Everything seemed to sink and perish inside of M.C. “Then why are you here?” he managed to say. He sat down on the path and pulled weeds up by the root. “You come so far and you won’t even try,” he muttered. Tears stung his eyes but he wouldn’t cry.
“I come so far,” Lewis said gently, “because I suspected that voice had to be out here.” He bent down on one knee next to M.C. “No. I knew it was here, like these hills were here unspoiled and beautiful in my father’s time. See, so I come back to save her voice before it goes, the way these hills are going. But M.C., I never meant to hurt you or anyone, that’s the God’s truth. And I guess I have.”
“I thought sure she’d go on the stage,” M.C. said, almost in a whisper.
Lewis shook his head. “Son, she wouldn’t fit on a stage.”
“How do you mean, she wouldn’t fit?”
“Well, they’d change her, is what I mean,” the dude said. “They’d tell her she had to move a little, she had to smile. And they’d show her how to move and how to smile. They’d teach her how to project herself and how to look chick.
“No,” the dude said, “it’d never be the voice, the woman, singing like this evening, walking home from far.”
“Coming here, getting folks all excited,” M.C. mumbled. The tears stung him again. He wiped them away.
“And I’m sorry, too,” the dude said. “A boy with imagination like you—I knew what you were thinking. It was natural for you to think strong. But M.C., I just meant to tape the voice, is all, to have a record, I don’t really know why. Just that I must, like my father before me.”
“Now we’ll never get out from under the spoil.”
“You have to,” Lewis told him. “M.C., you must impress on your father how dangerous it is hanging up there. Stubbornness. Ignorance,” he added. “Like seeds sprouting from generation to generation.”
“Who are you saying is ignorant?” M.C. got to his feet and backed off. Pride made him stand straight and still.
“Son . . .”
“Daddy knows things you never heard of!”
“Son, I know that.”
“He’s been here for . . . for . . . generations! And you been here but two days.”
“I’m real sorry for all the trouble—”
M.C. turned his back on the dude. “We won’t be looking for you to come back. Ever,” he said.
“Son, won’t you wait just a minute, talk awhile—”
M.C. climbed up the mountain. His stomach felt heavy and cold, as if full of clinkers from the cook-stove. He didn’t look back once but he held himself tall and forced the dude out of his mind. It took him forever to get back up to the outcropping. His mind was moving swiftly while his feet dragged.
No way at all. Except maybe one. Just for me.
Go where she lives. Maybe get a job like she has. Nine hundred dollars! How would I live? Well, you quit school and work all the time. Talk to her when she comes.
Lurhetta.
He felt a little better now.
I’ll send for them. But will there be time? Don’t think about it. Don’t think.
His whole family was sitting on the porch as he came onto the ledge. M.C. walked near and he could see that Banina looked tired but happy.
“You get back what you give,” Jones was telling her, teasing. And taking the tape cassette she still had in her hand, he held it up in front of him.
Banina laughed. “Think of it. There I am, just wound up around and around.”
“I want to see,” Macie said.
Jones handed her the tape. “Be careful, you. You don’t want to spill your mama out.”
“I won’t spill her,” Macie said. “See if I can look at her voice.”
“You can’t see a voice,” Harper said.
“Sure you can,” M.C. said, standing there. “See her voice coming down the hill every evening.” Talking seemed to ease the heavy cold inside him.
“You seeing Mama,” Harper told him.
“That’s it,” M.C. said. “Mama a singing electric tape.”
Banina laughed like a girl.
M.C. thought again of Lurhetta. Where was she, anyway?
Twilight, with sky streaked where the sun had disappeared. Soon would be dusk.
Better hurry, if she wants to get here before dark.
Macie picked at the cassette, trying to catch hold of the shiny tape inside. She held it close to her eyes. “M.C., when will Mr. Lewis make the records?”
“Soon time,” M.C. said easily. “He’ll be back to get Mama, too.”
“Honest?” Harper asked. “He say that?”
“Sure,” M.C. said. “Be back before you know it.” He lied without any trouble, without a qualm.
“Well, somehow, I don’t think so,” Jones said. “No sir, I don’t think we’ll see the likes of him again.”
They were all quiet then. Macie tired of fooling with the tape and let it slip out of her hands. It soon lay forgotten beside her on the step.
Jones wasn’t ignorant. He was smart all the time.
Glad the dude is gone, M.C. thought. Glad he couldn’t catch Mama’s real-life voice, too.
“Banina, honey,” M.C. said lightly.
The children giggled.
“Calling me by my name!” Banina said, not with anger.
“Sing out that ring-song you were singing home,” M.C. said.
She protested.
“Come on, Mama.” Lennie, who never said much, slow with words.
Banina smiled at him. “Since it’s you asking,” she said.
“You have the time,” Jones told her. “I’ll go in and get the plates ready.”
“Everybody make a circle,” Banina said.
Jones went inside. She and the children sat in a ring on the porch.
“You, too, M.C.”
“No, not me.”
“I’m not here to show for you,” she said. “Come on, M.C.”
But M.C. wouldn’t. He stayed standing, with one foot on the step listening to them start out. He felt the song deeply and it cleansed the coldness within him.
