My Water Path

by Timothy Joseph

  I heard the footsteps cross the gangway onto the boat. Moments later, they were inside, and I could plainly hear Moses greeting them. I heard Fat Mac say, “I know that boy’s here. I brought my son along to check underneath. I can’t crawl around under there. Now get out of my way. Show me where the hatch is.”

  My heart thundering, I

  quickly left my hiding place and scooted to the stern of the boat, making for the rear hatch. Just as I pushed up on it, I could see the light from the living room appear down through the front hatch, and two legs hung over the edge, about to drop down into the hold. I quietly scrambled out on the aft deck and bit my lip in concentration as I quietly closed the hatch. I slipped into the water and kicked out to the back of Moses’ boat. I kept my head against the transom on the far side of

  the outboard motor, where I could not be seen unless someone climbed into the skiff. If they did, I would go underwater and swim to the far side of the houseboat.

  I heard them walk out the back door to the aft deck. I was ready to dive down and start swimming when I heard Fat Mac say, “Yous best tell me where that boy is hiding out. I know he’s out there somewhere since he ain’t here, and you knows exactly where he be.”

  Moses replied. “Officer, I promise you, I do not know where Jory is.”

  The cop looked at Mayhew. “Boy, he’s your friend. You know where he is, and you better tell me, or I’ll toss you in jail.”

  Mayhew said, “I don’t know where he is either, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”

  Fat Mac cursed loudly—his voice rang across the river. I heard the screen door slam. Moments later, I heard the rumble of the police car as it drove down the lane. I waited until I could no longer see the car, and then swam to the ladder. I opened the screen door and stood dripping wet in the doorway.

  “My Lord,” Bess said.

  Mayhew, Lucilla, and Moses all gathered in the kitchen. Lucilla said, “I was so scared when he went to search underneath. I knew he would find you.”

  “How did you get out so fast?” Mayhew asked.

  “I heard him tell his kid to look in the hold, so I made a beeline to the aft hatch.”

  Bess handed me a big towel. “Lord help us all. I was so worried about you.”

  * * *

  Nearly two months passed. I kept a low profile and therefore stayed “missing”.

  Moses had dropped the kids off for school one day and went to the dock to see if any saws had been left to pick up. He told me he had stopped by the marine office and talked briefly with Jacob. Apparently, Darleen called the lawyer, but there was no news.

  “What’s going to happen if the lawyer doesn’t get Stewart to be my guardian?” I asked, my voice small. “Nothing is happening. Everything is a mess, and you’re still risking being put in jail. Look at what’s happened.”

  “Jory, even when things are negative all around you, always try to stay positive. I know it’s difficult. Nothing that happened yesterday or today can prevent you from being happy. Don’t let bad things change you.”

  I was insisting on anger and sadness, but Moses wouldn’t have it. “One day, you will look back and this will seem like nothing,” he said.

  Look back. I remembered my journal. I went to our room, pulled it off the shelf, and seeing that all of its pages were full, I took an untouched notebook off the shelf. I dated it and put a new title on the cover: My Mississippi Moses—Notebook II.

  45

  Deception

  IT WAS EARLY. I heard something going on in the kitchen—dishes clanking and the teapot whistling. Then I heard Bess in their bedroom saying something to Moses—she sounded nervous. I climbed down from my bunk and went into the kitchen. Bess had a steaming cup in her hand and a forlorn look on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Moses is very sick. I don’t know what it is.”

  Chills covered me. Moses can’t get sick. It’s not allowed. Not Moses.

  I followed her to the bedroom, where she handed Moses the mug. He took a sip and Bess set it on the bedside table.

  “What’s wrong, Grandpa?”

  He tried to look at me. I walked to the bed and put my hand on his shoulder. I wanted to scream at the unfairness of an old man falling ill. Why not give it to me and make me sick instead? I’m stronger. I

  could see sweat dripping down his forehead and cheeks. I took the rag by his side and brought it to his skin, trying to wipe up the sweat that would soon be in his eyes.

