The Day of Small Things

by Vicki Lane

  Francine is standing there, leaning on the doorframe. For a minute I have a wild idea that she might help me, but even as I look at her, she reads my thoughts and shakes her head.

  “Can’t do it, Redbird; me and Lo ain’t got our stake yet.”

  She comes in and sets by me on the bed, then, after a minute, she puts out her hand and pats me on the shoulder. “Sorry, kiddo,” she says, sticking a cigarette in the corner of her mouth, “but remember I told you we don’t always get our druthers.” And she does look sorry but she strikes a match, takes a drag on the cigarette, and goes on with what she come for.

  “Now,” she says, all business-like. “You and me know you ain’t a virgin, but whichever one of them fellers ends up with you will expect to be busting cherry. And it’s up to you to make him think that’s what’s happening.”

  She reaches in her pocket and pulls out a Ponds Cold Cream jar. Only when she opens it, I see there is a little sponge all soaked with red.

  “Fake blood,” Francine says, like it is the most natural thing in the world. “Me and Lola got some at a special shop in Chicago and we put it to good use, traveling here. I got to be a virgin three times but she beat me by one.

  “All you do,” she says screwing the top back on, “is tell your feller you need to use the pot, and while you’re behind the curtain, just shove the sponge up in there. Then, after you get down to business, you do your best to carry on like he’s too big and he’s splitting you in two. When he’s done, you make a big noise about how wonderful it was and how it was worth the pain. At least, that’s what you say if you’re looking for any kind of tip. It’s what I always do.”

  She stands up and goes over to the curtain that hangs across one corner of the room. “I’ll leave this jar here by the pot where it’ll be handy.”

  I am staring out the window and watching the man with two grips. He is setting under a big tree, maybe waiting for a ride somewhere. Then he takes off his hat to wipe his forehead with a big red handkerchief and I see that it is Mr. Aaron.

  Francine comes back and sets down again. “Bird, it ain’t nothing to worry about—it’s just fucking without the loving. Same tune, different words.” She throws her arm around me. “Cheer up, doll—want me to bring you a soda pop?”

  “No, thank you kindly,” I say, picking up her hand and putting a kiss on it. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Francine, and I’ll not forget.”

  I can tell by the sound that there is a mighty big crowd gathered in the room below. All the other girls have already clattered down the stairs and there is music playing and loud talking and laughing. The dance down is set for ten and the alarm clock Francine lent me says that it is nine-thirty. I look out the window one more time and see that Mr. Aaron is still setting there.

  The man’s clothes Francine wore for the tango were too big for me but I had hemmed up the trousers and turned the cuffs of the jacket inside the sleeve. I hated that I was stealing from her, but I left her four dollars in the box where I’d found the suit.

  I take the brown shoe polish I hooked from Sharleen’s things and begin to brush it through my hair, watching in the mirror. It’s hard to be sure in the dim lamplight but it looks to me as if I have covered up the red. I had cut it short a little earlier, after Francine left, and now I part it to one side and comb it till I look like a real dude. I use a little of the shoe polish on my eyebrows too.

  The room below is still loud with music and, judging that my moment is near, I blow out the oil lamp and head for the stairs.

  It is easier than I’d thought it would be. There is a great knot of men at the foot of the steps but they are so busy pointing out to one another which fellers will be in the dance down and making their wagers that they don’t even turn to look as I shoulder past them, mumbling low that I need to take a piss.

  There is a few more setting on the edge of the porch and one of them hollers at me to come have a sup of whisky.

  “Thanks,” I say, remembering to pitch my voice deep, “but I got to get some air,” and I keep on moving down the steps and towards the big tree where the dark shape is waiting.

  The smell of the big old boxwoods that line the path make me think of home and I go on walking, half expecting that there could be something inside them that will jump out and get me. But nothing stirs till I reach the big tree and speak to the man setting there.

  “Mr. Aaron,” I say, not bothering to lower my voice, “I hoped you’d wait.”

  The man in the dark clothes stands up and my heart sinks as his smell reaches me.

