I WOKE UP INTERMITTENTLY during the day, looking out my window to check where we were. Names began to melt into one another—Eureka Springs, Fayetteville, Van Buren and Fort Smith and suddenly over into Oklahoma just at nightfall. Junior had found out the name of the town where Will Rogers had gone to school at a military academy and had been disappointed to learn we wouldn’t go anywhere near it.
“I just wanted to see a military school,” he confessed to me. “It has nothing to with Will Rogers.”
Dad is one of the world’s champion long-distance drivers and he set out to prove it that first day. We stopped only when it was necessary—eating sandwiches Mom had made up whenever we were hungry. Dad wanted to avoid as much as possible the roadside cabins and motor courts on the pretext that they were dirty, full of bedbugs, and just a waste of money. The latter point carrying the most weight. He drove steadily on through the night, our headlights picking up names of towns like Sallisaw, Eufaula, Welecta and Hanna. This first lap of our trip would establish the fact that I fall asleep the minute wheels roll underneath me and that Junior was undisputed co-pilot and navigator from the back seat. He too had finally fallen asleep against his checker board after repeating that we were to head for Holdenville and then take the first cut-off to Ada. It was a family joke that Mom’s brother and his wife got stuck in Ada on their first attempt to get to California because it was his wife’s name. Ada. That would be our first stop.
“And they’re probably right now at the second night of the revival meeting in the Mule Barn, singin’, shoutin’, praisin’ the lord and savin’ souls hand over fist,” Dad was saying. He and Mom talked quietly in the front seat, Mom keeping the conversation going by encouraging Dad to talk to keep himself awake. He had what he called his “eye-opener” in a half-pint bottle under his seat and a slug now and then from that really did seem to pep him up. We’ve done a lot of driving in the last four years or so and we all marvel that whisky and driving as far as Dad’s concerned mix beautifully. He could drive—and has many times—as much as twenty-four hours straight and swear he could keep right on going. But give him several drinks without a steering wheel in his hands to keep him steady and an endless highway stretching out in front of him and he’s glassy-eyed and repetitive—not to mention argumentative—before you knew what was happening. As long as the half-pint had something in it, he was all right. Mom teased that she didn’t know which was more important to the running of the car, gas or whisky.
“All of ’em,” Dad went on. “Practically my whole damned family. Beulah and Daisy and now Ed. I never thought I’d see the day that he’d be standin’ up in front of people and givin’ testimony about how the ‘Lord just come straight at me like a big red ball of fire’.” He raised his voice to imitate his brother.
Mom darted a look at the back seat, “Shh, Woody, the boys are sleeping.”
“Tots hasn’t had an eye open all day.” He chuckled softly. “Never saw anything like it. He’s dead on his feet. That Ronnie probably kept him awake all night telling his bullshit stories about Kansas City.” I swallowed hard and shifted my position slightly to hear better but still pretending sleep.
“He’s getting better,” Mom said so quietly I had to strain to hear. “Better looking too. Working on the farm will do him good.”
“That boy ain’t goin’ to have a easy row to hoe, I can tell you. Both of ’em has gone plumb crazy. Ed and Edweeena.” Dad always made fun of her name. “Religion’s got ’em both chasin’ their own tails. Milly, I swear I don’t hardly recognize my own brother any more. He’s acting plain silly. You remember how he was when he was married to Florence? Why they wasn’t a more dancin’, drinkin’, and havin’-a-good-time couple in the Ozarks than them two. You remember that dance him and …”
“He …”
“ … Florence give …”
“Gave …”
“… when they was livin’ on the old Slaughter place down on the creek bottom? That was one of the best dances I’as ever at.”
“I miss all those dances.” Mom’s voice had a faraway sound to it. “The good ones, that is. I didn’t think much of the ones that ended in fights. Like the one where you got hit between the eyes with a beer bottle.”
“Whoooeee. That was something, wasn’t it? Ed was there, too. Right in the middle of that knock-down-drag-out. Remember? I seen …”
“Saw …”
There was a dangerous pause. “Seen him stand up and get knocked down—oh lord, at least half-a-dozen times. He’as so drunk you couldn’t a hurt him with an axe.” They both laughed softly. “But look at him now. Wouldn’t say shit for fear it’d melt in his mouth. Jesus! I mean not sayin’ shit ain’t going to get you to heaven any faster than … well, whatever it is they’re doing that makes them think they are goin’ to have a free pass for the Pearly Gates.”
