by Anna Myers
"Out to see Mrs. Mitchell," I said. I wondered if I should say she was the teacher at the colored school and where she lived, but the preacher seemed to know. I guess he knows most everyone around.
"Going right past her place," he said. "You got business there?"
"I used to sell her milk," I explained. "Reckon I got kind of used to talking things over with her. Her son, Isaac, is just about the best friend I ever had, even if he is nine years older than me."
The preacher nodded his head. What he said next sure surprised me. "You're pretty good friends with Cinda Phillips too, aren't you?"
Cinda and her family never missed a service at the Last Chance Baptist Church, but still I couldn't figure how the preacher knew we was friends. "Yes, sir," I said. "We been friends since we started school." I looked over at the preacher. His face looked tired and thin. Folks say he's sickly, but he keeps working. He had a kind face, and I decided to ask him how he knew. "I am kind of wondering how you know me and Cinda are friends."
The preacher smiled. "Prayer," he said. For a minute I was real confused, but he went on. "Cinda asked the church to pray for you and your ma when your pa died."
"Oh," I said.
"You know, boy, it's good to have a friend who prays for you. It's just plain good to have friends, not much more important in this life than friends."
I opened my mouth then, and I couldn't believe what I heard myself saying. "Preacher," I said, "can I talk to you about something that troubles me powerful bad?"
"Reckon that's what preachers are for, boy."
"I been having impure thoughts." I blurted it out before I lost my nerve. "You know, about Cinda. I mean I been looking at her—" I lost my nerve. I just couldn't say breasts, not to a preacher. "I been thinking about her body." I put my face in my hands. "I reckon I'm headed to hell for sure."
The preacher laughed, a big full laugh. That surprised me. I dropped my hands and looked at him, mad that he'd laugh about me going to hell.
"I'm not laughing at you, son," he said. "I was just laughing about how every man ever breathed would be spending eternity in hell if thinking about a woman's body got him a ticket to damnation." He reached over and slapped at my shoulder. "Why, Nobe, you're just normal, that's all."
I was amazed! "You mean impure thoughts is okay?"
"Well, it's like this. You ought not to let such thoughts control you or take up too much time, but, boy, they are bound to come. Someday you'll marry, and you'll understand those thoughts better. I reckon we're made so that when a boy starts to be a man, he starts to think different. It's how God made us, and in the Good Book the Psalmist says, 'I will praise thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.' There isn't any faulting how God made us."
I was still marveling over what the preacher had said when we drove past Cinda's place. I got a glimpse of her out in the garden behind the house. I knew she didn't see me, but I waved anyway because I was all filled up with lightness and wanted to do something.
I didn't have long, though, to celebrate the marvelous discovery. We drove past my old home place. I looked out into the twilight, and I sucked in my breath with surprise. I seen Pa out there. He was leaning against the barn, and I was standing beside him, sort of looking up at him. It was me all right, but not the same me that set in the preacher's truck. It was the little me, towheaded and about the size to start to school.
Ghosts? I wondered, but I knowed somehow that what I seen wasn't ghosts. What I seem come up from deep inside me, from an aching and a remembering. We drove on past our place, and I couldn't see them anymore, but the aching stayed.
Two automobiles set beside Mrs. Mitchell's house. There was her black Ford, and a shiny new red Nash touring car. "Wow!" I said, "The red one must be Isaac's. He bought his ma the black one last winter. He's got him a good job over in Tulsa at a bank."
"Sure enough?" Preacher Jackson sounded surprised. "I didn't know they were letting colored folks work in banks over in Tulsa now."
"It's a pure colored bank. They got lots of colored businesses over there. They call that part of town 'Black Wall Street,' whatever that means."
"Well, I'll be. Must be a good job all right to buy machines like those. How you getting home, Nobe?"
I shrugged. "Oh, I'll just walk. It's a nice evening for walking, I reckon."
"You be careful, now hear. Use your good horse sense when you're dealing with Sheriff Leonard. That one bears watching. He sure does."
"Thanks," I said, "Thanks for the ride, too "I hesitated, then went on. "Thanks for telling me about how God made us and all. I'm sure proud to know it."