  “And who might you be? The Jew’s fancy-boy? Traveling in ladies’ undergarments, if I don’t miss my guess.”

  He laughs a fat satisfied laugh. “No point hanging around, Jewboy. I told Aaron what I’m telling you: Move on.”

  And he lays back one side of his suit jacket to show the sheriff star, shining silver on his vest.

  Chapter 27

  At the Injun Grave

  Gudger’s Stand, 1938

  I stand there frozen with fear for what seems like half a lifetime. High Sheriff Hudson is looking down at me and laughing. He don’t act as if he suspicions aught, so I mumble something and start to walk away—where to, I don’t know. Just then the headlights of a vehicle coming down the road sweep across my face.

  “Hold up there,” the sheriff growls. “I want a closer look at you,” and his big old hand wraps around my arm and pulls me back.

  I try to turn away from him but he grabs my chin and pulls my face around. He leans down, staring puzzled-like, and the smell of burning and rot and whisky is strong in my nose. His eyebrows are working up and down as he studies me. The light from the vehicle passes off but he goes on staring. Then, slow and deliberate, he pulls open my suit jacket and feels of my chest.

  “I be goddamn,” he whispers and rips open my shirt. “Looks like the bird is trying to fly the coop. But I believe I can find a cage for you. I’ll enjoy you a time and then …”

  I know him then for a Raven Mocker like Granny Beck had told of and start to holler but my mouth is dry with fear and only a little croak come out. He laughs, and while I am trying to work up a scream, he pulls out a big old bandana handkerchief from his pocket and wads it into my mouth. Then he picks me up with one arm and begins to carry me over towards the big rocks they call the Injun Grave. I kick and struggle and try to spit out the bandana that is gagging me, but he don’t pay no more mind than a daddy carrying a naughty child.

  “Oh, Redbird Ray, I’ve got you now,” he whispers, and the fingers of his free hand are busy at my clothing. “Won’t do you no good to scream or get away nohow. You think any of them up there would lift a finger to help you? Your boss, him that you’re trying to run out on? Or all them fellers who been spending their money in the dance downs, just in hopes of getting first chance with you? Maybe you think some of the girls—”

  He stops talking and cocks his head. There is a big commotion up at the Stand and I figure they must have found that I am gone, but though the sheriff casts a glance up that way, he just keeps walking.

  On the far side of the rocks, he drops me down in the grass. Holding me with one hand around my neck, he fumbles with my trouser buttons. I kick and wiggle, trying to get free, but he hits me in the face and then tightens his hold on my throat. I might as well be a mouse, held by a giant cat.

  As his mouth and fingers move over my body, prying, biting, twisting, hurting, I think of trying to use the Gifts and Powers, but with the gag in my mouth I can’t sing the Calling Song nor say the spells. If Granny could hear me … and I send my thoughts after her but I guess I am too far from her resting place.

  I seek in my mind for Nancy Goingsnake—if this is her grave, might be she would help her great-great-granddaughter. My thoughts go wandering, leaving my poor body in the grass, and now I am two people. One is a helpless, naked squirming thing held down and tormented by the sheriff; the other is a spirit, wandering through a lonely spirit world, a world that is
empty but for shadows that swirl and dance around me.

  But if Nancy Goingsnake was ever in this place, she ain’t now. With a jolt my spirit self is back in the white twisting body and I am struggling to breathe. My nose is filled with blood from when he hit me and I am choking on the gag. There is a roaring in my head and the noise up at the Stand grows louder. The sheriff stops what he was doing and puts up his head to listen.

  “I believe they’re feeling cheated of their prize, Redbird. Kind of the way I felt when you wouldn’t go upstairs with me,” he says and reaches to undo his own trouser buttons. “And now I’m gonna break you in good, you little cock tease. When I’m done, maybe I’ll let those fellers up there have my leavings. Reckon you won’t be so choicey after this.”

  And he is on me again, tearing at my breasts with his teeth and pushing my legs apart with his knees, when all at once there is a sound like an axe hitting a big log and the sheriff lets out a great Uuhhh and falls against me. I am most crushed with the weight of him but he just lays there, not moving. Then I feel him sliding off me to one side and I look up to see Mr. Aaron holding what must be an axe handle.

