Using her fist like a sledgehammer, she hit him again. “C’mon, hit me back Meskin! You know whut I oughta do? I oughta git that stove poker an ram it up yo ass. But I know you wouldn’t lak that,” sarcastically, “so I’m jes gon give you a good ass whuppin instead. How’s that?” POW!! “You still got ‘em?”
“I got ‘em.”
“Why don’tcha ball up yo fist an hit me right here where you hit me while ago?” again lowering her head to his. “Here, lemme help you,” taking his free hand, “lemme make you a fist.” She balled up his hand and began hitting herself on the head with it. “Black my other eye muthafucka. I wantcha to git me good an mad befo I sho nuff start whuppin yo ass!”
She wound her arm up like a pitcher and used the knuckle side of her fist like a club to pummel blow after blow on top of Salvador’s head, only stopping to reaffirm, “You still got ‘em?”
She hit him so many times her hand was swelling. “Stop hittin ‘em on his head, Emma. You gon break yo damn hand!” I warned.
“Thas awright. I wanna break it on his ol’ hard head!” POW! She pounded him again. “Whew! I dun jesta bout give out whuppin this Meskin’s ass,” adding, “but it sho wuz a lot uv fun, even if I did fuck up my hand. Look at it,” she said pitifully, holding it up with her other hand for me to get a better look. It was swollen to twice its size.
“Whut we gon do wit ‘em now, Emma?” I was getting tired of straining to keep the lid down.
“Hold ‘em til I git outta the house. When you hear me callin, git down an run.” A minute or two later she yelled out, “Anytime! Let the muthafucka go when you git ready!”
I jumped off the trunk and dashed out the back door. “PSSST! Here I am, over here.” She was standing at the corner of the house. “I got some bricks piled up so when that sonuvabitch cums out, les bombard ‘em.”
Salvador emerged from the back door carrying the hatchet and looking for our asses, cussing to the top of his voice in Spanish. When he came around the corner of the house, I let go with an “alley apple” that caught him dead in the chest. I was putting some Satchel Paige shit on his ass and all he could do was duck. He dropped the hatchet and took off. We had him on the run!
Victory in sight, I fired brick after brick as he fled down East Whaley Street. But with Emma’s help, he was on the verge of making a drastic comeback. She was running halfway to him and rolling the bricks like bowling balls. Every time I zoomed one at him, I had to duck because he stopped running and was returning the fire. Like a shortstop, he scooped up the bricks she rolled and hurled them back at me.
“Dammit, Emma!” I shouted after a near miss. “Quit chunkin! You feedin ‘em ammunition!”
When she stopped helping, I started winning again. Salvador took off down the street, probably heading for the border. “We got ‘em!” she crowed, as if she had really blasted him with those bricks.
“Damn, Emma! You gon git us kilt one uv these days!”
Chapter 6
Even though she had successfully discarded the thorn in her side, the stigma from their stormy relationship lingered stronger than ever. Our white neighbors in the neighborhood, heretofore, had not complained at all about the gambling, boozing, or any of the other things that went on at Big Emma’s place. But with all the hell raising she and Salvador did, they started calling the police at the slightest disturbance.
Now, practically every time a patrol car came down our street, they stopped by to “look in” on us. The heat was on, and the enterprise steadily declined. Hardly anybody came to the house to gamble any more. Since the success of the bootlegging business largely depended on the gambling crowd, it had to be abandoned. There was no money coming in, and it was back to basics, but with a different twist.
Emma could no longer get all dolled up, go uptown and come back with a string of tricks following her. She’d gotten too fat. Now, instead of tricks catching her, “we” caught them. I hardly went to school and pulled duty on the front porch, alerting her to any potential customer passing by. My stomach always knotted up when I spotted one and summoned her.
It was freezing cold outside, and the lone crepe myrtle in the yard was weighed down with icicles. I woke up early and went over behind Ben E. Keith’s produce house to hustle some kindling wood. I had a good fire going in the crap room when Emma came in and joined me.
“BRRrrr! Gotdam, it’s colder than a well digger’s ass in Butte, Montana!” backing up to the potbellied stove. “How long you been up?”
