Sweet Whispers, Brother Rush

by Virginia Hamilton

  They were just inside the door. The door was closed and the room was dark. M’Vy shivered behind Tree; Tree reached back, taking her hand. Vy’s hand was wet with cold perspiration. Tree let go and cautiously went forward.

  “Shhh!” came from Vy. “Don’t move!” whispering. She was scared to death of what she might see in the dark. “Oooh. Oooh!” she moaned.

  Tree found the table and reached out over it with both hands. She kept her eyes closed, which made her feel that the dark was softer and less fearsome, and she could concentrate better. She felt around in the air over the table and found a small space that was bone-chilling, sending imaginary ice shards up to her elbows. Cold came so very far to reach her.

  Cold, sun-time, she thought.

  Sunshine with little warmth was what it was like. She knew sunlight in the feeling up her arms. Cold sun. April, with sun that was warming. She knew her feet were in the sun. Somewhere. Her feet were quite small.

  “M’Vy, see?” she said, through the dark. “We just got here too soon. He on his way, coming in the table. Rush be here, and I’ll be a baby-child.

  “M’Vy, come over here!” Tree said urgently. “He coming now!”

  “Turn on a light. Oh, please, turn on a light!” Vy cried.

  Tree opened her eyes. The dark of the room faded in a peculiar, gossamery glow. Rush settled.

  He was big as life. He was as handsome as he’d ever been. Tree couldn’t imagine where he’d bought a suit like that. Fleetingly she wondered how much it had set him back.

  Rush was there, and the space he held in one gloved hand like an oval mirror was April, with bright spring sunshine. The space grew and grew; it took over the ghostly figure of Rush himself. He had moved. He was in a seated position. There was somebody with him.

  Tree was standing by the hood of a car. She could see the reflection of sunlight on the windshield. Branches commenced moving. In the reflection was a cold sun, racing.

  How can this be, she thought. She was in the little room, looking into the scene of mysterious light. She could see Rush just as clear. He wore beautiful yellow suede gloves; his hands clutched the steering wheel. Brother drove fast. There was a child with him.

  “Tree, turn on the light.”

  “What? M’Vy, can’t you see him? It’s Brother. It’s Rush, the ghost!”

  “I can feel it! Hush! Be a ghost, hush, turn on a light!”

  The door of the little room opened. A shaft of light illuminated Dab. Tree had turned to see. Dab was holding onto the door to hold himself up. With the other hand, he held his robe closed. Why cain’t he wear a tie-belt? Tree was aware of thinking.

  Stooped over slightly, he was weak but not hurting too terribly. She could tell how he was feeling. If he could get his robe on, then the pain was not so great. Dab’s legs were weak and shaking. She couldn’t recall when he’d had a good, square meal.

  Reluctantly Tree turned away from Dab. She looked again into bright, cool sunshine. It had taken over the round table and all the space above it.

  Dab shoved past Vy; the door closed, and all was dark again. Tree and Dab stood together, absolutely still in the dark of the little room.

  Vy couldn’t hold back her terror. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t see a thing. So she waited.

  She knew there was something. Silently, she asked the Lord to protect her.

  She could feel it, the way they say you always know when it comes, unsettling the air. Ghost.

  Tree observed. There were two children in the car with Brother Rush. There was the girl beside Rush. Next to her was the boy, sitting on his bony knees. Tree, the girl, was standing on the seat.

  She had on a sky-blue dress with lace at the bodice and wrists. She had taken off her white shoes and blue socks. She had kicked them on the floor at the boy’s feet. The boy took up her socks; then he rolled down the window.

  Hey! Brother yelled. He was driving fast, and he slowed down. Hey, roll it up, son. You wait; it getting warmer fast. When it warmer, you can roll the window down.

  She knew what the boy wanted to do. She had her body pressed behind Brother’s shoulder as he drove. If for any reason he had to stop short, she would not fall forward. His shoulder would brace her. She started hitting the boy with the flat of her hand on the temple and on his ear. She had seen the woman do it.

  The boy grinned, staring straight ahead out the window. He rolled the window all the way down. He bunched her socks in his hand and flung them out the window.

