by Ed Bullins
Ida skipped over to the trailer and went inside. Dandy submerged the edge of the ladle in the thick broth and pulled it out with sucking sounds, pouring the mixture in the nearly filled last bucket. He heard the cracked corn rattling in the pan Ida used to feed the chickens.
“Come here, Dandy, I want ta show ya somethin’,” she said from inside the trailer.
Dandy saw Roy cross the yard from the horse compound, and he stirred the pigs’ food until the boy was gone into the house.
“Dandy?”
Inside the trailer he found Ida in a dim corner and kissed her thick moist lips.
“I told Marie Ann that I loved you and she got mad.”
“No, she didn’t. You know that she likes Junior Kane.”
“She did so get mad.”
“She was teasin’ you.”
“No, she weren’t and she better not!”
“We better go,” Dandy said after a while. “Someone will be out here looking for us.”
“Okay. I have ta go ta choir rehearsal tonight but I want ta talk ta ya when I git back.”
Marie Ann was humming a hymn when Dandy passed the back of the outhouse with the heavy buckets.
The pigs were always ready to feed. No matter how Dandy filled their troughs to brimming, when he returned the next day, all had been swilled up and nothing remained but the stained, weathered boards of the troughs. When he turned the buckets up and splashed the food into the troughs, the pigs made oinking sounds which he had never gotten used to. He watched the fat beasts feeding, pushing each other aside, and remembered the story he had read of a man who had lain helpless in a pigpen and had been eaten alive.
On the way back to the house, climbing the stubbled trail beside the nearly grown summer corn, he saw three buzzards carried through the sky in the streams of invisible forces which he had been told were air currents. He found Jack Bowen waiting for him halfway up the rise.
“Well, howdy dowdy, Bowen?”
“Well, how yawhl doin’, Mr. Benson?”
Jack was four years older than Dandy, but he allowed the younger boy to carry on rituals and treated him as an equal.
“How the girls treatin’ ya, Bowen?” Dandy asked.
“Dey ain’t treatin’ one bit, partner, not a’tall.”
Jack Bowen was more intelligent than Dandy; if he could break away from the farm and the series of millhand, packing-plant helper jobs, he could be saved, Dandy knew but could not tell his friend. Jack lived as much for the future as for payday; he was forever participating in national contests that promised trips to Paris and mink coats and an occasional Cadillac. He purposely exaggerated his drawl, though he could speak better than Dandy could then; he could tell stories like nobody else, and knew more about science, math and those subjects’ vocabularies. Dandy had never heard Jack’s actual plans except once.
* * *
It was a day in early July that Jack took Dandy to the chicken plant to get a job. Buddy Henderson drove them across the state line into Delaware where he and his girl worked. Buddy’s girl, Betty Sue, was from Florida and chewed tobacco and wore men’s pants because she had done so much field work she didn’t “rightly take to dresses no mo’,” and she couldn’t read nor write much aside her name, Betty Sue. She had been living since spring in the shack village of itinerant workers behind the Hamilton tomato packing plant, until Buddy had gotten her to housekeep with him.
The foreman hired everyone that day, for truckloads of birds waited to be slaughtered.
Dandy’s job was to hang the chickens by their feet, pulling them from the crates as they flapped, squawked and pecked, attaching the victims to metal clamps swinging under the conveyor. The belt ran, one clamp which had to be filled after another, and two farm boys worked beside Dandy and showed him how inadequate he was at hanging chickens at six bits an hour.
Sitting in a chair, ten feet down the line from Dandy, was an old fat man who cut the chickens’ white throats. The man was black and wore a black rubber apron; the bib shielded his chest, the straps climbed up over his white-shirted shoulders and blended like dark bands with his neck. Dandy emptied crate after crate of white leghorns and sent them cackling down to the busy man with the blade. Sometimes a brown bird or a black with grey and white speckles found its way among the snowy ones and they added contrast, floating upended toward the chair, their red wattles dangling, then the brief last scream as one black hand reached out and anchored the head, and then the other hand moved, bringing red of a more alive hue streaming over their throats.
That lunch hour Dandy sat with Jack and Buddy Henderson and Betty Sue, eating homemade sandwiches of baloney and peanut butter.
