Gumbo

by E. Lynn Harris

  —Just tell me what you got to say, Renee. It's hot out here.

  And there's so much he don't even know, she thinks. That he won't ever know.

  —Well . . . —A pause.

  —Yes?

  —I just . . . I just wanted to say I hope everything's gone go all right tomorrow—

  —What you mean, go right?

  —Just what I said.—Pausing once more. Continuing:

  —I mean I hope you show up on time like Daddy Malcolm said you would and don't come in the church looking all evil like you looking now. Mama and Daddy gone be settin' right up in front with your mama and Daddy Malcolm and we don't need to have no kinda fuss. Mama picked out my dress and Daddy Malcolm paid for it, so that's that. I guess you know all that anyway. I know you're nervous, but I'm nervous, too. You acting like you the only one. But don't forget—I'm the one's having the baby!

  —Girl, you don't even . . .

  —Listen! This ain't no joke, Ricky. You think I ain't scared too with a baby coming? I ain't never had no baby. I ain't even so sure I want one, to tell you the truth. I don't know. But we gone have one and that's why we getting married.—Stopping then to look at him with those eyes suddenly filled with dark birds in rapid flight through a country he'd never known—or had never wanted to know.

  —Renee—

  —You listen to me, Ricky. I got a lot to say and I don't know if I'm gone be able to say it straight out like this again.—Her feet planted squarely on the road's dry, hard, sun-baked earth. Looking almost as if she will rise into that other country from which her own voice seems to be coming, thinking. But this can't be me talking like this, not to him, not to nobody, who ever gave me the—? Or did I always—? But maybe too scary, right now, even to think. Rising into the sky might be easier than continuing to speak, continuing to look at him burning at her that way as the brids race through her eyes, their wings' beating her own secret desire to soar with them, so secret even she is unaware of it, how could such a soaring ever take place? she does not quite think but senses. Senses that the question itself is rarely, if ever, permitted, at least (but why?) to her; that the freedom to dream in a language of wings, if that is what freedom is, to fly, the sort of freedom her almost-but-not-quite dreams intone—such freedom truly must be a journey, must lead to grace. Petite, pretty girl on a country road. Hair tied back, lips parted to speak or to fly and so much, so much now and always, an entire world and beyond in her eyes. Now speaking from that place where she continues to stand, knowing that it is in fact her own voice she hears, her own words and the wings between them, as the words' weight and her feet so planted continue to pull her down into another vital yet hidden part of herself—a small, reaching figure outlined and illumined in the merciless sun.

  —It's like I been thinking . . . —Her voice almost gentle.—You said one time—only one time, Ricky, that you loved me. But I know just like I got two eyes in my head that you ain't been showing me that side much lately. Daddy Malcolm's been real nice to me like always. Why can't you act right? You got the same face like your daddy but you don't act nothing like him.

  —Renee . . .

  —I ain't finished. Just listen. You got to understand something, Ricky. I don't want nobody in this town talking about you and me and our business. One thing I can't stand is a bunch of nosy— . . . The vehemence in her voice halting him.

  —Renee—

  —No. No. Let me tell you. Already somebody come up to Mama saying something about how it must be hard to have a fast girl in the house and how still waters run deep and all a that. Mama picked up the switch so fast I ain't even know what hit me. She said she ain't raised no fast girl for folks to laugh at and I know I don't want nobody laughing at me or you neither. So I'm just saying we gone have this baby and live right and since you gone be a daddy I hope you know we ain't gone have time for you to be running all over town with Lou Jay like y'all ain't got nothing better to do.

  —Renee, lemme tell you something . . .

  —Hold on, Ricky. Whyn't you listen for a minute? I'm just saying we could all still be friends and whatnot but he is going off to college and you and me gone have to get jobs and work, you hear? Cause I ain't about to put this baby off on Mama so she could take up the switch on me again and tell me something about how it's time I acted grown. We can all still have fun and get together but we—we gone have to be responsible. That's what Mama been telling me all along and I think she right.

  The birds fluttering, settling. A new fear creeping into the spaces between their wings.

  —I ain't gone feel that switch no more, Ricky.— A small, quiet voice.

