The Sacred Place

by Daniel Black

  Everybody laughed.

  “De docta said wunnit nothin’ wrong you. You jes had a lot o’ energy. He said to let you run and play, and you’d be fine. Now look at you!” Enoch scattered Chop’s miniature afro. “I wouldn’t trade you fu all de money in de world.”

  “I-I-I wwwouldn’t trrrade you nnnneither, Daddy.” Chop smiled. The three lingered in a moment they knew wouldn’t come again soon.

  Enoch loosened his embrace of the boys, and said, “Sarah Jane, you come here, too.”

  She went hesitantly, having concluded that this moment was simply for her cousins to enjoy. Thinking of her own parents, she had resolved to bask in her memory of their love for her and to learn how to thrive from that alone. But she admitted to herself, years ago, that a tangible, visible love would be nice.

  “You my daughter, now, Sarah Jane, and you de most beautiful little girl I done ever seen.” Enoch stroked her plaits nurturingly. “You de only child of my brother, and cain’t nobody love nobody like I loved my brother. So now you mine, too.”

  “D-D-Dis mean Sarah Jane my ssssssssssssssista?” Chop asked.

  “Yes, son, dat’s what it mean,” Enoch chuckled. “She gon be dat forever. Dis is what Jerry and Billie Faye would want, and dis is what we gon do. Now I don’t eva intend to take they place, Sarah Jane. You know dat. I jes want you to have what all de rest o’ us got—somebody who’s livin’ to call yo’ own. And you got dat right hyeah. I love you jes like you mine ’cause you is mine.”

  “That’s right,” Ella Mae reinforced.

  “You ain’t got to bow yo’ head to nobody, thinkin’ you ain’t got no folks, girl, ’cause me and Ella Mae intend to finish what my brother and Billie Faye started.”

  Sarah Jane let her tears flow without wiping them. She had hoped something would come one day to bring closure and healing to her heart, but she didn’t know it would come from Uncle Enoch.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled.

  “Ain’t no thank you, girl,” Enoch corrected. “This ain’t no favor to you. We’s family, and family loves one another, come what may.” He was holding her shoulders sternly and looking deeply into her dark brown eyes. “So don’t you neva thank me for lovin’ you. You understand me?”

  Sarah Jane smiled, and said, “Yessir.”

  “All right then,” Enoch concluded with a wink.

  Jeremiah stood up proudly, laid his hand on Enoch’s shoulder, and declared, “Now! Dat’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout! A man is spose to keep his family together. You cain’t do dat, you ain’t no man.”

  “Amen,” Miss Mary chimed. “Now let’s eat befo’ dis town meetin’.”

  Ten

  EVERYONE MOVED TO THE KITCHEN TABLE AND SAT DOWN quietly. The old clock hanging on the wall read 6:15. “Where’d you go today, Daddy?” Enoch asked while spooning purple hull peas and ham hock portions onto his plate.

  “I jes went for a walk,” Jeremiah said, “so I could think thangs through.” He stabbed the big, fried chicken breast with his fork and hoped Enoch wouldn’t press him further.

  “Where’d you walk?” Enoch pried and smacked.

  “Just … around,” he said in annoyance. “I wuz jes tryin’ to clear my head. Pass me dat cabbage.” He hoped Enoch would be deluded.

  “You walked down by the river?”

  “No!” Jeremiah roared, paralyzing everyone at the table. His forehead wrinkled, and his trembling, arthritic hands dropped the chicken he was holding.

  “What’s wrong wit chu, man?” Miss Mary’s tender voice inquired.

  Sweat trickled down his temples. “Nothin’. I’m sorry. I’m jes … nervous about everything, I guess.” He resumed eating.

  No one believed him, but since no one wanted his wrath, they dropped the matter.

  “Y’all hurrup and eat ’cause de meetin’ gon start pretty soon,” Jeremiah said.

  Sarah Jane knew something was troubling her grandfather, but she decided to ask him about it later. Chop seemed oblivious to Jeremiah’s emotional distress, devouring chicken wings like a bear at a salmon run. At three, he had determined never to eat chicken again, after watching Miss Mary wring one’s neck violently.

  “You ain’t got to eat it, boy,” Miss Mary declared. “Mo fu de rest o’ us. But how you gon fly wit no wings?”

