The dog’s leg wasn’t bothering him so much as he walked with us back to the house. Bud was soaking wet. Bud told me to run into the kitchen and grab a towel and a couple of biscuits. I got the towel and picked some biscuits from a plate on the stove and ran back outside.
“Give those to the dog,” Bud said, taking the towel. “Your name is Django,” he said to the dog as I held a biscuit up for him.
Then Ma came running out of the kitchen in her coat and sneakers. She ran around the house and out into the street. I shook my head.
“She’ll be all right,” Bud said and he tossed another biscuit to Django. “You have to ask your father if you can keep him.”
“Why?”
“Well, I can’t take him to France with me.”
“Oh.”
“He’s a nice dog, huh?” Bud rubbed Django’s neck and back with the towel.
Daddy stepped out of the kitchen and saw the dog. He looked at me.
“We found him by the pond,” I told him.
Daddy nodded.
“Can we keep him?”
“We’ll see,” he said and walked away.
That night, while we were sitting on the front porch, Django was running all over the front yard.
“He’s a frisky little fella,” Daddy said.
“Hey, Doc,” Bud said, “I’ve got a story for you.”
Daddy sat up, ready to listen.
Bud told the story. “There was this old black man that had a job with the railroad. He was the crossing-tender—he would swing a lantern when the train was coming so people wouldn’t drive across the tracks. Well, there was this accident where the train hit a car. The owner of the car sued the railroad and the only witness was this old black man. At the trial the lawyer questioned that old man up and down, but his story stayed the same and the railroad got off. The railroad’s lawyer was so pleased that he hugged the old man and found him all sweaty. ‘Why are you so sweaty?’ the lawyer wanted to know. And the old man said, ‘I was scared he was going to ask me if that lantern I was swinging was lit.’”
Daddy laughed and so did I. Then there was screaming and McCoy popped out of some bushes across the street with Django right behind him, barking and snapping.
“I guess you can keep him,” Daddy said and sipped his iced tea.
Chapter 17
A light drizzle wakes me and I get up and walk into the cabin. The sun is coming up and I take to fixing some breakfast, bacon and eggs. As I’m sitting at the table eating, my nose picks up a strong smell which is me and I notice that my clothes ain’t offering much warmth. I toss some hay to Renoir and then I drive into Parkdale for a new jacket and some more clothes.
So, I’m in Parkdale in this little clothing store that sells clothes for men, women, and children. I’m in this line that everybody gets in to pay and there’s a little girl behind me and she’s with her mother. The girl must be about eight and she’s hopping mad.
“Mama, I will not wear that dress,” the girl says and the mother is silent. “You can buy all the dresses you want, but they won’t get wore. If they get wore, it’ll be because you put them on.” The child sniffs. “You always pick out my clothes. Why can’t I pick out my own damn clothes.”
Then there’s this loud pop, like flesh against flesh, and the little girl starts bawling something awful. So, her mother hits her again and the girl goes running out of the store. I don’t look back at the mother.
When I’m paying for my things the clerk chuckles and says, “What about a hat?” And he points to this enormous rack filled with cowboy hats and tractor caps. This clerk is very strange; he’s got food all in his mustache and beard and he’s smiling. “Why don’t you buy a hat?”
I’m about to say no when I see a beret. There’s one beret all by itself and I walk over and pick it up. I put it on and I check it out in the mirror and it looks real French. I buy it. I walk outside into the rain and trot to my truck. When I’m about two miles from Parkdale I hear this thumping noise. It’s a steady pounding coming from the back of the truck, so I pull over and stop the engine. After a second or so of quiet the noise starts up again. But the motor is off. I hop out of the truck and walk around back and pull the canvas away. It’s the little girl from the store.
We stare at each other for a few seconds. “What are you doing in here?” I ask and the rain is hitting me harder.
“Riding,” she says. Her eyes are wet.
I drop the canvas and walk back to the cab of the truck. The girl is out and behind me. “Get in the truck,” I says. “I’m taking you back.”
She sits on the ground. “No, you’re not.”
“Just get in the truck.”
She shakes her head and pushes rain off her face.
“Suit yourself.” I climb into the driver’s seat.
“You’re just going to leave me here?”
“Yep.”
“What kind of a monster are you? You’d leave a child sitting in the middle of a muddy road?” She looks up at the sky. “In the rain?”
I don’t say anything. I just start the engine.
She hops up on the running board and screams at me, “I’m pregnant!”
I stop the engine.
“I knew that would get your attention,” she says. “Take me home with you for right now. You can bring me back later. What do you say, sailor?”
I look at her standing there in the rain, her yellow hair starting to mat up. “Get in.” I lean over and open the passenger door and she gets in. I’m driving up the mountain and I look over at her. “How old are you? Seven? Eight?”
“I’m nine, almost nine and a quarter.”
“I see.”
“You been living here long?”
“No.”
“I never seen you is why I asked.” She looks out the window and sighs. “We moved here from John Day just last year.”
“I see.” I sigh.
“I hate it here. All my friends are in John Day.”
“You got a name?”
“Jincy Jessy Jackson.”
“What kind of name is that? Jincy? What’s that short for?”