"You let me know, should you have other things bearing on your mind," the preacher said, and he waved as he drove off.
Pa never did have any use for Preacher Jackson, but I decided I sure did. I guess Pa was wrong about the preacher, just like he was wrong about lots of other stuff.
I knocked at the door, and Mrs. Mitchell come to let me in. "Well, there you are, Noble. I've been wondering about you."
I explained about the ride with the preacher, and she urged me to come into the living room. "Isaac is here," she said. "You haven't had a real visit with him for a good bit."
Isaac was in his mother's rocking chair. He had on a blue shirt that looked new. His tall frame seemed to fill the room. His face was serious, and his eyes seemed almost sad until he smiled. That smile changed his face. "Hi, there," he said, and he punched my arm.
"Is that your car outside?" I said. "It's a beauty!"
"Yeah." Isaac sat back down and pointed for me to take a seat on the settee beside his mother. "I'm real proud of that car. Just bought it yesterday. I couldn't wait to get out here and show it to Mama. Want to drive it sometime?"
"Boy! Would I! But I don't have no idea how to drive no automobile."
Isaac laughed. "You didn't have any idea how to play marbles either, did you? You sure learned fast, though. How about you have your first lesson tonight?"
I just grinned. This was some evening, losing my fears over the impure thoughts and driving an automobile! "Gosh!" I said. "Gosh!"
Mrs. Mitchell got up. "May I get you a glass of tea, Noble? I've got ice in the icebox."
"Yes, ma'am, that would be nice," I said.
"And a sandwich? Are you hungry?"
"No, ma'am. For once, I've come to your house with a full stomach. I guess there is one thing good about living at the sheriff's place. Thank you, though, for asking and for all the times you fed me."
"It is always my pleasure to have you for a guest." She went to get the tea, but the house was small. I knowed she could hear me in the kitchen.
"Really, though, truth be told, there's something else good about living with the sheriff. I got me a job."
"Congratulations," said Isaac. "You'll be buying your own motorcar next."
I laughed. "No, I promised Elmer Keller at the blacksmith shop."
Mrs. Mitchell came back, gave me the tea, and settled on the settee, smoothing her cotton dress across her lap. "Oh, I'm pleased for you, Noble!" she said. "Where are you working?"
"At the Café. I'm washing dishes."
"The Café?" Mrs. Mitchell stood up, and her face seemed uneasy.
"Yes. I'm working for Daisy and Sim Harrison. They're paying me twenty cents for every hour I work. Ain't that amazing?"
Mrs. Mitchell had a strange look on her face. "It is amazing, Noble, but I thought you were going to work on not using 'ain't,'" she said.
"I am," I said. "I'll work on not saying 'ain't,' and I'll wash me a heap of dishes, every dish Lester puts in my stack."
"Lester?" said Isaac.
"Yeah, he's the cook they hired. He's colored, but he ain't—isn't—very nice. They say he can cook right well, though."
Isaac looked at his mother, "You knew Lester was back, didn't you, Mama?" he said. "I could see something bothered you about Nobe working at the Café. I wish you had told me."
"I knew," said Mrs. Mitchell, and her face
was troubled. "I've been putting off telling you." She sat down and turned to me. "Lester is indeed an unpleasant man, but he is Isaac's father and was once my husband. He comes back into our lives from time to time." She sighed. "I don't know why, because he has nothing but contempt for me and has done nothing for Isaac since he was little more than a baby." She smiled a forced little smile. "It would probably be best if you did not mention us to him, either. He would make your life harder, just because we are your friends."
I nodded. "I've had me lots of practice being around unpleasant folks. My pa wasn't exactly no Sunday school teacher. I reckon I can put up with Lester and maybe even the sheriff." I made my hands into fists. "I do hate that Sheriff Leonard, though. Hate him with a powerful, burning hate."
"No, Noble," Mrs. Mitchell leaned toward me. "Try not to hate. It's an emotion that eats away at those who allow it in their heart. Hatred does more harm to those who feel it than it does to those who are hated."
