Up the Devil's Belly

by Rhett DeVane

  Joseph turned to face me. “She helped me make up my mind about becoming a funeral director, you know.”

  “Is that right?”

  He nodded. “I was interested in the field, but I worried about what my friends would think of me.”

  “It’s a very noble profession, Joseph.”

  “Yes. But, when you’re a teenager, confessing that you want to go into the field…well, some of my peers were a bit…unsupportive.” He smiled slightly. “Not your aunt. She saw me looking all gloomy one day after school — she was there to meet with some committee for the Fall festival, part of the Parent/teacher association. I can remember it like it was just yesterday. Isn’t that incredible? Anyway, she grabbed me by the arm and managed to get me to talk to her about my future plans after graduation.”

  Joseph looked toward the casket. “She said, Joseph Burns, you ain’t livin’ for nobody else ’cept yourself and the Good Lawd…and two things are for certain in this life — death and taxes. I’d whole lot rather see you becomin’ a funeralist than one of them IRS fellers. Besides, if you set up shop here in town, who knows? Maybe, one day, you’ll get to fix me up for my layin’-out. I can’t think of a better fella to do it, neither!”

  “Imagine that.” I glanced toward the front entrance. Elvina Houston stumbled slightly as she stepped into the front parlor. “Excuse me, Joseph. Let me go see if Elvina needs my help.”

  He reached out and grasped my hand. “Certainly. Miz Hattie, please call me if you or your family need anything, will you?”

  “Thanks, Joseph.” I met Elvina near the door and hugged her, offering my arm for support.

  “Walk with me to see her, will you, Hattie? I feel like my feet are stuck in cement.”

  The crowd parted respectfully as the two of us made our way to the opposite end of the room.

  Elvina held a lace-embroidered handkerchief to her face. “Ain’t she beautiful, Hattie?” Her head fell forward as she sobbed aloud. I circled one arm around her shoulders and stood silently by her side as she wept. “What am I gonna do without her? We’ve been friends for goin’ on forty years. That’s longer than most folks stay married!”

  “She loved you very much, Elvina.”

  Elvina sniffed and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “We had some spittin’ contests in there, too. Wasn’t all peaches ’n’ cream. But, we never stayed mad at each other too long. One of us’d pick up the phone pretty soon, and we’d be right back to ourselves.”

  “She was lucky to have you for her best friend.”

  She shook her head. “Nope, it was me who was the lucky one. When I first moved to town after my husband died, I didn’t know a soul. Piddie saw me up at the grocery store — that was when the IGA was in the small store ’bout two blocks down from where it is now. She came right up and introduced herself and commenced to fillin’ me in on this town and all the goin’s on. We’ve been fast friends since that day. Not a mornin’ went by I didn’t think of her and ring her up.”

  I squeezed her bony shoulders. “Elvina, I feel like Piddie’s close by…watchin’ over all of us. We’ll all have to help each other get through this.”

  “I reckon so. My old heart feels so heavy right now, it’s a wonder it’s keepin’ on beatin’.” Elvina studied the calm face of her friend.

  “Hattie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I brought somethin’ I want to put with her. I know she’s gonna be cremated, and all. It’s a gesture I want to make.”

  “Of course, Elvina.”

  She dug in her black patent leather purse and extracted a small cellular phone. “I was gonna give this to her for her birthday in a couple of months.” Elvina reached over and gently placed the phone next to Piddie. “I know it’s silly but it’s like…well, she was never too far from a telephone and…”

  “You don’t have to explain to me, Elvina. I’m positive Piddie’s lookin’ down right now, smilin’ at you.”

  She tilted her head. “She called me, you know…after she died. I figured out the time of day, and she passed away a few minutes before it happened.”

  “What?”

  Elvina lifted her chin proudly. “Piddie gave me the triple-ring signal to let me know she was safe and sound. She had arrived at her destination.”

  Since I had no clue how to respond, I nodded.

  Elvina scanned the crowd. “Where’re Evelyn and Joe?”

  “They’re sittin’ in the kitchen. I believe one of the church ladies was getting Evelyn some coffee and a bite to eat. She didn’t have any breakfast and was feeling a bit faint.”

