by Daniel Black
Tiny looked at Enoch, hoping the son would deny the words of his father, but Enoch’s silent posture confirmed what Tiny feared. “Lawd have mercy Jesus,” Tiny mumbled, and fell back into the chair.
Jeremiah tried in vain to ease the news. “It all happened so fast, man. I sent the chillen runnin’ out de back do’ to Bull’s old place, and me and dis boy hyeah did what we had to do. I didn’t mean to kill ’em, Tiny, but if I didn’t they woulda—”
“I know! I know! I know!” Tiny repeated in frustrated sympathy. His hands waved in the air. “You know they ain’t gon let this go!” he said.
“Of course they ain’t!” Jeremiah hissed. He calmed a bit, then added, “That’s why we got to come together.” He looked at Enoch, who grinned in support.
“I’m callin’ a meetin’ tonight, Tiny, of all de colored people ’round hyeah. We got to come together. White folks been killin’ our children too long, and we ain’t done nothin’. That’s got to stop.”
“I ’gree wit chu, Mi,” he said, and stared at his lifelong friend, “but I ain’t neva heard o’ nothin’ like this happenin’ ’round here.”
“’Cause we been too scared! But now I need yo’ help.”
The silence made Enoch understand, finally, the enormity of the sacrifice he and his father were asking from others. This ain’t gon be easy, he told himself.
“What time is de meetin’?” Tiny asked, after taking a deep breath.
“Seven. In de barn. You comin’?”
Tiny closed his eyes for an instant, then opened them wider and relented. “I’ll be there. You know I ain’t neva been no coward. I might be fat as hell, but I’ll stand when I need to.”
The old friends chuckled until their nerves settled.
“Good,” Jeremiah said. “Now help me spread de word to anybody who ain’t heard yet. Don’t tell ’em what happened though. I’ll say all that tonight. Some colored folks is so scared o’ white folks that if they know de truth, they gon run and tell de world befo’ I get a chance to say anything.”
“Lawd knows dat’s de truf!” Tiny agreed.
“Enoch done walked ’round and told most folks. If everybody tell somebody, then we oughta have a pretty good turnout.”
“Well, let me get on back to de house and tell de old lady. She’ll be wit me.” Tiny rose and waddled off the porch in a hurry.
“Thanks, man,” Jeremiah said sincerely. “I can always count on you.”
Tiny smiled and said over his shoulder, “I shoulda throwed yo’ ass away years ago, but somebody gotta fool wit chu! I’ll see y’all later.”
“See ya,” Enoch called, grateful that his father had at least one faithful friend.
Convincing others hadn’t been quite so easy. A few wanted to know exactly why colored folks was meetin’ and whether white folks knew about it. Enoch laughed, and said, “Forget it” and counted them out.
Most folks, however, agreed to come, especially Aunt Sugar. Hers was the first house they approached. “’Bout damn time!” she said. “I been waitin’ on some men ’round here to stand up and be men.” Leaning upon a broomstick, she spit a string of tobacco juice into the dirt yard. “We ’bout forty years late, ain’t we, Mi?” she said, and resumed sweeping the porch. “Dat’s why I ain’t neva married. Shit, I ain’t met a man wit enough balls fu me!” Enoch hollered, but Aunt Sugar never smiled. “We’ll see what happens, boys. I’ll be there.” She turned and entered her house.
Aunt Sugar’s birth name was Margarite Daniels, but nobody ever called her anything but Sugar. Any child who walked by her house was guaranteed a slice of sweet potato pie, lemon pound cake, or a bowl of blackberry cobbler. Why a single woman baked two or three desserts every day was a mystery to the colored citizens of Money but, as she boasted, “I don’t neva throw none of it away, do I? Greedy niggas always find dey way over hyeah.” Of course no one argued, for there was not a single colored soul who hadn’t tasted Aunt Sugar’s cooking. The strange thing though was that no one ever saw her cook anything other than sweets. Ever. At church functions, she brought desserts, but never ate anyone else’s food. She had no garden, no cows, no hogs, no chickens, and no children to bring her food. She gotta eat somethin’, folks thought to themselves.
Chop knew the truth of Aunt Sugar’s sustenance. During the summers, he visited her often and she fell in love with his appetite.
“I like chillen like you,” she told Chop one day as he devoured the last piece of sweet potato pie. “You eat like you alive.”
“I-I-I lllllike to eat, Aunt Sh-Sugar.”