  —Renee—

  —I ain't, Ricky. And, see, I'm not my mama, neither. I'm me. You know? I mean, me. And me, I mean me and you, we ain't gone use no switch on this baby. No, we not.

  Opening his mouth to speak but the sweep of those birds stopping him.

  —Don't say nothing to me while you still looking all evil, Ricky. Just come on.— As she turns and walks up the road, shoulders a little lower than before, he doesn't see the falling birds beginning to die in her eyes. As he follows with that slow dull heat that begins in his ears and continues on creeping down into what still feels like his neck. When they catch up, Lou Jay will look back at him, see that new (but what is it?) searing out of his eyes, and turn quickly to her. Will put his almost-burly arm through her fine-boned one and say:

  —What about that dress, girl?— Pulling her forward.— What was you saying?

  —Y'all got to see it. It's got satin—wait'll y'all see it!—satin ruffles. And—

  —It's bad luck to see it til I marry you.— Gazing off toward some white houses on one of the surrounding hills.

  —Well, excuse me, you ain't gone see me in it til tomorrow. Didn't I already say—

  —Don't pay him no mind, Renee.— Shooting Ricky a Don't you start no mess out here! look. Behind Renee's back, Ricky grabbing his own crotch. Flicking Lou Jay the finger.

  —You gone act right today or what, Ricky?— Over her shoulder, walking on.

  —I got a headache.— Renee missing the kick he aimed just then at Lou Jay's behind.

  —Well, don't talk then.

  —Go on, Renee.— Smiling so that only Ricky can see.

  Smiling, the other thinks. But not smiling that day when I asked you why, Daddy. Why, and you saying 'Cause that's what you gone do, boy. Nothing else. I know you know why so don't be asking. You man enough to put a baby in her, you gone be man enough to marry her. You will marry her.

  But I don't want to, Daddy. I—I can't. I don't—

  Why can't you? Why don't you want to? Boy, don't be telling me nothing that's gone make me kill you up in here.

  Would y'all quit that fussing and come on.

  Mama. Mama, talk to Daddy.

  What you want me to say, baby?

  Quit crying, now! Quit crying!—you little asslicking sissy-ass. I wouldn't even call you my own. You think I don't know? You my own and you done shamed me. Shamed me!

  Daddy, don't hit me! Don't—

  I'll kill you.

  But didn't say all that. Even though he did hit me we ain't said all that. But we should've. We should've so I coulda known sooner he did hate me. You. You hate me and him. But I just want him. And I don't give a fuck cause we gone get the hell outa here anyway no matter what and buy us a piece of something someplace no matter what 'cause it don't matter what you say you ain't never gone make me marry no girl, Daddy. You could kill me if you want to. You could try. You could just try.

  And she told her mama but ain't told her daddy she got a baby in her. Didn't mind telling my daddy but she ain't told her own. Maybe I could blackmail her. I got less than a day.

  But now he sees the car coming down the road toward them. Raising dust clouds, an air-wake in the bright distance. The enveloping heat, disturbed, breaking into shimmers. The dust after a moment circling back on itself, settling on the thick grass, on the leaves of the heavy dark pecan tr
ees along the road.

  —That's Daddy Malcolm's car, Rick.—Lou Jay, seeming prepared to run.

  —Not his daddy—my father-in-law, Renee corrected him.

  —Not yet.—Ricky threw a stone over her head.

  —Since when y'all got a station wagon?—Lou Jay looking from Ricky to her.

  —Since you know when.

  —Maybe he could buy us one.—The snort from behind her that followed her words not reaching her ears.

  The car pulling up to them. Ricky's father, sticking his head out.

  —Well, what we got here? Three pretty rats.

  —Sir.—Lou Jay, not looking.

  —Daddy Malcolm.—Renee, moving closer.

  —You—to Ricky—you ain't got nothing to say to your daddy, boy?

  Something just beneath the surface of his father's face swiftly urged the bloodsnarl trembling in Ricky's throat to a mumble that, in the wavering heat, passed well enough for respect.

  —Sir.

  —Uh huh. And so now where you all walking to?

  —No place.—Her voice low as she cast a brief glance at Ricky.—You know we got rehearsal in a little bit. You coming, Daddy Malcolm?