  The day before, Chop had told his grandmother about a dream he had wherein he flew in the sky like a bird. “I j-j-jes waved my arms in d-d-de air and my b-b-b-body started ffffloatin’, Grandma!” he yelled.

  “What?” Miss Mary instigated.

  “I p-promise!” Chop was jittery with excitement. “I-I-I was lllllike a b-b-bird in de sky. Everything w-w-was lllllittle when I-I-I llll-looked down, and de wwwwworld was ssso pretty.”

  Miss Mary laughed broadly. “Well, well, Mr. Bird. I speck you better eat some chicken wings so you can be big and strong.”

  The next day, Chop watched in horror as Miss Mary killed a chicken for dinner.

  “You want de wings?” she asked in jest.

  “No, mmmmam,” Chop refused. “D-d-dat chicken w-w-was cryin’ wwwwwhen you b-b-b-b-b-broke his neck.”

  “But how you gon fly without wings, baby?” Miss Mary asked. “You gotta eat chicken wings so you can grow some of yo’ own.” She dipped the bird in boiling water and began to remove its feathers.

  “For real?” Chop asked skeptically.

  “Dat’s right!” Miss Mary snickered. “How a man gon fly without wings?”

  Chop couldn’t argue, so he concluded his grandmother had a point. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But only the w-wing ’cause I wanna ffffffffffffly.”

  “Then go fly, child,” Miss Mary chuckled as he walked away.

  The evening of the town meeting, Chop ate all the wings he could hold. He had a feeling he might need to fly away quickly—if the white men came again—and he wanted to be prepared. He watched Sarah Jane eat a wing and assumed she, too, knew the secret. Ray Ray always ate the drumstick, and Chop didn’t tell him differently because, in Chop’s eyes, Ray Ray was big and could fight for himself.

  “Who all spose to be comin’ to de meetin’, Daddy?” Ella Mae asked, wiping chicken grease from her hands.

  “I don’t know, baby. We gon see.”

  “You think a lotta folks comin’?” Ella Mae pressed.

  Jeremiah’s frustration rose again, but he dammed its overflow. “You cain’t neva tell ’bout colored folks, honey. We change like de wind.” He prayed his answer would dilute her line of questioning or, better, destroy it altogether. He was trying to eat quickly in order to secure a few minutes alone before the meeting. He had a plan in his head, but thinking about it made him cautious. Jerry’s support certainly strengthened his courage, but it also made him wonder if, in the end, he would have to fight this battle alone. His family’s questions pushed him closer to the edge as he tried furiously to imagine a South purged of racism and hatred. Unable to do so, Jeremiah became agitated with himself for having called the meeting. He looked at the clock—6:40—and shook his head with uncertainty. He couldn’t turn back now.

  “I’m goin’ out to de barn jes in case somebody come early,” he said, and rose prematurely from the table.

  “But you ain’t finished eatin’.” Miss Mary frowned.

  “I ain’t too hungry,” he said, exiting the front door. “Y’all come on out in a few minutes.”

  “I’ll come wit chu now, Daddy,” Enoch offered, rising from his chair.

  “No! I jes wanna think fu a minute by myself. Take yo’ time and eat, boy.” Jeremiah hobbled off the porch toward the barn. When he opened the barn door, he saw Pet Moore.

  “How ya doin’, Mi?” Pet said cordially. He pushed himself up from the rusty, iron fold-up chair.

  “Doin’ fine, Pet,” Jeremiah returned surprised. He had no hope Pet Moore would come to the meeting, much less arrive twenty minutes early. Now that he had, he didn’t know what to say.

  “How’s Gladys?”

  “Doin’ good, M
i. She still fussin’, so she must be all right.”

  The men laughed far past the humor of the statement.

  “You didn’t think I was comin’, Mi, did you?” Pet said as he resumed his seat.

  Jeremiah didn’t know how to answer the question without insulting him. “To tell you de truth, I guess I didn’t, Pet.” He unfolded a chair for himself. “You always wuz de one who played thangs safe, so I didn’t think—”

  “I know, I know,” Pet said, freeing Jeremiah from trying to explain. “But this is different. You know how much I love Possum, and this ’bout her boy, so I had to come.”

  Jeremiah extended his hand. “Thank you, man,” he said, and they shook with all their might.

  “Don’t thank me, Mi. I ain’t done nothin’ yet, but I sho hopes to.”

  The men stared at the ground in silence. They had never been particularly close, and now a touch of intimacy felt strange.

