My Water Path

by Timothy Joseph

  Only when we reached the filling station did Mayhew begin to feel safe enough to detach himself from Moses.

  Later, just before we arrived back at the boat, Moses said, “Now you boys be silent on what happened, okay? We don’t want to put the ladies to worrying about us men, now do we?”

  “Okay,” we both replied.

  Moses poured the gas into the larger can in the boat, started the motor, and we headed back. After we pulled away from the dock, I handed everyone a Hershey bar. While Lucilla and Mayhew quickly opened theirs, Bess said, “Now, Jory, why did you do that?”

  “I wanted one, and how would it look for me to be enjoying a chocolate bar in front of everyone?”

  Moses smiled. “Thank you, Jory.” He opened his and took a bite. Bess did the same.

  As we motored along, I thought, I can’t wait to get home. It hit me like a freight train. It isn’t my home. It’s the home of Mayhew and Lucilla, not me. I’m a visitor. I can’t stay. I must go. When? Where to?

  We took the groceries to the kitchen for Bess and poured the two gallons of kerosene into the larger can. When Mayhew and I walked into the kitchen, we saw all the stuff I had purchased sitting on the counter. Lucilla had the bag of jellybeans, and Mayhew ran over and grabbed the box of cornflakes. “Oh, man, cornflakes!” He looked on the counter, saw the milk. “And real milk.”

  Moses was in his chair. “Come here, Jory,” he said in a sullen voice. I walked over, my eyes downcast. He took my shoulders in his hands. “There’s no need of you spending your money on things for us. We’ll do just fine.”

  “But, sir, I’ve been eating your food, and it’s only fair I help when I can.”

  “Grandpa, remember?” he said, squeezing me gently. “No ‘sir’ in this house.”

  “I have money, Grandpa, and if I wasn’t here, I’d have to buy my own food. And I don’t have to fix it.”

  “You’re a very generous young man, Jory.”

  Bess said, “But you listen to your grandfather.”

  Moses lifted my chin. “We thank you, Jory. The ham is going to taste mighty fine. But there will be no more of this.” I smiled, but I didn’t answer.

  * * *

  After dinner, Mayhew, Lucilla, and I were drawing at the table in the living room. I heard guitar strings being picked. Moses had a beat-up guitar on his lap and was fingerpicking something beautiful. He started singing slowly in a deep and mellow voice. He strummed, picked, sang, and sometimes used his fingers and thumb to drum on the guitar. The song was about the south, the plight of black people, beauty of life, and the goodness of love. It was sad and happy at the same time. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and the words and his voice pulled me in. Bess was sitting in her chair, crocheting and humming along. It was one of the prettiest songs I had ever heard.

  I walked over and sat on the floor, cross-legged in front of him. The song went on and on, and Bess harmonized perfectly with her humming. I was mesmerized. When he finished, he looked at me and winked.

  “What was the name of that?” I asked.

  “I rightly don’t know, Jory. It’s just an old Negro spiritual I learned from my daddy when I was a boy.”

  “Do you know more?”

  “Son, I know lots of Negro spirituals.”

  “Can you sing me another one?”

  He smiled. “I surely can.”

  He started picking again, Bess began humming, and a few moments later, his wonderful old voice filled the room. He sang a verse or two, and then began chanting lowly. His voice became a musical instrument blended perfectly with the guitar and Bess. It was surely the most beautiful song I had ever heard. This one was about loss, loneliness, and finding hope. It depicted the life I had lived the past few months. Moses glanced at me, and I think he saw the pain. Thoughts of having to leave soon filled me with chaos.

  His fingers strummed across the strings. With just a single string being gently plucked, the two voices faded to bring an end to what I wanted to hear over and over.

  19

  Mississippi Moses

  I HAD BEEN WITH MOSES AND BESS for nearly a month. Mayhew and I were in bed, talking about how tomorrow we were going to try a new fishing spot and catch an even bigger bass. He asked me if he could use my rod and reel again if he promised to share. I told him he could use it anytime he wanted.