  —Church be too hot for rehearsal now.

  —We know. Later on this afternoon, we going.

  The gray or heavy thing beneath Mr. Malcolm's face softened into a smile before he glanced back at Lou Jay.—That sounds better. Just call me when. I got to bring the preacher.—Sharpening his gaze on Lou Jay.—And you, boy—

  —Sir?

  —Guess you must be fittin to go off to U.A.—Moving something on his lap.

  —Yes, sir.

  —You won't be coming back too much, then—this summer's the last we gone see of you. You'll be so busy.

  —Maybe.

  —Ain't no maybe about it.— Pulling up into view a long, shiny rifle he'd been holding out of their sight on his lap.

  —Ain't she good-looking?— A smile.—I'm fittin' to get me some hunting.—Patting the rifle fondly, looking from Lou Jay to his son, smiling at their unsmiles.

  —I could knock off something big with this.

  —You could shoot us something.— Moving closer to the smiling face until Ricky's hand reached out for, tightened around, hers.

  —Honey, I'd shoot anything for you, looking so pretty. We know why, boys, don't we?

  Dust, heavy things, silence. A memory of birds, rivers, blue things. The two young men unsmiling, wordless.

  —Got to say, Lou boy, nice to see you talking so sweet with a girl—even my son's fiancee. Ricky!

  —What?— Slow steps forward from where he'd been pulling leaves off a few bushes on the other side of the road. Lou Jay and Renee walking farther down the road to stand in the shade.

  —Don't you what me.

  His son silent.

  —Come closer, boy.

  His father's eyes, burning into him.

  The older man looking straight into his son's eyes to say:

  —I know you member what we talked about.

  —Daddy—

  —Seven sons,— his father continues, a sudden bitterness hardening that deep voice,—seven sons and my baby son gone leave us tomorrow to take him a wife. Thank you, Jesus! he shouts, shattering the stillness beneath the trees. Looking about as if expecting Christ to come down off the cross, then driving that hot gaze toward his son. Only then does Ricky see the face that had stormed, kissed, wept over, sang to and cajoled him through the years in that house they lived in up on the hill change in that very second into something utterly destroyed, like the face of a person in flames—a face all at once of hideous suffering. Melting, shifting, a face of pure rage and something else, unspeakable: what in that moment the witness knows has been familiar to him all his life, throughout every cold space back of communal keening, visions of dark birds in someone else's eyes, beneath blue things lurking in rivers and deep within his own frightened silences—a face offering no escape for itself or anyone. In that collapsed minute he sees in the face too much like his own every twisted face that once torched barns and left fiery crosses in their place, faces that have stalked his dreams; then the face of every corn-whiskey peckerwood coon hunter; then all the faces before his time and of it, that above jeers and fire had strung up heavy women and ripped out their insides, to crush beneath the heel the dreaded commingled issue so desired and despised. Daddy. Backing away in horror from the face as he feels himself drawn with a greater fearful yearning than ever before for who and what he is sure, this time, are behind it—the strange human power or just the pain, in the body of a man or a lurching, broke-spirited god. And then in that other very old language which possesses no words but only the power of harsh vision and the brute killing force of pain—a kick to the stomach, a sharp knife to the groin—he knows that the terrible something inside himself that burns what he feels for her, for her—maybe just something like hate itself, looking for an easy place to settle and spit—forms part of this face, corners its edges; as he knows too where sensation blows cold and fierce enough to slay everything that all faces of this face were devised long ago, in three (or two, or four, or eight hundred) closed moments of the most deadly cunning, silence. Sensing all at once a weakening in his knees that feels as though—yes, as though it's accusing him of something. Backing away still further from the face. But it continues to speak.

  —You mind you tell Satan to get behind you, boy,— it hisses, —for the rest of your days on Earth. You hear?

  The faces staring at each other in the heat.

  Then the older face is gone. Become Daddy Malcolm again, same as before.

  —Lou Jay! Renee!— Mr. Malcolm, shouting. —Y'all come on over here now.

  The two of them running over, sweat-faced. Lou Jay not looking at Ricky.

  —I know y'all gone get to the church on time. Mind, now.

