It was true. Pete’s mother’s family owned more land than anybody around, but his father came from a hardworking household with six children. Pete had heard him joke about all the hand-me-downs he wore growing up: “By the time those shirts got to me, you could read the phone book through ’em!”
After the accident, Daddy Ballard had hired a manager to oversee things. So now, instead of going to the field with a friend, Isaac was working for a stranger. Pete wondered what that was like—and how Isaac was getting by without the extra cash his father used to provide.
When spring came, Isaac let Pete hang around while he readied tractors for the field, and they went for rides whenever they were sure the farm manager—or worse, Pete’s mother—wouldn’t catch them. She never used to mind when he rode in the fields with his father, but now she wouldn’t hear of letting him near machinery. He and Isaac had to slip around.
In between tractor rides, Isaac had taught Pete how to whistle through his fingers, how to clean the fish he caught so his mother wouldn’t have to trouble with it, and how to do a special walk that was supposed to make the girls look at you. Pete wasn’t sure he wanted a bunch of girls looking at him, but Isaac said it was important. So every night in his room, he practiced the walk.
In September, Pete would have to go back to school and Isaac would be busy with the harvest, so they were making the most of a waning summer. It was late afternoon, and they were about to sneak over to Tandy’s for some barbecue. Pete’s mother thought they were going fishing.
“Psst!” Isaac got his attention and nodded toward the fishing pole propped against the barn. He knew Pete’s mother was watching them out the kitchen window.
Pete immediately realized his mistake and dramatically smacked himself on the forehead. “Well, would ya look at me!” he said loudly. “About to go fishin’ without my fishin’ pole!” He grabbed it from the barn and laid it in the back of the truck. “And we’ve only got a coupla hours to fish before it starts to get dark!”
As Isaac drove them away, Pete asked him, “Did I cover okay?”
Isaac glanced at him and chuckled. “Lemme put it this way, Pete. You best learn how to grow cotton, ’cause you ain’t never gonna be no movie actor.”
Isaac drove about five miles down the main highway—the Florida Short Route—to a narrow county blacktop that led to his neighborhood. It was almost four when they pulled into Tandy’s narrow driveway, and already they could hear laughter and loud conversation coming from the backyard. Field hands weren’t needed much right now, so they got off early on Fridays and Saturdays. (Nobody farmed on Sundays. The ladies of every church in town saw to that.) Since most everybody who came to Tandy’s lived in her neighborhood, they could just walk over—a good thing since many of them were too poor to own a car. You’d never know something like this was going on if you didn’t have Isaac to show you.
The two of them had been here so many times that Pete now had his own special bucket to sit on as everybody gathered to eat their spare ribs and sip ice-cold beer. Tandy’s was a grown-up place, where she and her neighbors came to forget the fields they plowed and the houses they cleaned and have a good time together. They would take barbecue home to their families, but they didn’t bring their kids here. Tandy despised children and wasn’t shy about saying so, but she had made an exception in Pete’s case. There was just something about “them big blue eyes and that sweet smile,” she had said the first time Isaac brought him there. Tandy had even taken to slipping a few Co-Colas and Grapicos into the galvanized washtub where she iced down the beer so Pete could have a cold drink.
“Well, look what the cat drug in,” she said as the two of them came through the little gate that led into her backyard.
“Hey, Miss Tandy,” Pete said. Without thinking much about it, he had added “Miss” and “Mister” to everybody’s name here. When he did that for white people, it was a sign of affection or familiarity. Here it was a sign of respect that he felt Isaac would want him to show.
Tandy grinned. “Hey, y’self.”
She was turning ribs on a grill made from a metal barrel that had been cut in half. A sauce-smeared apron protected her overalls. She was wearing pink scuff slippers and had a pink kerchief tied around her head. Tandy looked older than Isaac—maybe in her forties. She was tiny but fiery. Pete had seen her run big, strapping men out of her yard when they had guzzled too much beer and started getting on her nerves. That was one thing you never wanted to do—get on Tandy’s nerves. Just to make sure he didn’t get in the way, Pete left Isaac and Tandy alone and went to find his bucket.