  “Y’all told Possum yet?”

  Jeremiah bit his bottom lip. “Naw.”

  “I don’t blame you. Give it a minute before you make dat girl go crazy. Maybe after tonight, won’t be no need to call at all. You cain’t neva tell.”

  “Naw, you cain’t, Pet.”

  Silence forced its way into the conversation again and brought an awkwardness both hoped another’s arrival might destroy. They looked in every direction but saw no one.

  “I done worked in dat sto’ forty years, Mi, and I’m tired o’ grinnin’ at white folks,” Pet volunteered. “Every day, ‘how ya doin’, ma’am?’ or ‘nice day, sir, wouldn’t you say?’” Pet mocked himself bowing before the white citizens of Money. “And not one time in forty years has any one of ’em asked me how I was doin’. Dat’s a dam shame, ain’t it?”

  Jeremiah nodded.

  “Oh well,” Pet continued, “dey all de same. I thought workin’ in de sto’ was gon make dem like me better ’cause I wunnit out in de fields.”

  “Sh-sh-shit!” Jeremiah hollered. “I know you knowed better’n that.”

  “Look like I didn’t, Mi,” Pet admitted freely. “Dat’s how dey get us. Daddy didn’t know no better either. He used to tell me dat he got mo’ respect from white folks ’cause he didn’t have to go to de field.”

  “Get outta hyeah!”

  “Dat’s what he said. He was foolin’ hisself ’cause dem damn white folks treated Daddy like a dog.” Pet scoured his face as ugly as he could make it. “They called him ‘boy’ when they spoke to him at all, and sometime they didn’t even pay him.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “’Cause they said de sto’ was short on money. Too many colored peoples buying on credit so wasn’t no cash.”

  “That’s a goddamn lie!” Jeremiah asserted. “De Cuthberts de richest people this side of the Mason Dixon line. They ain’t nothin’ but money!”

  “I know. Daddy was jes too proud to go to de field. And since he come from folks who never had to, he promised hisself he wunnit goin’ to neither. He didn’t make but fifty cents a day.”

  Jeremiah jumped to his feet. “What! You have to be lyin’!”

  “Dat’s right,” Pet confirmed.

  “We made a dollar a day choppin’ cotton!” he screamed in disbelief.

  “Yeah, but y’all was out in de hot sun and Daddy thought that was beneath him. So when I took over his place at de sto’, I was surprised at what they told me they was gon pay me.”

  Jeremiah asked, “You been makin’ fifty cents a day for forty years?”

  “Hell, naw!” he corrected. “I been makin’ seventy-five!”

  Both men hollered. Jeremiah couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and Pet was glad, finally, to get it off his chest. They calmed and reoccupied their seats.

  “I told Gladys this evenin’ after Enoch and … um … uhru …”

  “Ray Ray.”

  “Yeah! Ray Ray!” Pet clapped his hands thunderously. “I cain’t neva remember dat boy’s name to save my life.” Pet paused, then went on: “But like I was sayin’, I told Gladys this evenin’ after yo’ boys left dat I wunnit shufflin’ ’round dat sto’ no mo, keepin’ white folks’ secrets as they kill colored folks.”

  “You quit?”

  Pet pondered a moment. “I guess I did. I don’t know what I’m gon do though. I done got too old to be choppin’ cotton and, anyway, I don’t know how.”

  Jeremiah chuckled. Pet didn’t.

  “It’s gon be all right,” Jeremiah assured. “You jes watch how de Lawd work dis out. I was talkin’ to Jerry this afternoon—”

  “Jerry?” Pet frowned. Somehow, Pet’s courageous move had freed Jeremiah, too. “Yeah, Jerry. I went down to de clearin’ in de middle o’ Chapman’s place, and Jerry started talkin’ to me.” Jeremiah looked at Pet, who simply nodded.

  “Go ’head,” Pet encouraged.

  “Well, anyway, I was down there thinkin’ ’bout things. When all of a sudden, I hear Jerry talkin’ to me.”

  Just then Pet glanced out of the barn door and bucked his eyes. “Good Gawd! Looka yonda!”

  Jeremiah stood slowly and gave his bad eyes time to focus. The approaching crowd looked like thousands of black ants marching. He was sure he had never seen that many colored people in one place in his life.

  “You done started some shit now!” Pet said enthusiastically.