  “Mayhew,” I said, “I need to pack up my boat tomorrow.”

  “What for?”

  “I have to leave. I’ve been here too long. I shouldn’t stay any longer. It’s not right.”

  “But why? Don’t you like it here?”

  “Of course I do, but this is your home. I can’t stay here.”

  “Is it because we are Negroes?”

  I grew cold. “Oh, gosh, no! I love it here. But Moses and Bess can’t take care of another kid.”

  “Yes, they can!” Mayhew said. “Please don’t leave.”

  “I don’t want to, Mayhew, but I can’t just stay here forever.”

  “Yes, you can. Grandma and Grandpa don’t want you to go.”

  “Your grandpa is too kind to ever ask me to leave. That’s why I have to go on my own.”

  “No,” Mayhew said, pushing his face into his pillow. For him, that was that.

  After breakfast, I went to our bedroom and began gathering my things. I expected Mayhew to follow me, but he didn’t. It seemed odd, until Moses came into the room. Immediately I knew Mayhew had told Moses I was leaving.

  He sat down on the bed. “I understand you’re packing up to leave.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Best I be going.”

  “You going upstream or downstream?”

  “Don’t know yet.”

  “Well, the next town downstream is about thirty miles, a long way.”

  “I suppose I’ll go back upstream to where I was before. If I row along shore, I know I can make it without a motor.”

  “I know you can, son. You can accomplish anything you wish. You want to know why?”

  I didn’t answer. I just looked at the floor.

  “Jory, you have three things needed to succeed; intelligence, ambition, and goodness. Plus, you have something else to ensure you reach your dreams. You have tasted the sorrow of death no young man should ever have to know. Not only that, but you had to begin a life on your own at too early an age. Yet you have taken on that challenge like a champion. You have thought it out and you are on your way.”

  He paused and gave me a considering look.

  “Do you believe in fate, son? Do you believe sometimes things happen because God is looking out for us, even when so much is going wrong?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. If God were looking out for me, would he have let my dad die?

  He smiled. “I know one thing for sure: fate brought you here. The storm happened for a reason, to bring you to us. I didn’t ask you to call me Grandpa because I felt sorry for you. I asked you because I want to be your Grandpa.” His hand rubbed my back gently. I wanted nothing more than for Moses to be my grandpa. Why couldn’t I be colored?

  “Jory, we all want you to stay. But I must be honest with you, I also have a selfish reason for wanting you here. You are good for Mayhew and Lucilla, especially Mayhew. You have already taught them about sharing, kindness, and tolerance. You see, I need you to stick around for them. Mayhew looks up to you and you can teach him in ways I cannot. I need you, and Mayhew needs you.”

  I was confused, I was afraid of being alone again, and boy, did I just want to stay. “But it’s not fair of me to stay here. You already have Mayhew and Lucilla to take care of. You don’t need another kid to worry about.”

  “If you truly don’t want me and Bess to worry about you, you best not leave. Just what do you think we’ll do when you row out of the cove? Do you think we are going to forget you? Do you think because you row away that we no longer care?”

  I stared at the floor as tears trickled down my cheeks.

  “But…”

  “Jory, if you truly w
ant to leave because you don’t want to be here, this I will understand. The minute you are ready to leave because you want to, I will help you pack and see you off. However, until it is what you truly want, this is your home. It is up to you, Jory.”

  All I wanted was to stay. Leaving was a nightmare waiting to happen. I didn’t know what to say. The man was offering me a home, a loving, safe home with a brother and a sister I never had and a grandma and grandpa I never knew I could have. I didn’t need to speak, and couldn’t if I wanted to—my throat burned with emotion. Moses reached around me, pulled me to him, and took care of the problem.

  “Let’s just not decide this right now, okay? Let’s just leave things the way they are until you wish to leave. Fair enough?”

  He smiled at me as my vision blurred. He felt my sadness, or maybe the fear of leaving, probably both. I squeezed him hard, not wanting to let go. That was the day an old colored man named Moses Kent became my Mississippi Moses.

