a regular family. I was sure he would, if he lived. I hid that money in case he did. I figured I'd find a way to git it back later. I had to.
Ray done stole the payroll. He was goin' to hell and the chain gang for sure, Mama and me along with him if I didn't get that money back to the mill.
Chapter Fifteen
Come winter we had our share of problems and a right bit of somebody else's, too. That day our house burned down, Mama and Lexie was over at Decatur Hospital seeing about Little Irl when the ambulance come took Ray over to Grady.
"That's the best hospital for burns, Lori Jean," Mz. Hawkins said. "Couldn't do no better in Georgia."
Which were a good thing 'cause Ray near died and wasn't out of the woods yet. His face was burnt real bad; his hands, too. But his lungs was burnt the worst. They had him in a 'tensive care place. Mama could sit with him, but she had to put special hospital clothes on and paper shoes and a paper cap over her hair even, on account of Ray couldn't be round no germs a'tall. Mama said he was in terrible pain and they give him these shots to help some when it got at its worst.
"Why's it hurt so much, Mama? You'd think the pain would get better by now."
"They gotta peel the dead skin right off a' him, Lori Jean, so they can graft new skin on, honey." Later I heard Mama and Uncle Melvin talking.
"He don't remember the fire, Melvin. How it got started or nothin'. I think he's lost his mind."
"Shoot, Nadine. He's out of his head with the pain is all. Once they git them skin grafts all finished, he'll be a new man."
"I don't know…"
"He might end up a sober one before it's all over," Melvin said. "There's no liquor in him now."
"Maybe so, but they got him plumb shot full a' painkillers. I read me somewhere that kin be just as bad."
"You worry too much, Nadine. You gotta look on the bright side."
"I guess."
"I got Jenkins talked into givin' Ray full-time work soon as he's ready."
"His hands is all burned, Melvin. How's he gonna move them trailers?"
"They'll heal."
"Hope you're right. We gotta get our own place, Melvin," Mama said. "With the baby almost here, there's no room for Lori Jean and me. It ain't right, our being in your way."
"I'm working on that. Jenkins got an old trailer needs work. It'd be right perfect for starters. Set it up right here next to ours," Melvin said. I heared him with my own ears, I did! We was getting us a trailer. Probably nothing fancy like Melvin and Lexie's, but still it'd be ours. I sure hoped Ray'd heal up good, get to work, and show Mr. Jenkins he could pay on that trailer right regular.
Mama said Ray didn't remember about the fire. I wondered
if he remembered about the money. I hoped not. I dragged that sack behind the outhouse before the ambulance come that day. It was still there, buried under as much dirt and scrub brush as I could muster to cover it with, being my hands was all tore up and bleeding from the fire. I was gonna move it to a good hiding spot, soon as I thunk up one. Then I was gonna find a way to get it back to the Scottsdale Cotton Mill clear on over in Decatur. I even had a note all writ up telling them the person who took it near died from pain in a fire and was plumb full of sorrow probably, too, if 'n they could only remember and realize what they done when they was drinking too much whiskey. I asked 'em to forgive him like the Bible says to 'cause he weren't really a crook; he just didn't have no money, so's he took theirs in a weak moment. I told 'em how me and my ma's whole rest of our life depended on it, and we hadn't done nothing so's we'd appreciate it real kindly if they'd forgive the one done it. I didn't sign my name, though. I was a coward for sure. But I reckoned they'd be so glad to have their money back maybe they wouldn't notice or care none.
I planned to put that note in the money sack and set it outside the back door at night when no one would see me. Trouble is, it was 'least ten miles over and ten miles back, so I had to work me a plan. All during the time my back and hands was healing up I worked on thinking me up a plan, but my brain couldn't think one up. I talked to Carolee at her grave spot even, hoping that would help me, but it didn't.
I healed up pretty fast. Turned out I weren't hurt real bad from the fire, even though it looked like I was. My hair got burned good and Wanda cut it off 'cause she said I looked like Orphan Annie. I didn't know that girl none, but I felt right sorrowful for her on account of her hair being burnt up like mine and her being a orphan to boot. Now I had me a bowl cut; looked like one a' them boys. If that little orphan girl looked like me, she was one pitiful sight 'cause I looked like the dickens, I'm tellin' ya'.
The part hurt the worst was my fingers. They was blistered bad, but the nurses fixed them up at the hospital and the doctor bossing them around sent me home that same day. My back got burned some, but that same doctor told me I'd probably not have any scars from it. Fancy that.
All during that time Mama was plumb wore out worrying about Ray healing up. She was fussing on Lexie and Irl, too. Lexie wan't supposed to be having a hissy fit about anything, her growing the new baby and all, but Irl's fever, it got real bad so they took him on back to the hospital. He just got worse 'stead of better. He couldn't breathe even. They took him over to Grady Hospital in Atlanta to this special doctor who only takes care of kids, and he told Lexie and Melvin that Irl got the terrible virus kids was getting all over the land and his lungs was paralyzed. Polio! That was the scariest word in the whole world for folks with little childrens. Doctors was going plumb crazy trying to find a vaccine or something and one of them, he said he found one. Whatever it was he found, he put it in these tiny little bottles and they started shipping that stuff all over the place. Mz. Pence said we was all gonna get vaccinated for it at school as soon as more of that stuff made it to Georgia. They run out. A really good doctor named Jonas Salk is the one found it and he got a prize for it and everything. I think them doctors had theirselves a contest over who could find a vaccine first. All of them wanted to be the one to win the prize. Then they'd get famous, too, 'cause that Jonas Salk doctor, he got hisself famous for sure. He was in the paper all the time.