  Hey! You had to do it, dint you? And I taken you for a ride to prove to her that you good and decent! Brother was angry.

  The boy rolled the window up. He grinned wildly and was satisfied with himself. She stopped hitting him. Her blue socks. She didn’t care that they were gone. And she forgot them. She was happy to have nothing on her feet. Barefoot, she discovered cold places on the seat when she pranced up and down on the tips of her toes. There was a warm spot next to Brother. She wiggled her toes, stuck her leg straight out—her leg was bare—and felt warm air from the heater. She put her foot on the round knob Brother moved when the car changed speed. The gearshift knob was cold unless Brother kept his hand on it. Gloves kept his hands warm and turned the knob warm.

  She kicked and pranced. She folded her hands on top of Brother’s head.

  Hey! said kindly, laughing. Don’t you go mess up my wig.

  She didn’t look to see whether the boy was watching. She could feel him next to her. Always when just the two of them were in the car with Brother, the boy was next to her. When the woman was in the car, she had to sit on the woman’s lap. And the boy would be in the backseat, out of sight.

  She liked standing, with no shoes, bare legs growing chilly now. Her feet looked yellow, were quite cool. She didn’t much care. They were flying in the car down the gray strip of road. There was sun, then shade in stripes and circles on the road. They went up high on the hills, and they went down.

  Have to take you back now, kids, Brother told them. His face changed. All smiling was gone. The fun had vanished.

  She looked at the boy. He was staring straight ahead.

  Give us another hour, she tried to tell Brother. She never could get the words right, just like the boy couldn’t. One day she would get them right. And she already knew what an hour felt like. She wanted to be riding in the car for more time and stopping along the road. She saw some big animals in the fields, looking warm. It might be getting warm outside in the sun. They could stop and drink out of a bottle of Kool-Aid Brother had made just for her and the boy. Brother had his own bottle under the seat. It looked like water with lemon peel in it.

  She and the boy threw a fit. She kicked and jumped up and down, screaming and pretending to cry. The boy beat his head on the glove compartment. He hurled himself on the dashboard, then on the door. She threw herself at the boy and against Brother. She was dangerously close to causing him to slap her down.

  She sprawled across the steering wheel. Brother slapped her legs.

  Get out of the way!

  His hands in the gloves couldn’t hurt her. Brother wouldn’t try to hurt her. He was warning her, was what he was trying to do.

  Finally he did what they wanted. He took them deep in the country to the Bryan Park. He showed them the shelter where the church had outings twice a year. The outings began after church on Sunday and lasted well past midnight. The social would be topped off with a moonlight picnic. Long tables of food. Children so overwrought by night and starlight, they threw up the delicious floating-island dessert.

  She had not been a witness to such an extraordinary social event. But she had heard about it from the boy. Once, when he was tied up, he had talked of nothing else. He’d heard other boys talking. He wanted to go to a moonlight picnic, but they never let him.

  Brother stopped the car in sunlight in a valley with hills around it.

  This is the Jacoby Valley, he told them. Owned by old man Jacoby. All this region is private land. Man is stone rich.


  They got out of the car. Sun was warming as they walked across the road. The boy climbed to the top of a wood fence. Brother lifted her and she sat up there, too. They waited to see animals up close. There came a horse, huffing at them and swinging its long head. It veered and went off into the distance. Far away was a farmhouse with barns. The air was so still, they could hear chickens and animal sounds.

  Brother brought them Kool-Aid in jelly glasses. He took out his jar of white liquid with lemon peel.

  Gin-gin-gin, said the boy.

  Engine, she thought, and tried to say it. The boy laughed and laughed at her. She hit him on the head.

  Brother drank out of the jar. They drank Kool-Aid while sitting on the fence. It was fun. She loved the sun and freshness on her toes and legs. She rubbed her feet one against the other. She laughed and drank the Kool-Aid. Red Kool-Aid, tasting overly sweet, but good.

