“Said he would, then he changed his mind. Reverend Pennycall paid him a visit t’other day, him and Nealy both. They been going around.”
“Sumbitch,” Granpaw said.
“Strode!”
“Well, a man can eat where he wants to, cain’t he?” Granpaw said. “Hired him to paint! Nealy did. Beats all I ever seen.”
“No use to holler at me,” Granny said. “I don’t belong to the Brothers.” Chop, chop. More dirt drifted down. “They’ll be another example made of, I bet you anything they will.”
“Makes me so mad I don’t know what to do,” Granpaw said. “Men like Nealy and that Reverend Pennycall, lording it over folks twice as good.” Granpaw got up all of a sudden and started for the door.
“Don’t be stirring up no trouble,” Granny said.
The screen door opened and Granpaw’s boots went down the back porch steps. “Orbie! Ah Orbie!”
“Don’t you buy no flour over there!” Granny yelled.
A white car, covered half way up with orange dust from the road, was parked in the driveway at Old Man Harlan’s store. It had a red bubble light on top and a star with the word ‘Sheriff’ wrote across the door.
“Police,” I said.
“Reverend Pennycall,” Granpaw said. “It was a sorry day in hell when he became Sheriff.”
Up the hill a little way was Old Man Harlan’s house. It had a long porch with a swing and big pots of blue and red flowers up and down the front steps. Bird Pruitt was standing at the top of the steps hunched over with her cane. She wore that same purple dress and pillbox hat, its wire net twisted above her head.
“Crazy old bitch,” Granpaw said; then looked at me. “I ought not have said that. Ought I?” Steep steps went up to a solid wood porch in front of Old Man Harlan’s store. By the front door was a sign for RC Cola, under it another sign, a piece of cardboard on a nail that said ‘Coloreds Served Around Back’ with an arrow pointing the way. Granpaw shook his head. “They was another place handy, I’d go there to trade.”
The store was just one room, dark and shadowy even in the daytime. A red pop cooler sat in the middle. Old Man Harlan had chewing tobacco, cigarettes, chewing gum and peppermint candy, all under glass at the counter. Shelves with a few store goods – baking soda, turpentine, linseed oil, Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, matches, canned soup – went along the wall on the other side. The back door stood wide open, but Old Man Harlan was nowhere around.
Granpaw went over to the pop cooler, me following behind. The floorboards creaked under our feet. Granpaw raised the lid of the cooler and looked in. “What kind of soda you have boy? We got Orange in here, Coke and something looks like purple.”
“That’s Grape, Granpaw. I want Coke.”
Granpaw grabbed out one Coke and one Orange. He popped the lid off the Coke in the opener on the side and gave it to me. “This Orange here’s for Moses. He’ll like Orange.”
We went around to the back door. A colored-man was outside there; standing in the hot sun, no hat on, just a ragged pair of coveralls strapped over dingy long johns. Up the hill a little ways stood Old Man Harlan’s house.
“Toad?” Granpaw said. “Where’s Nealy?”
The colored-man bowed his head and backed up a step. Short gray whisker hairs went all over the top of his head. “Up da house.”
“Come inside a minute,” Granpaw said. “You’ll fry out there.”
The colored-man stayed where he was. “Mista Halan, now, he don’t ‘llow dat.”
“I do,” Granpaw said. “Come in here.”
The colored-man stayed where he was.
A door opened at the house. Old Man Harlan and another man stepped out. They looked at us then started across the yard. Old Man Harlan was carrying a fruit jar full of something looked like water. His head was bald and shiny, pink from sunburn, and the skin under his eyes sagged in puffy half circles.
The other man had a great big belly and a swollen, bulgy looking head with no neck on it at all. He wore a faded straw hat and a white short-sleeved shirt that was sweated through at the armpits. A pair of black suspenders crawled over his shoulders buttoned onto a pair of official-looking gray pants. On one of the straps wobbled a silver star. He had a gun too, a big silvery cowboy gun with a white handle that stuck out at an angle from a holster on his hip.
Granpaw fixed a hawk eye on Old Man Harlan. “Toad will get sun stroke, standing out here. He’s old, Nealy.”