“Well, it makes them feel better.”
“Feel better? Sheee-it You know what he done …”
“Did …”
“Goddamnit, Milly, do you want to hear the story or are you goin’ to go on interruptin’ me?”
“Sorry, Woody. Second nature. School marm to my tippy toes.”
“What he done this mornin’? Ed?” He paused. “Was it only this morning? Seems like a long time ago already. A long way away.” Now Dad’s voice had the far away sound. “Anyway, when I picked up Totsy he hadn’t even had his breakfast. Said Ed wouldn’t let him set down at the table without no shirt on. How about that for pure horseshit? A ten-year-old kid can’t set down to eat breakfast in the kitchen, mind you, on a hot mornin’ without a shirt.” I could feel Dad take a quick look at us in the back seat. He lowered his voice even more. “He had Tots purt’near cryin’. Tots said he couldn’t put on the shirt ’cause it was dirty. Hell, we ain’t down here for no fashion parade. I seen the shirt. Had milk all over it. It was a mess. The boys had just been doin’ what me and Ed done all our lives—squirtin’ milk at each other when we’as a milkin’.” I couldn’t imagine Dad and Ed doing what Ronnie and I did after we finished the milking. I couldn’t imagine anybody doing it. I tried to erase the picture from my mind. I’m still trying.
“At least him and Ronnie had done the damned chores so’s they could all make fools of theirselves at the Mule Barn revival,” Dad continued. Milk wasn’t the only thing on that shirt. Ronnie’s face had fallen when he realized what he’d used to wipe us up. Poor Ronnie was saying, “I’m sorry, Tots,” when we went to sleep and he woke up saying it.
“What’d Ed say to Totsy?” Mom asked.
“Oh, some shit about respect for the name of the Lord and blessin’ this food and all that.”
“I mean, what did he say to you”
“He looked pretty damned sheepish knowin’ how I feel about— well, you know, about all that bein’ born again crap. Once is bad enough.” He snorted a soft laugh. “Anyway, Tots was on the back porch putting on his shoes. I guess bein’ barefooted is some kind of sin too. I could hear ’em in the kitchen finishin’ up sayin’ a grace that must of been a mile long and a yard wide. I don’t see that they got that much to be thankful for in the first place. Beulah was a’Amen-in’ so loud you could hear her in Blue Eye. And that early in the mornin’. I don’t know how they can stand it. What a asshole way to start the day. Why, I’d be a nervous wreck inside of a week.”
“Might even turn you to drinking.”
“Thought you’d never suggest it.” Dad produced the bottle and handed it to Mom who opened it and handed it back to Dad. Dad’s head did a little flip backward—not enough for him to take his eyes off the road for a second—gulped and held the bottle up for Mom to screw on the top. The bottle disappeared under Dad’s seat. They laughed easily and intimately. This was so private and secret that I felt ashamed to be listening. But it didn’t stop me. This was how they were when they were alone. When the times were good between them.
“So?”
“Where was I? Oh yeah. I stood there in the door and I guess I would s
till be standin’ there if I hadn’t finally said good mornin’ myself. ‘Good mornin’ all,’ I says. Very jolly, I was. Well, I said, ‘All washed in the blood of the lamb last night, eh? And drinkin’ the left-overs this mornin’?’ ”
Mom gasped. “Woody, you didn’t …”
He laughed. “Naw. Shit no, Milly. But I wanted to. I just wanted to make ’em feel as silly as they are.”
Mom was giggling. “Come on, Woody, what did you say?”
“Oh, just somethin’ about how good it had been to see ’em all— even if the reason wasn’t the happiest one—and that we’as hittin’ the road … you know, just makin’ noise and sayin’ goodbye. Then they all got up, hugs and kisses and shakin’ hands and good lucks and … oh, you know, Milly, a lot of sad-eyed looks and all that shit. All I wanted to do was get Totsy and get the hell out of there.” He handed Mom a packet of Spuds from his shirt pocket and she lighted a cigarette for him with a box of big kitchen matches, making her usual face of distaste and coughing slightly. I was now peeking at them through slitted eyelids. I hadn’t been in on this part of the morning’s events, I had gone straight to the car and got into my place in the back seat. Ronnie had followed me and stuck his head through the front window.