  Brother pulled a small sack out of his coat and shook ginger snaps into her hand and into the boy’s hand. They drank red sweetness and ate tart ginger snaps. They were so happy on the fence. Brother drank from his jar and filled his cheeks with six ginger snaps, three on each side. It wasn’t possible, but Brother counted them as he popped them in his cheeks. She and the boy shrieked with laughter. Brother grinned at them as the ginger snaps melted in his mouth.

  Brother stared out over the empty field. There were no animals now. The baby-girl saw a swell of shade under trees way down the field. There was bare earth in the shade. Animals might have rested there. She thought of crying out that she had to see animals. Maybe Brother could find some for her to touch. Especially horses and cows. There was a breeze where there was shade. It caught tree leaves in silvery light.

  Gone rain, Brother murmured. Leaves turn them backs over silver and rain every time by evening.

  His murmuring was another part of the day. The sound felt as if it were shining on her skin.

  It wasn’t yet noon. She squirmed on the fence until Brother sat her down in the grass at his feet. The grass pricked the back of her legs. She scooted up against the fence. Nice, sitting with bare legs sticking out under her dress. She had dropped cookie crumbs down her front. She wiped them away, leaving wet streaks. Her fingers were sticky red with Kool-Aid.

  Brother leaned down and brushed her good. There. You don’t sit still, you’ll spill your drink. Be more trouble than you worth, Sweet.

  Sweet was her name that no one used very much. Brother used it and it sounded friendly. He sat down, back to the fence, the way she was sitting. He was between her and the boy. She leaned forward, taking a look at the boy. He was staring around at everything. All around were valley fields and surrounding hills against the sky. They sat. They heard a far-off whistle.

  The boy stared at the road, where the car sat, red Buick, blood-red and big.

  Brother got up, strode to the car and opened the trunk. He took out a hat, and he put it on. It was a straw hat, big, like a farmer’s. It covered his face with shade. She saw how easy it was that shade was made. Brother was so careful to keep his arms and neck covered. He arranged the hat and the collar of his shirt. Carefully pulled his cuffs. He made certain his socks covered his legs where the pants didn’t reach when he sat down again.

  Soon Brother lay on his back. He let lie the bag of ginger snaps. Quickly the boy got hold of them and hid them behind him. She saw him do it.

  Brother had the hat over his face now. It made shade on his ear. The glass jar lay on its side next to him. All it had in it was a small amount of liquid at the bottom and lots of lemon peels. Once Brother was snoring, the boy took the jar and drank everything left at the bottom.

  She told him he oughtn’t to do that. She crawled over, careful not to touch Brother, and hit the boy on his ear. She didn’t much like hitting. She did it because the woman did it. She sat, finishing the Kool-Aid. Finished, she looked at the boy. She inquired if he would take her to the bathroom. She had to go. He turned away. She sat, and soon she went in her pants. There, in the grass, it was warm wet under her at first. Then the wet became uncomfortable. She thought she’d better go walking in the sun. She stood up in her pretty dress. She forgot about ginger snaps and Kool-Aid. She would walk down the road.

  Hee! Hee! You peed on yourself! the boy said.

  Brother stirred but did not wake. She could detect a warm, thick smell on Brother’s breath.

  She whined at the boy to come with her. He got up. He walked with her to the side of the road, pointed where she must walk beside the road. He threw stones in the road. She walked on the side in the grassy places with bare feet. She told the boy to take his shoes off. Throw them away, she told him in her child words, just as he had thrown her socks away. She remembered the socks now and looked all up and down the road for a point of blue. The road was gray. The boy wouldn’t throw his shoes away.

  They walked down the road together. They could look back, seeing the car and Brother. Brother and the car got smaller and small, but they were still there. Then they sat on the far side of a curve in the road. Suddenly the boy had a terrible stomach ache. Sweat popped out all over his face and neck. He was trembling. Saliva fell in strings from his mouth. He held his stomach with both hands. He could no longer stand. And fell, whipping his legs back and forth on the ground. There were grass stains all over his tan pants. The woman would tie him up for dirtying his pants.

  He lay panting, holding his stomach. He didn’t seem like the boy anymore. He was old, hurting. He panted like he couldn’t breathe. She began to cry.

