by Daniel Black
Within minutes, a crowd gathered around the Peace clan as though Paul were a celebrity. Or a freak. The frowns and whispers were more than Emma Jean could bear.
“What happened to that child?” W. C. asked Gus. “Who did that to her?”
Sugar Baby laughed and shouted, “He all right now! He all right now!”
The crowd awaited a response, but Gus said nothing. He tried to lead the family into the church, but the crowd blocked his way.
“Emma Jean?” Miss Mamie called. “What happened to that girl?”
“He ain’t no girl,” Emma Jean slurred. “He’s a boy. Now.”
“What! What chu mean ‘he’s a boy now’?”
Gus intervened. “Let it go, Emma Jean. They ain’t gon’ understand. You can’t make this make sense to nobody.”
The family pressed through the crowd and into the church.
“I told y’all that heffa was crazy!” Miss Mamie said. “Didn’t I tell you? Lawd have mercy! Ain’t no tellin’ what that woman done done to dat chile. How you make a li’l girl into a boy? Huh? Somebody tell me dat!”
Folks shook their heads sadly. W. C. urged everyone into the church, saying, “Mind yo’ own business. I guess we’ll know soon enough.”
Sandwiched between Emma Jean and Authorly, Paul slumped in shame. He heard every whisper, joke, and cackle as though people’s voices had been amplified. Didn’t they know their words hurt? Didn’t they care?
Reverend Lindsey emerged from the pastor’s study, wondering about the source of the commotion. He glanced across the congregation without noticing what everyone else had already seen. “Somebody give us an opening song,” he said.
Miss Mamie stood and sang, “I woke up this morning with my mind!”
The congregation filled in the chorus: “Stayed on Jesus!”
“Yes, I woke up this morning with my mind!”
“Stayed on Jesus.”
“Hallelujah, I woke up this morning with my mind!”
“Stayed on Jesus.”
Together, everyone sang, “Hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelu . . . jah!”
Miss Mamie waved her arms, stared at Emma Jean, and sang, “It ain’t no harm to keep yo’ mind!”
Emma Jean stared back and mumbled with the crowd, “Stayed on Jesus!”
After the song, W. C. bent to one knee before a rusted fold-up chair and prayed, “It’s once more and again we come befo’ Yo’ throne, Lawd, like empty vessels befo’ a full fountain. You didn’t have to wake us dis mornin’, but You did, Lawd, and we can’t neva thank You enough. Sometime we don’t understand Yo’ ways, Lawd, but we know dat You sits high and looks low, and everythang You do is holy and righteous. Send us Yo’ power, Lawd, so we know how to walk right and talk right and treat our neighbor right. We cain’t do nothin’ ’til You come, Lawd, so we ask that You come on down and be in dis heah service, Lawd, and let de Holy Ghost have its way. Sometimes thangs happen we jes’ don’t understand, Lawd, but I ask You right now to give us understandin’.”
“Yes!” The crowd shouted. Reverend Lindsey frowned.
“. . . ’Cause You told us in Yo’ word that with all thy gettin’, get understandin’, so I’m prayin’ for understandin’ right now, Lawd!” W. C. paused, clapping his hands vigorously, then added, “Visit de Peace household, Lawd, and give ’em comfort in dis time o’ distress.”
When Reverend Lindsey looked up, his eyes fell on Paul. W. C. had completed the morning prayer, and now the congregation sat in silence.
Authorly wanted to rise and scream, What is you lookin’ at, Reverend! but he already knew, and, unfortunately, he had no explanation.
Reverend Lindsey couldn’t speak. He blinked two or three times, but never closed his mouth. W. C. dismissed the congregation to Sunday school.
“Am I seeing things?” he asked W. C. once the sanctuary emptied.
“Nawsir, you ain’t seein’ thangs. I don’t know what happened. Gus wouldn’t say nothin’.”
“It is a little girl, right?”
“I don’t know. Emma Jean said it’s a boy now.”
“What!”
“Dat’s what she said. Then they walked on in the church like they do every Sunday.”
“Oh God.”
“Yeah. It’s crazy. I mean, it’s really crazy.”