  “Your face—the blood,” he says and puts out a hand, then draws it back like he don’t want to touch me. “Are you hurt bad?”

  I set up and pull out the gag, using it to daub at my face. I take a deep breath and the damp night air is a healing wonder to me.

  “It’s just a nosebleed,” I tell him. “I ain’t bad hurt.”

  Mr. Aaron turns his back on me and says, “Then get your clothes on and hurry. The sheriff isn’t dead and we have to be on our way before he wakes up.”

  Mr. Aaron’s voice is just as calm as if this ain’t nothing new to him, and I make haste to do like he says. The teddy that I had on is all ripped to shreds and most of the buttons is popped loose from the shirt but I pull it closed and then get the trousers and suit coat back on.

  “I thought he was you—” I start to say but, still not looking at me, Mr. Aaron raises one hand. His voice trails over his shoulder, low and steady as he sets off walking.

  “No talking; my automobile is here. This way.”

  I follow him from behind the big rocks and across the field to where a black automobile is standing. I wonder was it the same one that shone its headlights on me and then I wonder at Mr. Aaron having such a vehicle but I stay quiet like he told me.

  And when we are closer and I see a black man step out of the car and open the back door for me, I still don’t say nothing, just climb in and lean back on the seat. It seems my life is changing yet again.

  Mr. Aaron climbs into the front seat beside the driver. He twists around and hands me a flask over the seat. “Drink this,” he says, “all of it.”

  Somehow I don’t question; just do as he says, and the drink slides down my throat strong as fire and sweet as mountain honey. The car starts and heads up the road, past the Stand, where I can see people swarming over the porches and all around. There are folks with battery flashlights roaming around in the dark, shining them into those big boxwoods and everywhere I ain’t. I see the boss on the front steps, waving his arms and hollering.

  And then we are around the curve and on the road climbing above the Stand house and I look down and all the people get smaller and smaller as we move farther and farther away. The bobbing flashlights look like so many big lightning bugs and then we take another curve and they blink out.

  “That should be the last you’ll see of Gudger’s Stand,” says Mr. Aaron. “It’d not be wise for you to cross its threshold again—not for a very long time.”

  “Mr. Aaron,” I say, with the boldness the drink has put into me, “when the snow flies, I got to go back—not to Gudger’s Stand, but across the river and back up to Dark Holler. I got to—”

  “You have an appointment with your young man; I know,” he says, “but that’s some months away. Will you trust me to arrange it for you? I can send Rafe with the auto to transport you when the time comes.”

  I am so wore out, with the week of dance downs and the struggle with the sheriff, that it ain’t in me to argue. I lay back against the seat and watch the side of the road slide by—dark woods and fields with every now and then a sleeping house and its barns and outbuildings. There is lamplight shining at the window in one of the houses and I wonder why—a sick child? A husband not come home yet?

  The driver tilts his head towards the house with the lamp, and as if he’d been asked some question, Mr. Aaron says, “After we get this child settled.”

  “How do you know the sheriff ain’t killed?” I ask. “And even if he ain’t, there’s like to be trouble.”

  The car is turning off the main road down a narrow track to the right. Mr. Aaron swings around to face me.

  “There are some useful things to be learned in a long life,” says he, “and one is how to kill or not kill with a blow. Another lesson learned is the power of a strong man’s vanity. High Sheriff Hudson won’t be telling the story of what happened tonight. Nonetheless, you will do well to stay clear of him and the Stand and all its denizens till your appearance is very much altered. And that’s why I’m leaving you here—Miss Inez and Miss Odessa will take good care of you till your appointment at snow fly.”

  We have stopped in the narrow road between a house on the left and a barn and some sheds on the right. In this house too an oil lamp is in the window. Mr. Aaron gets out and pulls open the door.

  “This is the place,” he says. “I’ve taken a room for you and you’ll be safe here till your young man comes back.”