What he done was take some of that virus he found and give it to these monkeys and growed it in their bodies. Then he got that virus out of them monkeys somehow. Guess he made 'em throw it up or something and then he cooked the virus up while it was alive, I think, and then he put it in these little bottles and some nurses stuck a needle in the end of them bottles and got the medicine out so they could stick us good in the arm. I read all about it myself in the paper, but most of it was pretty confusing, so don't hold me to none of the facts.
Cooking up that virus and putting it in a needle to shoot into my arm scared me worse than just taking my chances.
"I ain't gonna git me one a' them shots, Mama," I said. "They done took that polio they give them monkeys and cooked it down 'til it fits on needles. Now they wanna stick them same needles got that polio on it, right in ta' our arms."
"Oh hush, Lori Jean," Mama said. "Them doctors know what they're doin'."
"I don't know," I said. "Sounds right stupid to me. MeeMaw said somethin' don't make sense, be careful, it's probably a duck."
"Lori Jean! What in the world are you talkin' about?" Mama said.
"I'm talkin' 'bout that polio medicine they cooked up and what MeeMaw said about them ducks."
"What in thunder?"
"Don't you 'member, Mama? MeeMaw said if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, must be a duck."
"Well, she weren't referrin' to no polio vaccine."
"Well, she was talkin' 'bout usin' common sense to tell what was what, that's for sure," I said. "And I don't rightly know if them doctors know what they's doin'. So alls I'm sayin' is, I'm not havin' me one a' them shots, 'til they do."
"You're takin' that shot, Lori Jean, and I don't want ta' hear no more nonsense, ya' hear?" Mama said. "You want to end up in one of them iron lungs? Stuck in a long metal tube with jist your head stickin' out? Is that how you want to spend the rest a' your days? Huh?" she said.
Since she put it that way, I reckoned I best git me one of them shots. That doctor fella, Jonas Salk, he might could know what he was doing. He got hisself a prize and everything. Maybe if they woulda had some of that medicine ready for Little Irl he wouldn't of got so sick. Later that week they put him in that iron lung. Lexie got so hysterical the doctor give her a shot so's she wouldn't go having the baby right then and there.
That night I seen a picture of one a' them contraptions in the Decatur Daily Press Melvin brought home. It was terrible. The picture was kinda fuzzy, but I could still see it pretty good. It showed a little boy no older than Irl stuck in a long silver thing, looked like a bullet. His little head was poked out one end. He had light curly hair and nice pudgy cheeks, but the saddest eyes I ever seen. The headline said March of Dimes to Aid Victims. The article said to give everything you could when the volunteers come to the door. I only had me seven dimes from helping Maybelle, but I put 'em in a jar by the front door, so's I'd be ready when they come. I wanted to call the paper and tell them to please send the March of Pennies people, too, 'cause I had me a whole fistful of pennies. I wanted to let them know lots of folks round here don't have theirselves many dimes left once they buy groceries, but most got plenty pennies they might could give. I set out for Mz. Hawkins's place so's I could use her phone to call 'em, but it wasn't working, so I couldn't. Somebody pulled the phone line off her house and it weren't fixed yet. She showed me where it connected right up near the porch and where somebody pulled it out. She was real mad about it.
"When I get my hands on who done it, Lori Jean, I'm callin' the authorities, I am!" she said. I knew she would, too. She called the law Halloween when Stubby Painter and Clarence Jackson egged her windows after she wouldn't give 'em any candy. She told 'em to go back to their own kind for candy and stay away from white folks' houses. The law come to get 'em, but Mz. Jackson, Clarence's ma, she talked the sheriff out of taking them in when she promised to wash Mz. Hawkins's windows for free. She did the inside, but Odell Jackson, her husband, had to do the outside and he weren't none to happy 'bout it. I think he would of rather they hauled Clarence on off to jail. He didn't like Clarence much. Odell and Miss Pearlie had themselves about twelve kids. Every time I seen Miss Pearlie she was having herself another baby. I figured she must really like kids or something, but Mr. Jackson he sure didn't like Clarence none. He whipped him bad all the time, he did. Later Mr. Jackson whipped him with a cat-o'-nine-tails for throwing them good eating eggs at Mz. Hawkins's house, which weren't no surprise. Sometimes Mr. Jackson whipped Clarence for no reason a'tall. Sometimes just 'cause he didn't like the grin on his face, Clarence said. Clarenc
e had these scars all over his back on account of those whippings.
"Mz. Hawkins," I said. "I sure hope it weren't Clarence Jackson done it. He been whipped so bad by his daddy, he got scars all over his back."
"If that boy's got scars, he must have earned them," she said.
"I don't think so. Clarence said sometimes his daddy whips him jist 'cause he don't like the grin on his face," I said.
"Well, there you go, Lori Jean. That boy give his daddy some smartmouth grin, he ought to be whipped. Teach him a thing or two."
"No, ma'am," I said. "He weren't bein' smart. He was jist bein' happy."
"Is that so? Is that what he told you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
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