That one stung. Walter said, “Damn! This nigguh ain’ missed nuthin.”
Emma bet with me every time; I made nine straight passes before I fell off. When the dice got back to my turn again, I rolled three sevens on the come out, caught four for a point twice and made it with trey-ace both times. The players began to draw back, folding their arms.
Ralph spoke up, “Hell, suma y’all fade ‘em, I jes had ‘em.”
I couldn’t get faded.
This caused a standstill in the action until Emma brought out her bottle. “Here baby,” handing it to me, “take a drank an pass it roun to these po devils. Y’all gitcha a swallow uv that good whiskey.” Barnstorming, “Take the rags outta y’all’s asses an gamble. Tell y’all whut. I ain’ gon shoot no mo, I’m jes gon back up an side bet.” Giving me the green light, “Go ‘head baby, do yo stuff.”
I tried again to get faded, “Forty dollars I shoot.”
They stirred uneasily. In order to get any more action, I knew I would have to resort to proposition gambling, commonly known as “sucker bettin.” I picked a point on the dice (four, five, six, eight, nine, or ten) and bet that I would roll it a certain way. If I rolled it any other way, or rolled ANY seven in the process, I lost.
“Awright,” I said, “I know y’all waitin on somethin dead. Instead a forty dolIars I shoot, forty dollars the dice make fo with two deuces.”
“Shit,” Jake said, putting his money down, “I’ll jump off a airplane to bet ‘ginst that. I don’t care if you is Big Emma’s boy. Shoot ‘em,” he said confidently.
Emma knew that either I was crazy to make such a wager, or I really knew how to shoot the shit out of a pair of craps. I slowed it down, rubbing on the dice, waiting for her to place her bet. She was hesitating because she would NEVER make such a dicey bet. “Forty mo he do,” she announced; Walter quickly covered her bet.
Making four with two deuces sounded gloomy until I did away with one of the fours and set the 3-1 in the middle with the two deuces on the bottom. With this combination in the middle, the only seven left is 5-2 and a hurting four, 3-1. Narrowing the odds from four to one against to two to one against. Good, consistent rolling and a bit of luck make it about even.
I knew the distance I could roll the dice before they’d start to run ahead of each other, and had a mental picture of how far they should roll to allow the two deuces on the bottom enough turns to settle on the top. I used to practice this shot by sticking the dice together with a little dab of spit. That way, I could see how far they’d roll before breaking apart.
Control is the key, releasing them with just the right push and dash of follow-through so that before they reached the predetermined distance, they’d put on the brakes like Tim McCoy’s horse sliding to a halt. I did it three times in a row, doubling the bet each time. Emma did the same thing betting on the side.
“Damn Emma! This nigguh’s worse’n Wizard Ganzi!” Jake exclaimed. “An that nigguh kin throw a pair uv craps clean ‘cross the roof uv a house an tell you whut they gon land on on the other side!”
“He’s a chip off the old block. I taught him everthang he know,” she said proudly. “Shit, me an that boy been down the road together, ain’t we baby?”
“Yeah, Emma.”
What an honor to even be mentioned in the same crapshooting breath with Wizard Ganzi, a craps master who could “shoot the dots off” a pair of dice. He put so much “English” on them you could hear them humming when they zoomed down the blanket and stopped on the right numbers, as if being pulled by invisible strings. Even Emma didn’t fade Ganzi. Whenever he came to our house, he had to bet the “straight make” on all bar points. Hardly anybody who knew him would bet against him.
Jake broke the interlude, “Say Big Emma, ain’cha got anutha bottle stashed sumwhere? Many licks this nigguh dun hit me, I could drank a gallon.”
Acie joined in, “Hell yeah, Big Emma. Go git da bottle.” Looking around at the others, “Ain’ y’all tired?” They nodded their heads. He added, “I didn’ hafta axe y’all if you wuz broke. Big Emma’s boy tuk care uv dat.”
Emma told Acie, “Stick yo head inside the door an see if Pat’s still up.”
After doing so, “Reckon not, Big Emma. Ain’ no light on in dere.”
“Well, tiptoe on thru. Go in my room an look under my mattress an git it.”
