“Oh no, this doesn’t concern little M. L., little Martin Luther McNair who’s going to grow up and be somebody, probably be a doctor or a lawyer. Little M. L. who’s gonna rise above it all because he’s got faith and the Lord on his side and an old grandmother who thinks he’s going to take care of her.”
“Prayers in the dark. I should’ve known.” She stands up and faces him. “Only time you need me is when you’re aching to air out that ugly mouth of yours because you ain’t got the guts to speak out to who you’d like to tell it all to.” She backs up to the door. “I’m ashamed of you, and I’m not going to stand here and take it.”
“Wait, wait.” He goes and takes her hands in his. “Don’t leave. I’ll stop, I’ll stop if you’ll help me. For once, just help me. I’m your real son, remember.”
“I don’t know what you think I can do.”
“I got an idea, please.” He pulls her back over to the chair and though he hates to do it, he lowers his voice, he begs her. “You could call up those people that you work for, that man, Mr. Foster, he’s got a lot of pull in this town, doesn’t he? He can get me a lawyer, tell you somebody to get that can come down here and say it’s a mistake. I don’t want to spend the night here, and besides, what if this witness thinks I’m the man?”
“Lord, I can’t believe my ears right this second.”
“C’mon, please, it’s my one chance.” Thomas grips her hands tighter. “You said once that they said you were like part of the family.”
“Everybody that’s got themselves a housekeeper says that at one time or another.” Fannie loosens her hands from his. “I’m part of that family as much as you’re white. I’m part of that family as long as I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing as an employee.”
“But you could ask. Just ask them!”
“Listen to yourself, Thomas McNair, just listen to yourself. You ain’t got a bit of pride, not a thread to cling to. You make fun of what I do in my life, and then turn around and you want me to go and beg to these people that you say have wronged me so. Well, I got too much pride for that, I’m proud to say.”
“But it’s not begging. You’d just be getting something back for all that you’ve given.” Thomas grips her hands again.
“I get what they owe me every Friday and I don’t owe them a thing and never will. That’s selling yourself, Thomas.”
“You don’t give a damn, do you?” He shakes her and then shoves her aside. “You’ve never given a damn about me!”
“Tommy? I got here as soon as I could. They’re not going to keep you here, are they?” Janie is waiting outside that barred door now and he is sorry that his Mama is here to see it, give her one more thing to throw up to him.
“That’s my woman,” he says and stares his Mama down. “Her name’s Janie.”
“I’m Thomas’ Mama, Fannie McNair.” She turns and stares back at him like he might be nothing.
“Oh, pleased to meet you. Thomas has told me so much about you!”
“Knock it off, Janie,” he says and she goes back to her sniffling. “If she had been at home and in bed where she was supposed to be,” he stops, giving his Mama time to react, but she’s sitting there acting like she hasn’t heard a word, acting like she’s some kind of saint and never had a man other than his Daddy. “If she’d been there this never would’ve happened. She could have told them that I was at home when that man was killed.”
“But, baby, how was I to know? I did it for us. I wanted to earn enough money so that you could concentrate on your studies and not the bills. And I’m getting a promotion real soon!”
“I reckon she ain’t selling herself,” his Mama says. “Only black folks work like dogs and sell themselves.”
“What can I do, honey?” Janie asks, but he puts his head down and doesn’t answer.
“I reckon the same as me,” his Mama says. “We just got to wait and know that they’ll sort this mess out.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” He looks up. “It’s not your goddamned black ass sitting in here.”
“I’ll check on you later,” she says, and then calls out to that policeman that’s waiting in the hall. “I reckon your girl wants some time with you.” She turns and looks back while the policeman is opening the door. “You’re my child and I do love you, Thomas, whether you think so or not.” She turns and walks out and does not look back a single time. He watches her shuffle down that hall, her purse swinging slowly by her side, and for a second he almost calls out to her to come back, not to leave him, but he doesn’t. Right this second he hates her. He hates her for everything she’s ever done, hates her for raising him with no Daddy in that old cheap room, hates her for playing along with people, playing Mama or Mammy to all those white children through the years, hates her for hovering over M. L. when she never did that for him.
Janie rushes in and squats down right in front of Thomas’ chair, puts her head on his knees like some child or dog that wants its head patted.
“What the hell were you doing last night?” He asks suddenly when his mother is out of sight. Janie lifts her head and stares up at him.
“I told you, honey. I was at work.”
“Why didn’t you lie? Why didn’t you say you got home at one?”
“Thomas, you know I can’t lie to the law.” She rises up on her knees and wraps her arms around his waist. “That man would’ve talked to Mr. Stubbs, and then you would have looked guilty.”
“What do you think I look now?” He pushes her away and she lands on the floor, her legs sprawled out in front of her. For the first time all morning all those drunks in the other cells laugh and point. He hasn’t even got the guts to tell them to shut up.
