A man has obligations. Some he asks for, some he gets put on him. Tory-boy, there never was any choice: if I didn’t raise him, he wouldn’t get raised.
I had to be honest with myself. Had to admit that, somehow, I always knew. When you’re birthed out of your own sister—when her father is your father, too—you know you’re not going to come out right.
Not you, not your life, not nothing.
So I just worked Tory-boy even harder. Sat him in front of our big-screen and made him watch the news with me, hear how people said things.
He always wanted to please me, and he never got bored, so he was coming along, little by little. It got to the point where I wasn’t worried about people knowing he wasn’t right the minute he opened his mouth.
One of the most valuable things I taught him was that he never had to say much—in any crowd, there’s always someone who wants to do most of the talking.
But no matter how much work I put into Tory-boy, I stayed worried over how he’d handle life on his own. And I knew the day was coming when he’d have to do that.
accepted the burden and vowed to shoulder it. I knew if I ever fell down Tory-boy would hit the ground right after me.
And I knew I couldn’t carry him the full distance. I didn’t know when the day would come, but the knowledge that it was coming drove me on. The closer I got to that day, the harder I drove.
No matter what, I had to get Tory-boy ready to live on his own. The doctors told me I wasn’t going to have a long life. Not even with the right diet, no smoking, the exercising Tory-boy loved helping me with. Under the best of circumstances, I shouldn’t count on ever seeing fifty.
But Tory-boy would. And he’d spend the rest of his life in this hard, hard place. Even the coal they dig out of the ground is hard: anthracite, not the soft bituminous kind that doesn’t fight the pickax for every chunk. Bituminous burns better, too. You’d think, the harder you have to work for something, the more valuable it would be. But that’s just not true. Not around here, anyway.
There’s a Klan, but it’s not much. Mostly old men who tell wild stories about the things they used to do.
Nobody really listens. Not because folks necessarily disagree with them, but because it doesn’t take long for the stories to get as old as the men telling them.
Hate comes easy … and it’s a lot easier than working. But you won’t hear any scare-stories about illegal immigrants in this part of the country. Who’d want to come here? This whole place is just one big prison. Some get sentenced to hard labor, some have it easier, but everyone serves the same term: life.
Even the church people don’t think about getting out, just about getting by. Like I said, that’s got a special meaning around here. And the church people, they do a lot of nice things for folks while they’re waiting for … whatever they believe is coming to them, I guess.
There’s a number of ways you can get respected in these parts. I don’t mean feared—that’s as easy as grabbing a red-hot weld with your bare hand. Holding on to it, that’s another story.
You make people scared enough of you, those same people will watch you get shot down in the street and swear on the Bible that they never saw a thing.
Some of them might even be the shooters.
Fear can make a man run home. But he might be running home to fetch his rifle.
Keeping your word, that’s how to get respect. But if you look deep enough, you can see that’s not one bit different from being feared. A man known for always keeping his word, if he says he’s going to get you, you respect his word by being scared.
Everybody will claim they respect any woman who’s a regular at church, but they don’t mean a lying word of what comes out of their mouths when they say it.
A woman like Miss Jayne Dyson, nobody respects her out in public. But men who wouldn’t say “good morning” to her face are the same ones who knock on her door at night.
I never would act like that. I’d be the worst kind of hypocrite if I did. Who knows better than me that a person can’t always choose their own path? It’s how you walk that path that makes you worthy … or not.
So, when Tory-boy got to the right age—I didn’t need a calendar to tell me that; I could see it rising in him—I helped get him ready for that, too.
I could never be sure what Tory-boy had seen when he was just a small child, and I couldn’t have the Beast be his teacher. So I paid Miss Jayne Dyson to show him what to do, and how to do it right.
he first time I visited her house, I think she was kind of, I don’t know, shocked to see me.
“You’re Esau Till, aren’t you?”
“Yes …”
“Well, yes what?”
“I was going to say ‘ma’am,’ but I didn’t realize you’d be so young. And I don’t know you to be calling you by your first name.”
“You’re Esau Till, all right,” she said. “Folks don’t have manners like yours anymore. But that is what folks say about you, that you’re a true gentleman. Well, you better come in quick, before those nasty old crows across the way start making up stories.”
I rolled myself into her parlor. It was real nice, a lot nicer than any home I’d been in myself. She was walking ahead of me, twitching her hips like I’d seen mares do when they’re in season.
“You want a little—”
She turned around. Her face was blushing so bright I could see it even in the dim light. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was going to say … I mean, just out of habit …”
“I understand,” I told her. Even though I had no idea what had made her turn red like she had, I’ve found saying those two words pretty much always works to calm a person when they’re upset.
She told me she’d be a lot more comfortable if I’d call her Jayne, instead of Miss Dyson. I said I’d do that proudly, if she’d do the same for me.
Then she said she knew me without ever actually meeting me, so she kind of guessed I knew her, too. Knew what she was known for, she meant.
I allowed that I did, but I made sure I didn’t talk to her like she was … well, what folks said she was.
