by Robert Gipe
Mamaw said to Nicolette, “You want your mother to take you out?”
Nicolette clung to Mamaw’s leg, and then climbed into her lap. It surprised me Mamaw let Nicolette do that. But she did, and when she did, she wrapped her arms around Nicolette, moving her hand only to cut off her own light.
Then we were in total dark. Nicolette shifted in Mamaw’s arms. Mamaw said, “What is your Aunt June doing?”
I said, “What do you mean?”
“What is she doing,” Mamaw said, “there in that store building?”
“She’s making a sign,” I said.
For a minute, the only noise was water noise.
Mamaw said, “What kind of sign?”
I wondered would cave bugs run all over me in the dark. Cave rats. And over my baby too. I wondered would they run over us like we weren’t people, like we was rocks, like I couldn’t by moving my finger cause a light to come on and catch them.
“Say!” Mamaw said.
“A big sign for the hillside,” I said. “One a person can read from down in town. Like that one says ‘Hollywood’ in Hollywood.”
“Sign says what?” Mamaw said, her voice coming out of the dark like a radio show.
I said, “Mamaw, you know what she’s doing. You know what her damn sign says.”
“Why?” Mamaw set Nicolette down.
“Stay touching me, Nicolette,” I said.
Mamaw stood and said, “Why’s she doing it?” She sent a rock skipping across the cave pond in the dark. “What’s it supposed to accomplish?”
I said, “I don’t know, Mamaw.”
Mamaw said, “She’s just rubbing people’s face in it.” Mamaw spit. “Like they don’t know.”
The cave dripped and flowed. Nicolette picked up a handful of sand and small rock from the cave floor. She ran it through her fingers, from one hand to the other, like a medicine man’s rattle, like a snake noise.
Mamaw said, “I don’t know where your aunt come from. Want everybody to be happy. Don’t have the first idea how to make one person happy.”
Nicolette grabbed ahold of my hand and I thought, she’s too young to be in here. This is a big scary place and there wadn’t no point to bringing her here. Nicolette let the handful of stone and sand fall through my hand.
Nicolette said, “That feels cool, don’t it?”
I wished I could see her face.
Mamaw said, “What about your mother?”
I let Nicolette run another handful of sand and gravel through my fingers. The darkness sparkled in my eyes like bad fireworks that don’t go off right.
I said, “She’s gone, Mamaw.”
Nicolette put her hand in mine.
Mamaw turned her light on. She waded level as a crane out to where Nicolette dropped her flashlight. Mamaw’s light went first this way then that. Then it moved with her in the direction the water flowed. I turned on my light and pointed it at Nicolette. She sat, her legs folded under her, running her hands through the sand and gravel, picking stones, laying them in her open hand.
She said, “Turn it off, Mommy.”
“Why?” I said.
“Please,” she said.
I snapped off the flashlight. Nicolette began to hum, to sing a song I didn’t know. Mamaw’s light moved farther from Nicolette’s drop spot. Mamaw sputtered like a lawnmower about to need gas. She couldn’t find the flashlight, but she kept looking, her the light,
Mamaw gave up hunting for the flashlight. She faced us from the far end of the pond, said, “That water got more push than you think.” The light from her forehead went from white to yellow. Then it flickered. Mamaw put her hands to her head and shined her light onto the slot in the cave wall we’d come through.
“Step over there,” she said. “Step over to that hole in the wall.”
I pulled Nicolette up by her elbows, felt her shoulders stretch in their sockets. She got to her feet. We stumbled to the slot. I banged my knee. Mamaw splashed up behind us. She come past us and got below the slot just as her light died.
“Lord have mercy,” she said, quiet, like she was really asking.
I turned my flashlight on. It came on yellow too.
“Let that rest,” Mamaw said. She took my hand. I turned my light off. She said, “Give me your foot,” and tapped me on the side of the knee. I raised my foot and she took me by the heel, guided my foot to her knee. “Now raise up,” she said, and as I rose, I felt for the hole. I found it easy enough. The cave water rushed louder. “Go on, honey,” Mamaw said.
