He then began to force his way through the crowd, sensing that he was taking a chance on making a fool of himself but yielding to his excitement and to his desire to hurt the Buzzer, slipping around larger people, using his small size to advantage, pulling Judith along with him, willing to risk missing some fun for a chance to get into the fun, and reaching the cleared circle with the next taunt.
“Come on, big, gentle woooooman, save us, save our souls, make us gentle and you tell us what to do instead of men,” Mr. Jenson said, the sun spinning off his red hair as he turned and waited for the crowd’s laughter.
There were a few smiles, but shadows hollowed Mrs. Jenson’s face and she held tightly to Jenson, who raised his cup and took a very long drink; and only Aaron laughed and, laughing, caught Mr. Jenson’s attention, and Mr. Jenson said it again, and Aaron laughed again, laughed to enjoy himself, laughed with the expectation that he would get a chance to say something, too, laughed until the Buzzer, sputtering with anger, shouted:
“Shut up! Youuuuuu white trash bastaud!”
Mr. Jenson cleared the circle before him with a swift spread of his arms and stepped into it with a soundless laugh, seemingly frozen and silenced by the same cruelty which frosted his blue eyes.
But Mrs. Wiley hopped in front of the Buzzer and stopped him on his first step, poked her face to within an inch of his, mirrored his widely spaced eyes with hers, and spoke to him with his mouth:
“Undouble you fist, boy. You doin’ like he doin’, an’ you both wrong. Both meeen an’ cruuu-el. Meeen an’ cruuu-el like all men, wantin’ to strike out … strike!”
“Stop ’im or I spank ’im!” Mr. Jenson taunted, his belly shaking, and spittle foamed on the Buzzer’s lips as he tried to step around his mother; and Jenson shoved through the circle, next to his father, crushing the paper cup in his fist; and a thrill coursed through Aaron, for he hoped Jenson would slug the Buzzer and start a fight which would spread all over the lawn and involve all the visitors and all the boys; but Mrs. Wiley threatened to stop it before it started for she shook the Buzzer’s shirt and warned him:
“Did you hear what I say, boy? Boy, get that meen-ness out o’ you heart an’ stop starin’ at that man or I whip on you an’ I whip on you now!”
Her fingers dug furrows in the Buzzer’s cheeks as she twisted his head around and forced him to look at her, while Aaron watched the duel of eyes in a fascinated hush.
The Buzzer blinked … blinked again. Rings of white turned bloodshot.
His eyelids closed and she let him lower his head, and the ridge of muscular flesh at the base of his skull spread into his arched neck; and Judith’s held breath blew over Aaron with warm relief but caught again at Mrs. Wiley’s new command:
“Kneel down!”
The Buzzer’s body snapped into rigid attention and began to tremble, but he wouldn’t obey, but so thoroughly transfixed Aaron that Judith couldn’t turn him aside, although she dug her nails into his arm.
“Kneel!”
The trembling became worse.
“Kneel, I say,” Mrs. Wiley said and pursed her lips.
“I say kneel!” she said and slapped the Buzzer, and the sound seemed to ricochet off every wincing face around Aaron and lingered in his ears even as the Buzzer let out a long groan of misery and anger but let himself be shoved to his knees, let his lumped buttocks rest upon his heels, let his chin lean upon his chest.
Aaron began to weave from side to side and shift his weight with little half-steps, as if he were searching for an opening in the circle through which he could leave, but unable to spare a second’s attention from what was occurring before him, found himself hemmed in, trapped by his own gluttony, trapped by Mrs. Wiley, who placed her hand upon the Buzzer’s head and closed her eyes and began to pray.
“Gentle Jesus, fo’give this here boy fo’ his tra-gre-shun agin’ his mutha. Fo-give ’im. He be filled with the hate an’ meeen-ness o’ men, an’ he not strong enough to o-va-whe-elm his mos’ sinful heart. Fo’give ’im, Lord. Fo’give ’im. Fo’give ’im. Fo’give ’im. Fo’give ’im.”
She kept repeating the phrase to the sky above her, swaying backward and forward and forward and backward, blubbery-necked, bristly-haired, but lulling Aaron, with her rising and falling and mumbling chant, into a hypnotic trance, in which he was not aware that he was swaying with her and that his lips were working as if he were chanting, too.
