Blackberry Days of Summer

by Ruth P. Watson

  He apologized, but it was too late for that as well. Momma and Papa had also been listening to his foolishness. Papa was jacking him up by the collar so hard Momma had to grab Papa’s arm and pull him back. Sighing loudly, Papa took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow.

  Momma wasn’t defending John now, though. Setting her feet on the porch floor, she said, “John, I thought I’d taught you right. Now you know ain’t no colored man gonna find a decent job without an education, and I expect you to finish your schooling.” Then she stood and walked back into the house. The screen door slammed behind her. John was left speechless and frozen in place. Eventually, he threw his hands up in the air and turned away, mumbling something to himself.

  I was the only one who had no chance to escape. And I needed out more than my brothers. Though Mr. Camm had just married Momma, that didn’t stop him from turning his lustful eyes on me.

  Momma walked around blissfully through the house. It made me uneasy when I thought about how she’d never done that when Papa was alive. When I came in a room where she was, I would catch her smiling like a schoolgirl in love and immediately, she’d wipe the smile off her face and a frown would replace it. I’d shake my head.

  Nothing seemed to move Mr. Camm. He was laid-back, even lazy. He watched Carl work tirelessly and never bothered to help. Because Carl had taken on Papa’s chores, he had to drop out of school. Mr. Camm would plop down in a chair under a tree and watch Carl do all the things that fell under the responsibilities of a man of the house. He’d light a cigarette and blow smoke rings until they dissipated in the wind. Most of the time, he was in the way. Papa had been so different. Even before we were dressed in the morning, he had already eaten breakfast and found something to do.

  Mr. Camm’s laziness wasn’t what disturbed me the most, though. One Saturday morning when Momma had gone to Mrs. Fergusons’ and left me home, Mr. Camm strolled into the kitchen. While I put food away, he kept staring and grinning at me. He rubbed his head and grinned.

  “What are you doing in here?” he asked.

  Fear always came over me whenever he entered a room, and I said quietly, “I’m doing the things Momma told me to do.”

  “You’re just trying to get my attention.”

  I ignored him and continued to stack Mason jars under the kitchen cabinet.

  “Why are you ignoring me?”

  “I’m trying to get this done before Momma gets back.”

  When I stood up straight from stacking the jars, he came up right in front of me and blocked my path.

  “Excuse me,” I said, shivering but trying to slide past.

  “You don’t need to go around me.”

  I stood there and waited for him to get out of my way.

  He remained where he was, as if he wanted me to do something else. Eventually he did move.

  “You scared of me,” he said, laughing as I passed him.

  I went straight to my room, locked the door and waited for him to leave the house before I came back out. My hands trembled as I sat on my bed. I pulled out my diary and wrote about what he’d done. After several long minutes, my heartbeat finally returned to normal.

  When I heard the squeaky kitchen door slam shut, I knew Mr. Camm had gone outside. I finished writing in my diary and returned to the kitchen to complete the list of chores Momma expected to be done. The sooner I finished, the sooner I could get to washing and pin-curling my hair for church.

  I had been in the kitchen only ten minutes when Mr. Camm snuck back in the house. My brothers were outside working with their backs bent, pulling weeds, continuing the difficult work that had stolen Papa from his family.

  “You’re still in here?” Mr. Camm asked as if he and I had a casual relationship.

  “I told you. I’ve got to finish up before Momma comes back. She should be coming soon,” I said, by way of warning him.

  He gazed at me with his dark, beady eyes and then opened the pantry. He grabbed the hammer which hung on the nail inside, but he didn’t leave. He leaned back against the wall and gawked at me from across the room.

  I grabbed the broom and vigorously swept the floor, hoping that he’d leave.

  Tears welled up in my eyes, but I didn’t release them. I was annoyed at the way he watched me. His eyes traveled from my emerging chest down to my feet. The close attention made me nervous. I’d been nervous about him watching me ever since he moved in.

