“What would you think of Clay-Boy’s going to college?” asked Miss Parker.
“Lord, Miss Parker,” replied Olivia. “We never thought of anything like that. We always vowed we’d put every one of the children through high school, but even that’s a strain. We’ve got nine of them to feed and clothe and I’ll tell you the honest truth, we just have to stretch every penny as it is.”
“But,” said Mr. Goodson, “if a way were provided, would he be allowed to go?”
“Well, certainly he could go if he wanted to,” replied Olivia, “but let me say one thing here and now; I don’t want to see this boy get his hopes all up and then be disappointed.”
“That is something we will have to risk,” said Miss Parker. “And you must understand that, Clay-Boy.” She looked at Clay-Boy and he nodded gravely.
“Just what did you have in mind, Miss Parker?” asked Olivia.
“It seemed to me such a crime that Clay-Boy’s education should end with high school that I mentioned it to Mr. Goodson. He suggested that we apply for a scholarship and he has taken the liberty of finding out what scholarships are available at the University of Richmond. Mr. Goodson went there himself and I also happen to know that it is an excellent school.”
“I found that a limited number of scholarships are still available,” said Mr. Goodson. He hesitated a moment and then continued. “However, these scholarships are of a rather specialized nature.”
Clay-Boy braced himself. He knew that the qualification that was to follow was a ticklish one.
“What Mr. Goodson is trying to say,” said Miss Parker, “is that the only scholarships left are ministerial.”
“I don’t know too much about scholarships,” said Olivia. “What kind is that?”
“It means that if Clay-Boy were to receive one he would be obliged to become a Baptist minister,” replied Miss Parker.
Until now Olivia had worn a look of bewilderment mingled with hope, but now the hope vanished completely.
“You mustn’t refuse us until you’ve heard us out, Mrs. Spencer,” said Miss Parker.
“I’d be wasten your time to let you go on,” said Olivia. “I’ve heard enough now to know that it’s something that just can’t be.”
“I fully understand that Clay-Boy has never felt any special call to be minister, and we would be playing a small deception on the University to pretend that he has, but it does offer a way for him to go to college, and even a ministerial education is better than none.” Miss Parker cast an apologetic glance at Mr. Goodson, but he was nodding quietly in agreement.
“Oh, I realize all that,” said Olivia, “but it just can’t be.”
“Maybe not,” said Miss Parker, “but it’s worth a try.”
“No,” said Olivia. “We can’t even do that.”
“I don’t understand why not,” said Miss Parker. She was determined to overcome any reasonable objection.
“The reason is,” said Olivia, “his daddy would have a fit.”
“If Mr. Spencer is willing to make the sacrifices you’ve already mentioned to put his children through high school, he must have a great respect for education,” said Mr. Goodson.
“Oh, he’s got respect for education all right,” said Olivia, “but if there’s anything in the world he can’t stand it’s the Baptists.”
“I know that Clay is not what you might call a formally religious man, but I don’t see why he should let that stand in the way of Clay-Boy’s education.”
“My husband might go along with it if it was anything but Baptist, but you just mention the word and he sees red.”
“What exactly has Clay got against the Baptists?” asked Mr. Goodson.
“I wouldn’t blacken my tongue by sayen some of the things he says against the Baptists,” declared Olivia. “You don’t know how it worries me. Sometimes when I think of all these little children comen along to hear the things that man says. It’s awful.”
Their attention was drawn suddenly to someone who appeared in the doorway. She was looking at Mr. Goodson and she announced to him in a grave voice, “I got to poop.”
Clay-Boy rose and grabbed Pattie-Cake angrily by the hand and led her into the bathroom.
Sitting on the toilet and looking up solemnly at him with her big brown eyes she said, “You goen to be a preacher, Clay-Boy?”
“No,” he growled, “and don’t you ever let me hear you say that again!”
“All right, Clay-Boy,” she answered, but she continued to regard him with troubled eyes.
