The Castle Cross the Magnet Carter

by Kia Corthron

  Me an Leonard’s pretty happy bout that ourselves.

  Oh Brenda Jean!

  My sister an brother-in-law tearin their hair out makin sure my princess niece get the best dress an best flowers an best dinner, well! Only one more week an it all be over. Nex Saturday’s the ceremony, Halloween weekend. Hah! After that—

  Ting-a-ling.

  Oh!

  Brenda Jean fly out the stockroom, onto the floor.

  You see that? So anxious to snap up the customer before you or I get to em, she interrupt her own thought.

  I chuckle, workin on my lunchmeat an mustard.

  You shoudn’t let her do that. You got a baby on the way, Randall, you need the money. You need to start makin more commission money, it’s not fair you always the lowest an her grabbin all the buyers from the both a us.

  Desk phone rings.

  Martin’s Shoes.

  Randall! Glad you answered, honey. I’m in the paint store lookin over colors for the baby’s room. Course I won’t do pink or baby blue, but I was thinkin a neutral mint green. Whatta ya thinka mint green?

  A bottle opener tied to a string hangin from the wall. I pull out my Orange Crush, flip off the top, take a swig.

  Honey?

  Mint green sounds fine.

  I thought so too. Okay. I love you. I’ll see you tonight. Click.

  You on till six this evenin, Randall? Closin? You make sure you step up that last hour, when the Friday after work rush happen. Don’t let Brenda Jean take all the customers! You need to step up!

  Ting-a-ling. Diane fly out to the floor. But a second later she back, peekin her head in.

  There I go, not even check with you. You want this n, Randall?

  I liff my Crush.

  Still eatin.

  Sure?

  Sure.

  She disappear. Ring.

  Martin’s Shoes.

  You think I’m some nut! I’m gettin mint green cuz mint green can be for anybody, if we gotta change it from a nursery back to a guestroom, mint green for the guestroom. That’s why I wanted mint green! That’s why! Click.

  Brenda Jean come back a-mutterin. She wanted them damn Espadrilles an not even interested in a thing else, why can’t people be more flexible?

  I drain my Crush, throw out my lunch wrappins, head to the bathroom. Wash my hands an stare at my face in the meer. If ya get close up, the eensiest little lines. If ya take your fingers through, spot a gray now an again. Ting-a-ling. Diane surely got that customer but I better make a show a goin out there anyway.

  Walkin through the stockroom toward the floor I see Mr. Martin at his desk, the ting-a-ling was him come back early.

  Hi again, Mr. Martin.

  Hi Randall. Where ya goin?

  Seein if there’s any customers.

  Brenda Jean an Diane got it covered. Looky here.

  Mr. Martin open a file cabinet behind him. Today his wingtips are black an glistenin. Mr. Martin shine his shoes hisself or do a shoeshine boy service him daily? He pull out a graph chart.

  Can you read this, Randall?

  I think so.

  What it tell me. About you.

  I swallow.

  Seem to say I remain slowest horse in the commissions race.

  By several laps.

  He starin at me. I look at him. I look down. Practically need sunglasses to look at his shoes.

  I already give ya one warnin a while back, but cut cha some slack after your day at the school. I was honored to have you in my employ. Am honored. Still. Business is business.

  I look at him. Behind him some new picture, him an his wife an kids on a quiet beach. Tanned an smilin.

  So this warnin is your second an final.

  I let out a breath, hope he don’t notice. What he mean to put the fear a God in me actually come as relief, one more day I don’t got to go home to Erma with the bad news, watch her face contort up like she the longest-sufferin since Jesus.

  Mr. Martin put his chart away, then turn to me, suddenly all bright.

  So! Monday. You heard?

  I stare at him. I shake my head.

  The voter registration. Tuesday’s last day, so coloreds thinkin they’re sneaky, plannin to show up at the courthouse en masse the 24th. Monday.

  Now seated, he peelin a red apple. Mr. Martin’s slim, I ain’t never seen him have nothin for lunch cept an apple.

  All that ruckus at the school. Vital, but some citizens don’t realize the bigger issue’s the vote, which can impact schools an everything else. Unfortunately I think the school thing kinda wore a lotta people out but we gotta hold strong.