  I think of how I look, dressed in a man’s suit and it all bloody and torn, my hair full of shoe polish, my nose—and I touch it careful, feeling it all swole and crusted with dried blood.

  “Mr. Aaron,” I say, looking towards the porch of the house. There in the pale light of the waning moon I see two women. They have long robes wrapped around them and they stand still as stone. “What will they think? And how can I pay—I have some put by but it ain’t much—”

  He waves his hand back and forth like he was shooing off my words. “The Misses Henderson are excellent women—they don’t ask questions and they know how to keep a secret. As for payment, Miss Inez would be glad of help in the house and the kitchen. They occasionally take boarders and have just one now—a quiet-living Presbyterian who has never set foot in that place you’ve just left.”

  He beckons me out of the automobile and I hobble after him up to the porch. I am burning and aching all over and my nose, which feels like it is the size of a mush-melon, is throbbing. Every step I take hurts me. I wish I could go hide myself in the woods but it is too late, the sisters have seen me and are hurrying down to take me by the arms and help me up the steps. It is easier going with them on either side of me and for a moment I wonder why it is that, kind as he is, Mr. Aaron had never offered to take my hand, not to help me off the ground nor out of the car.

  But the thought vanishes as the sisters, clucking like a pair of hens, bustle me around to a side door and into the house.

  Chapter 28

  Odessa and Inez

  Dewell Hill, 1938

  The sisters are called Odessa and Inez and I reckon it was them Granny Beck was telling me would keep me safe—not Francine and Lola. Odessa is twenty-six years of age and works at the Dewell Hill Mercantile. Inez is some younger and she will tell you that she does all the work at home. She has bad headaches some of the time and it is good that I am there to help for they is always a world of things to keep up with. But in the evenings we set on the porch and Inez picks her guitar while we sing or we all play Pollyanna which is a game the sisters have taught me. I am learning to cook all kinds of things that Mama never had time for like corn pudding and Jell-O. Jell-O is the most fun to eat and I like it almost as good as the Popsicles Odessa brings from the store.

  From that very first night they have been awful kind to me—taking me in and not asking one question, not about my ripped and dirty clothes, nor why I was wea
ring a man’s suit nor nothing.

  “This young lady’s name is Birdsong,” Mr. Aaron said as we all went into the big kitchen on the bottom floor of the house. “And she’s in need of sanctuary—as well as your dressmaking skills, Miss Inez and Miss Odessa.” And he made a little bow to each of them.

  The two didn’t turn a hair. “They’re asleep upstairs,” the smaller of the two women said, “and when we heard you were coming, Inez and I waited out on the porch so as to bring you in this way. Down here we don’t have to worry about waking Mama.”

  They pulled out a chair from the big kitchen table for me to set down. The big one studied me hard and then, without a word, went and got a dishtowel. She ran some cold water from the sink on it before she come over and handed it to me.

  “Lay that against your nose,” says she. “It’ll help to bring the swelling down.”

  I knowed I was a sight on earth, my face all smeared with blood and shoe polish, and the men’s clothes I had on torn and dirty. But Miss Odessa just said, “I’ll get you one of my nightgowns and a robe. After Mr. Aaron leaves, you can get cleaned up a bit.”

  The one called Inez set a zinc tub on the floor, and after she had stirred up the coals in the woodstove, she slid a great big kettle over to where it would begin to heat. Mr. Aaron commenced to look uneasy-like and started to back towards the door.

  “A bath will be the very thing, don’t you agree, Miss Birdsong? And, as you are in good hands, I’ll make my farewells. Ladies, Miss Odessa, Miss Inez, my respects to your mother.”

  He pulled a long manila envelope from a pocket inside his coat and laid it on the kitchen table. “Four months’ room and board at the usual rate … and a bit extra for clothing and … ah … toiletries.”

  “Mr. Aaron,” I called out as he made for the door, “where are you going?” For all at once it seemed to me that I was losing the last link to who I had been. He had called me Birdsong and it suited me fine to leave Redbird Ray behind at the river, just as I had left Least. But it worried me to see him leave.