Sweet Whispers, Brother Rush

by Virginia Hamilton

  “Oh, I slept a little. They give me a cot right with him.” She avoided saying Dab’s name, Tree could tell. “He still very sick, Tree. I did sleep. Silversmith brang me some change of clothes from where I live in.”

  “Oh,” Tree said. “I … I don’t guess he ask for me.”

  “He can’t ask for nobody, yet,” Vy said. “Listen, I got to go. You call the school? That’s important.”

  “Yeah, but I only remember to about one o’clock. M’Vy, I slept clear to noon.”

  “Well, you were up so late, all that happened.” She was silent, and Tree waited. “Listen, baby, I went out for lunch and now I’m in the hospital lobby. Dab got through the night, Tree; we thankful for that.”

  He got through the night! She commenced trembling. He got through, he didn’t fall! It was me that fall from …

  “Listen,” M’Vy said, “I got to go. Silversmith comin over after he work and get cleaned up. He’ll stop by here; maybe I can come home awhile with him; I don’t know yet.”

  She soundin down, Tree thought. But she wouldn’t ask how really bad Dab was.

  “You might just as well stay to home in the morning,” M’Vy was saying, “look after the house. Don’t want folks knowing we all gone from home. Go back on Wednesday, all right?”

  “All right,” Tree said.

  “What a matter, you?” Vy said. “Tree, don’t go lonesome on me. Hold on, hon. We got to be strong … in our prayers for him,” M’Vy finished.

  “I know,” Tree said, and whimpered. She couldn’t remember when she’d prayed. She cupped her hand tightly over her mouth to keep from crying.

  Vy sighed, “God help him! ‘His eye is on the sparra and I know He watches me.’” The religion Vy kept lived in her favorite religious songs.

  What it mean, on the sparra? Tree wondered. Why the sparra and me?

  “Yea, Tree, you unnerstan me?”

  “Yea, M’Vy,” she lied.

  “Yea, you prayin for your brother?”

  “Yea, M’Vy!”

  “Yea, Lawd.” Vy hummed. “Bless this house. So it be all right.”

  “Yea!” was Tree’s heartfelt response.

  “Pray, everythang be good.”

  “Yea, everythang is good.” Tears fell down her cheeks.

  “Don’t cry, my baby, don’t cry. I got to go. Bless you. Be talkin to you; you know I love you, honey, Heart. Maybe see you later. Silversmith be comin after while, for company. Take care. Everthang gone be okay.”

  Vy hung up. But it wouldn’t be okay.

  Dab would live one day more.

  Chapter 15

  “DAB AIN’T GONE no more funerals! He didn’t die, he didn’t die. No, he didn’t, he didn’t die!M’Vy, we prayed and everything, din we? He didn’t. You said … You said it be all right! He didn’t, n don tell me he did! He didn’t, no-he-din. He din. He didn’t die!”

  Tree ran through every room of the house, including her own little room of privacy with the round table, in which Rush would appear and disappear. She ran through Dab’s room, which she had cleaned and disinfected and changed all of the bedding in, until it was as perfect as she imagined was the hospital room where he was getting well. She had bought a bunch of dried flowers for his dresser. She had painted a sign with poster paints and tacked it to his wall: WELCOME HOME, DABNEY PRATT, MY BROTHER!

  But the moment M’Vy came through the door Tuesday afternoon, Tree knew the truth. Vy’s face was swollen, discolored from grief. She had aged overnight. Silversmith supported her weight. She had caved in on herself, as though all her substance were gone.

  Staggering, Silversmith propelled her into a kitchen chair. At once, Vy commenced talking and did not stop, even when Tree raced in and out of the room.

  Tree could hear Vy’s voice from anywhere in the house. There was no way to escape it, and she could not stop running.

  “Tree. He gone, baby. You brother, he dead, hon, they couldn’t save him. Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Yea, just after eleven. I was right there. I wouldn’t leave him. Thank the Lawd I didn’t. They did everythang they could—commere, baby, don’t run like that. But it was too late. Oh, God. Once the respiratory paralysis start … You got to stop it before it begin. Prevent it. They have the respirator there, but it was too late. The cranial nerves, you see. God, it’s my fault! I should’ve realized long ago. But you get so weary! So busy! Knew it long time ago. Yea, Lawd, he a boy, weren’t he? I just wouldn’t face it. The boys, mens in my family. But it’s not something sex-linked. Found that out years later, after Willie. It can happen to a girl, a woman, but it didn’t. Binnie die of one too many strokes. Shoulda had you both tested. But to do that, it seem like tempting fate. Who can face they children may die!