Old Man Harlan was a head taller than Granpaw; scrawny looking and beak nosed. He wore a blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a black vest. A gold chain looped out the pocket of the vest. “He’ll get a lot worse he steps inside my store. That right Toady?”
The colored-man chuckled. “I reckon dat so. Yessah. Sho is.”
The man with the police badge touched his hat to Granpaw. “Brothah Wood.”
“Reverend Pennycall,” Granpaw said.
An ugly grin went across Old Man Harlan’s face; his voice was rough and full of spit. “A man breaks the rules is like to go without. You remember that, Toady.”
The colored-man hung his head.
Old Man Harlan squeezed by us and went inside. He went behind the counter, got a paper sack and put the jar inside.
“Mighty precious water be puttin’ it in a paper sack,” Granpaw said.
Reverend Pennycall’s nose hole’s flared. “That wouldn’t be any of ya’ll’s business, now, would it Brothah Wood?”
Old Man Harlan took the bag with the jar back to the door and handed it to the colored-man. The colored-man smiled, first at Old Man Harlan, then at the rest of us. Then he ducked his head and went away.
Old Man Harlan spat after him. “It was left up to me, they’d all be back in chains. Good for nothing sons of bitches.” He looked at Granpaw and me. “What? What ya’ll staring at?”
“Pawdon me, Brothah Wood,” Reverend Pennycall said. “May Ah pass?”
“This way son,” Granpaw said to me. We went back in front of the counter, and Reverend Pennycall stepped inside, so big he blocked out most of the light.
“Mattie still aim to horsewhip me?” Old Man Harlan said.
“Not that I know about,” Granpaw said.
“Bird said she was.”
“Bird’s butter is like to slip off her corn too,” Granpaw said.
Old Man Harlan bent his neck a little to the side. His head went with it. He reminded me of a cartoon buzzard I saw once on TV. He looked at Granpaw that way; he looked at me that way – from the side. He let out a squawk and slapped the counter. “Butter off her corn, Strode! Waw! Waw! Waw!”
Reverend Pennycall frowned at Old Man Harlan.
“I swear, I’d a never thought to say it like that, but you right!” Old Man Harlan’s face had turned red. “Her butter does have a way of slippin’ off!”
Granpaw didn’t laugh. Neither did I.
Reverend Pennycall took his hat off, grabbed a hankie out his back pocket and wiped it around on the inside. “Come Sunday, they be dinnah on the ground, Brothah Wood. Up Circle Stump way. Brothah’s Of The Watch’ll be there. Talk about this here situation we got.”
“What sitchi-ation is that?” Granpaw said.
“Why, the colored folk situation, Brothah Wood. Things been getting out of hand.” Reverend Pennycall looked at Old Man Harlan, then back at Granpaw. “They’ll be good food. And good preaching too. You and Sistah Wood welcome.”
“Thank you, but I got my own church to go to,” Granpaw said.
“If you call it that,” Old Man Harlan said.
“I do,” Granpaw said.
Reverend Pennycall put the hat back on his head and smiled. “They always room at the Cross, Brothah Wood. Ya’ll just remembah that.”
“Maybe I don’t want that kind of room,” Granpaw said.
Reverend Pennycall nodded. “We all need that kind of room, Brotha Wood. All we sinnas do.” The store turned quiet. There was a clicking sound and then a hum from the pop cooler.
<
br /> Old Man Harlan looked at me. “Reckon when you’ll get to see your Momma again, son?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“In another week,” Granpaw said. “She’ll be back in another week.”
Old Man Harlan looked at Granpaw. A spit-filled grin hung off the side of his face. “You know that Lucy Stokes run off with a man. From Ohio I think. Ain’t that right, Reverend?”
“Ah believe it is,” Reverend Pennycall said. “Yessaw, that’s right.”
“Left all her kids and that husband of hers too,” Old Man Harlan said. “She was a looker. Lookers’ll do that.”
“Ruby ain’t Lucy Stokes,” Granpaw said.
“Course she ain’t,” said Old Man Harlan and winked at me.
“She ain’t her a-tall.”