  20

  My Bed

  I SHOWED LUCILLA HOW TO CAST MY ROD and reel, and after several tries and nearly as many failures, she did pretty well by not trying to cast too far. Mayhew showed me how to rig the hand-line and lower it to the depth the crappie were likely to be.

  By the time we returned to the houseboat, we had caught at least a dozen crappie and two medium-sized bass. We had been gone for most of the afternoon, and when Mayhew and I walked into our bedroom, we saw Moses had been busy. Above Mayhew’s bed was another bed, and a ladder was attached to the wall. I had my own bed. I climbed up and reclined on the mattress. I looked at the ceiling, and the feeling of belonging coursed through me. Moses had made this my bedroom, too. I belonged here, on this bed, in this house, with my family.

  I climbed down and we went into the living room, where Moses was reading. I approached him, grinning from ear to ear. “Grandpa?”

  He peered at me over his wire-rimmed glasses and said, “You’re welcome, son. I just figured every member of this family needs their own bed.”

  I leaned toward him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  He smiled. When I walked past Bess on my way to the table to draw, I saw her wipe her eyes. She saw me look at her and said, “Boy, pollen is sure getting to my eyes something terrible.” It seemed my dad had the same problem.

  “Oh, goodness!” we heard Moses say.

  “What?” Mayhew asked.

  When Moses picked up saws at the dock from Mr. Jeffery, there was always a stack of newspapers saved for him to take home. He was deep into one. “The Governor of Arkansas used the National Guard to stop nine Negro children from going into the Little Rock High School. Heaven’s sake, those poor children.”

  “But my dad told me the government said schools had to integrate,” I said.

  “That’s right, but some states don’t seem to want to do it. It says here President Eisenhower sent in federal troops to take the children into the school and guard them.”

  I felt somehow responsible, and horribly ashamed. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s so stupid. Why are people doing those things?”

  Moses knew what I was feeling. “Son, if everyone believed the way you do, there would be no need for this.” He shook the newspaper. “However, there will always be angry and evil people. We can only do our part, and you are certainly doing yours, so don’t you go feeling badly.”

  “I just wish it would stop.”

  Bess had been crocheting the same thing for some time, and I had not thought to ask what it was. It had purple, blue, green, and beige yarn, and was so pretty. She called me over to her chair. “I want you to watch my last stitch, and let you tie it off.”

  I watched her. She cut the yarn, handed me the end, and explained how to tie it off. I made a knot and pulled it tight. She folded the whole thing on her lap and handed it to me. “This afghan is for you. It will be getting cold soon, and everyone needs an afghan. You use it in good health.”

  I held the afghan in my arms as goose bumps covered me. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever been given. “Grandma, it’s so beautiful. I can’t take this. You worked so long on it.”

  “I made it for you, sweetheart. We all have one. This one is yours.”

  That night, I climbed up to my bunk, slid under the covers, and spread the afghan over me. It was but another declaration of belonging. I had my own bed, my own family, and now my own afghan.

  21

  Miss Lucy

  RAINWATER FROM THE ROOF collected in a big wooden barrel on the back deck; it was used for drinking, cooking, and for the powdered milk. Hanging on the wall were tin mugs, one for each of us, and a ladle. The water from the roof gutter poured into a bucket with a towel stuffed inside and holes in the bottom. It

  was suspended over the barrel with a screen on the top to collect leaves and debris. Rainwater filtered through the towel, out the holes, and into the barrel. Bess periodically washed the towel to help keep the water clear. I had never used a ladle to scoop out drinking water, and felt odd at first, drinking water from an old wooden barrel, but the water was always fresh and clean and quickly became the norm.

  Mayhew and I were at the water barrel getting a drink. Mayhew pointed, “Look, some mallard ducks. We need to tell Papa.”

  A few minutes later, we followed Moses slowly out onto the deck. He had an old double-barreled shotgun. “Cover your ears,” he said, pulling the shotgun to his shoulder. When he was ready he said, “Okay, Mayhew.”