“Fo’give ’im—Fo’give ’im—Fo’give ’im—Fo’give ’im—Fo’give ’im—Fo’—”
“Heyyy!” Big Stoop bellowed across the lawn, and Aaron ducked, then backed into Judith as the big man strode to the crowd, followed by two suntanned guards.
“What the hell’s going on here?”
“Mista’ Po-leese, we prayin’. Ev-vury-bawdy prayin’ fo’ thee Lord to fo’give mah son his cruu-el an’ meeen-ness heart. We prayin’ fo’ you, too, Mista’ Po-leese.”
“You’re what? Praying for me? Break it up!” Big Stoop said and began shoving people aside, forcing his way through the crowd to her, to Aaron, who cringed, sure to be blamed, too, and who became totally bewildered when Big Stoop reached the clearing and was blocked by the Buzzer. For he was both for and against Big Stoop and for and against the Buzzer. He wanted both of them to win and both of them to lose.
“Back to your dormitory,” Big Stoop said; and the Buzzer’s face became a mournful black, but he refused to move; and Big Stoop shoved him and made him stumble, but he recovered his balance and stopped.
“Move!” Big Stoop commanded.
And the Buzzer took spiritless, waddling steps through the crowd, between two parked cars, across the road, and into the compound, where he looked out through the fence, almost lost in the line of curious boys who were pressing against it.
“Now on your way, lady, and if you want to see your son again, there won’t be any more of this prayer meeting stuff. Get moving.”
But Mrs. Wiley, who was shorter and squatter but almost as heavy as Big Stoop, ignored the order and her husband’s tugs at her coat, and gave her own warning:
“You better har-kun to thuh Word, Mista’ Po-leese, or you end up burnt black as Hell.”
“Get out of here,” Big Stoop ordered again.
But Mrs. Wiley knocked her husband’s hand away and closed her eyes and uptilted her face and cried out:
“Lord! Gentle Jesus, give me thuh pow-wa to suffa’ this fo’ you,” then dropped heavily on her knees and pleaded: “Kneel. Kneel down, Mista’ Po-leese, while you still got time. Don’ end in thuh flames o’ Hell. Kneel an’ pray. Kneel an’ pray.”
And Aaron began to side-step around her, his eyes fixed on the deep ruts which circled her black eyes, the cheek lines grooved into her sweating face, and the heavy lips which cried:
“Kneel. Kneel down, Mista’ Po-leese-man, or thuh Dev-vil get you soul, get you soul, get you soul.”
Aaron then covered his mouth with trembling hands to stifle his laughter while Judith giggled and Mr. Jenson’s belly shook with silent mirth and Jenson grinned with the crowd.
“I’m warning you lady,” Big Stoop warned but his voice died away:
“Get … out … of … here.…”
Splotches of tiny veins spread over his cheeks and cap brims cast masking shadows over the tense eyes of the two guards, and the boys in the compounds climbed the fences and stood on benches and porch roofs for a better view.
Aaron thrilled as her voice rose into a long, moaning wail:
“Ooooooooooooooooooooh!” then broke with a staccato shout:
“Jesus is dead! Jesus is dead! Jesus is dead! Kneel-kneel-kneel!” to her tugs at Big Stoop’s trouser leg and, then, rose again: “Ooooooooooooooooooooh!”
And Aaron sneezed laughs through his cupped hands and Judith giggled and Mr. Jenson laughed soundlessly and laughter rumbled up from the compounds and over the crowd and Big Stoop grabbed Mrs. Wiley under an arm and tried to lift her.
“Goddamnit! Get out of here!”
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But she held on to his trouser leg, crouched into a black hump, and Big Stoop couldn’t lift her and all the guys in the compounds cheered and kept on cheering.
A guard wrapped his tan fingers around her hand and tried to pull it away from Big Stoop’s khakis, and failed, and tried to jerk it loose, and failed, then started twisting her wrist, bunching the khakis over her hand, pulling them so far down that Big Stoop had to hitch them up by the belt once and then twice again; he waved irritably at the guard to stop, hitched his pants up a final time with brisk dignity, and motioned to the guard to help him.
