A Yellow Watermelon

by Ted M. Dunagan

  I wanted to rush in there and tell her that a miracle was on the way, but I knew I couldn’t risk disappointing her. I had to make sure that miracle happened first. Just three more days.

  17

  Lying On Sunday

  Time drug by like pouring syrup on a cold morning. I didn’t think Friday would ever end. After an early morning visit with Jake we decided that would be the last time we would meet until Sunday afternoon. “No need to take chances,” he had said.

  Night came, but there was no relief from the heat. Fred performed his feat of air conditioning which let me finally slip into a dream-filled world of being chased across creeks and through woods by bootleggers and big red bulldogs.

  I awoke with a start, was relieved to be safe in my own bed, and happy that it was Saturday because I would have my paper route to pass the day.

  From a distance I saw the mail rider stuffing my papers into the box. The dust had settled by the time I pulled them out and placed them into my bag. A few minutes later I was on Mrs. Blossom’s front porch knocking on the wooden edge of her screen door saying, “Mrs. Blossom, I got—”

  Suddenly the door opened and there stood Mr. Blossom with his great protruding belly. “Mrs. Blossom ain’t here, son. She’s done gone on to Mobile to look for us a place to stay. She won’t be back.”

  I didn’t know what to say. When I regained my composure I said, “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Uh, would you like a Grit paper?”

  “Naw, I got no time to read. I got to get on down to the sawmill.”

  I couldn’t resist it. I looked down at his shoes and saw his sock where the tongue should have been on his left foot. Then I noticed him cock his head and start looking at me hard, so I immediately diverted my eyes and began backing off the porch. My slingshot was in my back pocket with the rubber straps hanging loose. Although I felt he wouldn’t recognize a piece of his shoe tongue attached to them, I still didn’t want to afford him the opportunity.

  “Well, uh, thank you, sir. Please tell Mrs. Blossom I said hey.” I pushed my paper bag, which was hanging from my shoulder by the strap, back behind me so it would cover my slingshot, turned and walked away.

  I walked east on Center Point Road. I had only gone a little ways when I heard a car coming from towards Coffeeville. I watched until it pulled in front of Miss Lena’s. I got a real bad feeling when I saw Sheriff Crowe get out of the car. He put his hat on, stretched, scratched himself, then walked into the store.

  Miss Lena had electricity which kept the drink box cool and the box for Popsicles and ice cream frozen. She also had an electric window fan in the window directly behind the counter where she always stationed herself. The windowsill was about six inches over my head. I could stand beneath it undetected and hear the conversation from within, despite the whine of the big saw blade at the mill. I heard the voice of the fat sheriff saying, “Been all over this damn county looking for that nigger and ain’t nobody seen hide nor hair of him. Don’t make no sense. Seems like somebody would have seen him or he would have left a trail somewhere. But it’s my own damn fault—should’ve brought the bloodhounds with me when I come down here the first time.”

  I doubted they would have helped. Jake had had dogs on his trail before. He knew how to deal with them.

  Miss Lena said, “Well, like I said, sheriff, ain’t nobody round here seen him since the day before you came down here looking for him.”

  I could tell by the tone of her voice that she didn’t like that sheriff any more than my Uncle Curvin did.

  “How you know that, ma’am?”

  “’Cause everybody comes in here and if they had, then somebody would’ve said something.”

  “That’s what I figured—reason I stopped by here.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, sheriff.”

  My heart just about stopped when I heard his next question. “Let me ask you this, ma’am. Do you know of anybody around here that he hung around with, maybe spent time with?”

  I knew Miss Lena had seen me come in and out of the store with Jake, but I wasn’t sure if she knew I had spent a lot of time at the sawmill with him. I was relieved when I heard her answer, “No, nobody that I know of. You might want to talk to the men down at the sawmill.”

  “No. I done talked to all of them. You seen Curvin Murphy around anywhere?”

  It was getting worse.

  “I saw him go by early this morning. I believe he was going to help the Robinsons haul what’s left of their cotton to the gin.”

  “I don’t believe I know the Robinsons.”

  “They’re the colored folks who—”

  “Colored folks! You didn’t tell me no niggers lived around here.”

  “I don’t remember hearing you ask.”

  “Where they live?”

  “You know where Old Man Cliff Creel lives?”

  “Of course I know where Mr. Creel lives.”

  I was sure he did too. Probably stopped by there quite often to pick up some whiskey and some payoff money.

  “After you pass his house you’ll see a wagon path on your left. If you turn in there it will take you down to their place.”

  “You see or hear anything, ma’am, you get in touch with me. I’m gonna ride over to that nigger place and have me a look see. If they’re harboring that convict I’m putting all of’em in jail.”

  When I heard his heavy boots on the wooden floor, in a state of fright, I made a bad mistake. Instead of just going behind the store until he left, I started running. I was on the road before he came out of the store and saw me. I could feel his evil eyes boring into my back.

  I heard the car door slam, the engine crank up, then the sound of the tires crunching on the gravel. Maybe he would turn his car around and just go on to where he had said he was going, but I doubted it. I figured it would look even worse if I stopped running, so I just kept going, forming lies in my head.

