“Catherine,” Della said, following her. “Not me. Don’t think about me. I can go on. I can go on like I always did—by myself. But he can’t. He can’t. You hear me?”
She did not answer. She got the suitcase from on top of the chifforobe and laid it open on the bed. Della moved out of her way as she came back to the chifforobe to get her clothes.
“Get Nelson ready, Mama.”
“You think I’m go’n join you in this?”
“I’ll do it myself.”
After putting as many clothes as she could in the suitcase, she locked it and put it by the door. Then she got another suitcase from under the bed and began packing the rest of the clothes in it. She was not throwing the things into the suitcase, neither was she taking so much time to fold them neatly. She was doing everything carefully, as she always did everything.
“I’ll need some money.”
“You think I’ll give you a penny?”
She did not say anything. She did not look at her. She went across the hall to get the baby. Nelson was asleep. When Catherine sat him on the bed to put on his clothes, he became half awake. He rubbed his eyes with his fist and looked at her. After she had put on his clothes, she put on his cap, and then let him lie down again. He went back to sleep.
She went to the chifforobe to get her hat. She stood before the mirror putting it on. Then she opened the small door of the chifforobe and took out a wallet. She counted the money in the wallet and put the wallet into her purse. She came back to the bed and sat down.
“I knowed you would be his death,” Della said. “I knowed that from the start.”
Catherine did not say anything. She did not even look at her. Her hands were clasped together, and she stared down at the floor as though she were completely alone. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe none of this was happening. How could it possibly be happening?
She heard Jackson coming up on the porch. Della went to the front to open the door for him, and a moment later they were back. They were both looking at her, but she would not raise her head. She did not believe that this was happening to her. This could not be happening to her. “Catherine?”
She looked at him. It was not a dream; it was real. She picked up the baby and let her eyes go toward the suitcases. Jackson came forward to get them.
She turned to Della. But she did not know what to say. Nothing would have sounded right. She went out of the room. When she pushed open the door to go onto the porch, Raoul was standing there with the gun in his hand.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“Catherine, you leaving?”
“Let us by, Raoul,” Jackson said.
Raoul had left his coat and hat in the car and his shirt was soaking wet with sweat. He had not heard Jackson; he did not even see him standing there. He could only look at Catherine with disbelief.
“You leaving?” he said again. “You leaving?”
“Get out of the way, Raoul,” Jackson said.
“Catherine?” Raoul said.
Jackson made a step toward the door; Raoul turned the gun on him.
“Boy, I don’t want any more blood on my hand,” he said. “I don’t want any more gnawing at my heart. Don’t make me use this—please.”
“Then get out of the way and let us pass.”
“Catherine?” he said to her again. “Didn’t I do all I could?”
Jackson could see that Catherine had begun listening to what Raoul was saying, and he pushed her toward the porch.
“Get your hands off her,” Raoul screamed at Jackson. The gun was shaking in his hand, and Raoul was doing all he could to keep from pulling the trigger. “Get your hands off her. Get away from her.”
Jackson moved quickly now and knocked Raoul’s hand to the side. The gun fell, and when Raoul tried to pick it up, Jackson kicked it off the porch into the yard.
“Get to the car,” he said to Catherine.
“No,” Raoul said, coming on him. “You not taking her from here. I’ll fight you like a dog. I’ll fight you till I’m dead.”
“Get to the car, I told you,” Jackson said to Catherine.
She got between them instead.
“Daddy,” she said. “Daddy, please.”
“I’ll die first,” Raoul said, knocking her to the side.
Catherine fell against the wall and then on the floor. The baby started crying in her arms. Jackson went toward her, but he saw Raoul coming on him. He threw the suitcases to the side and jerked off his coat.