  “Well I’ll be doggone,” Jeremiah whimpered. “De Lawd is good!” A smile blossomed on his face.

  “I sho hope you got somethin’ good to say, Mi, ’cause all dese folks is gon be mighty pissed off if you don’t.”

  “Oh, I got somethin’ to say!” Jeremiah proclaimed. “You betta believe I got somethin’ to say!” He hollered out for the rest of his family. “Momma, Enoch, Ella Mae … y’all come on!”

  Watching Jeremiah’s excitement grow energized Pet. He had known he was supposed to come to the meeting, and now he knew why. There was something about the crowd of colored people that made him proud. They looked like soldiers, he told himself, marching to a battle they had postponed too long. He wanted to be one of the fighters—not one of the appeasers of the white enemy. He wanted to go to bed proud of his people and how they decided, one day, to stand up for themselves. But more than anything, Pet wanted to be free of the need for white validation. He desired nothing more than to believe in something simply because it was right—not because white folks said.

  “Good evenin’, everybody,” Jeremiah called to the approaching crowd.

  “How you doin, Mi?” they returned in chorus.

  “Fine, fine.” He smiled broadly. “Y’all come on in de barn hyeah, and we’ll git dis meetin’ goin’.” He whispered, “Ray Ray, you stand at de do’ and let us know if you see anybody comin’.”

  “Yessir.”

  Miss Mary and Enoch, like church ushers, opened the doors and greeted people as they passed.

  “Evenin’,” Enoch must have said thirty times.

  Some folks spoke in return while others nodded. The barn was overflowing with the bulk of Money’s colored population. Enoch hadn’t guessed that so many people would come. He felt a bit ashamed, now, for doubting his people, but a gathering of such size usually only happened at funerals.

  They had long run out of chairs, so as protocol demanded, the elders sat, and the adults and children stood behind them. Miss Mary was the first lady, at least in the Johnson household, and she made sure to touch every hand in the barn. She raved over the babies and teased the children about growing so fast she couldn’t keep up. Then her husband rose.

  “I’m gon ask my boy hyeah to open us up in prayer.” He motioned for Enoch to stand next to him in front of the gathering.

  Enoch hadn’t planned on praying but he certainly couldn’t deny his father’s request. He asked everyone to join hands, then improvised the “Lord’s Prayer.” “Our father, who art in heaven and earth below, hallowed be thy Holy name, they kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is shonuff in heaven. Give us this day and every day our daily bread,
and forgive us, Lawd Jesus, our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, Oh God, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power and the righteousness and the might and the glory forever. Amen.”

  “Yes, Lord!”

  “Amen!”

  “All right now!”

  “Hallelujah!”

  “You betta say that!”

  “Glory!”

  “Oh bless His name!”

  “I’m tellin’ you!”

  “Now dat’s all right!”

  The affirmations stunned Enoch. No wonder preachers love to preach, he thought.

  “Now. Let’s get down to business,” Jeremiah said. The crowd fell silent. “We here to do somethin’ ain’t neva been done long as I been livin’ here.” He hesitated a moment, then said, “Bring colored folks together.”

  “Amen,” people agreed.

  “De Cuthbert boys came to my house dis mornin’ to take my grandson, Clement.”

  “My Lord!”

  “Dat’s right. Cecil was wit ’em, and me and my boy shot and killed all of ’em ’cept Cecil.”

  The enthusiasm died instantly. People began to frown.

  “What’s de matter?” Jeremiah asked in surprise.

  “You killed the Cuthbert boys?” an unidentified voice asked.

  “Hell, yeah! I wunnit gon’ let them take my kids! Not long as I was standing there! What else was I spose to do?” The people’s diffidence left Jeremiah agitated.

  Pet Moore rose, and said, “He did jes what he was spose to do.”

  The crowd hadn’t expected Pet to come, much less stand for anything. But he wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass.

  “Dat’s why we hyeah, y’all—to learn how to take care o’ our own so white folks can stop killin’ us. Mi done buried a son and daughter-in-law, and y’all wanted him to sit back and let them goddamn crackers take some mo’ o’ his chillen?” Pet surveyed his neighbor’s silent faces. “Well, dat’s exactly what happened. They come back later and took Clement.”

  “Oh, Lord,” people cried.

  “So listen to what de man gotta say, and let’s see if we can find dat boy.” He sat down and winked at Jeremiah.