Then I hear it.
‘Ya has ya strength.’
The deep, low voice rustling in the leaves makes me gasp. I wasn’t expecting to hear Nellie at all.
‘Y’all okay Arletta?’ asks Errol.
‘Sure. Sure, Errol, I’m okay.’
He can’t see that I’m smiling a little, even telling him my sorry tale. I have strength for it now that Nellie is near.
‘I hear enough, Arletta. Ya don’t need to be tellin’ …’
‘I want to, Errol. I’m going to tell it all, about the money, it’s what you asked. I’ve never told anybody what I did to Mr Seymour, till right now.’
‘I sorry I’m hearing this. I sure am.’
‘Well, it just went on and on for the next few years. And now I had the two of them it was happening twice a week, sometimes more with Mr Seymour being the pig he was. And them full grown men, one with a wife that I know about. Mr Seymour was rough, he was right cruel and nasty, always making me take liquor, thought that was funny. It got so I couldn’t take it any more. So one day when I was feeling that way and I heard Mr Seymour coming, I got hold of Mambo’s fish knife and hid it behind my back. I didn’t think about it, I didn’t plan it or anything like that, I just couldn’t take it any more. When he forced himself on me I slashed at him, at his privates, and ran like hell out of our cabin. His blood was all over the place. On the floor, the dresser, his suit, and he was screaming like I never heard anybody scream before. When he ran like blazes out of there, he left a trail of his blood on our path too. I don’t know how he disappeared so quick, but I never saw either of them ever again.’
‘Lord have mercy, Arletta. Lord have mercy.’
‘After it happened I was always thinking he must have bled to death in a field someplace. I still think, though I never hear, and I don’t know if I was ever going to hear, that I probably killed him, Errol. I don’t know.’
I look at him. He’s sitting forward so the kitchen light glistens on his forehead. He’s sweating and his face is set hard.
‘Mr Seymour was a real bad man Errol, he used to throw me fifty cents every time, and I’d just dump it in the washhouse next time I went. I don’t know how much money I dumped over the time he was raping me. And Errol, we were folks who didn’t have a dime.
‘That last time, the day I grabbed Mambo’s fish knife, I asked Mr Seymour for a dollar. I wanted him thinking I was bold, got brazen, that he was going to get something more for his money this time, put him off his guard, and he pulled a dollar bill from a big wad of money he had in the inside pocket of his jacket.’
Errol nods.
‘With all the trouble and shouting after I cut him, that wad of money fell on the floor. He was busy trying to stop the bleeding and cover himself up to get the hell out of there. I found the money when I was cleaning up the blood before Mambo came home.
‘I hid it and I never touched it again till I gave Safi’s ma and pa fifty dollars for little Martha. I haven’t touched it since. Still got it. Makes me want to throw up every time I pay it any mind. Even if I find myself thinking about it in church, in the middle of the day, in the office, I feel like I’m going to keel on over.’
‘How much was it?’
‘Four hundred and five dollars. Three hundred and fifty-five left. That’s including the dollar I ask him for that day.’
Errol whistles.
‘That’s it Errol, that’s the story of that money you wanted to know about. I couldn’t sleep last night because it seemed to me the time had come to tell somebody. Seems the right time for it.’
‘And ain’t nothing ever done about it?’
‘No. Nothing’s ever been done about any of it. I never told anybody, though, not even Safi. I try not to think about it, but then something pulls it up and it feels like it just happened yesterday.
‘But the thing is, Errol, when I do think about it, I know Mr McIntyre is doing that to some other little girl someplace else, that’s what those folks are like. And Errol, I don’t know what to do about it now, any more than I did back then when I was just a kid myself. I don’t know if Mr Seymour is alive or dead, but if he isn’t dead he’s still doing it too, if he’s able. I slashed him good, I think. Well, I know I did.’
My voice starts cracking. I’ve been talking a long time about something I’ve never talked about in my life. Errol hands me a handkerchief.