“Knock it off!” Janie yells and gets back on her knees. “I know, Honey, I know how horrible and hard this is.”
“You don’t know shit.” He wants to push her again, to grab her neck and beat her curly head against that floor.
“Well I never!” she says and looks at Thomas, but he is staring out the window, his jaw clenched tightly; he isn’t going to say a thing.
Janie waits a minute and finally he turns and looks at her.
“Well talk about it all later,” he says, and then glances around at all those men, especially that cop. None of them say another word. “There’s a lot we need to talk about, but first I gotta get out of here.”
“You’re right, honey, I’m sorry. Here we are fussing and you in here with your life on the line.” She hugs him around the middle and kisses his forearm. He’d like to slap her out cold but he just nods and she kisses him again, up and down his arm. She is disgusting to him right now.
“C’mon, miss, time’s up,” the policeman says and opens the door. “Can’t let you get all worked up like that in front of all these other men, might be asking for trouble.”
She looks up at Thomas and he nods. Damn right, she asks for trouble. “You go on,” he says and pulls her arms from around him.
“Maybe my boss, Mr. Stubbs, can help us out?”
“He’d help you out, sure.” Thomas stretches his legs out, crosses his feet. “He’s not likely to help me out. Bet he doesn’t even know about me, does he?” Janie stares back at him with that stupid blank stare of hers. “Does he?”
“I told him I’ve got a boyfriend.” She holds up one finger to the policeman so that hell give her another second. She smiles at him even, so that hell give her that extra second.
“Did you tell him that you’ve got a black boyfriend? Huh? Did you tell him that?”
“Why should I?” She steps back closer to Thomas but the cop grabs her arm and holds her there.
“Yeah,” Thomas laughs, throws back his head and laughs until the tears come to his eyes. “You go tell him and see what happens.”
“Tommy, I don’t want to leave you like this,” she screams while the cop pulls her out of the room. “I’ll be back, honey. We’re going to get you out of here!”
Now, Thomas watches her all the way
down the hall, turning and screaming, waving and blowing kisses. At least his mother didn’t make a scene. At least she just walked right out without causing any sort of ruckus. She’s the one person with sense enough to get him out of this mess, and goddamn her, she isn’t going to do it. He knows that it’s true; he knows that there ain’t any use to fight a losing battle when his own Mama ain’t even going to help him; there ain’t any reason to stop saying “ain’t” or to try to groom himself in any way, cause it ain’t gonna work, nothing’s gonna change.
4
Granner is so happy to see Harold’s pickup truck pull up and stop, even if he is a full hour early. Usually, she’d think what she always thinks about Harold, that he’s rude and coming over early to get first dibs on the food, but today she’s too glad to see him even to fuss. That damned Mr. Abdul has just about driven her crazy all morning long and that on top of that article in the paper that Ernie Stubbs set up.
“Come in, son!” Granner screams and smiles great big at Harold. The only times that Harold has ever seen her looking this happy were the few times that she has accidentally gotten lit. “I’m so happy to see you, Harold, and I’ve got so much to tell you.”
“I got some things to tell myself.” Harold goes over to the stove and takes two big brownies out of the pan, and Granner doesn’t even fuss. “You been drinking a little bit, birthday girl?”
“Harold Weeks, you know better! Can’t a woman be nice to the one child who ain’t done her wrong on this day without being accused of something?” She sits down right beside him. He might’ve known that she’s being all sweet to him cause she’s mad at everybody else. “I want you to see what Ernie Stubbs did to me.”
“Okay, but first I got to tell you.” Harold swallows and wipes the brownie crumbs away from his face. The crumbs land on the floor and Granner stares down at every speck, but she still doesn’t say anything. “Charles Husky was murdered down at the Quik Pik last night and I was the one that found him.”
“Do tell,” she says and licks her finger, bends down and dots up those crumbs. “Well, that’s something, Harold; now you go over and look at what I put up on my refrigerator with magnets so that Ernie Stubbs will see that I know what he did, that is if he shows today. He might have to hit the field, play a little golf, you know.”
“Mother, did you hear what I said?”
“I heard you, Harold, but I’m telling you that I’ve got some worries of my own, that on the refrigerator and Petie Rose, getting hit by that car, and that Mr. Abdul calling every other breath.”
“Petie Rose? What happened to Petie Rose?”
“Her cat got hit by a fast little car, knocked the life right out of him, deadest thing you ever saw.”
Harold takes a deep breath. His Mama scares the hell out of him, the way that she tells stories without all the words that belong in it. “Charles Husky was the deadest thing I ever saw.”
“I’m sure, Harold, now go look on my refrigerator before Mr. Abdul calls me back. I want you to answer if he does, so that hell know that I’m not some old lady all by herself, which I am most of the time.”
Harold sighs and gets up and goes over to the refrigerator. “All it says is that you turn eighty-three today, what’s wrong with that?”