But she squatted down when both men grabbed her under the arms and lifted together, straining until their faces were red, but failed to move her and gave up; and Aaron joined in the tremendous cheer that went up from all the boys in all the compounds and from all the boys and most of the visitors on the lawn. And he cheered louder when Big Stoop poked a long arm at the compounds and started to shout an order, but she suddenly straightened out of her crouch and screamed:
“Yi-yi-yi-yi-yi! Jesus is dead-dead-dead! Yi! Jesus! Yi-yi-yi!” and threw her Bible at the guard and grabbed Big Stoop’s crotch with both hands and kept shouting: “Jesus is dead! Jesus is dead! Jesus is dead!”
And Big Stoop yelled: “Jesus Keeeeeeeeeerist!” and clamped his legs together and dropped into a semi-squat and staggered backward, clawing at her fingers, and the guard threw his arms around her waist and tugged on her and the other guard started shoving the crush of people back.
Then Aaron leaped and cheered when Big Stoop, trying to get free, pulled one way and the guard pulled the other way and her huge black body was stretched between them, but still moaning:
“Ooooooooooh! Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!” while Big Stoop shouted:
“Jesus—Christ—let—go!” and she repeated:
“Ooooooooooh! Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!” and Big Stoop yelled:
“Jesus—letgo—letgo!”
But Aaron stopped cheering when she kicked the guard away, sent him stumbling backward into the other guard, and jerked down on Big Stoop’s crotch and dropped him to his knees and stunned the crowd into total silence, for in that incredible moment, Aaron saw himself standing above both the hated man and the Buzzer’s mother, saw them below him, locked in combat, wrestling on the lawn in front of all the boys in the institute and all their visitors.
Big Stoop broke the silence with a yelping cry: “Yi-yi-yi-yi-yi!” and threw himself backward and dug his heels into the grass, trying to scoot away, but dragged her huge body between his legs and anchored himself and thrashed about with a purple face and then screamed:
“Jeeeeeeeesus! Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerist! Leggo-leggo-leggo!” and she moaned:
“Oooooooooooooooooooooh!” and rocked between his thrashing legs and held on and gripped tighter, although both guards pulled at her arms; and when the crowd began to shout and all the boys in the compounds cheered, Aaron began to hop and dance and clap his hands and shout encouragement and instructions to her; and when the tangle of khaki backs and black patches and arms and legs and gaping mouths got so entangled he couldn’t tell who was who and who was where, he began to shout and scream for all of them and for none of them, just to shout and just to scream; but Judith appeared and her arms kept trying to hold him still and her hand kept trying to shut his mouth and her voice kept trying to calm him and her face kept trying to block his view; and he pushed her out of the way, while still hopping and still screaming, so he could search for Big Stoop in the heap below him, and see him shout:
“Goddamnit! Jesus Christ! Goddamnit! Jesus Christ!” and see Mrs. Wiley while she moaned:
“Ooooooooooooooooooooh!” and see Big Stoop shout:
“Yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi-yi!”
Then Big Stoop swung one hand high behind him and brought it down across her face with a slap that catapulted her completely over his leg and onto her back, a slap that echoed into the courtyards of the compounds and silenced them, a slap that petrified Aaron with disappointed shock, his mouth still open but silent, his arms still in the air but motionless, arms that drooped slowly down to his sides with the long rising disappointed “Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww” from the compounds.
Then Aaron saw, or thought he saw, Mrs. Wiley lift her sweating head like a decked fighter, jaw slack, eyes spinning, and rock helplessly from side to side, trying to get to her feet.
And Aaron thought he saw Big Stoop, plum-colored with humiliation, stand, straighten painfully out of a crouch, brush off his khakis with two simultaneous swipes of his hands, erase the pain from his face with a stern expression, point at the screen door and command:
“To the office, Goddamnit! To the office! The office!”
“Mama! Mama! Oh, Mama!” cried the Buzzer and he ran out of the compound, jumped the fender of a car, charged across the lawn, pushed through the crowd, tried to throw himself at Big Stoop and, then, struggled with both guards, who locked his arms behind him and marched him to the office behind a limping Big Stoop and Mrs. Wiley, supported between her husband and her zoot-suited son.