‘Errol, I’ve got all that money hidden and I don’t know if it’s earnings I got for murder or not. And more than anything else in this world, I’d do anything to see people like them stopped. I sure would like to do it myself, but I don’t know how. I know for sure Mr McIntyre is still out there doing it, there’s nobody stopping him. He even gave Mambo a job, right after I slashed Mr Seymour, that didn’t feel like she was going into domestic service with white folks.
‘I reckon he heard something happened, or that Mr Seymour was found, I don’t know. Mambo was right pleased with that job. Cleaning the bank office was different, she thought, and she liked that plenty. Domestic family service was never going to work for somebody wild, like Mambo was back then. Wouldn’t work for her now, either. She’s got one big mouth for talking back.’
‘Ya want water?’
‘Thanks, yes.’
I stare into space till he returns, exhausted from telling him my story.
‘Ya ever hear about Celia from Calloway County up in Missouri? Ya ever hear about her, Arletta?’
‘I hear she got hung for killing the white man that owned her and kept raping her for five years.’
‘Well, don’t go thinking nothing crazy.’
Though I’ve already been crazy. But that doesn’t mean nothing should ever be done about Mr McIntyre. Mr McIntyre and Mr Seymour didn’t buy me anyplace, like Celia was bought. Mambo was born free and so was I. They were out there looking for kids who weren’t able to do anything about them, and nobody ever did do anything about what they were up to. And oh boy, somebody sure should have done something.
‘Mr McIntyre is easy to find.’
‘What?’
‘I’m saying Mr McIntyre is easy to find.’
‘You saying you’d do something about it? Help me? Thing is, I’ve never wanted folks knowing what happened to me.’
Errol’s just saying they ought to be found, see what they’re doing now. But I know what they’re doing. If Mr Seymour’s alive, that is.
‘Mambo still at that bank office?’
‘Yeah, she’s gone back cleaning there, she got her old job back, though he’s gone on to another job someplace else. She’s going to go crazy if she ever finds out what Mr McIntyre was doing.’
‘Maybe that ain’t no bad thing.’
‘How can men do that, Errol?’
‘I don’t know, chile. I don’t know. How old ya reckon they were then?’
That’s hard to say when you’re just a kid, but as far as I can recall, they were perhaps early thirties, something like that. I wouldn’t have said they were in their forties, but it’s hard for a kid to judge. But they were organized, knew all about one another, and how to find out who was all alone, and when. Errol surprises me with what he says next.
‘And maybe ya ain’t the only one on them rounds out there.’
‘You don’t think Safi …’
‘It’s possible, Arletta.’
Oh Lord. That’s it. That could be Safi’s secret. Maybe they were raping her, too, or somebody was. That would make sense, and maybe it carried on, went on even after we started living in Marksville. Poor Safi, she would never do anything like I did, so I guess it just carried on. I was always studying, thought she was with Ainsley.
‘Except she ain’t no child by then, she’d grown up. She got too old for them sort of vermin.’
‘That’s true. But maybe, because of them being organized, they sort of hand you on over to some other bunch, something real seedy, like a prostitution ring or something.’
‘Safi ain’t no prostitute Arletta. Not that girl.’
‘Well, maybe not that it carried on, and the prostitute part of it, but we just don’t know, do we, Errol? Something was going on with Safi that I knew nothing about. You have no idea how I have turned this over and over in my mind about her. Nothing ever makes any sense. Maybe this does. I don’t know how or where it was happening but I’m willing to bet you anything that somebody was messing with Safi. She was pregnant, Errol! Pregnant!’
I stay out in the courtyard long after Errol turns in, my mind turning over like wildfire. The wind comes up. I always like hearing it rustle in the leaves.
I never laid down my load, Lord
I never gave Jesus my yoke
And on both sides of the river
Blood fed the roots of oak.
Deliver, deliver, deliver my soul
Rest my head on your pillow
Lord, I never grew old.
Hmmm, hmmm, hmmmmmmm …
Eleven
The following Saturday I knock on Mrs Archer-Laing’s parlour door to deliver the rent, same as always. One of the best things about my new job is that I don’t have to work Saturdays at all.