I explained why I needed Tory-boy to be educated. I wanted him to learn to treat a woman properly, and I hoped she would help me with that. I did warn her: a young man like him might not know his own strength, especially when he got himself … excited.
“Oh, I heard that. I know he’s not right in the—”
She saw me looking at her; stopped in her tracks. “Now I truly apologize,” she said. “I’m ashamed of myself. You didn’t come here judging me, and I’ve got no call judging you or yours.”
“Tory-boy’s not wise in some ways,” I told her, meaning I accepted her apology and it was already gone from my mind. “I hoped you’d help me make him wiser than most in some others.”
She smiled at that. That smile, it was so sweet I knew it for a true thing.
iss Jayne Dyson did a very fine job. I know she did; I know it for a fact. It took a number of visits, but after she was done, Tory-boy not only always had girlfriends, but he never beat on any of them, not once, no matter how they acted.
He never talked nasty to them, either. He knew words could cut like whips. Worse, even. So he always treated his girls like ladies, even when they didn’t deserve it.
It turned out that Miss Jayne Dyson, she was a lady. Who else but a real lady would have put so much valuable knowledge inside my little brother?
I will never forget the day as long as I live. The day Tory-boy taught me something. Oh, what a proud, shining moment that had been for him.
“Esau, did you know that if you treat a girl like a lady, if she really believes you think of her that way—like a lady, I mean—well, you can actually turn her into one!? It’s like casting a spell. And you know what else, Esau? I can cast that spell. Me. I never thought I could ever do something like that.”
“You mean, you didn’t believe you could do something like that.”
“I … Oh, gee, Esau. I get it. I reall
y get it. What Miss Jayne taught me, it wasn’t just about girls, right?”
“It’s about everything, Tory-boy. How many times have I told you that you’re a lot smarter than folks think you are?”
“You’re always saying that, Esau.”
“And I believe it, too. So that makes it … Tell me, Tory-boy, what does that make it?”
“It makes it … true! You cast a spell, but it didn’t take, because I didn’t believe you believed it yourself. I thought you were just being nice to me, like always.”
“But now you know, right?”
“I do. I do, for real.”
“I would never lie to you, Tory-boy. Never.”
He sat down on the floor right next to me and started crying. I patted him like I always did when he was upset, but that time, I knew he was crying for joy.
was really encouraged by such things. I guess, deep down, I was hoping Tory-boy would find himself a girl with real smarts. A girl he could marry, and then they’d take care of each other. He could bring in all the money they’d ever need—I’d already made sure of that—and she could help him with some of the stuff he couldn’t handle so well.
But any girl from around here smart enough to do that kind of thing was smart enough to get out. And never come back.
ory-boy’s mind was always at ease. I kept it that way by surrounding him with knowledge he could have and hold. He knew I’d always fix anything, always keep him safe. Always love him.
I got a lawyer to draw up the papers. A legal trust, so Tory-boy would be taken care of for the rest of his life. I even named the lawyer as the trustee, so he would be the man who paid any bills that might come up. He was also to make sure Tory-boy got whatever else he needed, from bribing a lawman to drawing up a deed.
The lawyer I used, he was a young man. His father and his father before him had been lawyers, too. Now all three of their names were on the shingle, but only him and his father were still alive.
I wasn’t worried about that lawyer trying to cheat Tory-boy. His father handled cases for the people I did all that work for, and I was confident he’d passed what that meant along to his son.
If that lawyer ever cheated Tory-boy, if he ever failed on his promises, he was never going to be able to start his car. Or pick up his telephone. Or stand near a window.
He’d never know how or when, but something would be coming for him; he could count on that.
If I was still around, I’d handle it myself. I had a hundred ways to do that. And if I wasn’t, then those people I had worked for, their part would be a man with black pantyhose over his face, black latex gloves on his hands, holding a double-barreled sawed-off, with a pistol in his pocket for finishing off his job. The people I had done all that work for, their part was to make that lawyer’s ending dead sure.
I didn’t care if that ever happened. All I needed was for that lawyer to believe it would.
I had plenty on his father, too. When I told him just a little bit of that, he got real anxious. But I calmed him right down. I made him understand I wasn’t selling; I was buying.
All those things I told him, they weren’t any kind of blackmail; I was just making a payment on Tory-boy’s life-insurance policy.
Tory-boy had more than one of those. Which was kind of the point of me talking to that lawyer at all.
As long as Tory-boy stayed protected, it would be as if I had never died. I’d still be with him, keeping him safe.
e had a car, too. A van, with a lift for my chair. Tory-boy could drive real well. His coordination was damn near perfect. He just couldn’t … make decisions, I guess is the best way to put it.
So I made the decisions for us both. Anytime I had to deliver one of the devices I made, Tory-boy would always be right there with me. I didn’t need him for protection—and I’d never let him carry a firearm—I just didn’t like leaving him alone.
The people I delivered things to were bad men, but I never felt even a little tremor of fear when I was around them. They were always going to need more of the things I made. And they knew I’d never say a word about them to anybody, ever.