  At last I couldn’t take the staring, so I propped the broom up in the corner of the room and started walking out the kitchen. Like a cat, he pushed up against me and I almost lost my balance. I broke my fall against the wall.

  “Leave me alone,” I said.

  “You fell against me,” he responded, still piercing me with his eyes.

  “No, sir, I didn’t,” I said as I hurried down the hall.

  He stood in the door and called after me, “It’s a matter of opinion.” Then he let out an uproar of laughter.

  I was left shaking after the encounter, and gave up on finishing the chores. I’d take the punishment if Momma delivered it.

  His actions made me want to get a knife. When he stood against the wall eyeing me most evenings after dinner, all yearning and lustful, I wanted to kill him.

  The thought of my brothers leaving home troubled me, and sometimes, late at night, I’d cry. I didn’t ever want to be alone with Mr. Camm in the house. Carl was in love with Mary, and John was thinking about moving away and getting a government job. Carl had already started working with Mr. Ferguson some days, spending more and more time away from home. And it was obvious that Mr. Camm wouldn’t leave me alone.

  CHAPTER 10

  PEARL

  “I’m ready to go,” Willie said as soon as I sat down. I had belted my heart out and the crowd had cheered and begged me to sing an encore.

  “Can I finish my drink? I just finished my set, Willie.” I took a sip of my gin and tonic, watching the men swing wild women around and do the loose legs jiggle. I loved to dance and so did Herman. We’d dance the entire night away. We had actually closed the joint once or twice. I didn’t want to go home tonight. Herman was on the floor dancing with one of the ladies who came in regularly, and if Willie had not been there, it would have been me on the floor with him.

  “Come on,” I said, “let’s stay a little longer.”

  “No, I’m ready now,” he said, and stood up. He had fire in his eyes.

  I reluctantly stood up as well, and left my gin and tonic half-full on the table as Roy walked over to check on me.

  “You’re leaving early tonight,” he said. “You all right, Miz Pearl?”

  “I’m all right, Roy. Good night.”

  He nodded at me and mumbled, “Good night, Willie,” through a frown of confusion.

  Willie threw up a hand, even though the vein in his neck pulsated visibly and his nostrils were flared. He was mad.

  On the walk home, he didn’t say but a few words, even when I tried to convince him to talk.

  “What’s wrong, Willie?” I asked.

  “Ain’t nothing wrong,” he said, and grunted.

  “I thought you wanted to hang out with your buddies tonight.”

  He pulled me by the hand and propelled me faster down the street. His nostrils were wide and his face swollen from a frustration he could not control. I hoped the cold night breeze would settle him down before we made it home.

  Washington, D. C. was lively for a Wednesday night, and as we swiftly walked down the cobblestone street, we could hear the chatter and laughter of people passing by. It was a colorful and diverse neighborhood adorned with lovely shrubbery and trees. Decent people of all professions lived here. It was like a big family. Sometimes, late at night, I could hear the echoes of fun and laughter through my bedroom window.

  Our pace slowed before we made it to the apartment, and Willie’s heavy breathing ceased. My heart started to race when he put the key in the lock.

  I walked inside, got undressed, took a sink bath and
put on my nightgown. Willie went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water from the icebox. He sipped it and plopped down in a chair and sat there as if he was in a trance.

  Thirty minutes passed before he finally came into the bedroom. He stood in the frame of the door and stared at me.

  “Aren’t you coming to bed, Willie?”

  He paused, and then said, “Do you want me in there?”

  I was getting tired of begging him to tell me what was on his mind. His sudden eruptions had my nerves rattled. I was tired of walking around on egg shells, scared to even talk to the men at the club who had supplemented my income with good tips while Willie had been away.

  “Willie, come to bed if you want to. I’m going to sleep,” I said grumpily and slid deep under the covers. When I reached over to cut out the lights, he scared me, yelling, “You’d better leave them lights on!” in his stern, baritone voice.