She lays her embroidery down. She’s made a new name for herself embroidering tablecloths and cushion covers for wealthy folks. Houses are going up all over and folks are filling them with that sort of thing. She’s right handy with it.
‘Well, my dear, Monsieur Desnoyers tells me you’re doing very well at the NAACP, and helping out with Sunday school.’
‘Yes, I’m doing fine.’
‘I was thinking of Safi and Red, both gone, and how you’re faring on your own.’
‘Oh, I get lonesome, same as everybody else sometimes, but I was always used to being by myself with no brothers or sisters growing up. I’ve got Rochelle now, but I left home and came to Marksville before she was born.’
‘It’s wonderful to have a sister, at least,’ she says. ‘I would love to be closer to my family. Perhaps we can invite your family next Easter when Errol’s family comes too.’
Thinking of Mambo sitting in Mrs Archer-Laing’s front parlour making some kind of polite talk and drinking from one of her fine bone-china cups sure does makes me smile.
‘Has Agnes told you she’s leaving? That she’s getting married?’
I didn’t even hear she had a beau.
‘Someone she met at Bible class, a nice young man. I’m very pleased for her. They’re moving to Chicago; there’s plenty of jobs up there and I believe he’s already been lucky enough to get something.’
Everybody is moving to Chicago for the jobs.
‘I will have to advertise her room, of course, so we will have a new tenant. I take it you are quite happy in your room, but you are welcome to change, if you prefer something fresh. Or perhaps you’d prefer to be at the back of the house, too. It’s quieter …’
‘No, thank you. I like my room. I like the front of the house, y’know, seeing the street and folks going out and about. If that’s okay.’
‘Of course, that’s fine. I also wondered if you would like to take over her Bible class.’
‘No. No, thank you, Mrs Archer-Laing. I’m fine just helping out with Sunday school sometimes.’
But of course now that Agnes is leaving, they have an opportunity for someone like me, according to her, and I should consider it. It means I’d get out among folks and meet new ones too. Everybody seems to be concerned about my life these days.
‘You can choose what evenings you’d like. You wouldn’t want to do Sunday school as well, so you could get over to see your family a bit more. You can do an evening in the week. Two if you like.’
I don’t know I’d be much good at teaching from the Bible at all, that’s different from Sunday school. I sure love teaching, but we were never much of a Bible family to speak about, except for Pappy, and that sure is going to show in no time.
‘To be quite frank with you, my dear Arletta, what we need is a good reader and a good teacher. Somebody who can encourage the class, the way you do when you take Sunday school. The children love you, Arletta, how you make it such fun for them. Bless Agnes, she’s a good Christian girl, and a believer, but she’s not the world’s best teacher. I think you’d be excellent, Arletta. Teaching seems to be for you. Everybody says so.’
‘Oh, I see. Well …’
By the time she’s finished explaining how much of an opportunity it is, how it could count as teaching experience as far as the NAACP is concerned, and how things will change, even here in the South, I’m about won over.
‘And you are such a clever young lady. I’d like to see you get on.’
‘Mrs Archer-Laing, I guess you’re talking me right round to it.’
‘I thought I might. And remember, it would give you time to spend with your sister at weekends too.’ She smiles and picks her embroidery up. When I leave I hear her softly singing with satisfaction: ‘Angels from the realms of glory, Spread your wings o’er all the world …’
That’s how it came about that I, the daughter of a mambo, started teaching Bible class two nights a week at the Anglican church in Marksville. I know more than I thought because of Pappy and his stories and, after all, I’ve been attending church with Mrs Archer-Laing long enough, though truth be told I never listened half the time. Still, the other half turns out to be time well spent. Of course I take to teaching, no matter what the subject is. Then I reckon I’m going to start reading the Good Book from the beginning for myself. I settle in the back parlour, curl up on the sofa and start reading the Holy Bible. I believe that’s impressing Mrs Archer-Laing, but Errol doesn’t look sure at all.
‘Enjoying the Good Book?’