“A priddy long time.”
“You ain’ goin to school?”
“Nawww, I didn’ wanna go.”
I neglected to tell her “NEVER no mo.” I fought on the way to school and on the way home. Nearly everybody in Longview knew our business, and that included their children. Some kid was always talking bad about Emma and me. “Yo mama laks white mens.” “You ain’ nuthin but a peckerwood.” “You half-white.”
I also didn’t mention that I beat up Willie Joseph at school with a broom handle for calling her a whore. And that I got a whipping for it and got expelled for three days. She might not have given a damn, but I wasn’t taking any “Rayfield chances” (Rayfield would take a chance on anything). I wondered about what it was going to be like for Pat when she started school next year. If they picked on her like they did me, I’d be fighting all the time.
We huddled around the stove in silence until, “Emma?”
“Whut?”
“I don’t think no tricks is comin by this mornin. Do you?”
“Never kin tell. Men buy pussy when it’s cold, jes lak they do when it’s hot. Ain’t I got a bottle layin roun somewhere?”
“Yes mam, I know where it’s at.”
“Go git it.”
When I returned with the near pint, I waited for her to take a swig. After she swallowed, “Damn! I kin see now. Thas whut I needed wuz a eye opener.” She was in a decent humor in spite of our wretched condition.
“Emma, since there ain’ nuthin stirrin, tell me bout you an Aunt El sum mo. Where’d y’all go afta y’all caught that train?”
She took another drink and cleared her throat, “We rode that muthafucka all the way to Dallas. Did I ever tell you El damn near fell off when we caught it?”
“No mam.”
“Hell, for a minute I didn’ think we wuz gon make it.”
“Whut happen?”
“Well, I caught the damn thang priddy good, but when El hopped it, she missed wit one uv her feet. I held her on til it slowed down in Mineola,” reminiscing, “but we made it. When we got to Dallas, we stayed wit Sally for a while. Boy, when her an Bama tole us bout Duck bein dead, I got me a bottle an celebrated. I wisht I knowed where that hateful bitch wuz buried, I’d go shit on her grave! I don’t know how El let ‘em talk her into stayin. Soon as I made me some money an put a few rags together, I left.”
“Then whut?”
“Then I jes went everwhere. If I heard bout a town where money could be made, I went. First place wuz Fort Worth. Then,” pausing to reflect, “I left there an went to San Antonio, then down to Corpus Christi.” Adding, “Thas a priddy place.”
“Whut’s it lak?”
“Gotta ocean an white sandy beaches, real priddy. Then back to San Antonio an on out to El Paso. Since I wuz so close to Mexico, I said whut the fuck, an crossed over. Thas how I met Sabbado. You know the rest uv it.” Taking another drink, “You oughta, I dun tole it to you a dozen times.”
After a long silence I asked the big question I had wanted to ask, “Emma, how cum you didn’ cum back an git me?”
Her jawbone stiffened, indicating that one got under her skin. I didn’t give a damn, I wanted it to. “I’m here now, ain’t I? That oughta be good enuff. I didn’ havta cum back at all!” (In other words, “Take whutcha kin git an be thankful for that!”)
“Yeah, guess not. I’m goin down on the streets.”
“You didn’ ask me.”
“I ain’ gotta ask nobody shit!” I grabbed my
jacket and headed out the front door.
“Don’t forgit who’s payin the rent, MISTER Smart Ass!”
“Yeah, BOTH uv us!” I hollered back, slipped on some ice and fell on my butt.
I stayed gone a few days, needing to clear my head and think. I hated to admit it, but she was right. She could have just kept on going. Once I cooled off I returned home in a different frame of mind. “Emma, I got a idea how I kin help make us sum money,” I said when it was just the two of us.
“Doin whut?”
“Shinin shoes. I could make us a lotta money shinin shoes! Specially when them troop trains stop over at the station. Even when they ain’ no troop train, they’s always sum soldiers roun the station. I been wantin to do it, I jes hadn’ said nuthin to you bout it.