“That’s my father,” Catherine screamed at him. “For God’s sake—no.” Jackson jumped to the ground, and Raoul came on the ground after him, swinging his arms wild and frantically. One of his fists caught Jackson on the shoulder, and Jackson fell back against the porch. Raoul sprang at him, and Jackson moved to the side. Raoul slammed against the end of the porch, was stunned for a moment, and turned on Jackson again. Catherine gave the baby to Della and ran down the steps to get between them. She screamed at one, she hit the other; she pulled on Jackson, and pushed on Raoul. But neither one heard her or felt the little blows she gave him on his back or shoulders. However, she felt the blow Raoul gave her in the side. Raoul had not meant to hit her; he was swinging at Jackson when she got in the way. Jackson saw her fall and try to get up, then she went back down holding her side. He continued backing away from Raoul, and Raoul continued moving toward him. He paid no attention to where he stepped. Any direction Jackson moved, he followed. His fists shook with impatience to hit him.
He ran at Jackson and swung and missed. But he spun around and swung again. This time he hit him a solid blow on the shoulder, and Jackson fell down on the ground. Raoul kicked at him once, then twice, but Jackson rolled away each time. Raoul moved in to kick at him again, and this time Jackson knocked Raoul’s legs from under him.
They got up at the same time, standing toe to toe, pounding each other with both fists. Jackson hit Raoul in the face, and blood shot from his mouth. He hit him again, cutting him under the eye. But this did not stop Raoul a moment. He swung both of his arms like someone crazy. If he missed with one, he swung the other. When Jackson moved to the side, he spun around and swung again.
Catherine got between them with a piece of wood, hitting one then the other, but not hitting either one hard enough to hurt him. She probably would have done as much good if she had stood ten feet away and told them to stop.
Jackson hit Raoul every time Raoul got close to him, but this did not stop Raoul at all. Blood dripped from his mouth and from the cut under his eye, but he paid no attention to his wounds. Nothing mattered to him but Jackson. If Jackson moved right, he was there. If he moved left, Raoul was there, too. Most of the punches that he swung at Jackson missed, but the ones that connected hurt him every time.
Jackson knew Raoul was trying to back him into the porch, but he could not get away from him. Then when Raoul was close enough, he broke on Jackson with his arms spread open. Jackson hit him dead in the chest, but this did not keep Raoul from throwing his arms around his waist.
Jackson could smell the sweat on Raoul, and he felt Raoul’s sweaty and bloody face brush against his shoulder when Raoul threw his arms around him. He felt Raoul’s arms getting tighter around him, and he tried to break himself free. But Raoul’s arms were like a vise around his waist. His wrists were as hard as knots in a tree. Jackson put his hand under Raoul’s chin and tried to break himself free, but Raoul rolled his head to the side, and Jackson’s hand slipped away. He tried again to pull Raoul’s arms from around his waist, but this effort was as futile as the one before. He felt all of his blood rushing up to his head. He thought he heard Catherine screaming at them and hitting Raoul, but he was not sure. He felt himself going, and he knew he would pass out if he did not get himself free. He managed to spin Raoul around and hit his back against the end of the porch. He drew back and hit hard again. He felt Raoul trying to swing him around, but he would not let himself be manhandled. He drew back and hit again and again. Then he was loose.
/> He felt dizzy as he backed away from the porch, but he kept his eyes on Raoul. Raoul knelt on the ground with his hands pressed to his side. He saw Jackson standing there, and he started crawling toward him. Jackson backed away. Raoul got to his feet. Jackson let him make one step toward him, then he swung and caught Raoul fully in the jaw. Raoul went down. He got back on his knees and looked at Jackson. He was breathing hard, and Jackson thought he saw tears running from his eyes. Catherine knelt beside him, but he pushed her away. It was not violent, he had done it with only a slight movement of his hand. Catherine came to Jackson. If Raoul would not listen, maybe he would. She did not say it—she pleaded with her eyes. Jackson held her away and watched Raoul get to his feet. Raoul came on him with both fists clenched and shaking. Jackson hit him before he had time to swing, and he fell again. He lay silently a moment, then he got back on his knees. He was definitely crying now—softly, but definitely. Both Catherine and Jackson could see him crying.
