I run down the fence as far as it went and he was disappearing. I hollered loud as I could, “Granpa! It’s me, Little Tree!” But he didn’t hear, and was gone.
The white-headed lady said Christmas was might near on us. She said everybody was to be happy and sing. Wilburn said they sung all kind of songs in the chapel. He said they had to learn the songs and the pets got to stand up around the Reverend like chickens with white sheets on and bellered at the songs. I could hear them.
The white-headed lady said Sandy Claws was coming. Wilburn said that was a pile of shit.
Two men brought in a tree. They had on suits like politicians. They laughed and grinned and said, “Looky here, boys, what we have brought you. Isn’t that nice? Now isn’t that nice? You have your very own Christmas tree!’’
The white-headed lady said it was real nice and she told everybody to tell the two politicians it was real nice and to thank them. Which everybody did.
I didn’t. There was no cause at all to cut the tree. It was a male pine and it died slow, there in the hall.
The politicians looked at their watches and said they couldn’t stay long, but they wanted everybody to be happy. They said they wanted everybody to take some red paper and put it on the tree. Everybody did except me and Wilburn.
The politicians left and hollered, “Merry Christmas!” when they went out the door. We all stood around and looked at the tree for a while.
The white-headed lady said that tomorrow was Christmas Eve and that Sandy Claws would come with presents about noontime. Wilburn said, “Ain’t that a funny time for Sandy Claws to be coming on Christmas Eve?” The white-headed lady frowned at Wilburn. She said, “Now Wilburn, you say that every year. You know very well that Sandy Claws has got to go a lot of places. You also know that he and his helpers have a right to be home with their families on Christmas Eve. You should be thankful they take the time—anytime—to come and give you Christmas.”
Wilburn said, “Bullshit.”
Sure enough, the next day four or five cars come up to the door. Men and ladies got out and had packages in their arms. They had on funny little hats and some of them had little bells in their hands. They rung the bells and hollered, “Merry Christmas!” They hollered this over and over. They said they was Sandy Claws’ helpers. Sandy Claws come in last.
He had on a red suit and had pillers stuffed under his belt. His beard was not real, like Mr. Wine’s; it was tied on and hung limp below his mouth. It didn’t move when he talked. He hollered, “Ho! Ho! Ho!’’ He kept hollering this over and over.
The white-headed lady said we was all to be happy and holler back “Merry Christmas!’’ at them. Which everybody did.
A lady give me a orange, which I thanked her for it. She kept standing over me and saying, “Don’t you want to eat the nice orange?” So I et it while she watched me. It was good. I thanked her again. I told her it was a good orange. She asked me if I wanted another one. I told her I reckined. She went off somewheres and never did get another one. Wilburn got a apple. It was not as big as the ones Mr. Wine was always fergittin’ he had in his pocket.
I wisht then that I had saved a piece of my orange, which I would have if the lady hadn’t been pushing me to eat it. I would have traded some of it for some of Wilburn’s apple. I was partial towards apples.
The ladies all commenced ringing their bells and hollering, “Sandy Claws is going to give out the gifts! Gather round in a circle! Sandy Claws has something for you!’’ We all gathered round in a circle.
When Sandy Claws called out your name, you had to step forward and get your gift from him. Then you was to stand while he patted you on the head and rubbed your hair. Then you thanked him for it.
One of the ladies would be right on you hollering, “Open up your gift! Aren’t you going to open up the nice gift?” Which got confusing, the more was given out; as ladies was running this away and that away trying to foller everybody around.
I got my gift, and thanked Sandy Claws. He rubbed me on the head and said, “Ho! Ho! Ho!” A lady commenced hollering at me to open it up; which I was trying to do. I finally got the wrapping off.
It was a cardboard box with the picture of a animal on it. Wilburn said it was the picture of a lion. The box had a hole in it, and you was supposed to pull a string through the hole, and it would sound like a lion, Wilburn said.