“I don’t want you to go away, Clay-Boy,” she said.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said harshly. “I’m never going to get away from here. I’ll rot right here in New Dominion for the rest of my life.”
“That’s nice.” said Pattie-Cake.
“Aren’t you through yet?” demanded Clay-Boy impatiently.
“No,” she said, and put her elbows on her knees, cupped her chin in her hands, and looked blissfully off into space. Clay-Boy went to the door, put his ear to the keyhole, and tried to listen to the conversation in the living room, but the voices were muffled and he could not hear what they were saying.
“I hear my Daddy,” squealed Pattie-Cake all of a sudden. In the same second she jumped from the toilet and tried to run past Clay-Boy and out of the room.
“You wait a minute,” he said and grabbed her. “You can’t go out there without any pants.”
As he was putting Pattie-Cake’s pajama bottoms on her, Clay-Boy listened and realized that she was right. Somewhere down the road his father and a group of the men he worked with were on their way home. They were singing a song that Clay-Boy had heard them sing before. The opening lines were:
I’ve got a girl in Baltimore,
Streetcar runs right by her door,…
The closing lines of the song were extremely suggestive.
Clay-Boy spent the next few minutes praying that temporary deafness might visit his schoolteacher and the minister, but when he walked into the living room he could see that they had heard and understood every word of the bawdy song.
Everyone had been intently studying some spot in the linoleum that covered the floor. Olivia rose suddenly.
“Excuse me,” she said and went through the hall and out onto the front porch.
“Clay,” she called and then again, louder, “Claaaay!”
From down at the gate Clay separated himself from the group of men he had walked home with and called over his shoulder to them as they walked on up the road.
“That woman loves the tar out of me. Can’t wait for me to get home.”
A chorus of good nights and farewells followed his unsteady progress up the walk. At the foot of the steps he stopped and looked up at Olivia.
“If I can make it to the top of them steps,” he said, “I’m goen to haul off and kiss you, old woman.”
“You behave yourself,” she admonished. “There’s company in the house.”
Suddenly he bounded up the steps and grabbed Olivia up in his arms with her feet off the floor and waltzed around and around the front porch with her. Paying no attention to her pleas to be put down he kissed her again and again.
“Clay, there’s company inside. You stop it,” she implored.
“I love you, woman,” he declared and slapped her happily on the behind.
Clay was so intent on expressing his love and Olivia was so busy trying to release herself that neither of them heard Doctor Campbell walk up on the porch. He regarded them with amusement and was grinning broadly when Clay grew tired of his loving and lowered Olivia to the floor after giving her one final bone-breaking hug and a kiss that was intended for her cheeks but landed somewhere near her ear.
“Good evening,” said Dr. Campbell.
“What are you doen here, Doc?” asked Clay, as he released Olivia.
Doctor Campbell held out the piece of paper containing Clay-Boy’s message. “According to this note Donnie has a broken neck.”
> “Oh God,” wailed Clay and turned to Olivia. “Is that what you were tellen me?”
Composed now, Olivia explained, “Donnie fell out of his high chair a while ago and knocked himself out. He’s all right now.”
“Perhaps I’d better take a look at him just to be sure,” offered Doctor Campbell.
“That’s real good of you, Doctor,” said Olivia, “but I’m sure he’s all right. Why don’t you come on in, though? Maybe you’d like a cup of hot coffee?”
“As a matter of fact I would,” said Doctor Campbell.
Clay turned to enter the house but he found his way blocked by Olivia.
“What are you standen there for, woman,” he demanded.
“Before we go in, Clay, you better know that the Baptist preacher’s in there.”
“What’s he tryen to do, get thrown out of the Baptist church again?” Clay said in a voice that could be heard for miles.
“Him and Clay-Boy’s teacher come down here tonight to talk to us. It’s somethen about Clay-Boy and I want you to listen to what they’ve got to say and not use any bad words.”
“Doc Campbell,” said Clay. “This woman just can’t seem to get it through her head that I’m a natural-born cusser. If I couldn’t cuss I couldn’t talk.”