  Diane grinnin, rushin past us. Mother with five kids! Hope we ain’t outa the saddles.

  You count heads, you find more black in this town than white. You know that? Those shacks on the outskirts. An droppin babies every five minutes, fifty-five–forty-five, they outnumber us. Fifty-five–forty-five.

  I almost nod my head. Then I almost shake my head. Mr. Martin halfway down that apple peelin one long peel, he ain’t lifted the knife.

  They vote, they gonna tip the election! You know what could happen that Kennedy gets elected? Integrate everything! And Nixon i’n’t much better. Schools jus the start. Water fountains! Toilets! Churches! An they gonna push for it, all of em, even the nice ones. My maid Tory been in the family forty years, raised me. Tory, you want the vote? Yes suh, Mr. Martin. You know that nigger convicted a rape from Avery Junction? Electric chair? When that verdict come down, Tory, whatchu thinka that? That jury wa’n’t his peers, Mr. Martin. What! You think colored shoulda been on that jury? He raped that girl! It was alleged, Mr. Martin, how she even know that word. Alleged. Niggers can’t hardly read but they sure know them three syllables, spent enough time facin the judge. Lemme tell you, put black on the jury, oh wonder what that outcome be. They all stick together, not guilty! All a black on a jury need’s to see’s a black at the defendant’s table, not guilty!

  Brenda Jean flyin through. She was a pill but her husband’s a dream! Two pair a Red Wing boots he wants! Two! That way when the one wears out I have the other. Gigglin.

  The registration board at the courthouse’ll tell em no an they’ll go home. Simple. We just need some people like you there to make sure everything go smooth, but I really don’t foresee no trouble. Okay?

  My head quiverin, like I jus fell in a vat a confusion.

  Sir?

  You ain’t been to no Klan meetins recently but I excuse it. Know you got to take care a your wife, expectin, I know you had your troubles there in the past. Still, I’m sure you continue to support our cause. You can have Monday off. Spend it at the courthouse.

  Brenda Jean’s nearabouts fifty an practically skippin, carryin two big boxes out on the floor.

  The whole day, sir. That’s a healthy chunk outa my paycheck, tell ya the truth.

  Mr. Martin’s face get twitchy. He don’t like what I said, but don’t quite know what to do with it neither. He feast on it quarter of a minute.

  Awright. I’ll give ya minimum for the day.

  Thank you, sir! It’s just the baby comin an all.

  My brown wingtipped are the cheapest in the store, not fine like Mr. Martin’s. But a good expert shine spiff em up, bring em back to near jus-new, then maybe the customers see I’m a truthworthy representative. Useta be I coulda got some a my investment back from the deposit on my empty Orange Crush bottle, but these days that offer’s been rescinded, bottles been reclassified as garbage. I start to throw it out, then remember one a Benja’s asked to save em for a art project.

  Bruce already got a customer so I wait my turn. While he’s whooshin the shine rag he glance up at me. A fass look I interpret as he seen me aroun many times but never expected a shine be in my budget. Still, he finish his current customer who pay up, then turn to
me like I’m a regular ole deservin gentleman. I sit in the chair. Throne! Like I got my subject kneelin before me. I work hard makin myself not grin, this polish jus everyday casual.

  Ole Bruce is a professional, fast an thorough. I do see a reflection! I’m thinkin soon’s I walk away outa sight I’ma take em off, walk in my socks so’s I don’t scoff em before work tomarra. I know Mr. Martin’ll glimpse that shine an be pleased, if there’s one thing Mr. Martin notices is everbody’s shoes. While I’m searchin my pocket for the dime I see the shadow a the nex customer cast over us.

  I get a shine?

  Ole Bruce turn aroun, lookin up. A finely dressed colored man. I don’t know nothin about fashion but his suit is least as nice as Mr. Martin’s best. I have learned a little about shoes, an his we’da sure placed on the expensive shelf. Now Ole Bruce practically scream.

  When dju get in? Boy, my sister don’t tell me nothin!

  They’re laughin an chatterin, forgot me sittin here on the throne. Then the fancy dresser finally see me, somethin registerin in him. An I note somethin familiar too. I stand.

