Gloryland

by Shelton Johnson

  “Oh yeah, that’s right,” said Mama, “you goin all right, and here you are gettin ready all right, and you goin to get in that wagon all right, and you goin to head to that courthouse, and I guess that’s right. But I’m goin too, and Elijah’s goin, we all goin to see you make your mark on that piece of paper, for all the good it’ll do, yes, Lord!”

  My daddy got up from his chair and walked back to the dark part of the cabin where Mama was, and I could hear him making whispering and soothing noises like a pigeon, but she wasn’t being soothed at all. She was crying, and I could feel her tears scalding my cheeks, running hot down my chin, yeah, it must’ve been her tears coming out of me.

  “Why now, Daniel?” she asked soft. “Why now?” she said again.

  “No better time, Lucy.” He called her Lucy instead of Lucinda when he was being sweet or “trying” to be sweet, Mama said.

  “I know it’s been hard, Daniel,” she said, “so hard that hard don’t mean nothin no more, but at least you alive, with us, but you go on to that courthouse and maybe that goin to change!”

  Daddy said nothing, but I could see him thinking. His eyelids always closed up when he did that, like they was trying to keep something from getting in. He was going to go no matter what Mama said, I could feel it in the room and hear it when he talked.

  “Lucy,” he told her, “even you can’t convince the sun to not get up this mornin, even you can’t do that. I’m tired of it. If I never do anythin else, I’m gonna do this, and this is the mornin, not tomorrow or the next day or next week, but right now, or it won’t happen at all. And then I’ll be dead, and you’ll be sleepin the rest of your life next to a dead man, cold through and through. Oh yeah, I’ll be gettin up same as usual, but it’ll be a dead man gettin up and workin those fields!”

  There was quiet after he said that, and I was trying not to breathe cause I wanted to listen, but they kept speaking softer and softer, as if they were already on the wagon and I’m running along behind and can’t keep up, their voices getting faint. Then I heard Mama say, “You don’t think I get tired too? We all tired every day, every single day, and there’ll be plenty of rest by and by, but not now, Daniel. Not now when our boy’s still a boy, and you not here to teach him bout bein a man!”

  And Daddy said, “Can’t teach Elijah nothin bout bein a man if I ain’t one myself. Lucy, that law say we got the right to vote, but no one’s votin cause they scared!”

  That’s when I heard Mama get up off her bed sudden, and though she’s not a big woman, I could feel her feet hit the floor. “Daniel!” she said, and her voice was stronger now, “honey, colored people round here got a right to be scared, that’s the only right we do have. We got lots of fear and not much of anythin else. Fear of speakin up too much, fear of sayin the right thing or the wrong thing. Fear of wakin up and fear of goin to sleep. Fear’s the one thing we got plenty of, and I bustin up inside from my fear that you goin to die today, and maybe us right along with you, cause you got a fear of not bein a man!”

  And again it got real quiet, a quiet that made you hold your breath cause you weren’t certain the air would still be there once you decided to open your mouth.

  “Lucinda,” Daddy answered finally, “we ain’t walkin a road we walked before. It’s done. I’m goin to that courthouse, and I’m goin to vote. And you say you comin, so tell me what you goin to do.” He spoke so soft, like maybe the walls would hear and tell the mules outside.

  Mama said nothing more, but she got up from the dark back there, passed Daddy, and walked out into the stovelight. She opened the door, stepped down to the yard, and got up into the wagon. I saw she was wearing the dress she had on last night. She never even changed before going to bed.

  Daddy walked slowly after her, turned a bit, and said to me, “Come on, boy!” I followed after him and climbed into the back of the wagon. All the way to town, Mama and Daddy didn’t look at each other at all, just sat there staring ahead. I can’t forget looking at the backs of their heads so straight and unmoving, but their bodies swaying with the motion of the wagon. No one spoke the whole way. I sat in the back watching them stare at nothing at all. After a while I looked down, cause it didn’t feel good to look at them.

  It might’ve gotten better, but the wagon bouncing over that rutted road seemed to keep things just below boiling even though no one was talking. The road to town was always bad after the winter rains. It seemed like we spent as much time going from side to side as going forward.