The store got quiet again. Old Man Harlan grinned his hang-jawed grin. Seemed like the shadows were all leaned back in the corners, watching Granpaw and me. I thought of how pretty Momma was, how Victor liked to kiss on her. How Momma liked to kiss on him.
Granpaw looked down at the glass case. “Give me some of that chew Nealy. And a stick of that.” He pointed to the peppermint candy.
Old Man Harlan’s white hands moved under the glass. He got the stuff in a sack and handed it out to Granpaw. “Two dollar.”
“Two!” Granpaw said. “I can get this at Grinestaff’s for half that!”
“Best go to Grinestaff’s then,” Old Man Harlan said. “I ain’t running no charities here.”
“You never charged this much before!”
“Never been threatened a horsewhipping before!”
Reverend Pennycall put his hand on the counter and leaned toward Granpaw. He rested the palm of his other hand on the white handle of his gun.
“Horseshit,” said Granpaw. He handed the paper sack back to Old Man Harlan. “How much for the sodies?”
“Fifty cent.”
“Fifty!” Granpaw said, but put the money on the counter anyway. He looked Old Man Harlan in the eye. “I wasn’t aimed to mention this, but now that you done showed your ass, I cain’t hardly keep from it.” He nodded toward Reverend Pennycall. “I reckon this goes for you too Reverend. Moses Mashbone a eating with us ain’t none of your all’s goddamn business!”
Reverend Pennycall’s face soured over.
Granpaw took a hold of my hand. “And the way ya’ll treat the coloreds around here, it wouldn’t surprise me you both was horsewhipped one of these days!” We walked toward the door.
I could feel Old Man Harlan’s eyes, his buzzard look, Reverend Pennycall, the shadows in the corners of the store, all watching us go out the door.
“I wouldn’t be burning no bridges, Strode!” Old Man Harlan called. “Not if I was you I wouldn’t!”
We went down the steps, got down to the end of the driveway and crossed the road. “You was going to cut Old Man Harlan, wasn’t you Granpaw?” I said.
“Only thing I aimed to cut was a piece of my mind, son. Men like Nealy and the Reverend got to be told. They’ll like to run all over you otherwise.”
We walked on back to the house. When we got there Granpaw opened the Orange drink and took a sip.
“You said that was for Moses,” I said.
“I know it. He owes me one though. After today.”
12
Potato Foot
Granny pushed open the screen door.
“Oh no! It’s Hag Woman! Flash Gordon to the rescue!”
“Hag Woman?” Granny came onto the back porch.
“Here she comes Ladies and Gentleman! Hag Woman from Ugly Town! Death Ray! Death Ray! ZZZ! ZZZZ!”
“I’d be ashamed, swinging that thing at poor old Granny. Do I look like a bug?”
I drew the fly swatter back ready to blast Granny again. “Flash Gordon’s coming to the rescue, Granny. This is his Death Ray Gun.”
Granny let the door slap shut. “You swing that thing at me again and I’ll death ray your gun!”
A shadow of something moved behind the screen.
Granny stepped in front of me, fists punched into her hips, elbows turned outward like wings. She spied some jars I’d knocked over at the end of the porch, one smeared with the innards of a mashed fly. “I use them jars to can with. What you doing out here?”
“Killing flies.”
“Flies? On my jars?”
“Uh huh.”
Granny’s hands dropped to her sides. “I’d ruther you not mash flies on my canning jars, Orbie. Why don’t you go out to the barn and play?”
I tried to look around Granny to see what the shadow was. “What’s in there, Granny?”
“Tain’t no what. It’s a who.”
“Who then?”
“Well, that’s what I came out here to tell you.” Granny started down the steps. “Put that fly swatter away and come out here a minute.”
I hung the fly swatter on its nail by the door and followed Granny down the steps out next to the pig yard and the trailer. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was stepping its way down a purple-white-mountain of clouds.
Granny said, “You remember t’other day when we talked?”
“No.”
“Yes you do. You was throwing corn cobs at Nealy’s chickens. You said they wasn’t nothing else to do down here, and I told you things would get better. Remember?” She looked up to the house, then back at me. “Listen now. I got you a surprise.”
“What Granny?”