I reached and found her shoulder, leaned forward and hit my forehead on the top of the slot. The flashes of bad fireworks come again. The pain shot straight back from my forehead.
I said, “Mamaw, how the three of us gonna find our way out of here in the pitch dark?”
She said, “It aint pitch dark yet. We got your light.”
I got my head through the slot without banging it again. I found a spot to brace myself for when Mamaw reached Nicolette to me.
Mamaw gathered up Nicolette.
“Here she comes,” Mamaw said.
Nicolette stuck her finger in my eye. “Hey, Mommy,” she said like we was in her room, like I was lowering her down in the bed on any normal night.
“Hey, sweet baby,” I said.
She come flying towards me. I went over backwards, hit my head again. Nicolette ended up so close I could smell her Hershey bar breath, the cave water on her cold little carp body.
Mamaw said, “Give me a hand.”
I turned on my light, made sure Nicolette was in a good place. I took Mamaw’s hand.
Nicolette said, “It’s gonna be hot when we get outside. Let’s stay here. Spend the night here.”
I said, “God Amighty, Nicolette.”
Mamaw lay breathing hard. I asked was she OK.
“Your mother,” Mamaw said, “she’ll be back, I reckon. Aint got no money, does she?”
I said, “She took some from June.”
Mamaw said, “June give her money?”
I said, “Momma stole it out of her house.”
“What money?” Mamaw said.
I said, “I don’t mind to tell you, but I’d like to get out of here first.”
Mamaw said, “Well.”
I asked could I use my light and she said yes. I shined it on the path across the shelf and turned it off. When it went dark, Nicolette went, “WHOOOOOOP.” I scuttled along, tortoise slow, hating caves, something always about to gouge a hole in you. I edged along. I went to turn on my light and check how close we were to the edge of the shelf, to the hole at the other end, and my light wouldn’t cut on. I flicked the switch. Flicked it and flicked it.
“Gone?” Mamaw said.
“It won’t turn on,” I said.
“Probably gone then,” Mamaw said.
“Dang, Mamaw,” I said. “Why did you bring such sorry lights?”
She said, “Somebody’s been using my lights.”
“Do you remember the way?” I said.
“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah.” Her voice sounded lost, like the footsteps of a kid at a new school. I wished I could see her. I never much looked at my grandmother. I looked into the darkness where I thought she was. The water echoed faint and small.
“I got her, Momma,” Nicolette said. “I got her around the waist.”
The shelf was dry. It was tight and hard. I wanted out. I tried to think of the way out of the cave and couldn’t remember when we went left and when we went right. I couldn’t remember how long the shelf.
“UMMMMMMMMMMMM,” Nicolette said loud. “UMMMMM.” She laughed—“HA HA”—laughs like slaps. She said, “I can feel it, Mommy. I remember. I remember the song I was singing. It took me almost all of ‘Red Rocking Chair’ to get to where you lifted me up before—here.” Her hand was in mine and she moved me.
“Slow down, baby,” Mamaw said. “There aint no hurry.”
Nicolette said, “We go exactly this fast.” She sang a song she’d
heard at Houston’s. She said, “When we was here, I was singing this: ‘Who’ll rock the cradle, who’ll sing the song? Who’ll rock the cradle when I’m gone? Who’ll rock the cradle when I’m gone?’” We moved with her. “Be careful,” Nicolette said, “there’s a big stickout rock near you, Momma.”
That’s how we found out about this thing Nicolette did. She sang all the time in her mind. My grandfather’s old music went in her head whole. She’d sometimes sing out loud, sometimes not. And her song became how her memory worked. Everything was marked—places, things people said—by where she was in the song when a thing happened. She could play the songs backwards in her mind—“The railroad men they drink your blood like wine,” Nicolette said—that’s where you lifted me down.”
Mamaw said, “Dawn, you be careful, but see if you can find where the dropdown is.”
I scooted feet first, Nicolette humming now, hollow and spooky.
Nicolette said, “Careful, Mommy. You’re close.”
I found it.
Nicolette said, “Remember how there’s kind of a place for your foot off to the side.”