———
Isaac handed Tandy some money from his pocket. “That’s for last time and today,” he said. “Sorry ’bout the wait.”
“Somebody musta had a good night at the poker shed,” she said. “You know that’s a sorry bunch you runnin’ with out there.”
“Yeah. But I just got to have some kinda break in the days, even when I know I got a losin’ hand. Ain’t got much else.”
“You got him,” Tandy said, nodding toward Pete settling in at his usual spot in her backyard.
Isaac glanced across the yard at his young charge, who was using his shirttail to wipe some dust off Isaac’s bucket.
“That boy looks up to me ’cause he don’t know no better,” Isaac said. “I ain’t the man his daddy was.”
“I ’magine his daddy would disagree, seein’ as how you jumped down in that hole and like to died tryin’ to save him.”
Isaac shrugged. “Maybe I’m sorry as anybody at that card table.”
“Naw, y’ain’t,” Tandy said, turning a row of ribs and closing the lid on her grill. She looked up from the smoke, tilted her head a little, and studied Isaac. “That white boy sees you better’n you see y’self. And I’m fixin’ to tell you what he’s lookin’ at. He’s lookin’ at a butterfly what done flew through a tear in the screen door and now can’t find his way back out the house. So he just light there at the kitchen window, flutterin’ his wings and wishin’ for the clear, blue sky.” She shook her head and sighed. “I’d shoo you to the door m’self if I could find it. Go on and get y’self comf’table. I’ll bring you some ribs directly.”
Pete and Isaac were just digging into their barbecue, which Tandy served on brown paper, when the gate opened and a shout went up.
“Gap Tooth! Great day in the mornin’, it’s really him! Tandy, looka here—Gap Tooth’s back!”
Tandy sauntered up to the tall, lanky black man with a guitar strapped to his back. He was wearing a suit of peacock blue, with a fedora and shoes to match. He looked like an exotic bird. “What make you think I’m gonna waste a single one o’ my ribs on the likes o’ you?” she said.
Pete thought the peacock man was about to be tossed out. But then he picked Tandy up and twirled her around as he said, “You gonna feed me ’cause you my big sister, and I love you!” He kept twirling her around as the two of them laughed and hugged each other. Pete had never heard Tandy laugh—and certainly had never seen her hug anybody.
“Who is that?” Pete whispered to Isaac.
“Tandy’s brother, Tommy—nickname o’ Gap Tooth,” Isaac said. “He’s a blues man. Travels all over the place—been up in Chicago for the last year or so.”
Pete was lost. “What’s a blues man?”
“He plays this music come outta Mississippi—or Georgia or Alabama, dependin’ on who you b’lieve. Hard to explain. But after you hear it, you ain’t never gonna forget it. I call it low-down music. Gap Tooth, he’s been playin’ it since he was old as you. He’s good. He’s real good.”
“You reckon he might play something—since he brought his guitar with him, I mean?” Pete knew it was rude to stare, but he couldn’t stop watching the peacock man.
“I reckon he might—after he gets him some ribs,” Isaac said. “How ’bout you? Want some more?”
“Naw, I’m full.”
“I see that.” Isaac grinned, wiping a smear of barbecue sau
ce off Pete’s chin with his napkin.
They were still laughing about the barbecue smear and talking about the blues when a tall shadow fell over Pete. He looked up to see the peacock man standing right in front of him, holding a half-eaten rib in one hand.
“Who in the Sam Hill is this?” Gap Tooth demanded.
“This here’s Pete—Mister Jack’s boy.” Isaac stood up and shook hands. “Welcome home, Tommy.”
“Thank you, brother. Good to see you.”
“We slip Pete in now and again—just to get him out the house,” Isaac explained. “But his mama thinks we fishin’—’preciate it if you keep this little visit to y’self.”
“Ain’t nobody gonna hear it from me,” Gap Tooth said, finishing off his rib.