  When he pulled up beside me, he hung his head out of the car window and said, “Hey, boy. Hold up here a minute.”

  I stopped and he ground the big car to a halt. There he was, right in front of me. “What you running from, boy?”

  I was scared, but then I thought about what my father had told me about how I would encounter a lot of bullies during my life. I knew I couldn’t use my stick, which I had a tight grip on, but I did know this man was a coward and a bully. No more than a cross between a snake and a mean dog in my mind. Maybe it was my guardian angel, which my mother had always assured me that I had, but for some reason a sense of clarity and confidence came over me.

  I looked directly into his bloodshot eyes and said, “I ain’t running from, I’m running to.”

  I could tell that wasn’t the response he expected and it puzzled him for a moment, then he asked, “Well, what is it you’re running to?”

  I lifted my newspaper bag up in front of his eyes and said, “Running to deliver my papers ’cause I’m late.”

  He was a bully, but he wasn’t stupid. I could tell he was searching for something while he looked at me. I think it was my cotton-top head that caused him to recognize me. “Wait a minute, didn’t I see you at the cotton gin the other day with that gimpy Murphy runt?”

  I knew the meaning of the word runt, and my uncle was a small man. But I didn’t know the meaning of the other word, just that it was not complimentary, so I took exception to my uncle being called a bad name. “Yes sir, that was me, but my Uncle Curvin ain’t gimpy.”

  “Course he is boy, and you gimpy in the head if you don’t know it. You know anything about a nigger what’s been working down at the sawmill?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Yore Uncle Curvin say anything about him after y’all left the cotton gin?”

  “No, sir.”

  “All right, you git on down the road with your papers, but I’m gonna be watchi
ng you. And you tell your uncle I’m looking for him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I didn’t wait for him to turn his car around. I started walking and just listened to the sound of it. In a while I stopped, turned and looked down the road and watched him disappear over the hill.

  I knew I had just told a passel of lies, but I figured the Lord would forgive me because I told them to such a bad person.

  I wasn’t worried about the Robinsons either because they didn’t know anything about Jake’s whereabouts. The sheriff would probably give them a difficult time, but that was about all he could do. Also, I knew Uncle Curvin could truthfully say he hadn’t seen or talked to Jake, and if he had to lie about suggesting I contact him, then he would.

  I looked over toward the cotton house and wondered if Jake had observed my encounter with the sheriff, hoping that if he had, that he wouldn’t panic and start running. How funny, I thought, the person that fat sheriff was looking for had probably been looking right at him through a crack in the cotton house door.

  I visited a while with everyone on my route because I wanted to make my job last the entire day; consequently it was well after the dinner hour when I finished the eastern half. Miss Lena’s store came into view and my mouth watered when I thought about the things inside.

  When I passed the Blossoms’ house I noticed several boxes sitting on the porch. I supposed it wouldn’t be long before Mr. Blossom would be gone, too. Now I knew why Mrs. Blossom had hugged me and given me a dollar bill when I brought her the butter beans. It was because she knew it would probably be the last time she would ever see me.

  The sawmill workers had come and gone. The store was deserted except for Miss Lena. I went straight to the drink box, lifted the lid and pulled out a strawberry Nehi, then I took a dime box of saltine crackers off the shelf. At the counter, I watched while Miss Lena lifted the round wooden cover off the hoop of cheese and sliced me a piece.

  “You can sit on the drink box and eat if you want to,” She said.

  She only let folks she liked sit on her drink box. I had seen her shoo people off of it before. I set my drink, crackers and cheese on it, then I hopped up beside them. The painted metal felt smooth and cool.

  “That sorry excuse for a sheriff didn’t scare you, did he?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “What did he have to say?”

  I had a mouth full of cheese and crackers and I had to wash it down before I could answer. “He just asked me if I knew anything about Jake. And, oh yeah, he said he was looking for Uncle Curvin.”

  “He asked me about Curvin too. Why you think he’s looking for Curvin?”

  I told her about us having seen him at the cotton gin on Monday and about his conversation with Uncle Curvin. “I ’spect he just wants to ask Uncle Curvin if he warned Jake that he was coming down here looking for him.”

  “Curvin ain’t got no reason to have done that.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You don’t think the Robinsons are hiding him, do you?”

  “No, ma’am, I know they ain’t, ’cause I been over there.”

  “Well, I don’t care if he was an escaped convict. He didn’t bother nobody and he was real polite. I liked him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I liked him a lot.”

  “I hope he got clean away, hope he’s already over yonder in Mississippi somewhere.”

  He will be come Monday, I thought to myself.

  My next stop was with Aunt Minnie, Aunt Sadie, and Uncle Bud, and yes, they were on the front porch dipping snuff, rocking and spitting. They found a nickel between the three of them and immediately split the paper in three parts. Aunt Minnie said, “They’re some baked sweet potatoes and cornbread in the oven, sugar boy, if you’re hungry.”

  “No, ma’am, thank you, I ate me something at Miss Lena’s store.”