Paul attended Sunday school with a bowed head. The teacher tried to ignore him, but couldn’t help staring. Mister reminded her several times of the topic and eventually she dismissed Paul from her mind with the wave of a hand. He appreciated the gesture. Eva Mae decided she’d get to the bottom of this after church. Perfect was her best friend, and she felt she deserved to know.
Before Reverend Lindsey preached, he said, “I don’t do this often, but I’m gon’ ask Emma Jean if she wouldn’t mind singing ‘Amazing Grace.’ I feel like I need to hear that this morning.”
Emma Jean tried to deny the request, but the crowd insisted. Yes, she was crazy, and, yes, ain’t no tellin’ what she had done to that chile, but everyone in Swamp Creek forgave her shortcomings whenever she opened her mouth to sing. The opportunity to hear Emma Jean croon was simply a blessing no one was willing to forego. She rose, like a timid child awaiting reprimand, and shuffled to the front of the church. Gus stared out of the window, anxious for church to be over yet grateful it hadn’t been as bad as he had imagined. At least not yet.
Paul lifted his head for the first time when Emma Jean began, sweetly, “Amazing Grace, shall always be my song of praise.” She closed her eyes as tears poured. “For it was grace that bought my liberty. I do not know, just why He came to love me so. . . . He looked beyond my faults and saw my needs.”
“You better sang, Emma Jean Peace!” people shouted. Hands were raised all over the sanctuary. Any minute now, they knew, Miss Mamie would faint under the power of the Holy Ghost.
“I shall foreeeeever lift mine eyes to Calvary!” Emma Jean belted. “To view the cross, where Jeeeesus died for me, how marvelous!”
Miss Mamie collapsed. Usher Board Number One fanned her violently as W. C. carried her out.
“. . . was the grace that caught my falling soul.” Tears dangled from Emma Jean’s chin. “He looked beyond my faults and saaaaaaw my needs.”
She returned to her seat as the congregation dried their weepy eyes. She needed the song, too, she thought, and now she felt a little better. Of course Paul’s situation was all her doing, but if God and Gus could look beyond her faults, she didn’t give a damn what other folks said.
After service, the congregation reconvened outdoors in front of the church. Gus had hoped to load the family onto the wagon and escape without incident, but that didn’t happen.
“What’s wrong wid that girl?” Snukey Cunningham, W. C. and Mamie’s oldest grandson, asked. He and Authorly were only a month apart, but Authorly was twice his size.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong wid him,” Authorly said.
“Him?”
“That’s what I said.”
“How she get to be a him? She was wearin’ dresses last week!” Other boys chuckled.
“It ain’t none o’ yo’ business, Snukey, so just leave it alone.”
“Oh, he must got a split and a ding-a-ling! So he can switch back and forth whenever he want to!”
Authorly pushed Snukey to the ground and pounced upon him. Children began screaming, afraid Authorly might hurt him.
W. C. came running. Snukey’s blood was dripping from his nose onto his good white Sunday shirt. “Cut that out, boys! I said, cut that out!” Gus hadn’t said anything. “You boys know better’n dat. Y’all on church ground!”
“He ain’t got no business talkin’ ’bout my li’l brother,” Authorly panted.
“That ain’t no boy! And if it is, he gon’ be a faggot the rest o’ his life!”
Authorly swung past W. C. and slammed his clenched fist against Snukey’s left ear. The ringing lingered for days.
“I said stop it! That’s enough! I don’t wanna hear nothin’
else ’bout it.” He handed Snukey a handkerchief. “You go on home, and I mean now. I’ll deal with you later. Authorly, you get wit’ yo’ folks and try to control yo’self.”
Authorly brushed the front of his overalls. The crowd murmured about the strangeness of things as Gus motioned for Authorly to get in the wagon.
Suddenly, Emma Jean said, “Y’all wanna know what happened?”
“Momma, no,” Authorly said. Gus didn’t try to stop her.