“Look at that ad underneath it, that’s what!” She creeps over and stands right behind Harold. He puts his finger up at the ad and moves it along while he reads aloud, “We take old, worn out, used up things that get in your way.” He shakes his head and laughs. His mama can tickle him slam damn to death sometimes.
“It ain’t funny, Harold Weeks. Kate and Ernie have got it set in their heads that I need to be in that old folks home and I ain’t aiming to go!”
“Now, what does Ernie have to do with The Salvage Bin? I know he wants you to move, but he can’t go making up ads for some company that’s not his.”
“He’s got power, I tell you.” Granner’s eyes bead up and she points her finger right in Harold’s face. “Money enough to buy out that place or to pay ’em to put that ad in under my birthday announcement.”
“Ernie’s crazy, but he ain’t that crazy.” Harold goes back to the table to finish his brownie.
“Foot if he ain’t, watch those crumbs, Harold, I’ve slaved for a week to clean and scrub and you’re already messing. Foot if he ain’t crazy and rotten, it’s the Injun Street coming out in him.” She shakes her head from side to side, stares up at the ceiling like she’s looking God square in the face, and then walks all around Harold’s chair.
“What you looking for, Mama?” Harold asks, as if he doesn’t know.
“Nothing, I’m probably looking for more crumbs, the way you eat like a pig.”
“Your present’s in the truck.”
“I wasn’t looking for no present.” She sits down at the table and rearranges the plastic fruit in the bowl. “A truck is no place for one, though. God knows who could walk up and steal it.”
“Them.”
“Them? You mean I got more than one, Harold?” She breathes on that red plastic apple and wipes it on her dress.
“One from me and one from the kids.” Harold tries to smile at her but he thinks of Maggie again; he thinks of Charles, and it makes him squeeze his eyes tightly and shake his head.
“Why didn’t Harold, Jr., and Patricia bring it themselves?”
“I don’t know if they’re coming or not.” Harold watches his Mama’s eyes blare up and she taps her feet on the floor.
“You mean that you and Juanita ain’t patched things up yet?” She shakes her finger again. “I swear Harold Weeks, you are the stubbornest man alive!”
“Stubborn? After what she did to me?” Harold gets up and gets himself a big glass of milk, drinks it halfway down. “You know what happened. You think I’m gonna just walk up and forgive her just like that?” He snaps his finger and downs the other half of the milk.
“That’s what I done, Lord year back.” Granner leans back in her chair, and Harold knows a story is coming. The damned trouble is that these days nobody knows what’s the truth and what ain’t.
“What are you talking about, Mama?” Harold sits back down.
“Talking about that time Buck got hisself mixed up with this woman that worked down at the five and dime.”
“I’ve never heard this!” Harold can’t help but feel a little impatient with her when she starts these stories.
“You were just a little baby at the time and I never wanted you to be hurt by it, just like I never want Petie Rose or this baby on the way to be hurt by the fact that their Mama and Daddy had to get married, and that Pete might not even be Petie’s Daddy. Lord knows, though, you ain’t protected Harold, Jr., and Patricia one pea turkey bit.”
“Get on with it.” Harold rolls his hand around to motion her to speed things up. He’s sick of that story about Pete and Rose, whether it’s true or not.
“This woman came from the bottoms, not real pretty, real plain looking.” Granner makes this simple looking face and slumps her shoulders to show him what this woman looked like. “Her husband went around giving people an address for a quarter. Nobody had addresses up on their houses like we do nowadays, and this man would take a little piece of charcoal and draw you a number for a quarter, not that it meant anything of course because everybody had a post office box in them days, and if anybody was wanting to visit you they knew where you lived anyway” Granner stops and closes her eyes, holds her hands up to her head. “I remember! He wrote 509 on our house and I sort of tossed that quarter to him cause his hands were so black with charcoal. Washed away first big storm that blew, but I always said it was 509 Main Street even though really it’s 1208 like what’s out front now.”
“Goddamn.” Harold leans over and beats his forehead against the table.
“Stubborn and impatient. I won’t tell you then.”
“Go on, Mama,” Harold says, knowing that his day will be more miserable than it already is if he doesn’t go along with her.
“Well, had Daddy been messing around with her?”
“I don’t know for sure to this day. All I know is that I let him know that this woman had come by and I let him know that never in my life would I put up with such tomfoolery, again or ever, just in case it had or hadn’t happened.”
“But I know that Juanita was with Ralph Britt, cause I saw them.”
“Ralph Britt might’ve forced her!” Granner polishes a banana now. She wants it to look so good for Kate to see, because Kate has been ashamed of that fruit bowl her whole life. Why on earth would a child get so upset over plastic fruit, Granner’ll never know, but Kate always has. Kate hates the birdbath as well; even when Granner points out to everybody a pretty little cardinal which is the bird of this state or points out a big mean blue jay, Kate still turns her nose up.
July 7th Page 17