Catherine went to Raoul and put her arm around his shoulders. But Raoul was unaware that she was even there. His eyes were on Jackson, who stood before him. He did not look at him angrily. Instead, he seemed puzzled. He tried to grasp what was happening to him. He would not believe that he was beaten. There was too much left for him to do. There was the crop to get in; there was Catherine. How could he possibly fall? What would become of everything if he did?
Raoul tried to get up, but he went back on his knees. He did not believe that his strength had failed him. He believed deep inside of him that he had not tried hard enough. He pushed himself away from the ground and got to his feet. He felt tired and weak, but he made himself go toward Jackson anyhow. He swung, Jackson moved his head only an inch, and Raoul fell to the ground. For a moment, there was only silence. Then Jackson heard a sound, a sound that could have been made by man or animal, but which was definitely a sound of defeat.
Catherine helped Raoul to his feet, and Jackson watched them go toward the house together. When they came up to the steps, Raoul told Catherine he had to sit down. Catherine sat beside him and passed her hand over his face. Raoul would not raise his head.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Della had been standing in the door all the time watching the fight. Nelson started crying again, and she held him closer. But she had not said anything to him—not even a whisper—and she had made no attempt to stop the fight in the yard. The fight had been coming a long time, and as long as it was between just the two of them, she did not care who won or lost. Now as she moved toward one of the chairs against the wall, she looked at Raoul and Catherine sitting on the steps. She remembered what Raoul had said in the door about the blood on his hand.
So he did kill Marky, she was thinking. She nodded her head. So he did kill him. And all these years, I thought it was an accident. So that’s why he wanted her there—to soothe the wound, Raoul? to stop the gnawing? Oh, Raoul, Raoul—how you must have suffered all these years. And I thought I was suffering. Oh, my poor, poor husband; my poor, poor man.
Jackson had not moved. He stood in the yard looking at Raoul and Catherine on the steps. His whole body was aching. The knuckles on both of his hands were skinned. He was still breathing hard. He felt something running down his face and he raised his hand to wipe it away. He did not look at the blood on his hand—he was still looking at Raoul and Catherine. He went to the steps where they were.
“Catherine?” he said.
Catherine raised her head a little and looked down again.
“Catherine?” Jackson said.
She did not answer, neither did she look at him. Beside her, Raoul raised his hand and wiped the blood from his mouth.
“I was wrong,” Jackson said. “I was wrong. But he made me fight him.”
Catherine did not answer. She sat forward on the steps with her head bowed. Raoul raised his hand to his face to wipe away the blood again.
“Don’t you see that’s why he did it, Catherine, to make you stay? It’s pity he wants. That’s all it is. Pity.”
Jackson noticed the quick jerkings of Catherine’s shoulders, and he knelt in front of her and took her face in his hand.
“Catherine?”
She looked at him. The tears ran down her face.
“He made me fight him, Catherine,” Jackson said. “I didn’t want to fight him. I ran. I ran and ran from him. But he made me fight him, because he wanted this to happen.”
Catherine looked at Jackson, and the tears continued to run down her face.
“I love you, Catherine,” Jackson said. “I love you, sweet. Do you think I’d do anything to hurt you? He kept after me. He kept after me, Catherine …”
She shook her head and looked down again. Jackson started to touch her, but drew back his hand. He looked at her a moment and turned to Raoul. Raoul leaned forward on the steps with his chin almost touching his chest. Now that Jackson had knelt by the steps, he did not raise his hand to his face any more.
“Why, Raoul?” Jackson said. “Why are you doing this to us?” Raoul was silent. “We love each other, Raoul. We love each other. She loves me, I love her.”
“Go with him,” Raoul said, with his head down. “It’s over with.”
Catherine turned to Raoul and put her hand on his arm.
“It’s not over with, Daddy,” she pleaded. “It’s not over with.”
Raoul was silent. The blood dripped from his face to the steps, but he did not raise his hand any more. Catherine wiped his face for him.
“It’s not over with, Daddy. You have stood this long. You can keep on standing. I’ll stand beside you.”