“I saved up enuff money to git whut I need. I kin git two cans uv black, two cans uv brown, an two cans uv tan shoe polish, a brown an black brush, an three shine rags for three dollars at Shivers. An I kin make a shine box myself. Whutta you think? Kin I do it?”
“I don’t care. Don’t git in the way over there. An see if you kin lead some uv them soldiers back over here.”
I ran to Ben E. Keith’s produce house and relieved them of two of their sturdiest-looking fruit crates. Leaving them on the back porch, I rushed in the house and got the hatchet. After about two steady hours of carpentry, I had beaten those crates apart and put together a good-looking shine box. I got one of Salvador’s belts and attached it to the box for a shoulder strap.
Only one thing was missing; I had to hustle some paint. The paint store uptown was just the place. They threw paint cans out back, maybe one of them would have enough. I was right and, using a piece of cardboard, painted it green. On the way back, I stopped by Shivers Drugstore and picked up my supplies.
The next day at the train station I made over seven dollars. When the troop trains stopped to let the soldiers take a break, I was right there with my shine box. I even had one twenty-dollar day after I learned how to pop those shine rags. I gave all the money to Emma to help make ends meet. Even on the occasional days I went to school, I took along my shine box. After school, I headed straight for the train station.
In the meanwhile, in an effort to get the gambling going again, Emma started snitching to the police more and more when they stopped by. It didn’t take her long to convince them that she knew about all the stealing going on in town. “Some uv them ol’ thievin niggers is always brangin somethin hot by here to sell or hock. I kin git y’all they names,” she offered. That is, if they would cut her some slack.
One day an officer came alone. After he finished tricking and was about to leave, “Emma, if you hear anything bout that Shivers Drugstore break in, you be sure an let me know, now.”
“Oh yessir, Mister Buster, I sho will.”
She had already given them a few tips on some people and was a “reliable” snitch. Not only did she snitch on thieves, but also on her gambling and bootlegging competitors. She didn’t view it as snitching, “I’m lookin out for us. Fuck them nigguhs.” When things got slow and she figured the crowd was over at so-and-so’s house, she’d go call the police and tell them a fight was going on over there, just so the cops would show up and scare everybody away.
The gamblers drifted back, but not in numbers. Most of them still took their chances at one of the other places. Emma never was big on keeping secrets and after the police started coming to our house, everybody knew she was snitching. The gamblers kept on gambling while she talked to the cops in the next room. After the conference and when she returned to the game, a player would ask, “Whut’s that all bout, Big Emma? Is they gon ‘rest anybody? Cuz if they is, I’m leavin now!” ready to break and run.
“Naw,” she said, “don’t y’all worry bout nuthin. They ain’ comin by here to do nuthin but pick up they money,” lying through her teeth. Bragging, “Tell me how many nigguhs’ houses could y’all be gamblin in an the police cum an don’t take nobody to jail? Thas one thang y’all don’t havta worry bout at Big Emma’s place. Y’all ain’ gon havta pay no fines.”
Word spread like poison ivy and the other bootlegging and gambling operators hated us. Me, because they figured if I knew they had a game going on, I would tell Emma and she would call the cops on them. They were dead wrong; I hated her snitching. When they saw me coming, “Y’all betta raise up, heah cums o’ Big Emma’s boy.”
Seems like every day a different policeman came to the house. When they asked her questions she knew nothing about, she pretended that she did just to stay in their good graces. When this wasn’t working, she quickly changed the subject to get them interested in “somethin else.”
Now whenever we had a game at the house, there was no need to stand guard at the door. When the police came, I didn’t even bother to announce it. They just walked through to the crap room and called her into the other room. I felt as tall as a worm.
School had turned out and I rushed off the campus to get to my shoe shining job. After waiting for the traffic so we could cross over Highway 80, I, along with a hundred other kids, made the mad dash for safety.
I saw the patrol car parked across the highway while we were waiting. When we got to the other side, one of the policemen hollered from his window, “Hey you!” We all stopped and looked quizzically at one another. “You with the shine box, git over heah!”
The other kids were suuure looking now as I walked up to the car. “Yessir?” I didn’t know these two.
“You Big Emma’s boy?”
“Yessir.”
“Git in, we wanna talk to you.”