The string was broke, but I fixed it. I tied a knot in it. The knot would not come through the hole, which made the lion not growl much. I told Wilburn it sounded more like a frog to me.
Wilburn got a water pistol; but it leaked. He tried to shoot with it, but the water kind of angled down. Wilburn said he could pee farther than that. I told Wilburn we could more than likely fix it if we had some sweet gum; but I didn’t know where there was a sweet gum tree thereabouts.
A lady come by passing out a piece of stick candy to everybody. I got one. She bumped into me again and give me another piece. I split the extry with Wilburn.
Sandy Claws started hollering, “Good-bye everybody! See you next year! Have a Merry Christmas!” All the men and ladies started hollering the same thing and ringing their bells.
They went out the front door and got in their cars and taken off. Everything seemed quiet after that. Me and Wilburn set on the floor by our cots.
Wilburn said the men and ladies come out of a chamber in town and a country club. He said they come out every year so they could feel good when they went and got drunk. Wilburn said he was tired of the whole thing. He said when he got out of the orphanage, he was not never going to pay any attention to Christmas, whatsoever.
Just as dusk begun to fall, they all had to go to the chapel for Christmas Eve. I stayed by myself, and as it got darker, I could hear them singing. I stood by the winder. The air was clear and the wind was still. They sung about a star, but it wasn’t the Dog Star, for I listened close. I watched the Dog Star rising bright.
They stayed a long time, singing in the chapel, so I got to watch the Dog Star until it rose high. I told Granma and Granpa and Willow John I wanted to come home.
Christmas Day we had a big dinner. Each one of us got a chicken leg and either a neck or a gizzard. Wilburn said it was always that-a-way. He said he figured they raised special chickens that didn’t have nothing but legs, necks and gizzards. I liked mine and et it all.
After dinner we could do as we pleased. It was cold outside and everybody stayed in except me. I went acrost the yard and carried my cardboard box and set under the oak tree. I set a long time.
It was nearly time for dusk and me to go in, when I looked up toward the building.
There was Granpa! He was coming out of the office and walking toward me. I dropped my cardboard box and run at him, hard as I could. Granpa knelt and we held each other and did not speak.
It was getting dark and I couldn’t see Granpa’s face under the big hat. He said he had come to see about me, but had to go back home. He said Granma couldn’t come.
I wanted to go—worst I ever felt—but I was afraid it would cause Granpa trouble. So I didn’t say I wanted to go home. I walked with him to the gate. We held one another again, but Granpa walked off. He walked slow.
I stood there a minute, watching him go away in the dark. The thought come to me that more than likely, Granpa might have trouble finding the bus station. I follered along though I didn’t know where the bus station was myself, but I might be able to help.
We walked down a road, me follering behind, and then onto some streets. I saw Granpa cross a street and come up behind the bus station. There was lights where he was standing. I hung around the corner where I was.
It was quiet, being Christmas Day and practical nobody was about. I waited awhile and then I hollered. “Granpa, more than likely I could help ye with the bus lettering.” Granpa didn’t act stumped at all. He waved for me to come on over. I ran. We stood at the back of the station, but I couldn’t make out which lettering was which.
In a little while a lou
dspeaker told Granpa which one was his bus. I walked over to the bus with him. The door was open and we stood there a minute. Granpa was looking off somewheres. I pulled on his pants leg. I didn’t hold on like I had done after Ma’s funeral, but I kind of pulled. Granpa looked down. I said, “Granpa. I want to go home.”
Granpa looked at me a long time. He reached down and swung me up in his arms and set me on top of the bus step. He come up to the step and taken out his snap purse. “I’m paying for myself and my young’un,” Granpa said, and he said it hard. The bus driver looked at him, and he didn’t laugh.
Me and Granpa walked to the back of the bus. I was hoping the bus driver would hurry and close the door. Eventually he did, and we started up, leaving the bus station behind.