  Elvina patted my hand. “I’ll go and speak to them, now. Thank you, Hattie…for helpin’ me. You’re as good as gold, just like Piddie always maintained.”

  I watched my aunt’s best friend move slowly through the crowd toward the kitchen, stopping along the way to console and be consoled.

  After circling the block twice in search of a proper parking place, Hank Henderson edged the Mercedes into a small clearing between two pine trees at the rear of the day spa property. The sedan would capture a few pine needles, but it would be safe from an ill-mannered hillbilly driver intent on chipping the paint. Every nick, each deviation from perfection, would pound a nail into its resale value.

  As Chattahoochee’s sole legal counsel, Hank had grudgingly attended many wakes and funerals. He didn’t give a rip about the people, for the most part. It just looked good to put in an appearance.

  The first funeral he’d been dragged to was his mother’s – an event he barely recalled. He had been five, and the memories had dimmed over time. Hank was certain it was the last time he’d felt much of anything resembling sorrow.

  At his father’s last hurrah, he had played the bereaved, dutiful son. Fresh out of FSU law school, he’d been called home from Tallahassee after the old man suffered a massive stroke. His father had clung to life for two days before the devil swept up to claim his spawn.

  Hank used the button on the keyless remote to set the car alarm and then walked up the steep incline toward the corner of Morgan Avenue and Bonita Street where mourners by the carload jockeyed for position outside of the Witherspoon mansion. He smiled. This particular wake would be well worth dragging his tailored black silk suit from the back of the closet — just to be sure the nosey old bat was truly dead. He had to see it to believe it. She’d always reminded him of a trick birthday candle; one of those annoying party favors that popped back to life a few seconds after you’d blown your guts out to extinguish the flame.

  The room was packed when he stepped through the main entrance. Hank worked his way into the crowded parlor, stopping to speak with a handful of guests, acknowledging others with a slight nod. He waited patiently for the area in front of the casket to clear and stepped forward. Even in death, Piddie Longman’s peaceful countenance mocked him.

  Tacky old bitch. It would be a pleasure not to see her anymore. He studied Piddie for a moment. If he never saw another daisy as long as he lived, it’d be too soon. You’d think her daughter would have made the funeral director calm down the old woman’s makeup and outrageous hairdo for her final appearance in public.

  Hank glanced up and looked directly into the frowning glare of Hattie Davis Lewis. Even from across the room, her resentment for his intrusion into her family’s somber occasion was obvious. As he watched, Elvina Houston shuffled into position beside Hattie and reinforced the visual warning. Could it be possible? Had the old biddy broken her promise to him? What did those two know?

  Hank’s stomach lurched, the acid mercilessly peeling away its protective lining. His motto had always been: never stay long enough to be asked to leave. After pausing to speak briefly to the Mayor Jimmy T. Johnson, he slipped through the clots of mourners and escaped into the open air.

  “Comes a point in your life that you either got to whiz or get off the pot. Stop blamin’ your parents, your partner, or the circumstances you was born into. A person has to stand up for his own self, in the end. Th
e Good Lord doesn’t put in a call to your friends and relatives when it’s time to look back over your life. He turns to you.”

  Piddie Davis Longman

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hattie

  In contrast to the sultry stickiness of the weather during the wake, the morning of Aunt Piddie’s funeral was clear and cool. Dry northern air nudged the jet stream southward into the panhandle of Florida, bringing unseasonable fall-like temperatures. By the time of the midafternoon service, the thermometer on the front porch registered a comfortable 78 degrees. Piddie had special-ordered the weather.

  Spackle yipped, hopped, and chased his tail with fall-induced glee when I emerged onto the porch for my first cup of coffee. Shammie had celebrated her feelings at five AM, honoring Holston and me with a running fit that had included our heads as part of its path. A fresh breeze rippled the leaves of the magnolia tree at the end of the porch, coaxing me to feel light-hearted for a moment before I had to go inside to prepare for my aunt’s funeral.