“Didn’t I tell you he was a clod? I’m sorry, Tots … about a lot of things. But Ed didn’t have to be so … tacky. About the shirt and everything. That was my fault…”
“It’s OK, Ronnie.” I wanted to make him smile, he was looking as downcast as if he were facing a prison term, but I couldn’t think of anything to say. We heard the back screen door slam and saw Dad headed for the car with all the relatives standing on the back porch, waving and calling to us. I waved and smiled.
Ronnie’s hand was on my shoulder, turning me to face him. “As soon as I can, Tots, I’ll come and find you.” He squeezed my shoulder and turned and ran toward the barn. Dad was in the car in one quick movement and we were in motion down the steep drive, turning into the main road practically on two wheels, roaring back through Oak Grove to pick up Junior and Mom.
“And I did,” Dad continued with smoke curling around the words. “I hit the road with my blood still boilin’. You know I couldn’t let it go. When I got out on the back porch, there by the milk separator, I could see Tots in the back of the car talking with Ronnie. He still didn’t have a shirt on and what the hell difference did it make, I thought. Ed was standin’ nearby and I pointed out to the car and Tots and said, ‘Well, Ed, there he is. Just look at him. Little half-naked heathen. I don’t know what the hell I’m goin’ to do with him.”
Mom was giggling, “You didn’t…”
“I sure as hell did. I said …” He took a puff of the cigarette and blew the smoke out leisurely. “I said, ‘Why, hell, Ed, that’s why were goin’ to California so I can get work to buy that poor little savage some clothes to hide his sinful nakedness. Get him sanitized, sanctified, sanforized, or even circumcized if it’ll lead him to the arms of the Lord …”
Mom was rolling around in her seat, trying to stifle her laughter, saying “Oh, Woody… you didn’t really. . . that’s too funny …”
I’d rolled over so that I could throw an arm over my face to hide my own giggles.
“That’s exactly what I said, Milly. If I hadn’t been so damned mad, I’d’a laughed myself. They’re all such fuckin’ hypocrites, Milly. Using the name of the Lord to cover up for their own mistakes and bad … well, behavior in the past … usin’ praying and carryin’ on to make their …” Dad paused for a split second and glanced at Mom, “themselves feel better. It don’t have nothin’ to do with the Christian spirit or livin’ a good Christian life. You don’t have to scream and make a damned fool of yourself in front of a lot of people who’ve just come to laugh at you mostly anyway. All you need to do is try to change your ways. Do it inside yourself.” Mom was scrabbling around under the front seat and came up with the bottle. Dad grinned at her. “Now what the hell are you up to?”
“Nothing. Go on.” She went about the business of opening the bottle slowly and deliberately.
“I mean, that wasn’t no way to treat my kid. Any kid. Hell, Milly we got us two good boys. The best. They’re goin’ to amount to something. I’m going to see that they do, by God. Why, Junior’s … He’s got something, Milly. I know it. He’s going to be somebody.” I was holding my breath. “And so’s Tots. He’s different, but he’s smart as a whip and he’ll…” Yeah, I thought. He’ll what? Just how different did he think I was? Am? I went on holding my breath. “He’ll make it. He’s small, but he’s tough. You’ll see. I keep thinkin’ that we’re doing the right thing for them … takin’ them where they’ll have opportunities that I… well, you, neither, really, didn’t have …”
“I’m waiting,” Mom said softly.
“Waiting?” She nodded meaning for him to go on. “I guess what I’m sayin’ is … is … that I’ve been wrong. And I know it. Knowed when I was doin’ it. Couldn’t stop myself. He rolled the window down and threw his cigarette butt out. “But I’m goin’ to try, Milly. I’ve got you and two fine boys. I can try …”
I couldn’t see, but I guessed Mom touched him on the leg as she turned toward him and leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Halleluljah, brother,” she said so quietly that I wasn’t sure that was what she’d said.
“What?”