The game was over. I finished counting my money and had won $640. I tossed a hundred to Emma for the “wear an tear.” The rest of the night we just sat around bullshitting. I asked about Lonzo, “I wanna see ‘em befo I go back, an buy ‘em a drink.”
Leroy said, “Lonzo been dead over two years. He didn’ pay his rent an they cum to his room to klect. Fount ‘em in there layin ‘cross his bed.”
“Damn,” I said, “everybody I hear about is dead.”
“Yeah,” said Pee Wee, “they been drappin lak flies.”
Walter said, “Slim Linzy dead too.”
“How’d he die?” I asked.
“Accident. Slip an fell goin up the gangplank into one uv them boxcars wit a crosstie on his shoulder. Fell on his neck an broke it.”
“I’ll be damn!” I said. “An he’d been loadin ‘em a thousand years. I used to like to watch Slim eat fish an gamble. When he got about half-drunk, he’d lean back against that wall, put one uv Emma’s fried perch in his mouth an close his eyes.”
Everybody was laughing at my kind remembrances. “He wouldn’ leave nuthin but the skeleton. Whenever his shot came, he’d open his eyes right on cue. Emma’d wind up cussin ‘em out for ‘fish greasin’ the dice if he made a point an she had him faded.” Looking over to the wall, “That wuz his favorite spot over there.”
“Yeah,” Emma said, “jes lak that wuz Blue’s favorite spot you in.”
“Say Big Emma, tell us that toast you say all the time befo this bottle run out,” Jake requested.
“Okay,” in toast gesture she held the bottle up over the center of the table,
“Whiskey, oh whiskey, Gotdam yo soul,
You caused me to spend both silver an gold.
We wrestled and tussled and you throwed me in the ditch,
But I’m gon try you one mo time,
You red-eyed sonuvabitch. Snakeshit.”
And the whiskey took a long trip down her throat.
I had won most of the money and heard enough bullshit and obituaries. It was Saturday night, time to see the town and some of my old cronies. “Check y’all later,” I told them and headed down on the streets to my old stomping grounds.
Chapter 8
The next day, Sunday, Allen’s sister arrived. She came to the house in a taxi. After they finished hugging and greeting, she told Emma, “I went straight to Lucille’s from the bus station. Didn’t take her long to send me to you,” she kidded.
“You shoulda cum here in the first place.”
“Well, I would have but her and Allen’s address was on the telegram. Before I go any further, let me apologize for not being here sooner. I had a little difficulty putting the traveling money together on such short notice,” she said, embarrassed.
“I understand Effie,” Emma commented.
Being seated, “Emma, tell me what on earth happened to my brother?”
“Blue died right out there on the front porch. …”
Effie cried through the whole story. Shaking her head in disbelief, “Oh, my God. What a shame,” she bemoaned.
As I sat in the room listening to them talk, I could definitely see the resemblance of this fiftyish prim and proper lady to Allen. They had the same deep black coffee-grounds complexion, maybe she was juuuust a shade lighter, and very similar facial features. There would be no mistaking them as siblings. Except for sounding like a white woman with a heavy California accent, even their voice tones were alike.
The conversation took a direction that let me know they went back a long way together when Effie said, “Emma, don’t tell me this is that pretty baby all grown up.”
�
�Thas him.”
“Gee, it just doesn’t seem like I’ve been gone that long. When James and I moved to California, he wasn’t more than two years old. How old are you now, young man?”
To sound as old as I could, “Goin on nineteen.”
“Effie, I got a girl too.” Asking me, “Didja see Pat out there anywhere?”
“Yeah, she’s over at Betty Carol’s playin.”
“Oh, that’s alright Emma. Don’t take her away from her friend. I’ve got to be going pretty soon so I can take a bath and clean myself up some. How old is your daughter?”
“She’ll be twelve this comin August. You got any?”
“No, I haven’t been so blessed.”
“You got a place to stay?”
“Oh, yes. I stopped and got a room at the hotel on my way over here. Emma, this is as good a time as any to talk business, and if I don’t ask, I won’t know. Who’s handling the arrangements, you or Lucille?”
“I am. I’m takin care uv everthang.”
“How is Lucille taking all this? I mean, you handling everything and all.”