She looks at me. “Just Jincy. It ain’t short for anything.”
“Jincy, huh?” I pause. “Jincy Jessy Jackson,” I says to myself. It sounds real musical.
“What’s your name?” Jincy asks.
“My name is Craig.” I’m looking straight ahead at the road and the rain is falling harder as we move along the dirt road to the cabin. “This is it.”
Jincy has her face pushed up against the windshield, looking through the rain at the cabin. I stop the truck and we’re out and walking to the door. Renoir is tied to a tree off to the side of the house and he steps forward when we’re close.
Jincy catches sight of Renoir and freezes and then she turns to me and just looks.
“That’s Renoir,” I says.
She looks back at the elephant. “That’s an elephant.”
“Yep.” I look up into the falling rain. “Let’s get inside.”
“You’ve got an elephant,” she says and she’s looking at me with wide eyes. “You got an elephant.”
I step forward and open the door. “Come on.”
She steps up and across the porch and past me into the cabin. She turns back to me. “You’ve got an elephant.”
“Yep.”
“What are you doing with an elephant?”
“Renoir is my pet.”
She’s looking around the cabin. “Not bad.” Jincy walks over and stands beneath a stuffed owl hanging from the ceiling in the corner. She points up. “Former pet?”
“Want something to eat?” I ask and I pull the bacon out of the ice chest. “After we eat, you go back. Okay?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
I stand up straight and look her in the eye and heave a sigh. She starts to pull off her tee-shirt. “What are you doing?” I ask. She pulls it off and turns around and puts her hands against the wall. There are red s
tripes across her back, welts from where she’s been beaten. I turn away and drop the skillet down on the woodstove. I’m frying bacon and Jincy is still leaning against the wall; she’s crying. She’s there against the wall for a long time and I pick up her shirt and drape it over her shoulder.
“You like eggs and bacon?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She wipes her eyes with her shirt and puts it back on. She’s staring at me. “Are you going to take me back?”
I look away from her for a second. “Eggs and bacon is all I’ve got.”
She sits and I finish cooking and we’re eating. The rain is letting up and the sun is trying to show through the windows. Jincy pushes her plate to the center of the table and gets up and walks to the window. She’s looking outside at Renoir.
“How come you got an elephant?” she asks.
“I won him.”
“How?” She looks back at me.
“It’s a long story.” I pick up the plates.
“You’re really going to let me stay?”
“We’ll see.” I pause. “Who beat you?”
“My mama. She’s crazy. She hits me all the time.” She walks back toward me and points at her mouth. “See that tooth?”
I nod.
“See that chipped place? My mama did that when she hit me with the Lava lamp.”
I push my tongue into my cheek and walk over to the sink and drop the dishes in.
“So, I can stay?” She’s right behind me.
I glance out the window and see that the sun is good and out. “Let’s go for a walk. Want to do that?” I turn and look at her.
She nods. “Can I ride the elephant?”
“I don’t know.” I walk out of the cabin and Jincy is right behind me. “I’m not sure if he’s a riding elephant.” I’m looking at Renoir. Jincy is standing close to me, slightly behind, and Renoir walks to me. I stroke his trunk. “Good boy.”
“Can I touch him?” asks Jincy.
“Go ahead.”
She reaches out and pets Renoir’s nose and she becomes bolder and steps out from behind me. “Oh, he’s so cute,” she says.
I untie Renoir and start off into the woods. Renoir is behind and Jincy trots out in front of me and turns around.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Will you help me get up there?” She’s pointing at Renoir’s back.
I don’t say anything. I just pick her up and place her on the animal’s back and she’s as thrilled as can be.
“What do I hold on to?” she wants to know.
I look at the elephant for a second. “Good question.” Then I push her forward toward Renoir’s head. “Now, lean forward and hold on to his ears.” She grabs the tops of his ears and I turn and walk on. Jincy is doing fine and Renoir doesn’t seem to mind. We walk on to the lake.
While we’re standing there I watch this osprey, a white-breasted fishing bird, pull his wings in and streak down into the water and come up with a fish. “Did you see that?” I ask Jincy.
“Yeah,” she says, her mouth open.
I’m really excited, watching this osprey fly off, his big wings beating. Then there’s a loud high-pitched scream and I see this bald eagle. The osprey drops his fish and the eagle catches it and I’m a little sickened by this. No wonder it’s our national bird.
“Did you see that?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
I look back at Jincy on Renoir. “Ain’t that something?”
“What?”
“The way they fly like that.”
She looks up at the eagle. “Yeah.”
There was a hole at the base of one of the walls at the old school. Some bricks were still laying on the ground. Kids used to talk about the green-eyed lady that lived in there, under the floorboards of what was believed to be the cafeteria. Supposedly she would come out at night looking for food because there was nothing left inside. I walked on past the hole and into the sandy playground in back. There was one large tree in the center of the yard, the only shade. I moved toward it. I circled the tree and there was Naomi Watkins. I froze.
“Hello,” Naomi said.
“Hey.” I didn’t look at her. I looked across the playground.
“You going to sit down?” She was staring at me; I could feel her eyes on me. “Please.”