He watched for movement on the hills, for a sign, but there was none. Flies raced around him in low circles. There were clouds in the dusk over Grey Mountain, where a moment before there had been none.
Hurry, or she’ll get wet.
“Howdy-howdy, child,” Banina sang, “Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling.”
“Howdy-howdy, ma’am, Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling,” the children answered.
“An’ how they call you, child?
Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling.”
“They call me Macie, ma’am.
Macie Pearlie, ma’am,
Ring-a-ling, a-ling-a-ling.”
“Then, howdy Macie-child,
Macie Pearlie-child,
Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling.”
Banina called to the next child. He was Lennie. They all sat clapping in time with the words which were half-sung faster and faster:
“Howdy-howdy, child?
[Plaintive and from a long distance away]
Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling.”
“Howdy-howdy, ma’am
[Again as from a great distance],
Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling.”
“An’ how they call you, child?
Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling.”
“They call me Lennie, ma’am,
Lennie Poolie, ma’am,
Ring-a-ling, a-ling-a-ling.”
They laughed loudly at “Poolie.”
“An’ then, howdy Lennie-child,
Lennie Poolie-child . . .”
Banina giggled so, she never did get the “ring-a-lings” in rhythm. But they continued the song on through Harper’s name (Harper Higgins, since he had no middle name) and through the ages of all the children:
“How much time you been here, child?
Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling.”
“I got eight, I got eight years here!”
“Oh, my-my, child!
&n
bsp; Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling.”
“I got nine, I got nine years here!”
“Oh, mercy-my, child!
Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling.”
“I got ten, I say ten, I got ten years here!”
“Well, my-my, my-my, oh, child!
Ring-a-ling, a-ling-a-ling-ah!”
Next, they did M.C.’s name with the children singing M.C.’s part. By the time they came to “Mayo Cornelius,” they were going so fast, they got his name all mixed up.
“Mercy!” Banina said.
“Mercy-mercy, ma’am,” the children sang out. Banina fell back and they all broke down, laughing.
“You just as simple,” M.C. told them. But the song had moved him. It had flowed in and out of him again, taking with it some amount of his sorrow.
Jones came outside. “Time to eat,” he told them.
“I’m sure glad,” Banina said. “I was getting just as silly.”
“I think I’ll go down and meet Lurhetta,” M.C. said. He avoided looking at them.
“Lurhetta—who?” Banina said.
“That’s the girl at the lake this morning,” M.C. said. “Seems like days ago.”
“Lurhetta Outlaw is her name,” Jones said.
“Outlaw!”
“We gave her something to eat. Half-starved,” Jones said.
“I’ll go down and lead her up here,” M.C. said. Thunder was sounding, distant, but quite clear.
“No such thing. It’s suppertime,” Banina told him.
“Supposing she gets lost?” M.C. said.
“Supposing she doesn’t. You come on to supper,” Banina said.
She went inside, following Jones, with the children behind her. Jones told her things, hurrying-quiet, so M.C. wouldn’t hear. Macie, who never learned how to whisper, told about the water tunnel and how Lurhetta couldn’t swim.
Macie would have to open her mouth. I don’t care. Lurhetta gets here, Mama will see for herself.
He gave one last look to the hills. Night had come swiftly.
Save her some rabbit for when she gets here.
But Lurhetta Outlaw never came in time for supper.
Inside, they all sat down at the table. They all exclaimed over M.C.’s stew, at the tender meat, with steam rising from it. Rabbit had a salty, wild taste all its own. They ate it with relish and mostly in silence.
It was M.C. who first felt the house go utterly still. He had just about finished a second helping of everything when he stopped chewing and stared up at the ceiling. Flies covered the ceiling, making a spotted carpet. At once Banina and Jones caught on to his mood. M.C. gazed at the window. It was pitchblack outside.
They were suspended and made fearful on the side of the mountain.
Which way to run, if it’s danger? M.C. wondered. Up or down, or around the side?
A sound hit, like a ton of pebbles thrown at the house. The spoil!
No.
The rain.
M.C. stared at the window full of dark. The window stayed dry. Rain came straight down. Next the wind came, hitting the other side of the house in one swoop. The house seemed to shudder, then braced against the wind.
“Good,” M.C. said. They all ate again, for wind had come and would take the storm on before it could soak deeply into Sarah’s.
But what if rain came without wind to pull it away? How long can Sarah’s stand one hard rain after another?
You mean the spoil heap. Yes.
Do like Jones. Don’t think on it. Eat the rabbit. Drink the ade.
They finished with supper. Lurhetta hadn’t made it. M.C. hurried outside. Dark misty night and light rain. The air had freshened, but it was still warm. He couldn’t see the hills, but there were lights from Harenton. More lights along the river. Nowhere was there one single beam of light cutting through the dark.
Stay in her tent. I would, if I was out there.
Inside again, M.C. couldn’t avoid Jones in the parlor.
“Are you worried about that girl?” Jones asked him.
“She said she’d be back,” M.C. said.
“She can probably take care of herself better than you could in her predicament.”
“But she don’t know a thing about storms out here,” M.C. said.