“Well, I’ll tell you!” she sassed, leaning on the wooden rail of the wagon. “I dressed him up as a girl ’cause I wanted one,” she shouted. “And that’s my business. All you need to know is that he”—she pointed to Paul—“is a boy now. I know how he used to look ’cause I made him look that way, and you can talk about me like a dog if you want to, but keep yo’ mouth closed ’bout my child. He didn’t have nothin’ to do with it. He always been a boy and he gon’ always be one. If you gon’ chastise somebody, then chastise me, but keep yo’ filthy mouth off my chile!”
Most women didn’t try to conceal their horror. Miss Mamie said, “You did what?”
“You heard me! Now mind yo’ own business and act like the Christians y’all claim to be!”
Gus loaded the family into the wagon before anyone could question them further. He then nodded to W. C. and directed the mules down the narrow path toward home.
“Mister, y’all get the cows feed,” he said when they arrived. Everyone else went inside. When the task was complete, Mister and Paul saw Eva Mae approaching. Mister left them on the edge of the porch.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.”
Eva Mae sat beside Paul as though comforting him for his loss.
“What happened?”
Paul didn’t know where to begin. “Momma cut my hair off.”
“Yeah, I know. But why?”
He couldn’t say it, so he shrugged.
“Folks is sayin’ you ain’t no girl no more.”
Paul began to cry.
“Is that true?”
He nodded.
“Oh wow. That’s sorta weird.” She paused. “Who told you?”
“Momma.”
“Oh.” After another pause, Eva Mae asked, “Do you have a boy’s thing down there?”
“Un-huh.”
“For real?”
“Yeah.”
Eva Mae smiled. “It’s okay. I don’t care anyway.”
“You don’t?”
“Naw. You still my best friend. Right?”
“Okay.”
“And we can still play house. You’ll just have to be the husband now.”
“Okay.”
“And I can be the wife. It’ll still be fun.”
“Okay.”
Eva Mae hesitated. “People was talkin’ ’bout you after y’all left today. I told them to shut up. They said you wunnit never gon’ be right. Miss Mamie said you’d be a punk the rest o’ yo’ life. She said wunnit no way nobody like you was ever gon’ be a real boy.”
In his mind’s eye, Paul saw the look of disgust on Miss Mamie’s face.
“I don’t like those people anyway. They don’t know what they’re talkin’ about, huh?”
Paul shook his head, then added, “My daddy changed my name.”
“For real? Yo’ name ain’t Perfect no more?”
“Naw.”
“Then what is it now?”
“Paul.”
“Paul?” Eva Mae said, frowning. “I guess it’s okay. I liked Perfect though.”
“I did, too, but you can’t say it no more. I’ll get in trouble.”
“Okay. Come on.” Eva Mae grabbed his hand.
He knew where they were going.
“It’s okay. You de husband now, so it’s all right.”
They disappeared beneath the house.
“Just sit down and relax,” Eva Mae said once they reached the corner. “The man ain’t s’pose to do nothin’ at home ’cept enjoy his wife.”
Paul sat and followed Eva Mae’s instructions.
“I kinda like you as a boy. You can take care o’ me now. That’s what men do. At least they s’pose to. My momma said so.”
“Authorly said men s’pose to work. He didn’t say they s’pose to do nothin’ else.”
“Well, they is. That’s why women marry ’em, so they can take care o’ ’em. Then the woman s’pose to do what he say.”
“My momma don’t do what my daddy say.”
“She s’pose to.”
“Well she don’t.”
Now Eva Mae shrugged. Then she brightened and said, “I peek and see my brother’s thing sometimes. It’s real big.”
Paul thought of Authorly.
“Can I see yours?”
“Huh?”
“Your thing. Can I see it?”
“Um, I don’t know. . . .”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think you s’pose to.”
“I seen my brother’s and didn’t nothin’ happen.”
“Yeah, but that’s different.”
“No it ain’t. Not really.”
They listened to the footsteps above them. Eva Mae moved closer to Paul and kissed him.
“It’s okay. You my husband now.”
Paul loved the taste of Eva Mae’s saliva. It reminded him of the nectar from the honeysuckle bloom. He leaned forward to kiss her again, and they kissed countless times before Eva Mae said, “Lean back and get comfortable.”
Paul complied, and before he realized what was happening, Eva Mae had unzipped the fly of his overalls.
He raised his torso.