  “Tree, that’s why you got to go get the tests. Me, too. But he dead. Ain’t it a shame! Shame! Maybe it for the best. The poor, sad boy. He couldn’t think. What Dab gone do in his life, the way he was?”

  Tree went crazy. Screaming at M’Vy, she was outraged, insane with fury. She shook violently. Her eyes were dry and sticking, raging. She ran around M’Vy, around the kitchen table, bouncing off the refrigerator. She felt no pain as she hit the corner of the stove hard. She thought of turning on the burners and putting her hands in the flames to get them warm, but she hadn’t the time. She had to keep going. Her legs just went; she didn’t have to tell them to or look down at them. They were on their own.

  Silversmith tried to catch her and hold her. M’Vy spoke to him. “Let her alone,” Tree heard her say. “Just see she don’t hurt herself,” she said. “Let her get it out of her system.”

  Tree hated M’Vy. She said so, over and over. And if she stopped moving, she would take a kitchen knife and put it through M’Vy, or herself, she didn’t care which. Or beat M’Vy over the head until she lay still and breathless on the floor. Or plunge the knife in her own belly and fall down and let herself bleed out the hate and the love.

  Tree saw the unreal in her mind and the real in the kitchen quite vividly. She could hear the sound of her own voice, talking and raging.

  “Shoot! Shoot! Damn you, it your fault! You did it. You beat him. You beat him up. He didn’t die; you killed him, M’Vy! He ain’t dead, he ain’t dead, unh-uh. My brother, Dab. He didn’t, no he didn’t, it’s a lie! How come you didn’t do something sooner? You don’t even think of Dab, when all the mens die off. You killing him, can’t you do something?”

  One minute, she knew Dab had died; she had to believe it. The next minute, Tree would accept no such thing. And smacked her open palms hard against every object in the kitchen that couldn’t smack back. She ignored Silversmith completely. She knew if she ever wanted to hurt him, she would want to kill him. Her hate for M’Vy was all-consuming. But rather than attack her, she would will the witch out of existence. In an instant, M’Vy was nothing.

  “Tree. Tree,” Vy said. She didn’t try to touch her daughter. “I was so afraid. I was young. I didn’t have no smarts—who did, back then? I beat that boy. I beat him, help me, I beat him. You won’t forgive me. But I won’t forgive myself. Maybe I thought if I beat him, people would think he really bad, blame him, not me.” Vy covered her face with her hands. “But really all the time I was afraid he might have the sickness, like my brothers. I was so afraid, Tree.”

  “Afraid. Afraid,” Tree said. Her voice was so calm and reasonable. “You, afraid? Big you and tiny him. He was really tiny. Stunted tiny and skinny legs. You beat him tiny. Brother Rush show me you and Dab way back then. You own brother, come to show me. You kill Dab. You kill him. You can never lie and say you cared.”

  “No, Tree. You can hate me, but I didn’t kill him. He survived my worst.” Vy moaned into her hands and cried.

  “That Ken didn’t know a thing,” Tree said. “That Ken, just walkin away from me and Dab.”

  “Oh, Tree! You father was … troubled. I was young; I wanted everythang I see. Ken work from way morning to way night. But sometimes he go an gamble it up. Didn’t ma
tter to me when he won. It was that he left me alone; and me so young. I took it out on Dab.”

  Through it all, Silversmith stood in his very neat and clean business suit. He had on a handsome brown raincoat, belted. He was still within himself, until he spoke to Tree.

  “You won’t be bringing you brother back, callin down your muh and dad,” he said.

  “Yeah? Yeah?” Softly Tree answered him. “You quick to take her side. All you grown-ups stick together, huh? Talkin bout how bad be teenagers.”

  “That’s not it, Tree,” Silversmith said. “Vy know exactly what she done. What I have to say about it, I will say to her.”

  “That leaves me by myself, agin, don’t it?” Tree said. She sucked in her breath and let it out strong. “I can say what I think. I can do that. How come he die so fast, M’Vy? How could it happen! How come he don’t call on me!”