“Dat’s good, boy,” she encouraged. “That means yo’ spirit is free.”
Chop frowned and mumbled, “Huh?”
Aunt Sugar laughed. “See, the body gets hongry when the spirit is free to roam the earth. Folks who ain’t got no appetite got po’ spirits. When yo’ spirit is free, you get hongry a lot quicker.”
Chop didn’t fully understand, but Aunt Sugar’s words sounded good so he nodded along.
“W-w-why d-d-don’t you ever eat?” he asked innocently.
“Who said I don’t eat?” Aunt Sugar teased.
“Everybody. Ththththey ssssssay you d-d-don’t n-never eat nnnnothin’, b-b-but you g-g-g-g-g-g-gotta eat ssssssssomethin’ or you’d be d-d-dead.”
“Maybe I am,” she said.
“But if yyyyyou wuz d-d-dead, I c-c-ccouldn’t sssssee you.” Chop frowned so hard his head began to hurt.
“That ain’t necessarily so, son. Some dead folks is still walkin’ ’round, and some live folks been dead fu years.”
“Huh?”
Aunt Sugar tapped his hand. “Don’t you worry ’bout dat none, Mr. Poke Chop. You jes come on and get much o’ dat dessert as you want.”
“Yyyyyyyesmam,” he said gladly. “B-b-but how you lllllive without eatin’?”
Aunt Sugar paused, and said, “By givin’. If you learn to make givin’ yo’ livin’, then you won’t need man’s food. God’ll feed you Hisself ’cause He loves a cheerful giver. But you gotta do it ’cause you love it and you gotta love de people you givin’ to. Otherwise, you gon have to settle for this crap we grow on earth.”
“Yyyyou mean yyyyyou d-d-don’t eat n-n-none o’ de ffffood we eat?”
“Chile, I ain’t ate dat stuff in years. Every time somebody come by and I get to give dem some o’ my sweets, I get so full in my soul my appetite jes go away.” She flung her arms wide.
“Wwwwwow,” Chop marveled.
“I guess dat’s why folks call me Sugar, baby. I love bein’ sweet, I love makin’ sweets, and I love sweet folks. But don’t get me wrong. I can be a bear if you make me mad.”
Chop didn’t know what to say. He had never heard anyone speak poorly of Aunt Sugar, and he certainly couldn’t imagine her being mean.
“Th-th-thank you, mmma’am,” he said kindly.
“Oh you sho is welcome, Mr. Chop. Anytime!” she sang and embraced him.
Chop’s eyes teared. “I-I-I rrrrreally lllllike you, Aunt Sh-Sugar.”
“I love you too, baby.”
As he walked away, he turned and asked, “W-w-why do you thththink I sssstutter so bad?”
Aunt Sugar met him in the yard and placed her arm around his shoulder. “Baby, let me tell you somethin’,” she said, rubbing his head. “Stutterin’ is God tellin’ you to be careful what you say, son. See, words can bring life or words can destroy life. God’s got somethin’ special for you to do. That’s why he can’t let you spoil your destiny by murderin’ things with yo’ mouth. You got to keep your tongue clean and your heart pure, young man. God is tellin’ you to slow down and think about what you sayin’. Make sure you bringin’ life with yo’ words and not death. Maybe you gon be a preacher when you grow up,” she said.
“I-I-I d-d-don’t ththtthink so. I-I-I d-don’t talk ssso g-g-good.”
“But I bet you will when you grow up. God’s jes gettin’ you ready for somethin’ right now. He’s makin’ you think about every word you u
tter so you know to be careful about what you say. Most folks jes talk to hear theyselves talk. That’s why their words ain’t got no power. But you, Mr. Poke Chop, you gon be a great man one day.”
“Yyyyou rrrreally thththink so, Aunt Sh-Sugar?”
“Is Sugar sweet?” They laughed. “Don’t you worry none ’bout yo’ talkin’. De Good Lawd knows ’xactly what He’s doin’. He’s jes gettin’ you ready. Dat’s all. You jes be ready when de time come.”
“Yyyyes, ma’am,” Chop mumbled. “I-I-I guess I-I-I b-b-better be g-g-gettin’ on home now. Thththank you again ffor thththththth-thththe pie.”
“Anytime, sugar. Anytime.”