“You been the prop long enough.”
“I don’t mind being the prop, Daddy. I love my daddy. I don’t mind being the prop.”
Raoul glanced at her half-heartedly, but he would not look in her face.
“It’s not over with, Daddy,” Catherine said, trying to encourage him. “It’s not over with.”
“Catherine?” Jackson said.
“You have stood a long time, Daddy. I won’t ever let you down. I’ll—”
“Catherine?” Jackson said, jerking at her.
She turned to him. She was crying hysterically now. She had forgotten that Jackson was still there.
“I can’t leave him now.… I love you with all my heart.… But I can’t leave him now.… Can’t you see? Can’t you see?”
“How about Mrs. Della, Catherine?”
She cried harder. Jackson took her face in his hand, and she threw her arms around him. Jackson held her closer, kissing the side of her face and her hair passionately. Raoul sat on the steps with his head bowed. He did not look at them once.
“Have faith in me,” she cried. “Have faith in me.” She drew herself away and looked at him. “I will come … Not now. But I will come. I swear. I swear.”
“Catherine …?”
“Just have faith in me,” she said, pleading with her eyes. “Just have faith in me.”
She turned to Raoul again. She laid her arm across his broad, bent shoulders, but Raoul did not seem to be aware of her.
“Daddy?” she said. “Daddy?”
He turned toward her a little, as though he was hearing his name called from a great distance away, but he would not look into her face.
“Come, Daddy,” she said. “Let’s go inside. “Let me look after you, Daddy.”
She put one of his arms over her shoulder and her arm around his waist. “Come on, Daddy,” she said. “Come on, Daddy.”
“Catherine,” Jackson said, standing up with them, and taking her by the arm. “This is not your job, Catherine.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head. “Now more than ever. But it won’t be for long. And then I’ll come.”
“How will I live till then?”
“You must … and I will. Then we’ll be together.”
He watched them go up the steps, then inside the house. He felt as though part of his life had slipped away from him. His throat got tighter and his eyes
were burning. For a long time he stood there looking at the darkness inside the room.
Jackson looked at Della sitting against the wall with the baby pressed to her bosom. It was dark on the porch, but he knew Della was looking at him, and had been looking at him all the time that he had been standing there. He got his coat from the end of the porch and started to walk away, but he stopped and looked at her again.
“You leaving without saying good-bye to me, Jackson?”
He went up on the porch and stood before her with his head bowed.
“Be patient with her, Jackson. I waited more than twenty years for this night.”
He did not understand what she meant. She could tell he did not, and she stood up and looked at him. He was cut just above the right cheek, and she touched the bruise with her hand.
“Come in and let me look after that,” she said.
“I’m all right.”
“Then I better go in and look after my husband,” she said. She looked at Jackson and nodded her head. “Yes, he needs me now. This the first time in twenty years I can say that: ‘Raoul needs me.’ ” She smiled thoughtfully. “You don’t understand? It’s easy to understand. This the first time he ever fell in front of her. All his life he lived for two things, her and that field out there. She stayed here for him, and he had to be hero enough for her. But now he’s fell. You the hero now, Jackson.”
He did not say anything. He felt like anything else but a hero.
“No, you right, you not a hero. But he’s a proud man, and after what happened tonight, he won’t ever be able to raise his head in front of her like he done before. So that means she’ll have to leave. He’ll see to that. And then I get my chance—a chance I been waiting for for twenty years. No, I’m not proud to see my man get beaten. No woman wants that. But what happened here tonight is the best for everybody. If y’all hadn’t fought out there, and if he hadn’t got beaten, he wouldn’t ’a’ never let her go.”
“She hasn’t gone yet.”
“She’ll go. He’ll see to that. And I’ll make her come to you. Not a reward for what you did, Jackson. If you was anybody else, you wouldn’t ’a’ lived to walk out of this yard. But you Jackson. Marky. You been Marky ever since he—since he died. He died by accident, you understand what I’m saying?”
Catherine Carmier Page 18