‘I enjoy teaching it.’
‘Ain’t the same thing, and ain’t what I ask.’ He laughs into his chest. ‘Lordy Lord.’
Our new tenant, Sadie, moves in and I get company in the back parlour. She seems a quiet girl, and does sewing for a seamstress friend of Mrs Archer-Laing. She’s hand-stitching every night, and I’ve never seen a bodice full of embroidery like she does for some rich folks’ weddings. She’s not one for reading and asks me to teach her. Her folks needed her about the place, so she never had any schooling to speak of.
I think it’s a good idea for her to come to Bible class. That way she’s out in company too, since she doesn’t seem to know anybody and I think it’s easy learning that way, with everybody else.
She doesn’t seem to mind being in a younger class at all, she’s happy sticking with me. I’ve got fifteen in my class and we’re spread out over two pews, at the back right-hand corner of the church. I begin every lesson with a story I’ve just read myself in our back parlour; sometimes I knew it from Pappy and he had a way of telling it that I follow. I tell the story before we read anything, get them interested, since that book sure has got a style hard to fathom for kids, and then they take turns reading a verse each back. We work out what’s happened after every verse and they get points for it. Sadie doesn’t manage a verse on her first day and every little ten-year-old hand shoots up to help her out.
Seems Sadie is only coming to our church for two minutes before she gets herself a beau. It isn’t long before he’s taking up space in our back parlour and I start feeling like a gooseberry. I take to spending more time in the kitchen with Errol. I perch myself on top of one of Mrs Archer-Laing’s new stylish high stools and read. Can’t say these stools are easy for sitting on; Errol calls them ‘a fad’ and says they’re in his way.
‘Ain’t for no kitchen, them’s oughta be in a bar someplace. Ain’t leaving them in here for me to be perchin’ like a parrot and peeling potatoes, with all of them slidin’ off my lap. Foolishness. Ain’t practical at all for no workin’ kitchen.’
‘I want to be right there hearing you tell Mrs Archer-Laing all about that, Errol.’
He fixes food, polishes silver and crystal, sometimes I help. He de-ices the refrigerator and reads yesterday’s newspaper. Mrs Archer-Laing always leaves her daily paper open at the crossword till Errol tidies up her parlour early the next morning before she rises. In the evening he hums and haws over it, filling in here and there. Sometimes she says, ‘Errol dear, did you manage to get six down? “Hot and cold spelling”.’
‘“Spice” fit fine.’
‘Yes, of course.’
Sadie and her beau go out every Saturday to see his folks, so I get our parlour back. He’s one of those giggling childish sorts and I find his jokes wear me clean out. Of course, she thinks he’s just the thing and hangs on every silly word he says.
So that’s how life goes on and I feel easy with it. Always folks about, but nobody bothers anybody else much, and there’s never a voice raised. I just get on, get top grades with my geography certificate and start thinking about college more every day. I’ve got my own bit of funding from the King of England and that’s what I’m going to do with it. Quince says he’s going to see right by Rochelle, make sure she gets a scholarship, and I start figuring me and her could go to Grambling. I’m going to set my mind on nothing else, make Mambo and Rochelle right proud.
‘Ya gonna go for a scholarship honey? I’m sure y’all gonna get one of those with how smart ya always been.’ Mambo is pleased with my news, and that the NAACP can help me. Of course, she doesn’t know about the King of England.
‘Quince, ya hearin’ that? Arletta’s thinkin’ about getting herself off to college. I know ya can do it honey, ya just smart as smart can be. Ain’t she, Quince?’
‘Hell, I always reckon ya for a smart kid.’ He laughs, seems a happy man these days. ‘Now I knows ya just smart. Ya need help wi’ that, Arletta? My hand gonna go straight in my pocket to give ya whatever ya needin’.’
I look straight at him in surprise – speechless, I reckon I could say. Never figured on Quince putting his hand in his pocket over me at all.
‘Well, Quince I’m working myself, too. That’s real nice of you and I don’t want to be a burden …’
What the River Washed Away Page 20