“Hope ta gawd dese hare chickens hold out another two munts,” Buddy remarked.
“I wouldn’t care none if’in dey cut every last one’s of da sonsabitches’ throats nex’ hour,” Jack said. “There ain’t no future bein’ a chicken-plucker.”
“Beats not eatin’,” Buddy said. “Whatcha do if dere were no job in da chicken plant nor any in da ’maters or any work a’tall?”
“Well, I don’t know ’bout chauw, Buddy boy,” Jack drawled, “but one ah dese hare days I’m hoppin’ dat old Greyhound out on da road an’ goin’ up ta Philly an’ git me ah job in da big post office up dere.”
“Sheet, nigger,” Betty Sue said. “When’s de last time ya ev’va seen some nigger in a white shirt in da post office? Dey got jest de job fo all ya white-shirt niggers right here.”
Jack didn’t say anything for the rest of the lunch period, just munched his biscuit bread and peanut butter and looked mean. Everyone knew he would probably never go north to his post-office job.
Jack Bowen didn’t seem like most brothers to Dandy. He didn’t make threats or get angry when Marie Ann first showed interest in him. Lots of times Jack would daydream aloud with Dandy. He would tell how he would one day visit Dandy in the city, and maybe not go back to Mary’s Shore. Secretly, Dandy knew Jack dreamed of visiting him and Marie Ann in their home in the wonderful city. But, nevertheless, they were real friends; they had mutual enemies.
“That goddamned Uncle Clyde is goin’ ta git it one day,” Jack said.
“What happened?”
“Wahl he just rides me, that’s all. I was on the second floor of the mill today stackin’ boxes like Mr. Harvey Wentley told me and Uncle Clyde came on up there and pulled me off the job.”
“Yeah? That sounds bad.”
“Sho nuf, hope ma gonna die but Harvey like ta pitched a bitch when he saw me traipsin’ my pretty black self down there on the mill floor amongst all them white gals.”
“Yeah, I hear he don’t like none of the young fellows ta be down dere near the girls, not even with himself dere.”
“That sho is right; Uncle Clyde is harmless; that’s why he’s foreman, but if he don’t always stop fukkin’ wit me … I’m goin’ ta knock his ole rusty ass off.”
They neared the rear of the outhouse and fell silent because they didn’t know who might be inside.
After they passed, Jack said: “Junior Kane is comin’ over, gonna go ov’va ta his place for some boozin’ tonight.”
“Yeah?”
“How ’bout goin’?”
“Why sho nuf, Mr. Bowen.”
Junior Kane had a ’34 Chevy and three half-sisters. The girls were young enough for Dandy and all attractive in their big-eyed, slow-talkin’ country ways. Their reputations were of being fast girls for that part of the world.
Jack pulled out a pack of Chesterfields. He offered Dandy one and they lit up. Dandy didn’t like to smoke.
Before he began training, he smoked just enough to let his gang know that he did and after, he almost stopped completely. Since he had come down to Mt. Holy on his second vacation, he smoked whenever offered.
They walked into the kitchen, cigarettes in mouths. Uncle Clyde and Aunt Bessie were fussing.
“Now when I tell these little boys ta do somethin’, Bessie, I meant it, ya hear?”
“These kids ain’t for you to be always jumpin’ on whenever you get ready, Clyde.”
Marie Ann stood beside the sink with a dish towel and gave approving looks to Aunt Bessie. Ida was over the sink with elbows in suds, softly singing a gospel song.
Jack and Dandy crept through the kitchen, crossed the front room and climbed the second floor to their room. They passed Marie Ann and Ida’s room first, then a spare room that was used when more guests arrived or during camp-meeting times when the house was jammed, and reached their large room at the end of the hall which ran the length of the house and had four large beds and a double-decker that Roy and Richard preferred to sleep in.
Jack stretched out on his bed and Dandy sat on his, reaching for a Western magazine on the nightstand between them.
“The Durango Kid sure gits into it, don’t he?” Dandy commented.
Jack peered over his arms and said: “Sho do, I couldn’t put that book there down until I had found out how the showdown would come off.”
A tramping upon the stairs was heard.