When Jeremiah and Enoch left her house the day of the gathering, Jeremiah said, “You know, boy, Aunt Sugar ain’t aged in fifty years. She looked jes like she look now when I was a boy. B’lieve what I tell you.”
“Come on, Daddy!” Enoch prodded. “That would make the woman over a hundred years old.”
“She waaay over a hundred, boy. ’Bout a hundred and thirty or so would be my guess.” Jeremiah knew Enoch wouldn’t believe him.
He didn’t, but the assertion was still intriguing. “How you know, Daddy?”
“’Cause my daddy said she used to bake cakes and stuff for them, too. And he was born in eighteen sixty-five.”
Enoch held his arm and laughed painfully. “What? Daddy, you oughta be shame o’ yo’self. You know dat woman ain’t dat old!”
“Okay,” Jeremiah said indifferently. “You ain’t gotta believe it. But what you don’t believe would make another world, boy.”
“I’m sure it would,” Enoch yielded.
After Tiny left, they rested a while, then Enoch rose. “I’ma go tell a few other folks ’bout de meetin’ so nobody won’t have no excuse fo’ not showin’ up this evenin’.” He brushed the seat of his overalls.
“I’m goin’ wit cha,” Jeremiah said.
“Don’t you think you better rest some more, Daddy?”
“Naw, I feel better now. That wrap was too tight.” He stood slowly.
“I sho hope dis work, old man. Lawd have mercy.”
“It’s gon work,” Jeremiah reassured. “It’s gotta work.”
Eight
WHILE THE MEN WERE AWAY, THE CHILDREN HEARD someone attempting to pry open the barn door. Sarah Jane looked at Ray Ray, who motioned for everyone to be still and quiet. They obeyed, hoping against all odds that the intruder was someone they knew. When the door gave way, they saw the white faces.
It was only a matter of time, Sarah Jane knew, before the white men discovered them in the loft, so, for better or worse, she reached into the center of her soul and yelled, “Help!”
Ella Mae heard her, and screamed, “Momma! The children!” as she ran to the barn with her dress flying wildly in the air. Billy Cuthbert grabbed her from behind when she tumbled through the barn door and covered her mouth with his broad, pink hand. She fought like a caged bobcat, but her strength was dwarfed by one who weighed at least 150 pounds more than she did.
Miss Mary was a different story. The white man who thought his strength sufficient to handle her soon regretted his assumption. His bleeding nose and bruised ribs forced him to believe, against everything he had ever been taught, that some women’s physical strength exceeds that of most men. Undoubtedly, his ego was more bruised than his body, especially since he learned this lesson at the hands of a seventy-year-old colored woman. Yet had the other men not assisted him, the price of maintaining his ego would surely have been his life. And even when they did, they all received battle scars—swollen eyes, busted lips, marred faces—until Miss Mary’s adrenaline was drained dry. Only then did they subdue her, embarrassed that it took all of them to do so.
“Fuckin’ bitch,” one panted heavily. “Strong as a goddamn ox.”
Together, they tied Miss Mary and Ella Mae each to a single wooden post holding up the barn, then gagged them with strips of white cloth. The children watched in absolute horror. Ray Ray almost climbed down to help, but Clement yelled, “No!” and held him back. Sarah Jane cradled Chop in her arms, covering his eyes so he couldn’t witness the assault. Her only prayer was that the white men wouldn’t hurt her grandmother and aunt, and when they tied them and turned their backs to them, she gave thanks to a God who answered at least some prayers.
Billy Ray snickered. “I knowed it was somethin’ in dis barn you wuz protectin’.” He looked at Ella Mae. “You didn’t think I saw you pointin’ that rifle at me last night, did you?”
Ella Mae tried to scream, but couldn’t.
“Well, I did.” Billy Ray smiled. “That’s why I left. I didn’t know how many o’ you niggers was hidin’, dyin’ to blow my fuckin’ head off if I shot at Mary. But I’m back now!” he roared.
The children peered over the edge of the loft, paralyzed.
“I had to get me a plan,” Billy Ray explained. His comrades cackled. “I had to figure out a way to set things back in order ’round here, and I think I got a good idea. Y’all wanna hear it?”
Miss Mary and Ella Mae stared at the children.
With his arm in a sling, Cecil said, “Naw, let’s not tell ’em. It would ruin de surprise.” He giggled like a toddler.
“Okay,” Billy consented. “Which one we gon take?” He nodded toward the loft.
“Let’s take ’em all!” Larry Greer suggested.