“It’s a bad habit, that’s all it is,” said Olivia with weary disapproval. It was an argument she knew she would never win, yet she felt it her Christian duty to register her position from time to time.
Olivia stood aside and opened the door. Clay led Doctor Campbell down the hall and into the living room. Doctor Campbell entered first and shook hands with Mr. Goodson and Miss Parker. Clay stood at the door for a moment. First he smiled at Miss Parker, then went over, took her hand and nodded silently. Next he went to Mr. Goodson, took his outstretched hand and smiled cordially.
“I’m happy to see you, Clay,” said Mr. Goodson.
Clay smiled again, nodded agreeably and sat down. Clay-Boy looked at his father anxiously. It was unusual that he had not spoken. Usually he entered a room and set everyone in it at ease with a single remark, but now he had not said a word and showed no intention of saying anything.
They all sat in silence. The only sounds in the house came from the kitchen where Olivia was preparing coffee.
The living room was so deathly silent that Clay-Boy became conscious of his breathing and tried holding his breath until his face turned red and he had to breathe again. When he finally began to breathe again he drew in his breath with such gulps that all faces turned on him and he became the center of attention. He turned his face imploringly to his father, but Clay merely sat nodding and smiling politely.
Miss Parker cleared her throat, turned to Clay and said, “It’s been a great honor to have your son in my class.”
Clay nodded but spoke not a word.
“I don’t believe anyone in the history of the school has made such a brilliant record as Clay-Boy has,” continued Miss Parker bravely.
She waited for some response from Clay. He nodded companionably, but a look of desperation had crept over his face. Clay-Boy had been studying his father closely ever since he came into the room. At first he thought his father was drunk and could not talk, but he discarded that idea. Clay was sitting quite straight and his eyes showed none of the brightness that whiskey sometimes put there. The trouble seemed to Clay-Boy to be that his father looked as if he were going to explode any minute.
“Daddy, are you all right?” Clay-Boy asked.
“Damn it all, I never been better, boy, but your Mama said for me to watch the way I talked and I ain’t been able to open my mouth for fear I’d say somethen wrong.
“You see, ma’am,” said Clay to Miss Parker, “ever since I was six years old I been usen cuss words and I reckon I’m too old a rooster to change. Oh, it bothers the old woman in there that I don’t talk like somethen out of a pulpit, but I can’t help it. I learned to cuss before I learned to walk. Now if that bothers anybody they can march their tail right out of here, but I’m in my own home and I’m goen to talk the only way I know how.”
Miss Parker began to take hope. At least Clay was communicative and she preferred that to the idiotic head-shaking he had been doing when he first came into the room.
“Now that’s said and done,” said Clay, “what the hell is goen on here?”
“We came to explore the possibilities that young Clay might go to college,” said Mr. Goodson.
Clay’s expansive mood left him. He looked at Clay-Boy sadly. “There ain’t the chance of a snowball in hell,” he said.
“Mr. Spencer,” said Miss Parker, who was becoming so accustomed to the swearing that she barely flinched at each new word, “I think if you’ll listen to Mr. Goodson a moment you might see that there is a possibility.”
“I’m listenen,” said Clay.
“Miss Parker spoke to me some time ago about young Clay,” said Mr. Goodson. “I wrote to some friends at the University of Richmond and found that they still have a few scholarships available.”
“What kind of ship is that?”
“A scholarship is a fund set aside to help students who might otherwise not attend college at all. My guess would be that young Clay would stand a good chance of winning one.”
“It’s some kind of contest. Is that what it is?”
“No, you just have to fill out an application. I’ve taken the liberty of writing to the University and asked them to send young Clay an application. When it comes he’ll fill it out, you and his mother sign it, and return it to the University. A record of his schoolwork will have to be sent to them at the same time and I’m sure Miss Parker will see to that.”
“Yes indeed,” nodded Miss Parker.