“Bout whut?” as I crawled into the backseat.
“Bout that shoe polish you got thar,” he said as we drove away.
“Whut bout it?” completely dumbfounded.
“Whar’d you git it?” the other officer asked.
“At Shivers Drugstore.”
“That’s whut we wanna talk to you bout.”
I knew the way to the jailhouse, and we weren’t heading in that direction. “Where y’all takin me?”
“Aw, we jes gonna run out heah a little ways so’s we kin talk in private.” After we crossed the Sabine River, they turned off on a side road, stopped the car, “Git out!”
As we stood by the car, “Look now, you kin save yoreself a whooole lot uv trouble, boy, an us too, if you jes tell us who you got it frum.”
“I dun tole y’all. I bought it at Shivers Drugstore.”
“Listen boy! Don’tcha be a-standin thar lyin to us! We know whar the Gotdam shit cum frum!”
“I’m tellin y’all the truth! I bought it at the drugstore. I paid three dollars for all this stuff, my brushes an rags too.”
One of them slapped me across the face and I fell down. “You quit yore lyin, boy! Big Emma dun told us sum nigguh cum by y’all’s house wit two or three cartons uv polish, an you bought it frum him! Tell us who it wuz!”
The inside of my jaw was bleeding and I started crying, “No sir, I didn’, I ain’ bought nuthin frum nobody but—”
The officer who slapped me reached down and jerked me up. With one hand he held me up so we were face to face. “Boy, I’m tired uv lissenin to you lyin. Real tired. You read me?”
I trembled out, “Yessir, but I ain’ lyin.”
He looked at the other officer, “Big Emma said he wuz gonna deny ever bit uv it. Boy, you callin yore mama a liar?”
“No sir … I mean yessir … well …”
“Git the belt outta the car pocket.”
While one of them held my face down on the hood, the other dropped my britches and strapped my bare ass. Pitching and squirming, I twisted my face to one side and cried out, “Ask Mr. Shivers! Ask Mr. Shivers! He’ll tell y’all!!”
After two more licks they decided to go to the drugstore. In the backseat, I clutched my shine box in my lap and cried all the way. “Boy, you hush that shit up back thar. If yore lyin to us, I’m gonna give you a lot worse’n ‘at!”
They followe
d me into the drugstore and I pointed out the man who sold me the polish. He confirmed it without hesitation. Satisfied, they left.
When I walked into the house Emma wouldn’t look me in the face. She knew.
“Emma, why? You know I didn’ buy nuthin frum no nigguh. How cum you tell ‘em that an make ‘em whup me?”
“Aw, you’ll git over it. That wuzn’ yo first ass whuppin an it won’t be yo last. G’on outta here an lemme alone!”
I didn’t move fast enough to suit her. She grabbed an empty whiskey bottle off the crap table and threw it at me. I ducked, and it shattered against the wall. “I tole you to git yo Gotdam ass on outta here!” she fumed.
I ran out of the house and stopped when I got to a tree. I pulled the strap off my shoulder and smashed the shine box to smithereens against the tall pine, cursing her with each blow. I didn’t bother to pick up the polish. I cried all the way to Miss Bertha’s house. I saw Floyd in the yard. “Hi,” I shouted.
“Hey.”
“Whutcha doin?”
“Nuthin, we dun got all th’ washin hung up.”
I glanced at the two drooping clotheslines heavy laden with washboard-scrubbed laundry. “Wanna go to the picture show wit me? I’ll pay yo way.”
“Yeah! Lemme go axe Grandma.”
Miss Bertha gave him permission, and we hit the railroad tracks heading for town. After watching the Tim McCoy movie for the third time and getting so excited when he had a shootout with the bad guys I swallowed my jawbone breaker and nearly choked to death, the shine box incident faded off somewhere into the back of my mind.
Friday, business as usual, we were getting ready for the weekend. I had taken care of the scrubbing and she was in the kitchen cooking. I was in her room making up the bed and heard a knock on the front door.
I hurried to answer it, “Yessir,” I said, unhooking the screen.
The light-skinned colored man looked at me for a moment or two, “Is this where Emma Barnes stay?”
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