Granpa reached his arm around me and lifted me onto his lap. I laid my head on his chest, but I didn’t sleep. I watched the winder. It was frosted with ice. There wasn’t any heat there in the back of the bus, but we didn’t care.
Me and Granpa was going home.
See the mountains humping and rolling high
Rimming the day birth and busting the sun
And tucking the fog sheets ’round her knees
And strumming the wind with her finger-trees
And scratching her back against the sky.
Watch the cloud banks roll and stroke her hips
Dripping whispers of sighs from the branch and bush
Hear her womb-hollows stir with the murmur of life
Feel the warm of her body, the sweet of her breath
And the rhythm of mating that thunders and cries.
Deep in her belly the water veins pulse
And nipple the roots that suckle their life
And streams from her breasts in a liquid flow
Giving life to her children she cradles in love
And adding a lilt from Her spirit mind
The melody humming of water’s song.
Me and Granpa’s going home.
Home Again
We rode the hours away. Me and Granpa, my head on his chest and not talking, but not sleeping either. The bus stopped two or three times at bus stations, but me and Granpa stayed on. Maybe we was afraid something would happen to hold us back.
It was early morning, but still dark when me and Granpa got off the bus on the side of the road. It was cold and there was ice on the ground.
We set out up the road and after a while we turned up the wagon ruts. I saw the mountains. They loomed big and darker than the dark around us. I might near broke into a run.
By the time we turned off the wagon ruts onto the hollow trail, the dark was fading into gray. I told Granpa, of a sudden, that something was wrong.
He stopped. “What is it, Little Tree?”
I set down and pulled off my shoes. “I reckined I couldn’t feel the trail, Granpa,” I said. The ground felt warm and run up through my legs and over my body. Granpa laughed. He set down too. He pulled off his shoes and stuffed his socks in them. Then he stood up and throwed the shoes back toward the road as far as he could throw them.
“And ye can have them clobbers!” Granpa hollered. I throwed mine back toward the road and hollered the same thing; and me and Granpa commenced to laugh. We laughed ’til I fell down and Granpa was might near rolling on the ground hisself and tears was running down his face.
We didn’t know exactly what we was laughing at, but it was funnier than anything we had laughed at before. I told Granpa if folks could see us, they would say we was white whiskey drunk. Granpa said he reckined … but maybe we was drunk—in a way.
As we come up the trail, the first pink touched the east rim. It got warm. Pine boughs swept down over the trail and felt my face and run theirselves over me. Granpa said they was wanting to make sure it was me.
I heard the spring branch and it was humming. I run and laid down and turned my face to the water while Granpa waited. The spring branch slapped me light, and run over my head and felt for me—and sung louder and louder.
It was good light when we saw the foot log. The wind had picked up. Granpa said it wasn’t moaning nor sighing, it was singing in the pines and would tell everything in the mountains that I was home. Ol’ Maud bayed.
Granpa hollered, “Shut up, Maud!” And here come the hounds acrost the foot log.
They all hit me at oncet and knocked me down. They licked me all over the face and every time I tried to get up one of them jumped on my back and there I went again.
Little Red commenced to show out by jumping all four feet in the air and twisting at the top of his jump. He would yelp as he leaped. Maud commenced doing it, and ol’ Rippitt tried it and tumbled in the spring branch.
Me and Granpa was hollering and laughing and slapping at hounds as we come to the foot log. I looked to the porch, but Granma wasn’t there.
I was halfway acrost the foot log and got scared, for I couldn’t see her. Something told me to turn around. There she was.
It was cold, but she only had on a deerskin dress and her hair shined in the morning sun. She stood on the side of the mountain beneath the bare branches of a white oak. She was watching like she wanted to look at me and Granpa without being seen.
I hollered, “Granma!” and fell off the foot log. It didn’t hurt. I splashed in the water and it was warm against the morning chill.