“Stop it, Fatso,” a cry came before the speeding tumble of tennis shoes.
“Hee heee heee …”
Roy and Richard burst around the corner at the stair’s top, and Richard chased the giggling boy down the hallway, into the bedroom.
Roy pulled himself into a corner between wall, bureau and bed, and Richard, like a small scarecrow, thrashed at him with half-hearted pokes of his fists.
“Heee heee … Oooo, man,” Roy called to his antagonist, “Fatso, stop!”
“Yeah, stop it, goddammit,” Jack shouted.
“Oh, Bo,” his brother protested. “Bo, he’s always botherin’ me.”
“Heee … dat ain’t right, Bowen,” Roy said.
“SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU! I DON’T WANT TA HEAR ANY MORE OF IT!”
Richard stepped away from the hole where Roy crouched and grumbled as he searched through a drawer. Roy came out, hand over mouth, strangling on his laughs, and finally hid his head under the double-decked bed, pretending to look for shoes.
“You guys goin’ to choir meetin’?” Dandy asked the younger boys.
“Yeah, Dandy,” Richard said. “We goin’ but I don’t know if’in we’ll stay in the choir.”
“Fatso’s startin’ a quartet,” Roy spoke out.
“A quartet?” Jack said. “What makes ya think ya can sing?”
“Well, it’s like dis, Bo,” one of them began. And they took the next half hour while changing their clothes to describe the gospel quartet they were starting and how when they were good enough their group, The Mt. Holy Four, would go on nationwide tours, even to New York City and Philly.
“Why don’t you come on out and try to get on at the mill tomorrow, Dandy?” Jack said after the boys had gone downstairs.
“Oh, I’d like ta, Jack, but you remember the kiddin’ I got when I quit the chicken plant after three days.”
“Awww, forgit that,” Jack said. “Remember I quit two days later.”
“Yeah, but you work all the time and I don’t even have ta unless I want ta have extra money.”
“I know, but you’re gittin’ pretty tired ’round here all day listenin’ to Bessie … Say, are ya makin’ much time with mah little sister?” There was a guarded flash in his eyes.
“Nawh, not much,” Dandy said. “Aunt Bessie is around all da time.”
“Well, ya shouldn’t mind comin’ down ta da plant then. Thar’s ah couple ah nice gals down there, and you can always take Marie Ann ta the movies in Dover on Saturday nights.”
“I’ll ask Aunt Bessie.”
A car chugged into the driveway; its wheezing engine clanged in time to the barks and yips and prancing of the newly unleashed dogs. The car’s horn went ahhh hunnggaa ahhh hunnggaaa ahhh hunnggaaa before the brittle pinging of the girls’ giggles rose above Aunt Bessie’s voice bellowing welcomes to Junior Kane from the kitchen window.
Downstairs, Dandy stopped in the kitchen with Aunt Bess and Uncle Clyde as Jack strolled out to the car surrounded by the girls and two small boys on the old running boards.
“Howdy dere, Bowen,” the driver yelled.
“Wahll if’n it ain’t dat mule thief, Bro Kane.”
The girls laughed more; their soft and syrupy drawls oozed over the heavy evening air as the sky glowed pink and violet and above trees to the east, twilight was promised by the gleam of a full moon on a pale bluepurple horizon.
“I’m goin’ down ta the mill with Jack tomorrow, Aunt Bessie,” Dandy said.
“Okay, son,” the old woman answered.
“Wha’ ya say, Dandy?” the old man asked.
“I’m goin ta try an’ get on at da mill, Uncle Clyde.”
“Shssucks … who you tryin’ ta fool, boy? You don’t wan’ta work.”
“Ain’t none of your business, Clyde,” Aunt Bess said.
“Oh, dammit, Bessie! I don’t care what he does but he better know he’s gon’na work when he’s on mah crew.
I don’t play no favorites.”
“We know you don’t play favorites, Clyde,” the woman said. “You’d work your mama to death if that white man wanted ya.”
“NOW LISSEN HERE, BESSIE!”
Dandy went out the door and over to the car. Jack sat in the front next to the driver and the remainder of the group stood by the windows.
“Howdy dere, Dandy,” the driver said.