  Then we got to town, and right near the center of all those buildings and stores and houses was the courthouse where the white folks came to vote.

  Standing in front of the courthouse was the sheriff. Sheriff Reynolds was a big man who always rolled up his sleeves no matter how cold it was. He had a wicked-looking pistol tucked into a leather belt, and he carried an oak walking stick though I never saw him limp. I think the stick was to make other people limp after he hit them with it. He never smiled, and if he had, it probably would’ve killed him, or at least cut up his face, making it move in a way nature never intended. He ain’t the meanest man in the world, but he’s probably kin to whoever that man is.

  Daddy stopped the wagon in front of the courthouse, which meant he stopped right in front of the sheriff. Sheriff Reynolds wasn’t paying any attention to us till then. Colored people had the right to ride a wagon and use the road, but we weren’t expected to stop in front of the courthouse. Ever.

  “How do, Daniel,” said the sheriff softly, but only his voice was soft. His body stiffened up and his face got harder.

  “Good mornin, Sheriff,” said my daddy.

  “Well, Daniel, it was a mighty fine mornin till just a moment ago. Now maybe that was just an accident, maybe your mules are tired and they thought this might be a good place to rest. Maybe that explains why you’re blockin the courthouse, keepin the good people of this community from engagin in county business, at least I hope so. Well, you better explain to these mules of yours how they’re creatin a misunderstandin here, how some of those good people might start thinkin it was you stopped in front of this courthouse. And you wouldn’t want that, would you, boy?”

  Daddy said nothing at first, but I could see his back straightening up like a tree at the first tug of a storm.

  “I don’t want no one to get upset with me, Sheriff,” Daddy began. “I didn’t come here to cause no trouble, I just come to vote, like the law say I got a right to. And I’m goin to vote, sir, if that’s all right with you.”

  I thought it had been quiet back in the cabin, but this was a quiet not used to air or sunlight, and it was out in the open for the first time, naked, cold, and pale as a bass gasping for breath.

  Sheriff Reynolds did smile then. His teeth were yellow, stained with tobacco. It seemed to hurt him to smile. I hoped he would stop soon cause I was starting to feel bad, looking at something that was more like a wound gaping on his face than a grin.

  “Daniel,” he finally said, slow as molasses easing out of an upturned bottle, “I always thought of you as a reasonable nigger, and now it appears you’re tryin to change my opinion. I’d rather pretend you didn’t say what you just said. So tell those mules of yours to move along and rest somewheres else. You hear me, boy?”

  Sheriff Reynolds’ voice sounded easy and sincere, but it was like sleeping on a mattress full of razors and nails. No matter how carefully you move, the hard sharpness you can’t see on the inside of the bed keeps cutting through to the outside, and you can’t see clearly what’s tearing you up.

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff,” said Daddy, “but there ain’t nothin wrong with my mules. I stopped them right here, and it wasn’t no mistake. I’m here to vote!”

  By this time, other white folks had gathered. White and colored folks in town didn’t usually have long talks, and very few people had conversations with the sheriff. Those that did were probably going to jail or coming from jail. But I wouldn’t call them conversations cause the sheriff was usually the only o
ne talking.

  “No, no,” said Sheriff Reynolds, with a sour look on his face, and he cocked his head to one side like he was trying to get a better view of my daddy. “You most definitely are not here to vote. And I am gonna arrest you, Daniel, for bein intoxicated in public, cause it’s plainly obvious to everyone here that you’ve been drinkin, and I believe a night in my jail may do you some good. We can sit up all night and talk about your problems, cause I care about you, boy. Believe you me, I’m intent on takin care of you the best way I know how, and before the night is done we will surely come to an understandin.”

  “I appreciate that, Sheriff,” said Daddy. “I know you want to do what’s right, and I appreciate your hospitality, invitin me to stay with you and all, but I slept plenty last night. I’m rested and I got somethin to do right here, somethin I been meanin to do for a long time.”