  “Oh, hon, Dab couldn’t think of nothin but the pain.”

  “Pain? All over him, pain? Oh, no. Oh, poor Dab. Poor, sweet Dab.”

  Vy got up with difficulty. “Tree, baby.” She walked near, leaning on the table for support, but Tree wouldn’t stay still. Vy had to move out of the way as Tree flung herself out of the room and down the hall.

  She yanked opened the door to the little room. Plunged inside, slamming the door behind her. Rush was not there.

  “He comin. I know he is. He been here, he comin again, you wait. Then, I’m gone wit him. I ain’t comin back!”

  Tree ran to the living room, climbing up on the furniture. She had to touch every piece of furniture and smack every wall. She found the Warren Miller book, and she did not hesitate. She flung it at the window. She heard glass crack. The book fell to the floor. “Yeah. ‘The Time I Got Lost’ in the ferny woods—good-bye, Dab, no more readin. Dab love that book. And it couldn’t do nothin. Everybody let him go. God let him go. Nobody care but me, and I couldn’t see him. Nobody even thought to takin his sister to see him. Be there, bet he wouldn’t die. He would see me, say, ‘Do a little dance, Tree.’ I would have, too, if they give me the chance. But nobody care. Dab, what we gone do?”

  Tree flung and hurled herself. She ran and ran until her feet were numb. Air would not stay inside her lungs. Her legs ceased to move, finally. She stood in the hall, sagging against thin air like a junkie flying high.

  When Silversmith took hold of her, she was too weak to resist. He picked her up, carried her to her room and sat her against two pillows. M’Vy came in; sat beside her. Silversmith was on her other side. She was between the too big grown-ups, looking up into their faces. Had they ever been young? Each of them held one of her hands. Her hands were without strength, clasped tightly in theirs.

  The three of them sat there. Tree was panting. Cold sweat had soaked her neck and under her arms. She felt icy cold when she could feel beyond hopelessness. Her eyes closed and she was instantly asleep, unconscious. A few minutes later, she awoke, shaking the bed. Silversmith and M’Vy did not let her go.

  “I got to go to the bathroom,” she told them, and they released her.

  “I’ll go with you, help you along,” Vy said.

  “No. No,” she murmured. “I can make it. I don’t need you.”

  “She gone to the little room,” she heard Silversmith say. It was in her mind, but she knew she had heard him.

  “Let her go,” M’Vy said back. Tree paid them no attention. She went to the bathroom and on to the little room. She went inside. Still, Rush was not there.

  “Whyn’t you come? Take me for a ride?” No sound anywhere. Tree lifted her hands over the table, reached into space there, but there was nothing.

  “I’ll come back,” she told the empty room. “Every half-hour, I’ll be here.”

  Later, M’Vy fixed her chicken soup. Tree swallowed a tablespoonful, but she would not take more. To take that much made her stomach turn. She breathed in heaving gasps suddenly as she fought down sickness.

  “He really dead, then?” she asked, after a time.

  “Yes,” M’Vy said.

  “M’Vy, y’all too close, I can’t breathe.” Vy slid from the bed and sat in the chair.

  “Get on off my bed, Silversmith,” Tree said. She didn’t look at him.

  He got up, but stood near.

  “Standin makin me nervous,” she told him. “Whyn’t you go on out.”

  “Tree,” M’Vy cautioned.

  “Well, he don’t have to be here in my room,” Tree said peevishly. “It my room. Not used to having some men standin around in it.”

  “You can turn me out, Tree,” he said. “I’m still gone like you.”

  Tree felt her mouth pull down, felt an awful sadness climb up her insides. “I like you, too,” she said softly. “I don’t want you in here. Please. I don’t want nobody in here wit me if I can’t have Dab.”

  “Tree.”

  “Please.”

  “Try to sleep,” Vy said. “We can talk later. Do you have to go to the little room?”

  “Yes,” Tree said.

  “The spirit world not for us to mess with,” Vy said.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “If that’s what you want, baby.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you no more. What they gone do with Dab?”

  “They take care of … the body,” Vy said bluntly. “It being taken care of.”

  Tree turned her face away. M’Vy went to the door and out, not looking back. Tree closed her eyes and fell asleep on all memory. Soon she was awake again, dragging herself out of bed and down the hall. “It time,” she whispered. Been more’n an hour, I bet.