“But she has only herself to think on,” Jones said. “That makes it easier. And if she can’t learn from near drowning this morning and near soaking tonight—”
M.C. walked quickly through the house, passing through the kitchen, where Banina and the children paused to see him go. He didn’t look at them.
“I’ll be in my room. Macie, you call me when Lurhetta comes.”
In the cave, he fell on the bed. Without a light, he just lay there on his stomach with his hands covering his head. He shook with minute tremors—anger at Jones, at the dude and at Lurhetta for not coming on time. It came to him that he still had on his clothes of the morning with swimming trunks underneath.
If she’s not here by midnight, I’ll change and go down there to see if she’s all right.
Relaxed now and with a plan, he let his arms fall to his sides. He waited out the hours, imagining he ran the path to the lake. Once he ran too fast. He tripped and fell, knocking himself out. When he came to, Lurhetta Outlaw was there to help him.
He ran the path with a large dog at his side. The dog was the wrong kind, but his name was Great Anger and he carried a rabbit in his mouth. M.C. had a new gun and had shot the rabbit through the heart. Lurhetta was waiting for them by the lake with a good fire going.
Admit it.
I like you, girl.
Much later Banina came, standing in his doorway.
“M.C.,” she called softly. He pretended sleep and finally she went away.
Close out the house again. Listening to Sarah’s, he would know if Lurhetta came up on the porch. He wasn’t sleepy, but he felt tired. Listening to the soft rain, he wouldn’t mind running through it. For a long while he thought he was awake and waiting.
The house went dark. Banina and Jones went to sleep. The children had gone off long before. M.C. dreamed he was thinking and waiting.
14
PUT ON THESE clean things I pressed for you,” Banina said. “You’ve been in those clothes forever.”
“I have to hurry,” M.C. told her, but he made no move to leave. He had rushed out of bed as if he had been running in his dreams.
“You do as I tell you or you stay in this house,” Banina said.
M.C. had awakened to find it was hours past midnight. Shocked, with his hands trembling, he had straightened the clothes he had slept in and rushed out to the privie on that side of Sarah’s away from the path. Later he had run back through the parlor and into the kitchen, where he found Banina. Wet weeds had soaked his pant legs and now they felt uncomfortably cold around his bare ankles.
“You ought to see it outside,” he said. “It looks like on the moon.”
“You’ll be on the moon, if you don’t keep your voice down,” Banina said.
Hoping to please her, he went to the sink and let warm water flow over his head and neck. Banina was fussing-tired, leaning over the ironing board.
“Mama, come take just one look outside.”
“M.C., you know I have to hurry.” She handed him a towel.
“Just one look and then I’ll leave you alone.”
“Well, what is it?” She sighed and set the iron on end.
He led her out onto the porch. They looked over Sarah’s and beyond.
“Now have you ever seen anything like it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” she said.
The mountain was closed in by the thickest fog M.C. had ever seen. It made separate, pale corridors through the trees. The trees were black against it, like huge cut-out shapes pasted on white paper.
“I bet there hasn’t been fog like this since the time Sarah ran,” he said. “Just like this, and the reason she didn’t see this mountain for two days.”
; “Maybe so,” Banina said. “I know I’ve never seen it like this. Hope it clears before I have to leave.”
M.C. stepped off the porch. Looking up, he couldn’t see the top of the mountain. Couldn’t see the spoil. Just swirls of whiteness, thick and unnatural.
He backed away.
“M.C.”
“I have to go,” he said.
“You change your clothes. Looking like a ragamuffin!”
“I don’t have the time,” he said. He inched away, until fog touched him and curled over his arms in cotton strands.
“You take the time. Eat something hot before you leave.”
“Now why did I have to wake up now?” M.C. spoke to the fog. “Should have waited until Banina-honey had gone. Then I could do what I please.”
“That’s the worry with you. You’re used to doing too much of what you please.”
“Have I ever done wrong?”
“Come back here.”
“Have I ever, ever done wrong?” His voice, coming out of fog where his shape was dark and ghosty.
“That’s not the trouble,” Banina said. She leaned out from the porch, whispering, so as not to wake the others.
“Don’t I always keep an eye on the kids? Don’t I clean up the kitchen and watch the house?” He should have been gone by now. He knew he should.
“The worry is, you just go through the motions,” Banina said. “You had no business taking anyone through that water tunnel.”
“That was nothing,” he said under his breath. “Should of seen where we went yesterday afternoon.” He glanced all around. Were the witchies waiting to make him vanish before Banina’s eyes? Like the mountain had vanished in front of Sarah.
“Taking a girl through and she can’t even swim,” Banina went on. “I just lay awake all night thinking about what could have happened to you both. I kept seeing it over and over. You keep on and you’re in for real unhappiness.”
“It’s just pretend unhappiness I’ve been having lately,” he whispered.
At the edge of the yard, the fog covered him completely. He made his way noiselessly to his right, until he knew he was near the porch again. He leaped out and scared Banina to death.
“M.C.! Oh!”
He laughed softly. “I’m going down there and help her cook her breakfast,” M.C. said.
“You stay out of the tunnel.”
M.C. Higgins, the Great Page 20