“I said, Halleluljah, Brother.” She raised the bottle in the air. “You may not know it, but you’ve got religion.”
Dad threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, shit! Is that what I got?”
“Same as.”
“Well, I’ll be goddamned.’
“I’ll drink to that,” Mom said and took a slug from the bottle, something I’d never seen her do and I almost sat up in surprise.
We pulled into Ada just before sunup. There was a rosy glow in the sky and not a cat in the main road of this one-street town. Dad pulled into a firmly closed filling station, dropped his head back on the seat and promptly snored the rest of us awake. It was certainly his turn. He got in a good hour without moving before the front door of the service station was opened from the inside and a rumpled man in overalls came out, unlocked the gas pumps and started filling the big glass cylinders with the pink fuel that always reminded me of strawberry soda pop. His rhythmic movement on the handle didn’t change pace until the liquid reached the line marked “O” at the top of each tank. Without looking at us, he turned and went back into the small room where we could see him fiddling with an ancient ornate cash-register. Finally he looked out the window, seeing us for the first time and came back outside and up to Dad’s window.
“Can I help you folks?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Dad said. “You open for business yet?”
“Oh yes.”
“Well, if you’re sure you’re ready, fill it up.”
Once out of Ada—which we were by the time Dad was in high gear—the country was flat and dusty with cotton plants as far as the eye could see. It was about two or three feet tall—the first I’d ever seen—and covered with limp straggly off-white woolly growths that looked anything but fluffy.
“They ought to get that crop in,” Dad said knowingly. “Get a good rain on that now and you’d lose half the crop.”
We all watched in every direction, searching the flat landscape for signs of life. There were sheds dotted along the road, but no houses. At least what we’d have called houses. Post boxes appeared but the numbers danced about, following no pattern. Now and then we caught glimpses of straw-hatted heads moving slowly through the rows of cotton.
“Hey, Dad! Stop!’Junior cried. “That one was it. Didn’t have a name on it. Look, that one just back there. I swear it had two-six-eight printed on it.”
Dad backed up a few feet and turned into a rough dusty lane, leaving the car in low to keep the dust down. We bounced along for about a mile then the land sloped slightly revealing a little group of buildings that had been concealed from the road. I figured
the one with the broken down porch was the house although the bigger building—a barn, I supposed—was in considerably better repair.
I wondered how the rickety boards of the front porch withstood the stampede of cousins that erupted out of the sagging screen door. Uncle Ralph and Mom hugged each other for a long time. He was Mom’s older brother and she hadn’t seen him since he headed for California years ago. Aunt Ada stood back shyly and then hugged Mom as they both rubbed tears off their cheeks. The cousins were mostly girls and considerably older than Junior and I. There were two male cousins, one grown-up, the other just older than Junior. The latter’s open hostility to us was palpable. He kept his hands inside the bib of his overalls when we were introduced, spat an impressive arc out between his front teeth— there was plenty of room between them—and muttered, “Sissies. Still suckin’ sugar-tits,” dismissing us both.
Junior lifted his eyebrows and moved off after him determined to make friends. I stayed close to Dad’s side, sensing that he was feeling as foreign here as I was.
We were fed a huge country breakfast, with Aunt Ada and the girls fussing over us while they chattered about family news and gossip. Eggs sizzled, bacon hissed, the smell of hot biscuits filled the one room that appeared to be the whole house. I didn’t notice until after we’d eaten that the walls were papered in newspaper.
Junior came quietly into the room and slid into a chair beside me whispering conspiratorially, “Tots, we’ve got to pick cotton.”
“What do you mean?”
“To get the sugar-tits out of our mouths.” He gave me a knowing look and indicated the hostile cousin with a slight movement of his head. I understood.
We picked cotton for nine long hours under a sun that sat in the middle of the sky unmoving except to drop its full weight on our shoulders and drill into the small of our backs. The sharp points of the bolis tore at our nails and cuticles until they were bloodied and numb. We only half filled the long canvas sacks that were slung over our shoulders and were paid at the end of the interminable day the staggering sum of thirty-six cents for our efforts. Junior earned twenty-one cents, I, fifteen. It was the longest day of my life.
In Tall Cotton Page 11