I did remember it. I found my way down into that narrow. “Come on, baby,” I said. “It’s not long now.”
“Mommy,” Nicolette said, “I can’t get Mamaw to move.”
Nicolette put her hand in mine. She led me to Mamaw’s breathing. It sounded like the darkness was chocolate pudding Mamaw was choking on.
“Mamaw,” I said, “are you all right?” She didn’t say anything. I wanted for a light so bad. “Mamaw,” I said again. “Are you all right?”
“She’s all right, Momma,” Nicolette said. “I think she is.”
“Cora,” Mamaw said.
“Yeah, Mamaw,” I said. “That’s right. That’s your name.”
“Cora,” she said again.
“It’s OK, Mamaw,” I said. “It’s OK.”
“Say it,” Mamaw said.
I leaned towards the sound of her voice. “Do what, honey?” I said. Rocks jabbed my knees.
Mamaw said, “Say my name.”
“Cora,” Nicolette said. “Granny Cora.”
“That’s right, darling,” Mamaw rasped.
“Mamaw,” I said. My hands hunted her. Not today, Mamaw.
“Cora,” Mamaw said. My hands found her thighs. I lay a hand on each of her thighs. They trembled. I squeezed them.
I said, “What is it, Mamaw? What’s going on?”
“Cora,” she said. “Cora.”
“Mamaw, please,” I said. “Say something.” My hands found the sides of Mamaw’s face. Her face was still. I slapped her cheek. “Mamaw, please. You’re scaring the baby. Stop playing, Mamaw.”
A hum come out of Nicolette. She rubbed her hands in a way sounded like rain when the clouds roll towards Momma’s house in town, up the steps, coming from the Stone Mountain, sound like sand spilling off a tailgate, sand through a child’s hands. Nicolette’s humming grew, like she had two throats. I put my face to Mamaw’s. The cave water dripped harder. I heard thunder. Nicolette began to sing.
“Dig a hole, dig a hole in the meadow,” she sang.
“What?” I said.
“Dig a hole, dig a hole in the ground.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I said.
“Dig a hole, dig a hole in the meadow.”
Mamaw’s throat rattled.
“Mamaw, no,” I said. “No. You can’t.”
Nicolette sang a song I had not heard my grandfather sing in forever, but had heard when I come to get Nicolette, when we were going to Willett’s for 4th of July: “Dig a hole, dig a hole in the meadow, and lay Darlin’ Cory down.”
Mamaw’s neck gave up. Her head lay loose in my hands, nothing to hold it up but me. I leaned forward, put my face on hers, glad not to see. The cave water tinkled like the bell on a cat’s neck. “It wasn’t supposed to be today, Mamaw.” I held her like she was a doll, like she was mine, like she’d never let me in life. I held her tight as I wanted. I scared myself how tight I squeezed her, like I could squeeze her back to life. Tears came.
Nicolette set beside me, her shins pressed against my ribs. Her hand lay on my shoulder blade, which rose and fell like a sewing machine needle with my crying. Nicolette didn’t say anything. She didn’t sing. She didn’t hum. She sat there. The sound of my crying bounced off the cave walls. I don’t know how long I went on. A while.
Eventually I stopped crying. I set up, raised up from over Mamaw’s body to my knees, which found a sandy spot there in the wedge, the last pass we had to get through before we would be back in the light of day, back on the outside of the mountain.
“You still know the way out?” I said to Nicolette.
She said, “What do we do about Granny?”
I said I didn’t know. “Leave her here, I guess. Till we get some light. Till we get somebody to help us get her out of here.”
Nicolette said, “You don’t think we could do it ourselves?”
I sat there for a minute thinking about it. We didn’t have that long to go. We weren’t that far from getting out. She wasn’t that heavy. I sat there a minute longer. “I don’t reckon,” I said. “We better get some help.”
Nicolette put her hand on my shoulder.
“She’ll be all right in here,” I said. “I reckon.” Nicolette moved her hand behind my neck. She rested her arm across my shoulders. She put her head down on me. I said, “We won’t be long.”
Nicolette said,
“No,” I said. “I don’t reckon.”
“She aint afraid now?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t reckon.”