Granpa leaped in the air and spraddled out his legs. He hollered, “Whoooooooeeeeeee!” and hit the water. Granma run down the mountain. She run into the spring branch and dived at me, and we rolled, splashing and hollering and crying some, I reckin.
Granpa was settin’ in the spring branch and throwing water up in the air. The hounds all stood on the foot log and looked at us, total stumped at the whole thing. They figgered we was crazy, Granpa said. They jumped in too.
A crow commenced to caw, settin’ high atop a pine. He swooped low over us, cawing, and headed up the hollow. Granma said he was going to tell everybody I was home.
Granma hung my yeller coat by the fireplace to dry. I had had it on when Granpa come to the orphanage. I went into my room and put on my deer shirt and britches … and my boot moccasins.
I run out the door and up the hollow trail. The hounds went with me. I looked back and saw Granpa and Granma standing on the back porch watching. Granpa was still barefooted and he had his arm around Granma. I run.
Ol’ Sam snorted when I passed the barn and trotted after me aways. Up the hollow trail, and the Narrows—all the way to Hangin’ Gap, I didn’t want to stop running. The wind sung along with me and squirrels and ’coons and birds come out on tree limbs to watch and holler at me as I passed. It was a bright winter morning.
I come back slow down the trail and found my secret place. It was just like the picture Granma had sent me. Rust leaves was deep over the ground, under bare trees, and red sumach closed in where nobody could see. I laid on the ground a long time and talked to the sleepy trees, and listened to the wind.
The pines whispered and the wind picked up, and they commenced to sing, “Little Tree is home … Little Tree is home! Listen to our song! Little Tree is with us! Little Tree is home!” They hummed it low and sung it higher, and the spring branch sung it too along with them. The hounds noticed, for they quit sniffing the ground and stood with their ears up and listened. The hounds knew and come closer around me and laid down, content with the feeling.
Through that short winter day, I lay in my secret place. And my spirit didn’t hurt anymore. I was washed clean by the feeling song of the wind and the trees and the spring branch and the birds.
They didn’t care or understand how the body minds worked, no more than the men of body minds understood or cared for them. So they did not tell me about hell, or ask me where I come from, or say anything about evil at all. They didn’t know such word-feelings; and in a little while I had forgot them too.
When the sun had set behind the rim and shafted its last light through Hangin’ Gap, me and the hounds walked back down the hollow trail.
As the hollow softened blue, I saw Granma and Granpa settin’ on the back porch, facing up the hollow toward me, waiting, and as I come to the back porch, they stooped and we held on to one another. We didn’t need words, and so did not say them. We knew. I was home.
When I pulled off my shirt that night, Granma saw the whip scars and asked me. I told her and Granpa, but I said it didn’t hurt.
Granpa said he would tell the high sheriff and that nobody was to come for me again. I knew when Granpa set his mind and said it—then they would not come. Granpa said it would be best not to tell Willow John of the whipping. Which I said I wouldn’t.
By the fireplace that night, Granpa told it. How they commenced to have bad feelings, watching the Dog Star, and then one evening at dusk Willow John was standing at the door.
He had walked to the cabin through the mountains. He didn’t say anything, but et supper with them by the light of the fire. They didn’t light the lamp and Willow John did not pull off his hat. He slept in my bed that night, but when they got up in the morning, Granpa said, Willow John was gone.
That Sunday when him and Granma went to church Willow John was not there. On a branch of the big elm, where we always met, Granpa found a message belt. It said Willow John would be back and that all was well. The next Sunday it was still there; but the Sunday after that Willow John was waiting for them. He didn’t say where he had been, so Granpa didn’t ask.
Granpa said the high sheriff sent him word that he was wanted at the orphanage, and he went. He said the Reverend looked sick and said he was signing give-up papers on me. He said he had been followed around for two days by a savage, and that the savage had eventually come into his office and said that Little Tree was to come home to the mountains. That was all the savage said, and walked off. The Reverend said he did not want any trouble with savages and pagans and such.
The Education of Little Tree Page 19