  With one sharp movement, Ricky turned away to face Renee. And she ain't even nowhere near ugly, he thought, I wish I could say I did like girl-pussy.

  —I got to tell you something.— Looking her straight in the face.

  His father raising the gun. Lou Jay's eyes opening wide.

  —What, Ricky?— The birds gone from her eyes, now reflecting back only the stone certainties of the future.

  Daddy Malcolm's gun pointed directly at his son's back. A click from the trigger.

  Ricky turning. Gazing at his father.

  —You really would, wouldn't you.

  The face emerges once more, but by the time the skin has finished its shifting and melting the scream strangled in Ricky's throat has risen up into his head, to remain there.

  —He would what?— Only Ricky's body preventing her from seeing where the gun is aimed.

  —I would love to see my son get married tomorrow. Y'all know Ricky's my baby son. Seven boys, six married, tomorrow the last one. And it's gone happen, too. So nice to see young people loving each other, living a normal life. Lou Jay!

  —Sir?— Lou Jay's voice thick through the clustered reeds in his chest. In that moment looking exactly like what he had never been known to be in that town: completely stupid.

  —We will miss you, boy.— The gun lowered. The look on Ricky's face unchanged. Renee looking off into the distance with what none of them can yet know—a memory of dark birds from another country dying at her feet. Nice-looking girl, the older man reflects, and a shame, only seventeen in two months, she coulda saved it for a real man.

  —Yes, sir. Thank you.— Backing away as the car slowly begins to move off. As it runs right over where he'd been standing.

  —I'll be with your mama and daddy for a while, Renee. Y'all don't forget—later at the church.

  —We won't! she screams, but the car has gone. —What's wrong, Ricky?

  No answer. Trembling in spite of the intense heat, he turns to Lou Jay, says:

  —You coming?

  Lou Jay also shaking. Hands stuck in pockets. The shoulders stiff.

  —Nope. I need to get ba
ck. I got things to—

  —Wait a minute. Am I gone see you after the wedding?

  —You gone see him later, Ricky! What you—

  —Don't say nothing, Renee, fore we get into a fuss. Am I gone see you after?

  —Ricky, your daddy—you saw—

  —I asked you something.

  —Well, sure, you gone see me. I live here, don't I?

  —That's right.— Her voice still low. —And Lou Jay, if you—

  —Renee, shut up.— I'll knock you down in a second, he thinks, but only Lou Jay can see how she is staring now at the face none of them had ever glimpsed in the man who must soon be her husband.

  —I asked you, am I gone see you? I mean see you.—Hands folded into tight purple fists.

  —Ricky—

  —I got to see you, Lou Jay! You don't know—

  —Ricky, now—

  —Tell me!

  —I got to go, y'all. I'll see y'all in the church.

  —Lou Jay!

  —Bye.

  —Lou!

  —Bye, Ricky.—Walking off quickly up the road in the direction from which they'd all walked earlier. The air becoming cooler as he mounted the hill—and strange, he would think later, because there wasn't hardly no shade up there, after all.

  Feeling Ricky's stare burning into him all the way up the hill, until he rounded the curve near the higher meadow that bordered the farm-fields where there should have been a gentle breeze and wasn't. Recalling the horrible burn, like the feeling, he'd received only once in his young life, when he'd put the wrong finger at the wrong time into a beaker of hydrochloric acid in high school biology lab. The finger hadn't ever been the same, not really. One of the fingers he would need to write postcards from Birmingham, like those pasted on his bedroom wall, if he could find them on that campus seen only once. But Birmingham was far enough away . . .

  When, just as he finished rounding the curve, he heard the screams far below and behind him, he ran all the way back to the part of the road where there was a view right down the steep slope into the Meadow valley. He saw Renee. Down in the dirt on the side of the road. And saw Ricky, pulling her hair and kicking her all around, especially in her stomach. Saw her bleeding, spitting up blood. Saw how she tried to get up, and how Ricky punched her hard, right in the mouth, then kicked her in the side of her head. Again. And again. Even from that distance, perhaps because of the day's still heat, the sounds seemed audible for miles. Soft, wet noises. Thinking, before his mind began to scream along with Renee, that to some people there was no better proof of love than that.