Pete hopped up from his bucket and wiped his hands on his jeans to make sure he didn’t get any barbecue sauce on that fancy suit. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mister Gap Tooth—uh, Mr. Tommy.” He held out his hand the way his father taught him.
At first the blues man just stared at him, but then he slowly broke into a gap-toothed grin and shook Pete’s hand. “Well, shoot me in the head and bury me at Mornin’ Star, ’cause now I done seen it all!”
The whole backyard roared with laughter.
“How come Tandy ain’t done killed you and hid the body?” he asked Pete.
“I don’t rightly know, sir,” Pete answered. “I just try real hard not to get on her nerves.”
The crowd roared again as Gap Tooth threw back his head and laughed. “You wise, boy—you wise. Tandy done had two husbands never figured that out.”
“I see you got you some ribs,” Pete said.
“I surely did,” Gap Tooth replied. “I’m gonna get me some more later on, but I like to start slow and have me a beer after my first couple.”
“I was just wonderin’ . . .” Pete stared at the ground as he scraped at the dirt with the toe of his sneaker.
“Wonderin’ what?”
“Well, sir, I was just wonderin’ if you might play some of that blues music on your guitar. Isaac says you’re real good. He says once I hear the blues, I’ll never forget it, but I ain’t never heard it. It’s gonna get dark soon, and I’ll have to go home. Reckon you might play just one song before I have to leave?”
The crowd egged him on. “C’mon, Gap Tooth! Play one for the boy! Sang that white baby to sleep, Gap Tooth!”
Gap Tooth laughed. “Y’all are full of it!” But he took the guitar off his back and pulled up a bucket to sit on. The crowd hushed and circled around as he started to play, like a congregation preparing to receive a great message.
Pete drifted over to the blues man’s bucket and sat at his feet, captivated by the raspy baritone and fiery guitar licks. After every line or two, the crowd answered Gap Tooth, just like they answered the preacher in church.
When you love a no-good woman,
You gonna hang yo’ head and cry.
“Tell it, brother!”
When you love a no-good woman,
You gonna hang yo’ head and cry.
“I know that’s right.”
She told me that she loved me,
But I believe that woman lied.
“You know she did!”
Got to pack that old blue suitcase,
I’m gonna leave this town for good.
Pete listened in stunned silence. When the song ended and the crowd cheered, he just sat there with his mouth hanging open.
“Well?” Gap Tooth said, looking down at him.
“Isaac was right,” Pete said. “I ain’t never gonna forget that!”
Gap Tooth grinned at him. “Now get over to that grill and fetch me some more ribs. I ain’t workin’ for free.”
When Pete came back with the ribs, Isaac was waiting for him. “Pete, we gotta hit the road.”
“I know,” Pete said, looking up at the dusky sky. They had a solemn agreement. Isaac would try to slip him away for these adventures now and again, but Pete had to promise never to breathe a word of it, never to tell his family anything he heard Isaac and his neighbors talk about because you just didn’t know what might get somebody fired, and never to put up a fuss when it was time to go. Until now, Pete hadn’t found it difficult to hold up his end of the bargain, but this time it was tough. He wanted to stay till midnight, and he wanted to tell everybody in town what the blues sounded like. He wouldn’t, though. Isaac was counting on him.
“Hey, Gap Tooth!” someone in the crowd called. “Play ‘Dust My Broom’!”
Pete looked up at Isaac to see if they might be able to stay for that one, but Isaac shook his head. So they said their goodbyes. Tandy followed them out and stood at the gate.
“You comin’ back?” she asked Isaac as Pete climbed into the truck.
Isaac smiled. “Don’t I always?”
“Alright. I save you some ribs.”
“You not gettin’ sweet on me, now are ya, Tandy?” Isaac gave her a mischievous wink.
“Shut yo’ mouth!” she said. But Pete knew she wasn’t really mad because she was smiling as Isaac got in the truck and drove away.
When they reached the fork in the road that led out of Isaac’s neighborhood, Pete said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Since when you got to ask me can you ask me?” Isaac looked puzzled.