  I’m sorry, suh, but this my nephew I ain’t seen in a couple years. Now that he’s a bigshot Chicago lawyer.

  Bigshot, the lawyer mutters, all modest.

  This is Mr. Roger Thomas, Esquire.

  I step back, near drop my Orange Crush bottle.

  We know each other. Well, from kids. Hello, Randall.

  It’s my sister Sally’s birthday. I shoulda guessed. Ya come home for your mama’s birthday, didn’t ya.

  Hi Roger.

  Good! he come back with even though I ain’t asked how is he. Doin real good. How’re you, Randall?

  My breathin breathin

  Just a visit? You ain’t here on no official business?

  Roger lets out a big laugh.

  If you’re worried I’m an outside agitator you can put your mind at ease. Family affairs, that’s all the interest I have in Prayer Ridge.

  You brought the kids? Where’s Herman an Georgie?

  At Mom’s. So’s Carrie. You know we’re expecting again.

  Already? Boy, yaw been busy! You hopin it’s a girl this time?

  Here’s your dime.

  Thank you, say ole Bruce, hardly lookin at me, all distracted with Roger. I notice he didn’t say Thank you sir.

  When we were in high school, Randall lent me some of his books. Keep up with the white kids.

  He did? Ain’t that nice.

  You were in high school, I was younger.

  Good to see ya, Randall. An like that moment a few weeks ago with Margaret Laherty, I detect a quick glance from Roger, he givin me the once-over an know he don’t even need to get the details on how my life turnt out, it all too clear.

  My bladder suddenly callin which is unfortunate cuz three doors away already I hear the screamin an cryin from inside my house. An her mother’s voice, tryin to calm her down. Can’t see now how I’m gonna relieve myself with the toilet apparently fulla my baby, so I head for the woods.

  When I’m finished I zip my pants an pick up the bottle. I keep readin it over an over, touchin it, the letters raised in the glass: NO DEPOSIT NO RETURN. The wind musta taken a turn cuz deep as I am in the woods, for just a second my ears glimpse Erma’s wailin an I crash that Crush bottle gainst an ole elm. I stare at my bloody hand an too late see the red drops stainin my newly shined wingtips.

  16

  Lyin in bed starin at the ceilin 1 a.m. I get up an strike the match, put it to the curtains. Take a few seconds but it catch, then flash the whole bedroom, dresser, chest, bed. The closed door hot, flames cracklin, kissin it. Then the blaze splits, some of it take the guestroom, bathroom, some creep on down the steps. There it firs consume that rottin front door, then take its good ole time in the livin room, ease on through to the dinin, the kitchen: explode.

  From the outside the whole place is lit. Occasionally I hear sirens in the distance but no fire truck ever shows up. I was in the house, but now I mus be outside cuz I’m seein it all, there go my toolshed, there the big ole oak Marky fell outa, the hedges whoosh. Sometimes the conflagration continue down the street, sometimes the whole neighborhood combust.

  Lyin in bed starin at the ceilin 2 a.m. Tired a pyromania fantasizin in the insomnia, sleepin alone I have trouble with, an Erma in the guestroom, third night in the guestroom since the blood in the toilet. Four an a half months I stayed my side a the bed, she afraid anything close to her rattle that fetus, but now it all gone she on’t seem any more interested than she was before in the tender touch. Nothin but sobs that firs evenin with her mother, sobs the second day. This mornin she skip church, come out to see me sippin coffee which’ll be the whole a my Sunday breakfast an seven words she say: I know it ain’t your fault, but. Who said it was? That all she utter in days, both us right in the same house. Every so often I peek through the keyhole, make sure she ain’t dead. Guess she eat while I’m at work if she eat. Today my day off, damn if she didn’t stay in that room all day, waited till I gone to bed to come out. Held her pee all day! Went to get my hedge clippers outa the toolshed yesterday an there they be—two cans a mint green paint. Imagine they stay there, unopened till eternity.

  Earlier I tried stretchin out the whole bed, may as well take advantage a the sorry situation. But what if she come back all the sudden? Her place gotta be ready for her, I keep to my half, her side crisp clean fresh. Ring. Who the hell callin blacka the night mornin?