“How she takes it is her bizness, I’m still his legal wife. Everthang he had, he left it to me, all his social security, everthang. Lucille didn’ git shit.”
“Did he have a policy to cover the funeral expenses?” Emma nodded. “Is it enough to cover everything? I have to ask you because I hadn’t heard from either Allen or Lucille in over three years. So, I don’t know anything about their financial situation.”
“Effie, don’t worry. When the insurance man tole me I wuz gon git a check for thirty-five hundred dollars, I went straight to Swifty an tole ‘em to give Blue the works. I’m puttin it all on Blue.”
“That sure takes a load off my mind,” Effie said, “because money-wise, there isn’t a thing I can do. I’ve been in financial trials ever since James died a year and a half ago. It’s not easy for a woman my age to find work that pays a decent wage. I’ve been barely able to make it. Everything’s so terribly expensive in California, you know. I’m just hanging on by my fingernails.”
“Well, Effie, why don’tcha jes let go,” Emma capped back.
After an awkward silence, “When do you plan to have the funeral, Emma?”
“Whut about tomorrow? I know Blue’s ready to git outta that cold storage. An you prob’ly wanna be gittin on back soon as you kin, don’tcha?”
“Well, yes. I only have enough money to stay a couple of days.”
“Awright, we’ll have it tomorrow then. All I gotta do is let the preacher know.”
“Oh, you’re having it in a church. Which one?”
“Galilee Baptist at two thirty. You ‘member where it is, don’tcha?”
“Yes Emma, I remember. You’re so sweet to be doing all this. Is there anything I can do?”
“Naw, Effie. He wuz my man, I’ll do it.”
“Are you expecting a large crowd of people to attend? Reason I asked, there isn’t much notification time.”
“There’ll be a few.”
I was asked to call a taxi for Effie. I ran to the cafe to use the outside payphone and returned quickly.
Standing and smoothing down her dress, “Emma, except for the extra pounds, you haven’t changed a bit.”
“You ain’ neitha, Effie … ‘cept for the extra pounds.”
“After I take a bath and rest a little bit, I’m going over to the funeral home and sit with brother awhile.”
“You can’t do that yet, Effie. Swifty got some stuff smeared all over ‘em to keep ‘em lookin fresh for the funeral. I know Blue’ll be glad to git that shit off.”
Hearing the taxi honk, “Well, Emma, I’m going to my hotel room and cry some more. I still can’t believe it, the only brother I had.”
“Yeah, I know. He wuz one uv a kind.”
“Okay, Emma, I’ll be seeing you, and nice seeing you too, young man.”
“Nice meetin you, Miz Effie.”
Soon as her taxi pulled off, “Damn, I got a lot uv thangs to do,” Emma said. “Baby, I hate to bother you again, but will you go call me a cab? I didn’ wanna ride in that one wit her. I wuz tired uv lissenin to her shit. All that uppity slut wuz inerested in wuz if it wuz gon cost her anythang.”
I had to explain to the taxi dispatcher that, “Yes, one came, picked up a passenger, an now we want another one.” It arrived shortly and Emma hightailed it.
The next day at precisely two on the dot, Swifty pulled up in front of the house in the company limo and picked up the “family” (Emma, Pat, and me). All decked out in “tie and tails,” spats and white gloves, he escorted us into the church which was located in Allen’s neck of the woods, the “Old Field,” a predominantly colored neighborhood.
It was packed! I found out later that Emma had paid somebody to drive around down on the streets blaring the time and place of his funeral over a loudspeaker. The street hustlers heeded the call, dressed up in their finery, and turned out en masse to bid farewell to one of their own.
Following Swifty down the aisle, he led us to the front bench in the church. Emma took the first seat, then I, then Pat. A short while later, he escorted Effie to her seat beside Pat. Lucille, eyes straight ahead, sat on the front bench across the aisle.
Even with all the windows and doors open, the early summer afternoon had the church steaming hot. People fanned themselves frantically with their complimentary Citizens Funeral Home hand fans. The soft, low playing of the organist was almost drowned out by the appraising “ooohs” and “aaahs” from the spectators as the casket was rolled down the aisle.