  And right then Daddy jumped down from the wagon, landing not two feet from the sheriff. Sheriff Reynolds jumped back a little and gripped his stick harder and put his left hand on his pistol, but he didn’t seem scared. If anything he seemed anxious for something to start.

  “Daniel,” said the sheriff, louder now so the people around could hear, “it would be a pity to leave this fine boy of yours without a father, or such a good-lookin woman here without a husband. Course, me bein the sheriff, I’d be derelict in my duty if I didn’t check on ’em from time to time, just to see if they all right. But we can avoid all that if you come with me to jail right now, or turn that wagon round and get yourself home, cause you sure as hell not goin up these courthouse steps.”

  Daddy took a step toward the courthouse. The crowd stepped back a bit, but Sheriff Reynolds didn’t move, standing less than a foot away from Daddy. The sheriff was an inch or so shorter, but he was even heavier. I noticed my father’s hands at his sides. They were opening and closing but there was nothing inside them. I could see the veins on his hands slipping round under the skin, and the veins in his neck were full as he bent toward the sheriff like a big old tree leaning into the wind.

  “Nigger, you take one more step, I’ll bust yo head wide open!” Sheriff Reynolds announced. He was done pretending to be Daddy’s friend.

  I thought my daddy would explode like a bucket of water left out in the night when the temperature drops below freezing. It wasn’t heat he was giving off no more but cold, cold like I ain’t never seen in a living man before. The coldness of death must’ve been inside him trying to get out, and the sheriff had the key in the door, turning it this way and that.

  I watched Daddy slowly shift from his right foot to his left. He was about to walk and I couldn’t think of any way to stop him, and I didn’t know for sure if I should stop him. That’s when Mama got down from the wagon. Nobody seemed to see her do it, but somehow she was standing next to my father. She looked so small beside him.

  Mama paid no attention to the sheriff. As Daddy leaned his body forward to start walking, Mama hooked the little finger of her right hand squarely into the crook of his left elbow. That’s all. No strain, no sweat. Just her little finger on Daddy’s arm.

  And I watched my daddy, all six foot six inches and two hundred and fifty pounds of him, stop completely under the weight of that finger. I mean, he was moving toward the sheriff till he felt a pressure on him that no one could see but me, and no one could feel but him.

  Then my father broke somewhere inside. It was a break you couldn’t see on the outside, but he was like an old tree that’s finally tired of bending, knows it’s been done in by the wind and is just marking time till the next breeze comes up, and down it goes. I watched him die some right there, even though he was still standing, still breathing. I don’t know if the sheriff or my mother killed him, or if it was suicide, but a man died in front of that courthouse and the killer got away.

  What was left of Daddy turned and got up into the wagon. Mama followed him, but then she stopped and looked back at Sheriff Reynolds. I couldn’t clearly see her face, but I could see the sheriff’s. It was red like a tomato. The sheriff scratched his neck and looked away. Mama climbed up and sat down next to Daddy, who sat stiff as a corpse. It shocked me to see him shake the reins and get the mules moving away down the street. The crowd that had gathered parted to let the wagon through. Those white people were whispering but saying nothing out loud, and their silence was more frightening than any yelled curses. I lay my head in my mother’s lap and tried to forget their eyes.

  After the wagon had pulled away, I raised my head and looked back at the sheriff, who was looking down at the ground where my father had stood, as if something should have been there, something he could’ve picked up and carried away. I couldn’t see anything except the strength that had been my daddy lying there in the road. Sheriff Reynolds never moved, like he wasn’t even breathing. But then I saw his chest begin to go out and in as we rode away. It must’ve been hard for that man to go so long without taking a breath.

  I didn’t breathe too much either till we got home.

  Later I found out that even if Daddy had been allowed into that courthouse, it wouldn’t have mattered. He didn’t have the money to pay the poll tax or the book learning to pass the literacy test.

  The sheriff knew that. All those white people gathered on the steps of the courthouse knew it. For Daddy it wasn’t about paying for something. He figured he’d already paid. And it wasn’t about whether he could read or write. It was about justice. He once told me that if you had to ask for something that was already yours, then you’d given it up. Up to that day Daddy behaved as if he believed he had rights, but he died outside that courthouse trying to claim what nobody should have to ask for.