  Randall, this is Sugar Schaeffer, Benja’s neighbor. He’s killin her!

  At her place in a flash but by then he’s gone, nothin but a house a screamin kids an her bloody an barely there. I call the ambulance. Sugar take the kids over to her house while I ride beside her on the gurney.

  No surgery. Knocked her out but besides that guess she ain’t bad as she looks. I sit in a chair by the wall gazin at my sister, the other bed for the moment empty. Nurses an doctors in an out, checkin her bags an tubes. Starin at her an suddenly it all burst into flames, the hospital bed, curtain, Benja

  Randall.

  My eyes pop awake.

  It’s after eight.

  I squint at her. She say that like years ago, like we at home late for school.

  Don’t chu gotta be gettin to the voter registration before it open at nine?

  I wipe the sleep slobbers.

  What? My sister had holy crap kicked outa her lass night an now speakin clear as a bell, I’m the one with the slurry words.

  You tole Mr. Martin you hit the voter registration.

  My sleep-deprived eyes try to focus. How the hell she know about that?

  I ain’t doin it now.

  Why not?

  Why not? She stare at me. Why not?

  If you mean cuza this. If there weren’t the voter registration you’d have to leave me anyway, you got a wife in mournin at home. An you gotta get to the voter registration, it’s the nex thing comin. They got the schools, they can’t have this.

  I thought you said you an the other parents gonna make up some kinda private school.

  That’s provin harder n we figured. She sighs. Believe me, the rich are gettin their kids into the private.

  She look at the IV stuck in her arm, sigh again.

  I ain’t gonna try to kill myself no more.

  She say it like it some casual but determined decision, like I ain’t gonna break my diet no more.

  If he want me dead so bad, me stayin alive, that’ll serve him right.

  Well good mornin! How ya feelin. Nurse all cheerful.

  My back hurts. My ribs hurt. My mouth hurts.

  I bet. Here, you take these little pills.

  Then the nurse pull that cord. Venetian blinds go up, daylight blindin.

  They’ll be bringin your breakfast in soon. She gone.

  Randall—

 
I ain’t budgin. What if your bastard helpmate happen by?

  That’s what the cop’s for.

  Cop?

  She frown an tip her head toward the door. Sure enough, the man in blue standin guard.

  I still ain’t leavin my sister practically kilt to go to some damn demonstration or whatever you call it.

  You wanna get fired?

  Who said anything about gettin fired?

  Benja roll her eyes, turn to the winda.

  Who said anything—

  You know Brenda Jean an me on the communion committee. They had communion yesterday mornin, so Saturday while we cuttin up the bread, pourin the little grape juice glasses, Brenda Jean an I talked.

  Benja stop there like the rest self-explanatory.

  So?

  So? Her eyes narrowin, the imprint a his fists all over em.

  Dr. Weiss, please come to emergency, requests the public-address system. Dr. Weiss.

  Brenda Jean don’t know nothin. Any firin goin on, or not, that between Mr. Martin an me.

  Brenda Jean said you ain’t no salesman! She didn’t mean it mean, she likes ya, tryin to help, but anybody know people ain’t salesmen ain’t gonna last in no shoe sales!

  I stare at her. How my sister in a hospital bruises head to toe manage to make me look the pathetic?

  Mr. Martin likes ya too. You’re young, you got spirit. That’s what he says to Brenda Jean. He was inspired by the thing at the school.

  You know what? If one more person bring up the goddamn thing at the school, like it the only accomplishment I ever accomplished my whole damn life.

  Dr. Weiss, please come to emergency immediately. Dr. Weiss.

  Well you gotta be makin a paycheck, that’s all.

  No kiddin.

  It bears sayin since I don’t think you particularly like sellin shoes, I think you might wanna get fired.

  I ain’t arguin with you about this, Benja. I ain’t gettin into no fights while you look like somebody threw you in a wood chipper.

  We ain’t carryin ya, Randall!

  What did you—

  We got our own things! Aaron an me can’t support nobody else.

  Who asked you to? What, cuz you give us the damn fish? I’da known that I’d thrown the damn fish back in Aaron’s face!