  As requested, we dressed in light-colored clothing. I chose a short sleeve linen smock in a pale shade of lavender, and Holston wore casual khaki pants with a blue and white pinstriped shirt. Sarah sported an Elfwear Designs yellow sundress embroidered with flowers and butterflies.

  I felt odd attending a funeral in garden party attire, but quickly relaxed as I watched members of the community arrive at the Triple C. Elvina Houston had successfully spread the word on required dress. As the crowd assembled in the garden surrounding the side of the mansion, I saw no evidence of traditional mourning attire.

  The ladies of the Morningside AME choir wore the most colorful dresses; bright, eye-popping tropical floral and geometric prints reminiscent of the islands. Scanning the crowd, I understood Piddie’s request. The vivid colors lifted my sagging spirits and invited me to smile — to feel the joy of a long life lived well.

  “I hope Mama’s happy…wherever she is…,” Evelyn groused as she took a chair next to Holston and me. “This just beats all I’ve ever seen for a funeral!”

  “GOOO-GAHHH!” Sarah squealed. We looked at my daughter. She was waving her stubby arms in the air, jabbering nonsense syllables.

  “That nearly breaks my heart in two,” Joe said. “She’s going to miss Piddie as bad as we are.”

  Oblivious to the adults surrounding her, Sarah giggled and chattered to a point just in front of her.

  Jake and Jon sat in the white wooden folding chairs directly behind us. “Has anyone heard from Karen-slash-Mary Elizabeth?” Jake whispered in my ear.

  I shook my head.

  Jake motioned toward the mansion. “There’s a huge prayer plant from her. I just delivered it to the front parlor.”

  I turned slightly to answer him over my shoulder. “I doubt she shows. That would be openly admitting she’s related.”

  “Hmm…” Jake looked thoughtful as his eyes scanned the crowd. “Piddie would be pleased. There’re almost as many folks here as at her birthday party.”

  The Reverend Thurston Jackson took his place behind a plain wooden podium positioned to the left of a patch of freshly-turned earth. Moses Clark had carefully prepared the ground the day before, digging deep to aerate the soil, then mixing in mulch from the compost pile at the edge of the wood thicket. The bronze-finish urn holding Piddie’s remains rested on a low table at the edge of the plot.

  The Reverend’s off-white linen suit and yellow shirt and tie made him look more like a Bahamian tour director than a Southern preacher preparing to deliver a eulogy.

  “Let us pray,” he requested, his voice deep and melodic.

  The large crowd quieted.

  “Dear Lord…we come into your presence today to honor the life of Piddie Davis Longman. We ask that you fellowship with us as we bid our earthly farewell to our departed sister in Christ…and as we go forward through our lives…knowing that she is in your glorious presence, protected by your loving grace. We ask that you sit amongst us today…extending your comforting arms…for blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted. We ask these things in your holy name, Amen.”

  Amen echoed throughout the crowd.

  The Reverend slowly scanned the gathering that enveloped him in a circle, taking a moment to dramatically rest his eyes on each of Piddie’s closest friends and family members. He lifted his gaze toward the clear blue sky. “Isn’t this a fine mornin’ to bid farewell to our Sister Piddie Longman?”

  The audience murmured. A few people nodded amen.

  Reverend Jackson stepped from behind the podium and began to weave between the rows of seated guests, speaking as he went.

  “Sometimes. Sometimes…I am asked to preach for a person I didn’t know very well. I have to speak to family and friends to learn who that person was in this life.”

  He stood still for a moment. “That was not the case for Miz Piddie. You see…I know the woman well! I tell you that I…know her and…” He paused for effect. “God knows her…then, and now!”

  “Amen!” echoed through the crowd.

  “I could ask…you!” He pointed to Elvina. “Or…you!” He spun around to gesture to the entire group. “And, you would tell me some story — some wonderful story of how Piddie graced your life!”

  The Reverend dipped his head slightly and smiled. “Not more than a couple of Sundays ago, Miz Piddie attended services at our church with her good friend, my wife Lucille. Piddie pulled me aside after the service and instructed me on her wishes for her final ceremony. I want it happy, now! She told me, I want singin’ and clappin’ cause I’m goin’ to my glow-ree, and I need to be…” He hopped up and down in place. “lifted up!”