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t want you here, son. I don’t want you catching something I have. Please.”

  I was near crying. “I don’t care, Grandpa. I’m worried about you.” I patted his forehead dry.

  “Jory, please. I don’t want you kids catching this.”

  My mind was whirling. Dad died on me. Moses can’t. He just can’t.

  * * *

  I could see Stewart’s car pull into the driveway after school, which was odd. The store was still open, and Dad was at work. I wondered why he was just sitting in the car at the end of the driveway, just looking at me. He opened the door, got out, and walked slowly in my direction with his head down and his body stiff. I waved and pushed the kickstand down on my bike. Stewart’s brow was furrowed, and he was biting his lower lip as he came over and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Need to talk to you,” he said.

  We walked to the porch steps and sat. He put his arm around me as tears filled his eyes.

  Wide-eyed, I looked at him; I watched him say, “Jory, your daddy had a bad heart attack. He died at the store.”

  My heart pounded hard in my chest as cold engulfed my entire body. I could not fathom what he said. Not possible.

  I was dizzy, tumbling in chaos. Those words were sucking my whole life from me. I suddenly had no purpose, no love, no existence, nothing. I simply wanted to find my dad, crawl into his arms, and go with him to wherever death was. No, I could not lose my dad.

  A blur of frenzied thoughts and questions ricocheted in my mind. Dad was going to drive up any minute, and we would fix dinner together. What about dinner? What about homework after dinner? What about breakfast tomorrow? What about asking how my day was? What about reading Huckleberry Finn that night? What about showing me how to grow up? What about our house? What about fishing?

  What about holding me close and kissing me goodnight? What about hearing, “I love you, son,” every day?

  Without Dad, I did not exist. He was my entire life.

  It crushed me harder than the freight train wheels that flattened the pennies we put on the tracks. Alone! I was all alone. I was shaking. I could not move, blink, or breathe.

  Stewart reached out and pulled me to him, saying again and again, “I’m so sorry, Jory. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

  The confusion, shock, and anger built the dam that held back my tears. I should be crying, shouldn’t I? What about the tears? Anything? Anything?

  “Let’s go get some of your things, Jory. You can stay with us while we figure things out.”

  “No!”

  “You can’t stay alone. You need to stay with us.”

  “I’m staying in my house.”

  “But—”

  “No!” No, no. Dad, no.

  He looked straight down at the driveway. “Very well,” he said in resignation, “but me or Madge will stay with you at night until we figure this out.”

  “I can stay by myself.”

  “I know you can, but one of us should be with you. We can’t leave you alone. Your dad would never forgive me if we did. Why don’t you just stay with us tonight, and we’ll talk about things. Just too much happening right now, okay?”

  Stewart sat there with his arm still around me. I didn’t want his arm. I wanted my dad’s arm. As if reading my mind, he pulled away. “Jory, you need to come with me.”

  “No.”

  I was not going to leave my house. It was all I had left. It was all that mattered.

  �
��Jory, please come with me.”

  “I’m staying here. I’m not leaving!”

  “Will you be okay if I go close the store and take Luella home?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll come by in a little while and pick you up for dinner, okay?”

  “I can fix something. I like to cook.”

  Stewart’s head lowered and turned to one side. I could tell he didn’t know what to do.

  “Okay, I’ll go close the store. I’ll be back after dinner.”

  He drove out of the driveway and down the street. I didn’t move.

  Dad’s gone. Dad’s gone. I’ll never see my dad again, I won’t hear his voice again, and he’ll never read to me again. I have nothing in the whole world I want—I want Dad. He’s gone. He’s dead. My dad is dead—dead—dead. He’s dead.

  I sat there noticing every inhalation, every blink. What do I do now? I always had places to play, adventures to take in the woods, down by the creek, or in my head. But no more. I only had a void.

  An eternity later, I found myself in Dad’s bedroom, sitting on the side of his big bed. It seemed huge, cold, and empty. I couldn’t remember how I had gotten there.