I looked down at flowers in the linoleum that covered the floor. "I'd do most anything for you, Mrs. Mitchell," I said, "but I can't stop hating the sheriff." I shook my head and bit at my lip. "That man killed my dog, shot Rex just to show how powerful he was. I hate him, all right, and I reckon I'm bound to get even."
"Oh, no," said Isaac, "not Rex! What happened?"
I told them all about it. "I buried him, though," I said when the story was done. "I couldn't just leave him there, like he said to do, not even if he had shot me." I looked at Mrs. Mitchell. "See why I hate him?" I said, and my voice almost broke into a sob.
Mrs. Mitchell reached out to pat my hand. "Oh, Noble," was all she said.
The room was quiet for a while. Then Isaac stood and walked to the side of the living room. "Look," he said. "See the Victrola I brought Mama." I'd seen it before, but I didn't let on because I knew Isaac was reaching for something we could discuss without anyone hurting. He started turning the handle, and music came out. Some fellow was singing about a place called Tipperary and about how it's a long long ways away.
After we had listened for a spell, I got up and said I ought to go. "I don't want to rile the sheriff by getting in late," I added. Then I looked at Isaac. "You can stay with your mama a while and give me a driving lesson later." I started toward the door, but Isaac stood up too.
"No, I've got to be getting back to Tulsa. We'll go together."
When we were outside, Isaac said, "Let me drive first. I want to talk to you. Then you can take the wheel."
Inside the automobile, I leaned back against the seat and rolled down the window. The May night air was cool and sweet with alfalfa growing nearby. I loved the feeling of the soft wind against my skin.
As soon as he had the engine going, Isaac started to talk. "Mama wouldn't like me telling you this," he said, "but for some reason, I feel like I want to tell you about Lester."
"Tell me," I said.
"Well, they lived in Atlanta. That's where I was born, and so was my brother, Daniel."
"You have a brother?"
"Had a brother. He died when he was four. I was two years younger. I wish I had been old enough to remember him. Mama and Lester were in school. He was almost finished and planning to go to medical school. I guess the man was brilliant once before his mind got eaten away." Isaac stopped, but I wanted to hear more.
"What happened?" I said, real quick.
"Well, Mama always looked up to Booker T Washington. He was a colored man who believed education and hard work were the answer to our race's problems. Lester, though, took classes from a professor named Du Bois, who believed colored people had to speak out and fight for our rights. Lester started doing things Mama didn't approve of." He paused and took a deep breath. "She worked for a white family, and Lester would take care of us while she did. One day he left me with a neighbor and took Daniel out with him. There was a big construction job going on. Lester and his friends went down to the site to talk to the colored men, to urge them not to work for less than half what the white workers were being paid. Mama said the neighbor begged him to leave Daniel with her too, but Lester said, 'This is Daniel. He will be just fine in the lion's den.'" Isaac shook his head. "It didn't work like that, though. Things got ugly. White men started throwing rocks. Lester had Daniel in his arms, trying to shield him. A rock hit Daniel's head, though, and it killed him, right there."
"Gosh," I said, "that's awful."
"Yeah. Mama blamed Lester for taking Daniel there. I imagine Lester blamed himself too, but all it did was turn him to alcohol and make him full of hate. They lived together for a while after that, but finally Mama couldn't stand it anymore. She took me, and we moved in with the people she worked for. They helped her finish school. She went back to using her maiden name, Mitchell, but with Mrs. because of having me. I've always used it too, but my real name is Cotton. He's no good, but Lester is my father, and I'm his son. Nothing can change that."
For a minute I didn't say nothing, but then I started talking about my father. "My pa wasn't no good either," I said. "He was a drunk and as mean as they come." I shrugged my shoulders. "But you know that. Everybody knows that!"
"Alcohol is one of Lester's demons too. I'd guess he's on the wagon now. That's when he usually shows up, during a dry spell." He sighed. "But alcohol is not his only problem, not even his biggest problem. There's hate too. That's what makes him so twisted. Lester's eaten up with hatred. He hates the entire white race, so be careful around him, Nobe."