“Hi, Junior.”
“What’s goin’ on with you, Dandy?”
“Wahll, I guess I’ll be workin’ with you guys startin’ tomorrow.”
Excitement rose with everyone having something to add about Dandy’s decision. Finally, Marie Ann went into the house, soon followed by Ida.
“Ain’t you boys goin’ ta choir rehearsal?” Dandy asked.
“Yeah, we goin’ as soon as Ida gits ready. Shucks, she’s been out hare makin’ eyes at Junior Kane hare an’ makin’ us late.”
Junior was a sun-darkened wiry boy in his late teens. He spoke with a coarse accent and laughed a lot.
“Stop dat fibbin’,” Jack said. “You knows Marie Ann has got Junior all staked out.” Dandy saw Jack wink at him from behind Junior Kane’s head. Junior broke into a great grin and showed tobacco-stained teeth.
“But Bo!” one of the little boys protested.
“Shut up! Don’t let me hear anything ’bout nobody flirtin’ wit’ Marie Ann’s boyfriend.”
“Here she comes.”
Ida came out of the house wearing a red full-length coat. The hue heightened her bright skin and caused her teeth to flash within the scarlet-smeared mouth. She waved at Aunt Bessie through the kitchen-door window and turned toward the car and her admirers.
“See you, Junior,” she said and waved. “See you when I git home, Dandy and Bo.” She hurried down the drive. “Come on, you little boys,” she called while the two pups wagged their ends behind her heels.
“I’ll race ya to Ida, Fatso.”
“Oooo, man, we better catch her before she gets by the cemetery, or Aunt Bess will get on us.”
And the boys were gone down the drive, laughing and squealing to the mingled barking of the dogs and the threatening yells of Ida.
Dandy opened the rear door and crawled in the back.
“Want a cigarette, Dandy?” Junior offered.
“Wow, a Raleigh!”
“Yeah, I save the coupons.”
The radio played country music.
Rocks are mah cradle … da cole ground’s mah bed … da highway’s mah home and I’s might as well be dead …
Night came soon and the lights shone from the kitchen window and upstairs in Marie Ann’s room. From under the seat Junior pulled four quarts of beer and opened each with a minimum of fizzing and handed Jack and Dandy one bottle.
“Ohhheee, Kane, you’re really goin’ ta do it tonight, boy,” Jack said.
“Them sisters of mine have got some home brew ready and we might as well git primed.”
Marie Ann came out of the house wearing fresh short shorts and a white blouse outlining her young breasts.
“Ya ready ta go, Marie?” Junior asked as she got in the back of the car next to Dandy.
“Nawh, I didn’t go ta choir meetin’ and I better not go with yawhl.”
“Why not, Marie? Jack will be dere.” Junior handed her the last quart of beer and she peered into the kitchen window to see if the old folks sat at the table. Aunt Bess and Uncle Clyde were in the front of the house; they sat in their bedroom off of the living room or watched television. Marie sipped at the beer. “Damn, this is good.” She leaned her elbows across the top of the front seat and placed her head between the half-turned heads of her brother and her boyfriend, Junior Kane.
“Sho gits dark quick around here,” she said.
And night was outside, enclosing the blackened car as the pitter patter of the returning dogs’ feet came from the road, and the cricket music and an occasional pig’s oink and a drowsy duck quacked at the dark, while the white summer moon swung up into the black, starpierced southern heavens, and the stars that no city lights dimmed, winked as if they too had secrets.
Wha ain’t ya out’in da forest fighten’ dose grea’ big ole grizzly bears?
I’s a lady!
Dey got lady bears out dere.
“Dandy, you’ll like it down the mill,” Jack said.
“Ya sho will, boy,” Junior Kane said. “Mr. Harvey Wentley’s sho nice ta git along wit’.”
“I’m sho glad you goin’, Dandy,” Marie Ann teased. “Get real tired ah seein’ yo face ’round here all the time.”
Dandy’s hand moved across the seat and caressed her bare legs; she flinched but took another sip of beer. Dandy had his bottle between his knees and drew on one of the cigarettes he took from Junior.
“Ya gonna buy me one of them great big straw hats when ya git paid, Dandy?” Marie asked.