They knew what my word was worth to them. And what their lives were worth to me if they didn’t keep theirs.
So I wanted to make sure they knew Tory-boy’s face. Had it memorized.
suppose it would be fair to say I was a criminal myself way before I started working for criminals. I was selling those drugs, wasn’t I? I knew what drugs did to folks. I’d seen people—kids, even—turn themselves into … things. They’d stop being human. Lie to their friends, steal from their own families. Sell their blood and their bodies. Take anything; give up everything.
Drugs. You die from them; you die for them. Either way, you’re dead. I knew all that, but it never caused me to hesitate a second.
So maybe it wasn’t only my lower half that didn’t feel much of anything. Maybe my conscience was like that, too. Not dead, but … frozen, I guess. Frozen beyond any heat they have on this planet.
I think that was it. From the first time I showed those people what I was capable of, I’d known what I was going to be doing with the rest of my life.
There wasn’t anything else. I used to fantasize about what it would be like if we could put my brain into Tory-boy’s body. One of us would have to die to make that happen … but neither one would ever know which one had.
If that fantasy could actually happen, it wouldn’t matter even if we did know. Tory-boy would die for me without thinking about it. The only difference between us is that I would think about it. But I’d still do it.
Fantasy. Wish. Dream. Whatever I called it, I knew it wasn’t ever going to happen.
couldn’t help noticing how women denied Miss Webb the respect properly due her. Not because she tried to come in here and change things. She never did that; all she ever wanted to do was make things better. No, those women withheld their respect because Miss Webb never got married, that’s why. A lady in her position, she didn’t have the option of just taking up with a man. You expect that from trash, but not from someone who got themselves an education.
“Nice-looking woman like she is,” they’d say, “she doesn’t have a man, you know what that means.”
In one way, Jayne Dyson and Miss Webb were like sisters. They both showed proud. Never looked away, never let on they’d even heard the whispers. Always kept their backs straight and their heads high.
Jayne Dyson and Miss Webb, they wrapped themselves in their own self-respect, and no amount of nasty little whispering was ever going to crack those stone walls they put up.
Maybe that’s how they found their balance, just as I had.
I really and truly cared for Jayne Dyson. Respected her, too. And even before I was grown, I had loved different women for different reasons—like Mrs. Slater, for helping me raise Tory-boy.
But for myself, for me as a man, Miss Webb was the only woman I ever loved.
eople are always talking about how you have to make your own way in this world. Pull yourself up by your own bootstraps. Make it on your own.
They’ll look at the TV hanging in a corner of some bar when it’s showing a black kid being handcuffed. They’ll tell each other that it’s niggers on Welfare that are ruining this country.
But the checks they get, the ones they drink up every month, those get called County Aid, or Disability, or Unemployment … anything but Welfare.
Grocery stores would go broke if they wouldn’t take food stamps in exchange for cigarettes or beer.
People blame their lives on anyone but themselves. Where we live, if you want something better in life, you have to take some risks. Maybe that’s why the Klan never got any traction around here. People might sympathize, they might even use the same words, but they weren’t going to spend their own money to support it.
For me, it wasn’t a real choice. I needed something better if I was going to keep Tory-boy safe. We were both collecting Disability. For-real Disability, not the “I hurt my
back at work” kind.
Ours was going to keep coming forever. It wasn’t ever going to stop, no more than I was likely to start running marathons or Tory-boy to get a college scholarship.
Those Disability checks wouldn’t be going away, but I was. And without me to guide things, no matter how much money I could put aside, it would never be enough to keep Tory-boy safe.
iss Webb would always be on me to use my mind. I could go to college, she’d tell me. And it wouldn’t cost me a cent. Just to make her feel better, I took this test she had sent away for. But when she got back the results, that only made her more determined.
So, one day when there was only the two of us in the library, I asked her if I might speak with her.
She looked at me kind of funny. I guess it did sound strange—I always spoke with her. But she got up from behind her desk and walked over to a far corner. Then she took down a big book from a high shelf—one I’d never be able to reach on my own—and laid it open on the table. If anyone walked in, it would look like the most natural thing in the world for us to be talking about that book.
I took that for understanding, so I asked her to please sit down. Sit next to me.
I told her then. I told her everything. I had to do that; it was only right. I just couldn’t bear to keep on disappointing her, and the only way to tell her why I would do a thing like that was to tell her the truth.
My truth was a long list of Nevers.
Never leave this place; never go to college; never accomplish anything the world would recognize.
And the worst of them all: never become a man worthy of her respect.
I told her why this had to be. I even told her what I’d been doing to make sure Tory-boy would always be safe.
I stripped it right down to the bone, so there was no misunderstanding: I’d have to do wrong to make things right. I’d been doing wrong, and I was going to have to do more. A lot more. A lot worse, too.
I don’t know what I expected, but Miss Webb breaking into tears wasn’t on that list. I reached for the fresh-clean handkerchief I always carry with me, but she already had her own out.
That's How I Roll Page 11