I sat down beside her. “Hey.”
“You said that.”
I smiled at her. “Sure is hot.”
“Sure is.” She threw back her head and tugged at the collar of her dress. “Do you like me?”
“Yeah.” I was sweating.
“No one likes me, you know.” Her eyes were closed.
“That’s not true. My brother, Martin, likes you.”
“He doesn’t like me. He just wants to … I’m sorry about what they did to you.”
“What?”
“You know.” She looked at her crotch.
“Oh.” I recalled Martin making me touch her down there. I rubbed my finger under my nose and imagined that smell. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I was afraid to run.” She closed her eyes again. “They seemed to like me before that.”
I didn’t believe she was afraid. I remembered her smile. “What about when you and Martin were in your daddy’s funeral home?”
She was surprised that I knew.
“I followed Martin.”
“I thought he’d like me if I—”
We were silent for a while. “You’re not very bright,” I said honestly and I looked over at her. Tears were streaming down her face. I wanted to make her feel better, so I decided to confide in her about my mother. “My mother is crazy,” I said.
She stopped crying. “Crazy?”
“Really crazy.” I started pushing my fingers through the sand. “She wears a coat all the time and sneakers and she’s always running around.” I shook my head. “She hates Martin and she won’t leave me alone.”
Naomi looked at me, wide-eyed. “What are you going to do?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Daddy thinks it may be the heat. Bud says she’s just different.”
“Who’s Bud?”
“Bud Powell, the famous piano player. He’s staying with us.”
“I’ve never heard of him.”
“He’s famous. My daddy told me. They even moved in a piano and Bud plays it. He’s real good.” I paused and closed my eyes. “But my mother scares me. There’s no telling what she’ll do next.” I sniffed.
Naomi put her hand on mine. “Do you really like me?”
I opened my eyes and looked at her. I nodded.
The bathroom window was painted shut. Why, I didn’t know, but it was closed for good. So, it was hot as the devil in the bathroom and you made a point of getting in and out as quickly as possible during the afternoon hours. I was sitting on the toilet, perspiring profusely. The afternoon sun was pounding on the window and then the door opened. It was Ma.
“Don’t get up,” she said.
I watched as she snatched the roll of toilet tissue and dashed out. I sat there, stunned, for some time, looking around for paper. Perspiration was pouring out of me. I started yelling for help. “Daddy! Martin! Bud! Somebody!”
Bud poked his head into the bathroom. “What’s up?”
“Ma came in and took the toilet tissue.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“Oh, yeah?” He chuckled.
“I need some toilet tissue,” I pleaded.
“Right.” He backed out and came back with a box of Kleenex. “Here,” he said, tossing it to me.
I finished up and walked out into the front yard and there was Ma. She had draped toilet paper from one oak tree to another at one side of the yard. She sprinted across the yard and through the tissue, striking it with her chest, her arms thrown back. She put up more tissue and did it again. Then again, like winning races. I went back inside. I looked at Bud and then I turned and looked back through the screen door. There were some people standing across the street and they were
laughing. I got really upset and I ran back outside. I grabbed Ma’s coat and started yelling, “What’s wrong with you?! Why do you have to be this way?!”
Ma glared at me and then she hauled off and slapped me across the face. She looked over at Daddy, who had just stepped out of his office. Then she looked back at me and started trembling. She ran off, around the house.
Daddy stepped over to me and dropped a hand on my shoulder. He was looking in the direction that Ma had run. He rubbed my head and said, “It’s all right.”
Chapter 18
A couple of days go by and time is slipping past me like a well-hit ball on plastic grass. Three days of sun and heat and a dwindling mound of hay in front of Renoir. So, one night I drive down the road to that barn full of hay and Jincy is with me and it’s raining.
“Where are we going?” Jincy wants to know.
“Over there.” I’m pointing out across the field at the barn.
“What for?”
“Hay.” I stop the truck and get out and open the gate. I turn off the headlights and approach the barn.
“Why’d you turn the lights off?” Jincy asks.
I look at her. “It ain’t my hay.”
“You mean you’re stealing it?”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that, but yes.”
Jincy says nothing. I back the truck up to the open barn doors and the rain is falling harder. We get out and we’re in the barn and the barn is full of the sound of water hitting the tin roof. I grab a pitchfork and start tossing hay into the back of the truck and Jincy’s just staring at me.
“What is it?” I ask, and when she doesn’t say anything, I says, “Help me out here.”
Jincy grabs another fork and starts throwing hay into the truck and then she stops. She looks up at the rafters and then outside at the night and says, “This is weird. I’m in a strange barn, shoveling hay for an elephant that belongs to a nigger.”
I stop tossing hay and I look at her. She’s looking at me, too, and we’re silent for a spell. I start tossing hay again and soon she is, also.
The morning was almost cool, with a light drizzle and a nice breeze. Ma was running, her first attempt to circle the town, and I was on my bicycle, riding along behind her. Behind me was McCoy in his white Cadillac with another man. Ma kept a good pace for about two miles, but then she began to fall off. By the fifth mile Ma was just falling forward into each step. Then she fell. I got off my bike and ran to her. She was bleeding from both knees and crying.
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