  All of a sudden, I felt a chill pass through my body. The tension was so thick I would need a knife to slice through it. I didn’t like the feeling, and reminded myself that Willie had never raised a hand to me.

  I sat straight up in the bed. “What is wrong with you, Willie? Something is going on with you.”

  “You don’t know, Pearl?” he asked, and moved toward the bed.

  “No, damm it, I don’t.”

  “Let me start,” he said ominously, and sat down at the foot of the bed.

  I was silent, scared to move, waiting for him to continue.

  “That nigger, the one you been singing to at the club.”

  “Come on, Willie, we’ve been down this road before.”

  “Gurl, don’t make me mad. You know him and I know you been seeing him. Do I look like a damn fool to you?”

  Fire was in his eyes, and he was moving erratically and pointing like a madman. I didn’t know what to do. I wondered if one of my patrons had said something. Or was Willie speculating as always, trying to get me to confess?

  “I haven’t been seeing anybody but you.”

  He gave me a hard stare. “Gurl, when I married you, I knew you’s the kind a woman a man need to keep an eye on. You’s pretty and you know it. And you get off on the attention of other men.”

  “Willie, all women are like that,” I said, confused.

  “But not for every damn man.” He raised his voice even louder. “The night I came home, you were singing for him. And you’ve sang to the son of a bitch every night he’s come in. What the hell you want me to think?”

  I pretended to be weary. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Pearl, you’s a goddamn liar!” he yelled.

  The neighbor knocked on the wall. “Keep it down over there.”

  The walls were not thin, yet Willie’s thick, baritone voice could wake up the dead when it was loud.

  “Calm down,” I said to him.

  “There you go again. ‘Calm down.’ You’s my damm wife. You ain’t got no business smiling in other men’s faces. You should have mo’ respect for yo’self.”

  “I work.”

  “Gurl, let me finish. I used to get mad when we first met, with men watching you and lusting over you. Now, I know it is yo’ business. But, Pearl, I am a country boy. I believe in old-fashioned thangs, and I don’t want my wife acting like a damn whore. You are my wife. And the way that dude look at you, you know him more than you letting on.”

  “I don’t know nothing.”

  “I tell you what,” he said. “You can keep lying if you want to, but I’m going to kill his black ass.”

  I stiffened with alarm. “Willie, you are crazy. That man hasn’t done anything to you.”

  “He’s seeing my wife.”

  “I told you, I don’t know him.”

  “Okay then,” he said, and he stood up. “I hear he lives around here, and I’m going to find him.” He stormed out of the bedroom.

  I jumped out of the bed and followed him into the living room. His eyes were troubled and beads of sweat were sliding down the sides of his face. He patted his pocket searching, I knew, for his switchblade.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Back down to the club. Tonight was the last time you going to see that son of a bitch.”

  Willie always carried a knife on him, and even though I didn’t know of a time he had used it, I always feared he might. I dashed in front of the door and blocked him from leaving.

  “Willie, stay here. Don’t go down there getting in trouble.”

  “Why are you worried about him? What the hell he mean to you?”

  He tried to push me away from the door, but I wouldn’t budge.

  “Move, Pearl, ’fore I hurt you.”

  I yelled, “Leave that man alone, Willie! Stay away from him.”

  Without warning, he slapped me so hard I tumbled to the floor. I hit my head on the knob on the way down. My head stung from the fall, and blood started dripping down my cheek. “I told you not to mess around on me, Pearl. I told you, gurl.”

  He was so enraged, he hit the wall with his bare fist and put a dent in the plaster.

  I got up, blood dripping from the cut above my eye. I ran into the bathroom and pressed a wet cloth against my head to stop the bleeding and hopefully prevent swelling.

  Willie sat down on the bed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Pearl. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  All I could think about was my safety. “I’m leaving here tonight.”

  I pulled out my suitcase and started throwing clothes out of my drawer into it.