  “Amen! Amen!” the crowd chanted.

  He cupped his hands together and lifted them over his head. “Carried high on the love and best wishes of my family and friends!”

  “And,” he continued in a softer voice, “I will be reborn in a new body and I will watch over all of you…and wait to greet you on the other side.”

  “That…is what Piddie Longman wanted me to say to you today.”

  The Reverend Jackson scanned the crowd. “There was something Miz Piddie Longman could do that I, a man of the cloth, purveyor of the Word of God, can not do. Try as I may, I still look out on this sea of faces before me and…I’m sorry to say…I see color. The color of a person’s skin.”

  He held one hand up. “Miz Piddie was one of the few bless-ed people I’ve ever met who did not see color. Ever’ one of you.” He swept his hand through the air. “know this to be true.”

  “Piddie Longman had a way.” His rich voice faltered briefly as he choked on emotion. “She could look right through to a person’s heart of hearts.”

  The Reverend gestured toward Elvina Houston. “Miz Elvina told me one time…and I know this to be the gospel truth…the reason Miz Piddie kept up with all the goin’s on in this town…was because she cared so deeply about all of us. Miz Elvina, you remember what she said?”

  Elvina nodded and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

  “She said that God! God told us to love our neighbors like ourselves, and she had to know what was goin’ on with them to love ’em better! Can’t we all learn that lesson?”

  “Amen! Amen! Yessuh!” echoed in ripples through the crowd.

  “Now, one thing Miz Piddie made clear to me…” He smiled slightly. “…was that I was not to stand in front of you and preach a long-winded sermon on her behalf. She wanted us all to remember her in stories we could tell each other. And, she wanted her ashes to be scattered in this garden so that we could stop in and visit her ever’ now and then.” He raised his hands. “Let us dust her remains on the Mother Earth to nourish the flowers that will grow here in the spring during the rebirth of nature.”

  The Reverend motioned for the choir members to join him. They formed a circle surrounding the plot of turned soil. “She wanted us to sing one of her favorite hymns, O Happy Day.”

  A tall, portly black woman in a vivid scarl
et dress hummed a single note to set the key. She sang the verses one by one, echoed by the choir around her.

  Oh happy day…Oh happy day…when Jesus washed…all my sins away…

  Reverend Thurston Jackson lifted the cremation urn toward the sky and motioned for Evelyn and Joe to come forward. Evelyn removed the lid and carefully bent forward to dust the ashes of her mother across the dirt. The Reverend handed her a shiny new rake, and she and Joe worked together to till the chalky remains into the rich soil.

  Lucille Jackson encircled Evelyn and Joe with her arms and drew them into the circle. The pitch of the old hymn changed slightly, and the choir members began to clap in time. At the Reverend’s urging, the audience stood and joined in song, until the garden was awash in the song of thanksgiving.

  Sarah Chuntian Lewis, held high in her father’s arms, clapped her small hands and sang Goo-gah over and over.

  I stared at my daughter, my mouth agape. “Holston?”

  My husband stopped clapping and looked down at me. “Yes, hon?”

  “Did you stick that daisy in the top of Sarah’s sundress?”

  He looked at our daughter. “No, did you?”

  I smiled. Joy and awe washed over me as I slipped back into the rhythm of the song.

  “I ain’t leavin’ much of value behind. Never was one, much, for jewels or finery. I’ve been rich in ways you can’t buy from a store. Way I see it – the more you own, the more owns you.”

  Piddie Davis Longman

  Chapter Nineteen

  Law office of Hank Henderson

  One week later, those of us who had been summoned for the official reading of Piddie’s will were seated around a large oval table in Hank Henderson’s office.

  The space was tastefully decorated with wood-framed watercolor originals scattered on the beige walls and several lush tropical plants standing in terra cotta pots near a linen-draped bay window. The two pieces of furniture, the conference table and glass front armoire, were constructed of highly-polished oak. A thick maroon carpet cushioned the floor and helped to dispel the echo of voices in the cavernous room.