Aaron thought he heard hushed laughter spreading over the lawn after the group had passed into the office, and thought he saw all the arms waving as the boys in the compounds formed cheering circles around other boys wrestling mock battles; and the noise grew louder and louder and louder, but he stayed in the very center of the circle as the sounds and sights whirlpooled around him, alone in his hysteria as Judith shook him by his arm, her lips making sounds he couldn’t hear, her eyes growing murky and dark as a storm sky, then, suddenly, brightening into wide scared circles with the prolonged blast of the whistle.
II
Heat hung like an unhappy memory of the hot day about Aaron and all the quiet boys in the darkened courtyard. It dimmed the glitter of stars above him, clouded the color of the dormitory walls, dulled the black asphalt, blurred the cricket chant, and deadened the few dormitory sounds which filtered with weak light through the screen door onto the porch where he stood between Dominic and Jenson. For there were no noisy circles of conversation behind him. There was no laughter, no click of dominoes, and little movement.
It seemed to Aaron that each boy, whether standing, sitting, or lying on his bed, was as worn out by the wild scene on the lawn as he, himself, was. And it seemed to him that each boy was locked in his own skull, reliving, like himself, the memories of his visit: the good greeting, which hurt, was bad because it was lost and only a memory now; the bad moment of goodby, which was good because it was a memory of a visit which could now be relived; or, wishing, maybe like Dominic, that he had enjoyed a visit; still suffering over the wasted day, which could have been the best day, a suffering doubled because he could not blot out the visits of the lucky guys, or suffering, maybe, like himself, because he had wasted his lucky visit on the wild scene.
The whistle’s blast had blown away his bewilderment and the stark blue of the eyes before him had revived him, but they had to part. For Big Stoop had cut short the visiting hours with the shattering static of the loud-speaker, with his rush from the office, with his stalking about, with his shouting, with his shoving, and with his shooing away of the visitors.
In the confusion of that mass departure—the slamming of car doors, the roaring of motors, the thin clouds and harsh smells of exhaust fumes, the grinding of gears, the shouts of farewell—Aaron had walked with Judith down to the compound gate, where, regretting the blurred and wasted minutes lost on the lawn battle, he had tried to prolong each final moment, tried to notice and drain it of every possible sensation: the moisture of her hand, the pressure of her bust against the blouse, the faint odor of her face cream when he leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips, too shy to embrace her since there was no declaration of love between them, but tried to stretch out, relish, and even show off for the guys watching this visit, his visit, a visit from a pretty girl, which was only a second from being over.
Barbed wire and watchtowers trapped him on the institute grounds now. Low com
pound buildings surrounded him. Jenson and Dominic stood on both sides of him. He was in jail, and he had wasted in hysterical excitement a visit from a girl who liked him and who was his only touch with the outs. He had wasted the only proof he really had that the outs was there, did exist, streets and buildings, family and friends, and that it included some space, some thoughts, some feelings, and even love for him. It was a waste which tortured his pride and tainted with shame and regret what should have been pleasant if nostalgic thoughts.
“She looked pretty in that blue outfit, didn’t she?” Dominic said, guessing Aaron’s thoughts, speaking to the courtyard, his cheek as smooth and soft as Aaron’s in the soft light from the screen door.
“Yeah,” Aaron answered, distracted by Dominic’s perception, noticing for the first time how many shadowy figures stood quietly along the horseshoe-shaped porch, but convinced that she had become prettier.
“You’re lucky. Hold onto that girl. She’s gonna help you do this time.”
“Huh?”
“She’s gonna help you do this time, man,” Dominic said, irritably. “When it gets so bad, when you feel so miserable, beaten down and lonely you wantta commit suicide, she’s gonna be the reason you won’t. She’s gonna come and see you, maybe write a letter, just plain be outside there, waiting, and you’re gonna be able to make it. Pay attention to me, man. You know I don’t like broads. But I’ve had a few, a few too many, and I figure I know a good one when I see her.”
There was a sharp pitch of resentment in Dominic’s voice, sharpened, it seemed to Aaron, by the rim of light that edged his collar and cut across his darkened throat. But Aaron was grateful to Dominic for dropping his bitter pose and for the words, which created an image of Judith that was etched in flawless outlines: the plump face became a perfect oval. Plain blue eyes glowed like luminous orbs. Surprisingly full breasts topped a curvaceous figure, and the straight legs swelled from slim ankles into graceful calves.
Tattoo the Wicked Cross Page 14