"Thanks. I'll be careful." I looked out the window for a minute in silence, but then Isaac pulled the automobile off the road. We were in front of our old place, but it was too dark for me to really see anything. Still, though, the picture come busting into my mind. Pa was there in his old overalls. This time he was walking off through the pasture, and I could see little Nobe trotting after him, trying to catch up.
"Get out," Isaac said, "and come around here to try your hand at motorcar driving."
"I will," I said. "I want to in the worst way, but Isaac, you're a lot smarter than me, and since we both ended up with pas that ain't no good, maybe you can explain something to me."
"What?" said Isaac, "I'll tell you anything I can."
"Well, it's this. Why did I always hope Pa would love me?" My voice broke, and I swallowed back tears. "Pa treated me awful bad, and I guess most times I hated him for every time he ever hit me, and I hated him for every time he ever went off on a toot and left me and Ma hungry. Most of the time I hated him real good, but there was always times when I wished he would love me. I wished it until the day he died. I still wish he had. I wish he could of loved me just a little. What I want to know is why? Why didn't I just give up that silly wish a long time ago? That's what I want to know."
It was too dark for me to see Isaac's face, but I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was pretty near to crying too. "Well, Nobe," he said, "that story about fathers and sons is a real old one. It's even in the Bible about two brothers named Jacob and Esau. They both wanted their father's blessing real bad. I guess children always want their parent's love, but there's something about fathers and sons that's a little different. I guess boys just yearn to know their fathers care and are proud of us. I know I do."
"You do? You want to know that Lester fellow cares about you?"
"Yes. Oh, I would never say it to Mama, but yes, I'd like to hear him say, 'You did well, boy.'"
"He ain't never said it, huh?"
"No. He hasn't said anything to me in years. I suppose if he were to say anything now it would be something like, 'Trying to make yourself white, ain't you?'"
"I reckon someday I'll forget about Pa," I said.
"No, Nobe, I don't like to say it, but I don't think you're likely to forget. You aren't that kind of person. It will be a hole inside you, I think, all your life. But maybe good will come of that hole. Maybe you will work to fill it up with good things you do for other folks."
After that I got under the wheel. Isaac showed me how to start the car,
and off we went down that bumpy road. A couple of times I like to have run right off the road. Isaac didn't yell none, even when he had to grab the wheel.
When we got to town, we didn't go straight to the sheriff's house. We drove around some, and I got pretty good at going around corners. I didn't run up on the sidewalk even once.
"You might not be ready for city driving yet, but you've done really well on your first lesson. I'll come and give you another one soon," Isaac said when I got out at the sheriff's place.
All that evening, when I was laying on my cot up on the third floor of that house, I was thinking about what Isaac said about the holes. He didn't say so, but I knew he had that same hole inside him. I finally decided I was maybe better off than Isaac because my business with Pa was done and over with. I knew for sure that I wasn't ever going to get Pa's blessing. If Isaac was right about me doing good things to fill up my hole, I could just get started filling it. Isaac, he was still hoping. Old Lester was no good at all. Wouldn't most people, white or colored, want nothing to do with him, but there was Isaac Mitchell with a fine education from a real college, a good job, and the fanciest motorcar I ever seen, but there he was still wanting old Lester's blessing.
I finally went to sleep while I was listening to a birdcall in the night. It was the same bird noise I used to hear at our place on spring nights. Most folks said it was a whippoorwill, but Pa always said it was a poorwill. He said we was too poor to have us a whippoorwill, and that our bird was its cousin, the poor relation named poorwill. I figured, laying there on the sheriff's cot, that the bird had followed me into town because he didn't want me to forget I was poor now that my stomach was full.
Ma woke me up early. "You need to help me with breakfast," she said. "The cook only comes in for supper. I'm supposed to fix morning and noon meals. You can help me this morning." Ma was real nervous. She kept pushing up on the piece of hair that slipped out of the knot she had put it up in. It pained me to see Ma so nervous because I knew it was Sheriff Leonard that made her that way. I wondered what it was that scared her most. Was she fretting because she might displease him, or was she afraid she might please him too much?