  Silversmith and M’Vy were in the kitchen. Tree could smell fresh coffee. That’s good. Leave me alone. Can’t stand either one of them, she thought. She went inside the little room. Rush was just settling in.

  I knew it!

  The room filled with unnatural energy, energy that was scattered but was pulling in around her. She knew the feeling. It entered her mind, where her thoughts were shaken up and rearranged in preparation for that which was beyond her knowledge.

  She closed the door behind her and at once was with the gathering supernatural. She went to the table, raised her hands and stretched her arms out. Rush was settling in, capturing her in his mystery of unearthly light.

  Rush was there.

  “Uncle Brother, it me!” Tree whispered. “How you doin?” She grew shy. “I knew you my uncle, but sometimes I forgot and think you could be my boyfriend, you come here so young. Know you M’Vy’s baby brother. I’m ready to go wit you.”

  Standing there, Brother Rush was perfection. Young and handsome, no sickness, he was dressed in his finest, as always.

  Suit never get wrinkled! she marveled. Cause it made so fine. And that shirt!

  Tree couldn’t get over how sparkling the ivory-color shirt was. She looked him over carefully. Saw his silver belt buckle, Jazz, and his socks and splendid shoes.

  Wish I could hear him play the piano, she thought. But not now; not the time.

  She reached out for Brother, smiling. She did so love having him take her out.

  And she was there.

  Going for a ride! She was in the backseat of Brother’s car, smelling odors of alcohol and cigars. She was the age she was in real life.

  That’s funny. I ain’t a kid again?

  But she didn’t mind. And, as was possible in the ghost time, she was outside the car looking in through the windshield, as though she were the sunlight and shade of the countryside through which Brother was driving.

  In the car next to him was Dab.

  Well, no kiddin! Dab? Dab! It you! How come you here? you lookin good! How you feelin, bro? Dab, look at that suit!

  Dabney Pratt had on a gorgeous suit. It had a pinstripe, but the background was gray instead of black or dark blue, like Brother’s. Dab had on a bow tie; his shirtfront had pearl buttons.

  That’s nice! Tree said. Dab, you lookin as good as Brother. Where we goin?

  It came to her where they w
ould have to go.

  The two of them, Brother and Dab. Brother was driving fast. Their faces were full in the sunlight. They were talking and laughing, having a good time. The sunshine on their skin didn’t seem to bother them at all.

  I’m so glad. Where you goin?

  But she knew.

  That’s good, she said. Good, you get to go together. Maybe that the reason you come back to visit, Brother. Huh! Come to keep my Dab company.

  Tree knew she must leave now.

  Dreamin won’t be the same as the for real, she thought.

  In her dreams, she’d fallen off a bridge but Dab had continued up the span.

  It didn’t mean I fell and died. It mean that Dab went all the way up, the way you do after you die. I fell off to live; Dab stay on the bridge to God.

  This didn’t seem odd or silly to her at all in Rush’s place, in the backseat of his car. M’Vy was not in the car with her. No one was in the back with her. Sunlight fell on her legs, and it was warm.

  But Brother now turned around to look at her. He looked her in the eyes. Never had he done that before; but then, she’d never been in the car at the age she was in real life. Did that matter? His face was a dead man’s face. It frightened her.

  You scarin me. Turn back, she told the dead face.

  Brother wouldn’t turn around until she understood he was trying to tell her something. Again, she recalled the time he fell out of the car, with Ken, the driver. Only he didn’t fall.

  He didn’t fall. That’s what was funny. He didn’t tell Ken about the girl in front of him. That split second might’ve made the difference.

  Oh … Oh …

  Brother’s face was turned clear around. It was no longer a face; it was a skull, old and white. Roots of things began growing in it.

  Let me out! Oh, I want to look at Dab one more time. No! Dab, don’t turn around. Let me out! I got to go … I got to fall …

  Tree was swooshing through the backseat of the car, through the trunk of the car. She was swooshing out as only she could out of Rush’s place and time. She was falling. It was unpleasant. She held her breath through the supernatural.

  Back to the room that was her little room, blinking her eyes, rapidly. Rush had come back with her. He was young again and looked so handsome. Through the table, he was big as life. He was in his mysterious light, dressed so fine.