I never saw anyone die before. And technically I didn’t see Mamaw. I had to feel for her with my hands. Her head and shoulders were braced up on some broken rock. Her arms were spread palm down. Her legs were splayed. She was a starfish. I put my hands on her face. I said, “Where are you, Mamaw?” I put my head on her chest. I cried some more. Her chest was just there, not moving, not a person. Just something you would buy in a store. Something dead.
“Come on, Mommy,” Nicolette said. She took my hand in hers. I stood. She got out front of me. I followed her sure as if she had a light. I stumbled a time or two, but we were soon back where we could see.
The spraypaint and burn on the walls made less sense than before. Scratches of words. Nobody with anything to say. Just trying to make a mark on the world. Wanting to mark it up, say they was here. They weren’t there. Cause when they were, they didn’t have no sense. If they did, they would have left the cave walls alone, wouldn’t they? I mean, who packs spraypaint clean out here? Just so they can fuck some beautiful natural shit like a cave up?
Nicolette said, “I’m sorry I dropped my flashlight, Mommy.”
It was raining hard out the cave mouth. It was a killing rain, beating things down. Raining so hard it blocked out the greenness of the world. That rain come down straight and hard, speeding up, slowing down, speeding up again. It turned everything a hissing gray.
“It’s OK,” I said. “It wasn’t much of a flashlight anyway.”
8
WHAT WAS WHAT
DAWN
When somebody dies, 90 percent of what happens next is fake. Fake people acting sad. Fake people telling you how sorry they are. Some aren’t fake. Some are real. The real ones aren’t hard to deal with, but you got to treat them all like the ones that are really sorry. And that’s what bites. Fake crying. Fake patting on you. Fake looks full of big fake eyes.
The rain was still pouring down when we left the cave where Mamaw died. I picked up Nicolette and started to run. After I’d had to have her lead me out of that cave, it was good to pack her, to help her do something she couldn’t do. Nicolette made herself soft and small. Our weight pounded on my knees. I ran a little ways, then walked while I shifted Nicolette in my arms, caught my breath. Then I ran again.
We came to the path up to Houston’s house, and by the time I come up on Houston’s porch, the r
ain had let up. I set Nicolette down so she could walk up his block steps. Before I could knock on his door, I had to sit down a minute in the straight-back chair he kept by the porch rail. I saw in my mind Houston turned sideways with his elbow on the rail, his hand cupped to the air, listening. Listening. To God knows what.
A bird sang a trailing song. Same thing, same notes, starting loud and strong—tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet tweet. Nine tweets, each less of a tweet than the one before. Over and over out of the bedsheet-white sky. Everything dripped with the rain. Everything sparkled. Other birds began to scree, doing the things they did to avoid getting killed, to make babies, to stay fed. Nothing fancy. Just being birds. My head was on my arm, and my arm was on Houston’s porch rail. My grandfather’s shadow fell on me.
“Bright morning star,” he said. “The precious Misty Dawn.”
His smile was fresh paint on a building better off torn down.
“Hey, Papaw,” I said.
Nicolette told Houston Mamaw was dead. He sat down noisy, creaks and groans, his behind and the heels of his hands slapping the step as he landed beside me. He set there and the eave dripped. The birdsong, the insect drone covered him up. Nicolette came and leaned on me.
I said, “We got to get Mamaw out of Sand Cave.”
Houston looked me in the eye. “All right,” he said.
Houston had a Caprice that ran, especially in summertime. We drove back to where the path to the cave met the Trail. Our flashlights were good and strong. Houston told Nicolette to wait in the Caprice. I wondered what he thought she’d see worse than what she’d seen. But she didn’t say a word. She lay down in the front seat.
When me and Houston got to Mamaw, Houston handed me his flashlight. He crouched and lifted her. He stood there in the light I shined on him, and for the first time it hit me. Houston didn’t live no more in the house where we found him. He lived in a shitty one-room apartment in the High-Rise down in town. Houston held Mamaw’s dead body in his arms. I had a flashlight in each hand trained on him. Like I was a gunfighter, like I was holding a jumprope of light.