  Chapter 10

  IT WAS A LONG kind of time. Through it, she watched the boy sleep. She had stopped crying. Her underwear was nearly dry again. But she smelled. She could smell herself. She woke the boy. It took him time to know where he was.

  Is it hurting? she asked him. His mouth turned down. He bit his lip. For an instant, he looked like he would have the worst crying. Then his face straightened in a brown mask.

  Carefully he got up. They walked back around the bend. He took off his jacket and gave it to her. She trembled with the fresh day, shrouded in dampness.

  You want me carry you, girl? he asked. He could hardly manage to speak the words.

  She could walk. I can walk, she told him as best she could. Her feet were cold and yellow. The cold climbed and settled below her knees. Smiling, she thanked him for the jacket. They held hands. That is, she took hold of his hand and he allowed her to. She swung his arm over and back. He let her do that. And she was glad his hurting seemed to have disappeared.

  They were tiny beside the long, slow shimmer of gray road. Bright light from above fell over them from the high-riding blue. It made them seem to rise on the green roadside. Their walking was a day rhythm in the midst of quiet light.

  They were back, standing over Brother Rush. His shirt collar was unbuttoned. He had covered the exposed skin of his neck and throat with a handkerchief. Asleep again, his hands in the soft suede gloves were crossed over his silver belt. They saw his fingers twitch; and each time the coffee-smooth of his face erupted in knots.

  Loving the pretty gloves, she leaned over, pulled at one finger. Pulled the next gloved finger. Suede was soft, so tan and new. The woman had black kid gloves she wore to church and the girl was not allowed to try on.

  The boy thought pulling fingers was a good game. He pulled the glove off Rush’s other hand. Brother began to stir. Then both gloves were off. Brother’s bare hands clenched and trembled. They stared at his hands. They forgot about the gloves. They dropped them on the ground.

  The boy was first to turn away. But fascinated by what he had seen, he looked again. His eyes were big and round, frightened.

  She stared at Rush’s bare hands. Sucked in her breath in shocked surprise. The skin was thick with sores and white-looking scars. There were brown marks on the backs of his hands, and red sores. The marks and sores were not like what the woman made on the boy when she whipped him with a stick. They were not from any kind of beating, the girl knew. Ugly
, sore-looking hands. Painful hands, full of sickness.

  All at once, Brother sat up, wide awake. He fumbled for his gloves and angrily swatted at the two of them. You, kids! But that was all. Breathing hard, he put the gloves on. His hat had rolled away. He cringed and held his face away from the sun until he had the hat back on.

  Why’d you let me fall asleep out here! he said. He got up. Pain hit him in the stomach. He doubled over for a moment, the way the boy had done awhile ago.

  She mentioned to him that the boy had been sick. But he lurched away toward the car. Yo’w … he said. Yo’w come here!

  They hurried to the car. The boy stuffed the ginger-snap sack in his pocket. He thought to bring Brother’s Mason jar. He was so fond of the liquid mixed with lemon peel at the bottom, and the lemony odor that floated out on the air. He found the lid and screwed it on the jar, hiding the bottle under his jacket.

  Brother made both of them sit in the backseat. They could see his face in the rearview mirror. They saw his eyes fill up with tears; then the tears would melt away. The girl heard him suck in his breath, the way the woman had done when she had a deep cavity in one of her teeth.

  Enough, Brother muttered. No more. No more. Oh, Lord. Lord, the light!

  He slumped behind the wheel in a state of nerves and agitation. Breathing hard, sucking in his breath as if every other minute a ferocious wave of something awful hit him.

  Awful pain, she decided. Every other minute his hands pained him; and the way he moved his head, his face hurt him. His face had become red and raw. When they left home, Brother’s face had been as ordinary as the man Ken’s. Just brown and fatherly. Ken, the father, worked today. He worked every day, even Sunday, for at least part of the day.

  Brother fumbled in his pocket, took out a small container. He slipped something from the container in his mouth. And leaned back, mumbling to himself, Cain’t take no more. Oh, God, no more …

  After a time, Brother could move again. His facial coloring seemed to have toned down. The hat shielded his face well.