“Oh Orbie, it’s a boy!” She was almost whispering now. “A little colored boy. Talks funny but you’ll get used to that. It ain’t like you can’t understand him.”
Already I was getting scared.
“Stutters a little bit is all. It’s Willis, back from Tennessee.
Moses told him about you.” Granny smiled. “I told you they was kids down here.”
I got a feeling of being dizzy, like I was high up on a cliff somewhere about to fall. “I ain’t playing with no goddamn coloreds Granny!”
Granny’s mouth went hard. She reached out with both hands and closed my arms together. I tried to twist away. My face was so close to Granny’s I could see the little coffee stained wrinkles under her lip. “Let go of me you old bitch!”
“Now you listen here to me,” Granny whispered. Hard puffs of chewing-gum-breath hit me square in the face. “I have had just about enough of that sorry talk!” She sent fast eyes up to the house and then back again to me. “What if he was to hear you?”
“I don’t care! Let me go!”
“Shhhh! Orbie! I declare!”
Then I whispered too. “I don’t care, Granny.”
“Ain’t no need of getting all red-faced about this! He’s just a boy like you are.”
I jerked away from Granny and ran over next to the fence.
Granny stood up.
The screen door banged to. Out on the porch now came a little colored boy. He had a walking stick looked like a tree limb somebody’d cut to fit under his arm. He leaned on the stick, made a step, brought the stick to the front, leaned on it, made another step.
“That there’s Willis,” Granny said in her loud way. “Rode over here on his mule!”
The colored boy was even skinnier than me. He wore coveralls without a shirt. The coveralls were puffed out around his body. He let himself down the steps, using his stick, one foot at a time. He didn’t have any socks or shoes, and I could see there was something the matter with the foot on his right leg.
I stepped back against the fence.
The colored boy hop-walked himself over to Granny. He smiled a thick row of white teeth. I could see how the rib bones curved under his skin. The foot on his bad leg had toenails but no toes – a black potato with little white potato eyes sticking out the end.
“How you been sweetheart?” Granny gave him a hug, and then she kissed him on the head. “You been a good boy, today?”
“Yessum,” Willis said.
His head was shaved, and he had pretty brown eyes. His face was
pretty too – like a girl’s – smooth with round cheeks and dimples. When he smiled, his head hung to the side, eyes slanting in a way I thought they’d slide right off his head.
“Ha–Ha–Hidy,” he said, his smile all pretty and melting-like.
“Orbie, come on now, tell Willis hidy,” Granny said.
I tried to back up more but the fence wouldn’t let me. “Hidy.”
The colored boy smiled that girl smile again; his face sliding off to the side.
“Mind what I told you Orbie,” Granny said.
I looked at the boy.
“Go on, Willis,” Granny said.
The boy came over to where I was – dark chocolate all over except for the bottoms of his hands.
“Go on, Orbie,” Granny said.
I remembered the time at the schoolyard when the colored boys had my pants down.
Cut his dick off, Lawrence. Cut Whitey’s dick.
I hawked up a gob and spat it at the colored boy. “Get away from me, nigger!” Squeezing through the fence I ran across the chicken yard; Granny shouted after me. I ran to the chicken house and stepped over the plank threshold, waiting there a few seconds until my eyes caught up with the dark. There were chickens, sleeping in lines on railings going diagonally up and down. Some were hunkered in little boxes along the wall.
I squatted in a corner away from the door. Some of the chickens looked at me. Elvis and Johnny looked at me. Granny could go straight to hell. I thought about Momma and Missy and Victor. I thought about Florida and Superman and Jesus. I wished somebody like that would come, somebody strong, take me away from this chicken shit farm. I wished Daddy would come.
A stick poked itself inside the door, then a bumpy bare foot. “Orbie? You in da-da-dare?” It was the colored boy, his voice all high-pitched and sissy-sweet.
I tried to make myself small. “Go away!”
“Miss Mattie. She se-se-send me for da eggs.” Willis walked in to where there were chickens sitting in boxes right above my head. He balanced on his good foot and waved the stick in front of him, trying to feel his way through the shadows.
“Watch out with that stick!” I said.
“I gots to get da eggs.”
THEN LIKE THE BLIND MAN: Orbie's Story Page 11