“Boy,” said Clay, “if this thing comes through we’ll get you down to Richmond somehow. If we can’t get you a ride with somebody goen that way we’ll find bus fare for you.”
Olivia entered carrying a tray of cups and saucers already filled with coffee.
“Clay,” she said, “it isn’t as easy as all that. All a scholarship takes care of is the admission. He’s still got to have a place to sleep and somethen to eat.”
“What kind of cheap outfit are they runnen, they don’t let the scholarship take care of everythen?”
“Clay, don’t you have a brother down in Richmond?” asked Dr. Campbell.
“My brother Virgil’s down there. He’s worken down there. That’s a fact,” answered Clay.
“Maybe he’d take Clay-Boy in with him. That would take care of his room and board,” suggested Dr. Campbell.
“That’s asken a lot of a man, even a brother,” said Clay, “To take some little old shirttail boy in and live with him. Virgil’s down there chasen women and liven like a dude. Clay-Boy would just be in his way.”
“No, I wouldn’t, Daddy,” said Clay-Boy emphatically. “I’d be studying.”
“Boy,” said Clay, “there’s another thing. You ain’t never been to no big city. You wouldn’t know how to get on a streetcar. I know how it is with cities. Virgil took me down there to Richmond one week end and it nearly scared the pie out of me. Cars goen every whichaway and fire trucks janglen up and down the street all hours of the night and so many people you wouldn’t believe it if you saw it. You’d get lost down there.”
“He probably will get lost,” said Miss Parker, “but not for long. I know that Clay-Boy is special to you, Mr. Spencer, because he’s your son. But he’s very special to me. I’ve been teaching school here in New Dominion for almost thirty years. I’ve taught my boys and girls to recite Shakespeare, and I’ve tried to open to them some of the beauty and wisdom they can find in books. I’ve taught them a little bit about how their government works and hope I’ve instilled in them some idea of the majesty and wonder of people governing themselves. I’ve tried to teach them in geography class that this is an enormous world full of opportunities for growth and learning and achievement. Once in a while a child comes along with a hungry look in his eye. He�
�s not content just to memorize facts. He wants to know, he has an inquiring mind, and everything he learns only whets his appetite to learn more. Your son is such a boy, Mr. Spencer. I’ve taught him everything I know and he’s still hungry. If the day comes that I go past the mill and see him stooped over a polishing machine, I think I will give up the teaching profession.”
Miss Parker had made more of a speech than she had intended and she was near tears, but she tried to hide her distress behind her handkerchief.
“I wish I had a bottle,” said Clay. “I’d offer you a drink. But the old woman pours out every bottle she finds so I don’t bring it in the house no more.”
“Thank you anyway,” said Miss Parker.
“I’ll tell you something,” said Clay. “I never had no education myself, and maybe that’s why I appreciate what a education means. I went to school maybe four or five days in my life, just long enough to learn a little writen and how to read a little bit and enough arithmetic so I can tell when the company’s cheaten me on my pay. I admire a man with education and it’s always been my heart’s craven for my babies to get better than I had.”
“Clay,” said Dr. Campbell. “One of the trustees of the University of Richmond lives up in the part of Nelson County I do. I’d be glad to speak to her on Clay-Boy’s behalf if you’re willing.”
“I don’t see how I could hardly say no, Doc.”
“I take it then,” said Mr. Goodson, “that you have no objection to Clay-Boy’s at least applying for the scholarship.”
Clay considered for a while. After a long pause he looked at Clay-Boy and asked, “You want it, boy?”
“Yes sir,” answered Clay.
“Suppose you go down there and fall on your butt?” said Clay.
“I won’t… fail, Daddy,” promised Clay-Boy.
“All right then, boy. I’ll talk to Virgil about it and see if he’ll take you in. Then you go down there and show them city folks somethen they never saw the like of before.”
“I take it then that you will sign young Clay’s application?” asked Mr. Goodson.
“I by-God will,” swore Clay.
“Very well,” said Mr. Goodson, “I’ll get the application to you right away.”
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