“Well . . . this one’s kinda personal,” Pete said.
“Don’t know ’bout that, but go on and ask.”
“Do you and Tandy like each other?”
“’Course we do.”
“No, I mean do y’all like-like each other?”
“I reckon we do. Sorta. Sometimes. When you get older, Pete, you gonna find out this like-like business, as you call it, can get confusin’.”
“Can I be your best man if you and Tandy get married?”
“Time me and her figures that out, I reckon you gonna be plenty old enough to stand up wi’ me.” Isaac smiled. “Now that you got me married off, you gonna remember our story this time?”
Pete nodded. “We wasn’t catchin’ nothin’ worth keepin’, so we threw ’em all back.”
“That’s right,” Isaac said. “You stick to that now, you hear?”
“I hear. Isaac, that song they wanted Gap Tooth to play—about dustin’ your broom—what does that mean?”
“Means you gonna leave and never come back.”
“Oh. I don’t wanna dust my broom. Do you?”
Isaac sighed. “Naw, Pete. Ain’t no broom dustin’ gonna happen for me.”
Four
MARCH 28, 1964
“Reckon when you and Tandy might get married?” Pete asked one spring afternoon on the creek bank. Isaac had just helped him figure out some problem or other—there was nothing the two of them couldn’t work out together—and it made Pete wonder if his friend ever thought about having kids of his own.
Isaac laughed. “You bound and determined to get me hog-tied?”
“Naw!” Pete giggled. “I just think you’d make a real good daddy.”
Isaac stopped laughing and looked away from Pete for the longest time. “You a good young’un, Pete,” he finally said. “You stay like you are so you’ll grow up to be like your daddy, okay?”
“Okay.”
That was about two weeks ago on one of their first fishing trips of the spring. The fall harvest had come and gone, and now the dogwoods were blooming. Summer wasn’t far away. Pete had visions of many afternoons on the creek bank once school let out and the cotton was in the ground.
Maybe it came from being an only child, with no brothers or sisters to play with and all of his cousins several years older, but Pete had always been more comfortable with adults than with children his own age. He didn’t like the way kids could turn on you. One minute you could be on the playground, happily pitching a baseball back and forth with a schoolmate, and then out of the blue a cooler kid could come along and the two of them would run off together, leaving you all alone with an empty glove. Grown people
didn’t throw you away like that—Isaac especially.
It was the Saturday before Easter, and he hadn’t seen his friend for a week. The fields had been too rain-soaked to plant, so he couldn’t figure out why they weren’t fishing every day. His mother told him Isaac was likely helping get ready for the Easter service, which was an all-day affair at Morning Star Baptist. That made sense. But Easter was tomorrow, so surely everything was done by now. And today was the best fishing day you could imagine—warm and sunny with a clear blue sky. Church or no church, Isaac would come for him. Pete was gathering up his cane pole and tackle box when he heard the barn door creak open behind him, and Daddy Ballard walked in.
“Son,” he said, “I need to talk to you. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news about Isaac.”
His grandfather’s somber expression carried Pete back to the night of his father’s accident. He could hear a truck horn blaring in his head as the cane pole slipped through his fingers and fell to the ground.
“Sweetheart, won’t you eat just a little something?” Pete’s mother sat on the edge of his bed and stroked his hair. He had been in his room ever since Daddy Ballard left.
“No, ma’am,” he said.
“You’ll let me know if I can fix you anything—anything at all?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She got up and walked over to the window—the same one Pete had climbed through to meet Isaac the day of his father’s funeral. He stared at her back, framed in late afternoon light. He had always thought he had the most beautiful mother in the whole world. But ever since his father died, something about her looked so tired—even now, when he couldn’t see her face.
“Mama,” Pete said, “do you think there’s any way Isaac could be alright?”
Her eyes were teary when she came back to sit beside him. “I wish I could say yes, honey. I wish to goodness I could. But nobody’s seen him since that card game last week. I think you know there are some pretty tough customers in that bunch. And when men go to gambling, they’re usually drinking too.”
Missing Isaac Page 3