Billy glanced at Miss Mary’s pleading eyes. “Naw, we don’t need but one. It won’t take but one.”
They haggled a moment about which child would best fit the plan, then Billy Ray offered, “Tell ya what. Let’s kill two birds wit one stone and get de one who sassed Catherine.”
Cecil agreed and hollered up to the loft, “Which one o’ you nigger boys was flirtin’ with Miss Cuthbert?” The other men stood like bodyguards awaiting instruction. “You’d better tell me, or all you fuckin’ nigger children ’bout to die!”
Sarah Jane noted that Cecil’s eyes resembled those of the old stray cat that lingered around the house looking for table scraps. She gazed deeply into the hazel green, hoping to soften his monstrous desire, but everywhere she searched inside him she found only emptiness and hatred.
“Either you speak up or we’ll just have to hang all of ya,” Cecil declared. The children huddled closer together. They had nowhere to run and no one to call. Trying desperately to figure out a plan of survival, they shivered in fear and held their breath while the white men taunted them.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” Billy said with a smile and a rifle pointed at the middle of Ray Ray’s forehead. “I’ma count to three—”
“Nigger children cain’t count!” the others jeered.
“Well, they better hope they can ’cause when I count to three if one of ’em ain’t down here, I’ma blow all their fuckin’ heads off!” Billy looked at the others, who nodded greedily.
“One.”
Sarah Jane loosened her hold of Chop, preparing to give her life for her cousins. She would see her mother again, she justified. Plus, Money had already lost enough boys. Every time a child came up missing it was a boy, so Sarah Jane concluded it was simply a girl’s time to die. Yet she couldn’t move. Her mind was made up, yet her body was unwilling. She was relieved in that moment that her cousins would live because she had the courage to do what her mother and father had done years ago. But, still, her limbs would not obey her mind’s resolution.
“Two.”
Just pull the trigger, Ray Ray thought. That would end the matter, and everyone could go home and live the way they had always lived. Unlike he had considered before, he wasn’t afraid to die in that moment. Actually, his only fear was that his death wouldn’t be the end of the matter. He knew white folks well enough to know that one dead Black boy wouldn’t satisfy their thirst to destroy Black life; so his hesitation represented only his inability to make the men promise not to bother any of the others once he was gone. And wouldn’t his father and grandfather be proud? As the oldest, it was his re
sponsibility, he knew, to protect the others at all costs. He would be the hero of the family and he could die satisfied with that, he told himself.
“Three.”
“It’s me!” Clement stood and shouted. “I’m the one you lookin’ for.” His blurry eyes hindered his ability to see his cousins reaching for him.
“No!” Sarah Jane wailed.
“Take me!” Ray Ray heralded repeatedly. “I did it.” He lunged toward the ladder, but Clement was already descending it. “No!” he screamed uselessly.
Miss Mary and Ella Mae kicked and squirmed like worms on hot coals, but their antics were not enough to save Clement.
Chop had closed his eyes by now. He knew something bad was going to happen, but he didn’t know how to stop it. That’s the worst feeling in the world, he told himself, to watch destruction unfold and be absolutely unable to prevent it. He prayed the white men might give Clement a good whoopin’ and send him back home later.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Billy Ray said, looking up at the loft as though reverencing heaven. “We ain’t gon hurt him. Least not too bad.” The others chuckled and grabbed Clement’s arms, dragging him out of the barn.
“You women take care, you hear?” they mocked and strolled past Miss Mary and Ella Mae. “We jes gon talk to ’im and see if we can figure out what happened. That’s all. Don’t worry yo pretty little heads.” One patted the crown of Ella Mae’s head patronizingly.
“We’ll be seein’ y’all. Take care,” Cecil snickered, as they disappeared.
Ray Ray wasted no time descending the loft and untying his mother while Sarah Jane freed Miss Mary. Chop ran to the barn door to see if he could tell in which direction the men had gone.
“Go find yo’ granddaddy!” Miss Mary screamed to Ray Ray. “Hur’rup!”
Before she could finish the command, Ray Ray was sprinting down the dirt road faster than he had ever run. He didn’t know where to find the menfolk, but he knew that if he just kept running he’d meet them somewhere.
Ella Mae cried, “Lord have mercy, Momma! What we gon do?” She was rubbing her arms frantically, trying to conceive a plan of action. “You think they gon hurt Clement? Huh, Momma?”