  Mayhew waved his arms wildly and let out a loud “Whoop, whoop, go ducks!” As they rose off the water, heading away into the sky, I saw Mayhew put his fingers to his ears; I did likewise.

  KAPOW. The lead mallard fell from the air. A second KAPOW and another fell. Mayhew and I jumped in my boat, rowed out to the ducks, and brought them back. We sat together on the back deck and Mayhew showed me how to pluck a duck. At dinner, I tasted my first roasted duck, and it was delicious. When I mentioned how good it was, Lucilla said, “Just wait until the geese come.”

  At dinner, we talked about the different wild game they ate, including duck, geese, muskrat, squirrel, rabbit, and deer. I wasn’t sure about eating muskrat. “What do muskrats taste like?” I asked.

  Bess said, “Don’t worry about the name, it’s not a rat. You’ll like it.”

  “Papa, can you let me shoot the 22 again?” Mayhew asked.

  “I think it’s time we do some target practice and I teach you boys how to hunt. What do you say?”

  Mayhew got all excited, as did I.

  Bess said, “We also have to start our schooling up again.” Lucilla’s face lit up as a frown grew on Mayhew’s.

  “Where’s the school?” I asked.

  “The school for white children is in Vicksburg, and there’s a small school for colored kids outside of town. Moses tries to get these two to school twice a week, but it’s not always possible. They get to take their books home, and the teacher tells us what we need to study and we do it here.”

  Mayhew jumped in. “Yeah, but we have to do a lot more.”

  Lucilla said, “I like being ahead. Anyways, it’s not very much more. It’s just learning.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a girl,” Mayhew said.

  Bess settled it. “Girl, boy, doesn’t matter one bit. You need to be smart to make it today. It’s the only way.”

  Moses nodded. “Your grandma is correct, lessen you want to sharpen saws the rest of your life.”

  “But Grandpa,” Lucilla said, “you’re smarter than anyone I know.”

  “But I don’t have a formal education, never got to go to school, and that’s why I do what I do.”

  Bess turned her head quickly toward Moses. “Now, Moses Kent, it doesn’t take a schoolhouse. It takes books, and your own mind. You have more books than anyone I know, and you’ve read them all.”

  Mayhew frowned, “And he’s making us read them all, too.”

  “One day, you’ll be glad your grandfather taught you this well,” Bess said.
/>   “When does school start, Papa?” Lucilla asked.

  “I believe next week. We’ll go in and get the books we need and talk with Miss Lucy.”

  “Can we get some paper and school supplies?” Lucilla asked.

  “We’ll get what we can.”

  Mayhew said, “Maybe Jory can go to the Five and Dime and get some things for us we can’t get at the grocery store.”

  “I sure will,” I butted in. “Will I be able to go to the school with Mayhew and Lucilla?”

  “The white school is closer. I’m sure you would prefer to go there.”

  “No, I don’t. I want to go with Mayhew and Lucilla, please?”

  “But, Jory, there are no white children there. You would be the only one.”

  “I don’t care, lessen they won’t want me.”

  Moses nodded. “I’ll ask Miss Lucy.”

  * * *

  Moses, Lucilla, Mayhew, and I were in the boat heading for the school. Moses ran it up on shore and we all got out. We walked about two miles to an old wooden church that was used as the school during the week. There were two teachers, one at the front of the church talking to the older kids in grades eight through twelve, and one at the back with the younger children up to grade seven.

  The teacher in the back said, “Hello, Moses. Hi there, Lucilla and Mayhew.”

  Moses stuck out his hand. “Miss Lucy, so good to see you.”

  She looked at me. “And who have we here, Moses?”

  “This is Jory. He lost his momma and daddy, and he’s joined our family. I was wondering if it would be okay if he attended school here. He wants to be with Lucilla and Mayhew.”

  “Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry for you, Jory,” she said with genuine care in her eyes.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Moses, I don’t see why he can’t take his schooling here, but it sure will be a first. We’ve just never had a white child attend.” She looked at me. “Wouldn’t you rather go to the white school? It has a lot more to offer you. They have a separate class for every grade.”