  Shouldn’t I scream or cry? I couldn’t. I saw the photo on his nightstand of my dad, mom, and me—the little infant in his arms. As long as I could remember, Dad and I had been glued together. He always wanted me around, he never got upset with me—my best friend in the world.

  When I’d asked Dad about Mom, he’d always smile, I’d see his eyes glisten, and he’d tell me some little thing about her. I would listen with such intensity, trying to make it real, trying to make her real. It never bothered him to talk about Mom. I heard repeatedly how much he loved her and how much she loved him and me. How they held hands wherever they went, how they would kiss in the grocery store line, and how remarkable she was.

  He told me that, when they had taken me home from the hospital as a newborn, he told my mom I was the perfect gift of a perfect marriage. Me, a gift.

  46

  Doctor Abbott

  “MOSES, TAKE THIS ASPIRIN. It will help the pain,” Bess said.

  I could hear gurgling in his chest when he breathed. It scared me. I looked at Bess. “He sounds awful when he breathes.”

  She said, “His lungs are filling with fluid, and he’s shaking with the chills. He’s having a hard time breathing.”

  I grabbed his hand as tears coursed down my face. I wanted to die rather than lose him.

  Later, Mayhew, Lucilla, and I were sitting, silent and fidgety, at the table in the kitchen when Bess came out of their room. “It’s getting worse. He can hardly talk. He’s going in and out of consciousness, and his temperature is a hundred and five. Lord, and he’s spitting up blood.”

  “We have to get a doctor!” I said. “Where’s the nearest doctor?”

  “I think there’s a Negro doctor in Hendersonville, but it’s a long way and not on the river.”

  “Why can’t we get a white doctor?”

  “There aren’t any who will see Negroes, Jory. They would never come out here anyway.”

  I ran to our bedroom, grabbed my pouch, tossed it in my backpack, and headed for the back deck. “I’m going to get a doctor.”

  Bess said, “You can’t, son. None will come, and you’ll be caught if anyone sees you.”

  “I don’t care.” My voice cracked.

  “I’m going with you,” Mayhew said.

  Bess said, “You mustn’t, Jory. It won’t do any good.”

  I gave Bess a hug that I hoped was reassuring. “I’ll bring back a doctor. I promise.”

  It didn’t take long for us to reach the dock. As we approached the tug, I shouted and waved for Jacob. I tossed him the rope and he pulled us up. Before I could say anything, he said, “What the hell’s wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost.” I told him Moses was very sick, and I needed to find a doctor.

  “The only one around here is Doctor Abbott.”

  “Can you take me to him, Jacob? Please?”

  “Of course I can, but I don’t think he’ll go to a Negro.”

  “I’m white, and I won’t tell him Moses is colored.”

  “Oh, boy,” Jacob said as we hurried to his pickup. He drove a few miles to a house that also served as the doctor’s office.

  “Do you want me to go in with you?” he asked.

  “No.” I ran inside the house, and there were several people in the outer room waiting to see the doctor. I saw a nurse at the window, and I ran up to her. “I need your help, please. It’s my grandpa. He’s sick.”

  “Slow down, child,” she said. “Just what seems to be the trouble?”

  “I need the doctor to come fast. I think my grandpa is dying.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He can’t breathe, and he’s spitting up blood. His temperature is one hundred and five. He keeps going unconscious, and he gurgles real loud when he breathes.”

  “Oh, my,” the nurse said. “Let me get the doctor.”

  She went back through a door. I followed a moment later and saw her talking through another door. I could see the doctor was giving a shot to a man. When she saw me, she said, “Son, you shouldn’t come back here.” She looked at the doctor. “I’m sorry.”

  The doctor got up and came over. When the nurse repeated what I had said, he replied, “It sounds like pneumonia.” Turning to look at me, he said, “How old is your grandpa?”

  “He’s eighty-something, really old.”

  “Is he with you?”