  Enraged again, Willie lifted it up off the bed and heaved the suitcase across the room. It fell to the floor with a bang and my clothes tumbled onto the floor.

  “You ain’t going nowhere. You’re my wife. You don’t leave me!” he yelled.

  Tears welled up in my eyes. I had never felt so trapped in my life. Without speaking, I bent down and started picking up my clothes and unwillingly shoved them back in the armoire drawer.

  Willie coldly watched me pick up clothes with one hand, holding the wet towel on my face with the other.

  When I had conjured up enough courage, I told him, “You need to leave, Willie. Get out of my house.”

  He said firmly, “I ain’t going no damn where and neither is you. So get used to it. Why don’t you think about a way to satisfy yo’ man, and keep yo’ mind off that nigger at the club?”

  My face and my voice had been my money-makers. My looks had gotten me jobs and my talent had kept me working. Now it all had been compromised. The left side of my face was deep red and swollen. I had a small cut above my eye. And the more I thought about what Willie had done, the more upset I became.

  I put the suitcase back under the bed.

  Willie finally took off his clothes and crawled in the bed. He patted the space beside him. “Get in.”

  Both fear and rage swept over my body like a howling wind.

  Willie had become a bitter man, and I was dazed by my craving for Herman. I was no longer thinking like a sane woman. The sight of Willie naked made me angrier than I had been when he slapped me. I didn’t know how I could sleep with him.

  I went into the washroom and put some petroleum jelly on my face. The swelling was subsiding, but a small bruise was forming over my eye.

  I crawled into bed and snuggled as close to my edge as possible without falling over it.

  Willie put his hand on my back. Tears welled up in my eyes and dropped onto the pillowcase. I had always been slow to cry, but I could not imagine spending the rest of my life with him. He was a detriment to my career and my chance at real love.

  I flinched as he started rubbing my back.

  “You are my wife, gurl.”

  I pleaded, “Willie, please go to sleep.”

  My words fell on deaf ears. He rubbed my legs and tugged at me until I stopped resisting. I gave in out of fear. If he hit me once, he might try again.

  He got on top of me, licked my neck and then my breasts, and rubbed his han
ds against my vagina. My nipples reacted and so did my clitoris.

  “You know I love you, gurl,” he whispered deeply in my ear.

  At least he was quick. Inside of me, I couldn’t let myself go.

  I lay there like a stiff and let him gyrate up and down on me for the last time.

  I fell off to sleep after a while, and so did Willie.

  The next day was Thursday. Willie got up early. He put on the same striped shirt, black pants, and brogans. “Pearl, you be here when I come back.”

  I turned my back toward him. “Where am I going? I don’t sing tonight and besides, you’ve messed my face up.”

  “I’m going to find work so you can quit that job. I want my woman home and with children.”

  The idea left me numb. I was thirty-three years old. I never desired to be domesticated. That was precisely the reason why I had worked so hard on my singing career. And Willie was not going to change me.

  Out the window, I watched him turn the corner. I put my clothes on, threw what I could fit in my suitcase, gathered money from the jar I had hidden under the bed, and took off down the street to the club.

  Roy was there cleaning up from the night before, washing down the tables. He noticed my bruise. “What happened to you, Miz Pearl?”

  “I need to get to the train station,” I told him.

  He poured a drink. “Calm down. Drink this,” he said.

  I drank the entire glass in one gulp.

  “Please, you got to get me to the train station,” I said. “I can’t be here when Willie comes back.”

  Roy quickly became protective. “Stay here, Miz Pearl. You’ll be safe here.”

  He locked me in the club. While he was gone, I poured myself another shot of gin and sipped on it until I was lightheaded.

  In less than twenty minutes, Roy returned. “I got my uncle’s car.”

  Roy drove me to the train station, and as a generous gesture, he paid for my ticket to Jefferson.

  I was going to pay a visit to the country.