“Just relax. My momma do this to my daddy all the time. I watch ’em sometimes.”
Paul felt Eva Mae’s mouth descend upon his penis. He yelped at first, then sighed as her lips massaged his private sensually. He loved the feeling, he discovered, and when she stopped, he wanted her to go on.
“Do you like that?” she asked, looking up.
Paul nodded, so Eva Mae repeated the act until his grunts and moans became audible.
“Shhhhhh,” she hissed. “We’ll get in trouble.”
Paul covered his mouth, muting his uncontrollable response. He never wanted her to stop.
She lifted her head and kissed him again. “I gotta go now.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause Momma gon’ be lookin’ for me soon. And if your folks catch us, they ain’t gon’ let us play together no more.”
“I know.”
“Hey! I know what!”
“What?”
“Why don’t we meet someplace else, like the field of clovers? Nobody ever goes there and it’s real pretty. Lots of wildflowers and stuff.”
“Okay, but where’s it at?”
“It’s right next to the river. I’ll show you. Just let me know whenever you can go.”
“Okay, but I gotta work with my brothers from now on.”
“That’s okay. I’ll show you one day soon. Just let me know.”
In his heart, Paul declared his everlasting love for Eva Mae as she skipped away. She hadn’t treated him differently and that’s what he wanted. He hadn’t said much since the transformation, but Eva Mae’s unconditional love reignited life in his dying soul.
He wondered why Emma Jean hadn’t simply let him live out the lie. He would have found out somehow, someday, but maybe by then it wouldn’t have hurt so bad. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe he would’ve been grown, or close to it, and then he could have dismissed what others said. But at the tender age of eight, his heart had no defense. Each frown, grunt, stare, and avoidance further wounded his already bleeding heart and made him resent Emma Jean’s announcement all the more.
Even his brothers treated him like a leper. Sometimes they walked by him as though he weren’t there, and other times they offered fake grins like church women who really don’t want to speak. They talked around him—and about him—but rarely to him. They hadn’t meant to be mean, Paul assumed. T
hey simply didn’t know what to say. What kind of conversation does one have with a brother who’s been a girl all his life? What would they have in common? The boys feared that Paul would be the undoing of the Peace family since, now, folks demeaned all of them as though his abnormality were inherited.
“I’m sorry,” Bartimaeus said.
Paul turned.
“I shoulda told you.” He took Eva Mae’s place on the edge of the porch. “I just didn’t understand then. I wouldn’t’ve guessed in a million years nothin’ like this.”
“It’s okay.”
“I feel like I shoulda knowed. I mean, what else could it be?”
Paul sighed.
“I failed you. I’m yo’ big brother and I didn’t protect you.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I shoulda told you something. Or asked Momma about it. She might not have told me the truth, but she might have told you.” He hesitated. “Then again, maybe not. I don’t know.”
Paul wanted Bartimaeus to go away.
“I’ma do what I can. I don’t know how much that is, but you my brother and I love you like I always did.” He reached for Paul’s hand. “You gon’ make it. I’ma help you. I owe—”
“Ah! Somebody help me!” Emma Jean screamed from the kitchen.
She had been alone, preparing the Sunday meal, since no one could bear her presence. Paul dashed into the house, with Bartimaeus feeling his way behind him. The back of Emma Jean’s dress was ablaze and smoke billowed out of the small kitchen window.
“Momma!” Paul screeched as he watched the fire crawl up her dress. Bartimaeus fumbled back to the front door and yelled, “Daddy! Authorly! Momma’s on fire!”
Authorly ran from the barn and rushed into the house. “Get the water bucket!” he shouted to Paul. Paul obeyed and dipped several scoops into the bucket, spilling as much water as he saved.
“Oh my God!” Bartimaeus screamed and quivered. “What’s happening?” He held on to the doorknob.
Authorly snatched the homemade quilt from the sofa and slung it across a hysterical Emma Jean just after Paul dashed cold water across her. Emma Jean fell to the floor, shivering like an epileptic.
“Go get Daddy!” Authorly shouted. “Hurry up!”
Paul ran into the front yard, screaming, until Gus appeared from behind the house.