  “No, I have to take you to him. He couldn’t get out of bed. He’s really sick, please.” I started to cry, even though I didn’t mean to. “You—you have to come. I don’t want him to die.” I took out my pouch, unzipped it, and grabbed a bunch of bills. “I can pay you. Please.”

  The nurse bent down, “Put away your money, we’ll worry about that later.”

  “Get my bag,” the doctor told her. “Make sure it has penicillin and erythromycin. You’ll have to see to the folks waiting. Tell them I’m sorry.”

  She handed him a big, black leather bag, and we left the house. He took one look at Jacob’s truck and stopped.

  “My friend will take us to the house,” I said.

  “No, let’s just take my car.”

  I ran to the truck and told Jacob to send Mayhew home in the boat. Jacob gave me a look I couldn’t figure out. “Good luck, kiddo.” He saw the doctor heading for his car. He said, quietly, “Jory, I would tell him the truth before you get home. The shock may kill him.”

  I got in the car and directed him down the highway toward the houseboat.

  “What’s your name, son?” the doctor asked. “I’ve never seen you around before.”

  “Jory Kent, sir.”

  “Do I know your grandpa? I know most everyone around here.”

  “No, sir.”

  We were about two miles from the lane. “Doctor, I need to tell you something. But I don’t want you to get mad or turn around.”

  He looked at me, confused. “What might that be? You look mighty scared.”

  I tried to talk past the lump in my throat. “I am. I’m afraid if you don’t take care of my grandpa, he will die.”

  “That’s why we’re going to take care of him.”

  “But you might not help him when you see he’s not like me. He’s colored. I know you don’t want to see Negroes, but please, I’ll pay you all the money I have. Please don’t turn around.”

  To my surprise, he hardly reacted. “Son,” he said, “I took an oath as a doctor, and I aim to keep it. I swore I would look upon all God’s children as my brothers and never do them harm. If I did not help your grandpa, Negro or white, I would violate my oath.”

  Taking a long, deep breath, I said, “Thank you! Thank you so much.”

  We pulled into the small clearing, and I ran toward the boat. “Slow down, son,” he called. “I’m not as young as you.”

  I waited for him to catch up
and led him up the ramp to the front deck. I opened the door just as Bess came in the room.

  “I brought the doctor, Grandma! How is Grandpa?”

  Bess brought both of her hands to her face and began to cry. The doctor asked, “What is his temperature? Is he still spitting up blood?”

  She wiped her eyes with the apron. “It’s a hundred and six, going up, and yes, he’s still spitting up blood.”

  The two of them went into the bedroom while Lucilla and I stood at the door, peeking in. The doctor opened his bag, took out a stethoscope, and held it against Moses’ chest. We could hear him gurgling loudly. He asked Bess if he could see what he spit up, and she reached for a rag in the trashcan by the bed. He looked at it and nodded. She tossed it back in. He pushed on both sides of Moses’ chest, and Moses wrenched away from the doctor’s left hand.

  The doctor looked at Bess. “He has pneumonia in his left lung. How fast did this come on?”

  Her hands were quivering. “Very quickly. He was fine when we went to bed, and sick this morning.”

  “It’s probably a strep pneumonia. It comes on very fast.”

  He took out a hypodermic needle and pushed it into a small vial, then gave Moses a shot in his arm. “This is penicillin.” He took out another vial and filled it. He reached for the other arm. “This is a long-lasting vitamin injection. It will help him recover his strength.”

  He took a bottle from his bag. “When he is able to drink, give him one of these pills every eight hours if the pain in his chest is bad. It’s a painkiller. He can take them until the pain doesn’t come back.”

  Moses opened his eyes and looked at the doctor. “Hellooo,” he muttered, then closed his eyes again.

  “I’m Doctor Abbott. Just close your eyes and rest. You’ve got a bad infection in your lungs, but we’re going to take care of it.”

  Eyes still closed, Moses reached out his open, shaking hand, and with his lower lip quivering, said, “I’m…pleased to…acquaintance...”

  “And I’m pleased to meet you, Moses.”

  Bess said, “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for coming.”