  There’s one thing colored people in the South have in common with the dead. The dead have no rights. Maybe Daddy knew that all along.

  The Horse’s Paces Walk, Trot, and Canter

  The rider should always have a light feeling of the reins; and when

  the horse bears hard on the bit, keep the hand steady, use both legs,

  which, by bringing his haunches under him, will oblige the horse

  to take his weight off your hand.

  from Cavalry Tactics

  grandma sara

  Old. Young. The way a river is old and young. Grandma Sara had eyes like that. Eyes that looked through you like you were a window and she could plainly see what was on the other side, even if you couldn’t see a thing. You had to ask her about yourself, cause sooner or later you realized you didn’t know yourself till she began talking to you. You were a language she used to speak to the dead. How far away her eyes, like stars at night, like the moon in daylight. Always smoking tobacco, I remember smoke round her head. She was always in a cloud sitting there in her rocking chair.

  I got so’s I knew what was coming when she chose to talk to me, and it was never easy. She was old and bent like an oak’s old and bent. She still had grit enough to kill me dead, but she said she loved me, which was why she so hard. Like one time when I was maybe fifteen years old, and she woke up to find me sitting on the floor a few feet away from her chair. My chin was buried in my hands, and I probably looked like I was praying. Anyone talking to God was bound to raise Grandma Sara’s interest.

  When I peered up at her, the morning sun shone behind her head. She looked like God, if God had been a Black Seminole woman, but when Grandma asked you a question, well, there wasn’t much difference between the two.

  “What you doin, boy?” she said.

  “Nothin, ma’am,” I murmured.

  “Don’t ‘nothin’ me, boy,” she spat back. “You fifteen years old now, and that’s old enough for all kinds of trouble.” She paused briefly. “Maybe you workin yourself up to go back to that courthouse and finish what your daddy started?”

  I wondered how that woman could see my heart so clearly when sometimes I couldn’t even feel it.

  “No, ma’am,” I muttered through my fingers. “I mean, I know I should get that out of my head, but I can’t forget how that sh
eriff looked at Daddy. What he did should be against the law, and Sheriff Reynolds oughtta throw himself in jail for breakin the law!” My voice dropped down then like a bird that forgot what it was singing. I was also thinking bout Grandma Sara, how she’d been around even longer than Daddy and what kinda things must’ve happened to her, but I didn’t know how to say that.

  Grandma Sara peered down at me with the look you get when you’re eyeing a worm you just put on a hook, wondering if that worm is just the right worm to catch that fish you’re after.

  “So what else you thinkin bout, young as you is?” she kept on.

  I paused before answering cause I didn’t want to sound like a fool, but I knew it was hopeless.

  “I’m thinkin bout how old you must be,” I said then. “How old are you, Grandma Sara?”

  She laughed, though there was nothing funny in her eyes. “I’m old enough to remember way back to the beginnin of things, when children knew their manners and were respectful!”

  I felt cold like ice had been dropped down my back.

  “I’m sorry, Grandma, I didn’t mean to be—”

  “Course you didn’t mean,” she broke in. “Children nowadays never mean nothin, that’s why I don’t listen to you most of the time, cause you ain’t sayin nothin!”

  I squeezed up into myself and got so small that I was gone, right there in front of her, scared to gone like gone was a place on a map. My grandma could make me go there even quicker than my daddy.

  “Why you always so mean to me?” I finally asked.

  “I figure you might as well get used to it.” She looked sad then, like she’d been wanting to cry all her life and finally had the chance but wouldn’t take it. Instead, she raised up in her chair, leaned her forearms on her knees, and bent toward me like a tree in the wind.

  “Build up callus on your soul, just like on your hands,” she said. “Come over here and let me see your hands, boy!”

  I was afraid to move but I didn’t have a choice. I got up and went over to where she was sitting in her tobacco cloud, and sat down by her feet, so close I could smell the lye soap in her dress.