  “Well, then get you a drink of water and sit a spell with us. You heard anything about a nigger escaped convict being loose around here?”

  Uncle Bud and Aunt Sadie were reading, but Aunt Minnie wanted to talk. “Yes, ma’am, but ain’t no need for y’all to worry about that.”

  Aunt Minnie leaned over and spat a big mouth full of snuff juice and asked, “Well, how some you say that, sugar boy? We been scared to death around here.”

  “’Cause I know him. He worked over at the sawmill and he wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less y’all, and he’s gone now anyway.” I knew the last part was a lie, but it wouldn’t be one tomorrow.

  That seems to satisfy her because she started reading her part of the paper. I got myself a drink of their good well water, said good bye and headed out to finish my work.

  It was Sunday morning and I lay in bed listening to the activity of my family. I heard my father and Ned when they walked off the porch, heard them call Old Bill from under the house, then the rattle of the chain when they hooked it to his collar so he wouldn’t follow them into the woods and scare away the wild turkeys.

  Outside the window I could hear Fred getting out of the wash tub and I knew it wouldn’t be long before my mother would be back to roust me out of bed. She had already been in once and she didn’t like to have to come back. I practiced having a painful look on my face and waited. I didn’t have to wait long.

  “Am I gonna have to get a switch to get you out of the bed?” She said after she burst through the door.

  “I got a bad bellyache, mother.”

  “You’re gonna have a bad butt ache if you don’t get out of that bed, wash your hands, and get to the breakfast table. And I mean right now.”

  She left the room before I could respond so I knew I had to get up and begin the second phase of my fake illness. I crept into the kitchen holding my stomach, pulled out a chair and sat down. I could see her watching me out of the corner of her eye.

  Phase two was going to take a lot of will power, but I knew I was up to it. I had to be.

  She had a plate in front of me with a biscuit split open and smothered with gravy, its steam rising toward my face. Next to that were thin slices of fried sweet potatoes. They were brown and crispy, just the way I liked them. I had to keep swallowing the saliva that welled up in my mouth, but I just sat there and stared at the food, never making a move to touch it.

  “Don’t just sit there, son, eat your breakfast.”

  “Can’t. My belly hurts too bad.”

  I tried to make my breathing sound labored and finally she gave in. I was so thankful because phase three, if it had been needed, entailed eating some soap while I was bathing so I would throw up.

  “All right, you can go on back to bed. If you get to feeling better, then walk on down to your Uncle Curtis’s house. We’ll be having Sunday dinner there after church.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I will if I do.”

  A while later Fred poked his head in and said in a loud whisper, “I know you’re faking. Next week will be my turn.”

  Then I heard Uncle Curtis’s truck and knew it was my cousin Robert coming to pick us up. Fred closed the door.

  As soon as the sound of the truck’s engine faded away I was up and headed for the kitchen. I found my breakfast plate in the oven and in less than two minutes it was clean. It was a good breakfast. I hoped Poudlum and Jake had one, too, because we were going to need our strength today.

  I selected three of my least-favorite marbles and put them into my pocket. Next I gathered my weapons, the stick and the slingshot, then I was on the move.

  18

  Up a Tree

  I took the trail to Friendship Road, then hugged the edge of the woods the rest of the way, in case some late church-goers might come along. When I got to Center Point Road I stopped, looked up and down the road, and listened hard. The only sound was the raspy call of a crow high overhead. There was no motion anywhere. Everything was so still it could have been a painted pictu
re.

  I dashed across the road to the front door of the store, pressed my face to the glass, and looked at the clock behind the counter. It was straight up eleven o’clock. We had a little over an hour before people would be out of church and moving about. We had to move. I started toward the rear of the store, hoping to find Poudlum waiting there.

  He wasn’t, but before I had time to get alarmed, he emerged from the edge of the woods and called out, “Over here.”

  “What you doing in the woods?” I asked.

  “Just didn’t want to be hanging out behind dat sto’ by myself.”

  “How come?”

  “’Fraid somebody might see me and think I be up to some devilment.”

  “We are. We up to a lot of devilment, but there’s no one around to see us ’cause everybody is at church. Let’s get going. First we’re gonna go through the woods to my Uncle Bud’s house and steal a chicken.”

  “A chicken? I thought we gon’ steal a cow.”

  “We are, but first we got to steal a chicken.”

  “How come?”

  “’Cause we need to feed one to that big mean dog. While he’s having Sunday dinner we’ll make off with your cow.”

  As we walked through the woods I asked Poudlum if they had a visit from the sheriff yesterday.

  “Sho did. How you know ’bout dat?”

  “Heard him tell Miss Lena he was coming to y’all’s place looking for Jake. What did he say to y’all?”

  “’Bout scared us all to death. Went all through de house like he be looking fo’ something, yelling about how he gon’ put us all in de jail house ’cause we be hiding Jake. We don’t know what he be talking ’bout.”

  “I know it. Sorry y’all had to put up with that. That old sheriff, he’s just a bully, so tell your momma and them not to worry about it. He can’t do nothing to y’all.”