When Swifty and his attendant rolled it past our aisle and placed it in front of our bench, I could understand their exclamations. The expensive mouse-gray casket, adorned with full-length high-polished stainless steel handles, was a showstopper. The eggshell, fluffed crepe lining matched perfectly with the spray of white carnations that lay on the top. It was a stylish, befitting send-off, symbolic of his flair for imported hats and tailor-made clothes.
I don’t know if Emma bought all the flowers, but the front was full. Emma leaned over, “Ain’t that casket a knockout? Swifty say it’s stainless steel an won’t leak—wudn’ nuthin too good for Blue. These nigguhs’ll be talkin bout this funeral for the next twenny years,” she whispered just before the music stopped.
The preacher positioned himself behind the pulpit, read a long verse from Isaiah and commented, “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. The Lord blessed Allen Sample with forty-five years on this earth and decided it was time to take him on home. Allen Sample has paid the debt we all got to pay.”
He turned things over to Swifty, who walked up front to escort the immediate family to the casket. Effie was first, lingering awhile and weeping. Swifty assisted her back to her seat. Pat had agreed earlier to go up with me, but when the time came she wouldn’t budge.
I looked at him. Except for the mingling gray hair and longer sideburns, his appearance hadn’t changed much since I’d seen him last. The collar of his white silk shirt meticulously folded back over the top of his steel gray suit collar. The way Emma said she liked to see him wear it.
With a hand that slightly smelled of formaldehyde, Swifty reached for Emma’s arm to assist her. Snatching it away from him, “I don’t need nobody to help me git to Blue.” Rising slowly and smoothing down her black chiffon dress, she cast a “Blue always b’longed to me” look at Lucille.
Immediately she reached over into the casket and began straightening his clothes and cooing to him. “Here I am again, baby,” the tears streaming down her face. “Looks lak this is the last time I’m gon git ta see you.” You could hear a pin drop. “Emma’s dun cum far as she kin go. I loved you hard as I could Blue … you knows that,” bending over in the casket and placing a kiss on his lips. “I’m sho gon miss you, but Emma’ll ketch up wit you again someday … somewhere down the line.” She kissed him again, caressed her tears off his face, and came back to her place on the bench.
Afte
r a few moments of silence, Swifty raised his hands. The others rose and started filing past the casket. Every time a hustler passed the casket, he or she dropped a dollar bill in it. I leaned over and whispered to Emma, “Why are they doin that?”
“Thas the way hustlers do good hustlers.”
After everybody passed the casket and viewed the body, just before Swifty closed the lid, I rushed up and put in my crumpled dollar bill.
On our way back from the burial, “Let us out right here, Swifty,” Emma told him as we passed the corner liquor store. He made a U-turn, pulling to a stop under the canopy in the driveway. We got out. Emma walked around to Swifty’s side, “Thanks, Swifty. You sho dun a good job on Blue.”
“Thank you, Miz Emma. If I kin be uv service to you in any way, now or in the future, please mam, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Yeah, well, I ain’ plannin on callin you again no time soon.” Flashing his ever-ready smile, he thanked her once more and drove away. After Emma told Mr. Milton all about what a “good funeral” Allen had, we took our two quarts and left.
When we walked up in the yard, Sweetie, Ralph, Jake, Acie, and some of the other regulars, still dressed in their funeral rigs, waited on the porch. “Pat,” Emma told her, “go pull yo Sunday dress off an put somethin else on. Damn,” she said to the players on the porch, “y’all sho got back in a hurry.”
“We didn’ go out to the boneyard, we cum on straight frum the church house,” Jake responded. “Big Emma,” he continued, “we been talkin bout it, an I wanna tell you sump’n, baby. You sho had Blue put away in grand style.”
“He look so natchal,” Ralph added. “Didn’ even look dead.”
“Yeah,” Sweetie said, “he look lak he wuz gon open his eyes an smile at us. They say o’ Swifty sho know his stuff.”
Leading the way into the house, Emma stopped in the hall, “Here, Jake,” handing him the dice from her purse. “Y’all go ‘head an git started. I gotta duck somewhere an pee.” She speeded up, rushing through the house, headed for the outhouse in back. The other eight of us scurried for favorite spots around the crap table. By the time she returned, the game was well underway. She took over.
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