A slender, pregnant, red-headed woman stepped back from the kitchen counter so she could see him through the utility room doorway. “Why, guh mornin’, Rennie. I wondered why Dukie was gittin’ all riled up. Come on in. You want some breakfast?” Her face and arms were covered with freckles and her hair was in a bun at the back of her head. She had a retroussé nose and was slightly gap-toothed in the upper teeth on the left side of her face. She was beautiful. She wore a blue housecoat buttoned to the neck.
Rennie opened the screen door and entered the utility room. A Kenmore washer and dryer were separated by a large gray sink on the right side of the room. He stepped into the kitchen and stood just inside the doorway. A dining table surrounded by six chairs sat on the right side of the room. Two boys sat beside each other at the table, and a young girl sat beside the younger boy at the end. Marie Hensley placed the glass bottle of milk she was holding onto the kitchen counter, removed two pieces of toast from the toaster, placed them onto a plate, and set them in front of the two boys, Devon and Del. There was a clock on the wall behind the table, and the floor had black-and-white tiles in a checkerboard pattern.
“No, thanks, Ma’am. I already ate. Mornin’, guys,” he told the three children sitting at the table—twelve-year-old Del, ten-year-old Devon, and four-year-old Gloryann.
“Morn’,” Devon mumbled as he bit into a piece of toast coated with peanut butter and apple sauce. He and Del both had burr haircuts that their father, Adam, gave them every summer. He said it was cooler. Devon had dark brown, almost black, hair and the same retroussé nose and gapped teeth as his mother.
“Mornin’,” Del said as he dribbled a teaspoonful of sugar over his Cheerios. “Didja bring your go-kart?” Del had light brown, almost red, curly hair, a retroussé nose, and freckles, just like his mother.
“Mommy, I want some toast!” Gloryann whined. She had brown hair to her shoulders and was her father’s favorite.
“Alright, honey, the toaster can only hold two pieces at a time. Yours’ll be ready in a minute,” Marie informed her.
Rennie sat down next to Del at the head of the table. “No, I didn’t. Daddy’s grounded me for a week ‘cause I ran outa gas on the way home.”
Del shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “I thought you said you had enough to git home,” he stated as he chewed.
Rennie nodded. “Yeah, I thought I did, but I ran out goin’ down the hill just past Bruce. I pushed it the rest o’ the way. I thought we could just ride bikes today.”
“OK,” Del agreed. “Is that alright, Mommy?” he asked.
Marie finished buttering the piece of toast that had popped out of the toaster and stuck the knife into a jar of grape jelly. “After you warsh them dishes you can play till dinnertime, I reckon.”
“Aw, Mommy, I always gotta do the dishes,” Del complained. “Make Devon do ‘em.”
“It’s not his turn. Devon done the supper dishes last night. Do I need to tell your daddy you was whinin’ ‘bout doin’ them dishes?”
Del drained his cereal bowl of milk by tilting it into his mouth. White islands of sugar adhered to the bottom of the bowl. He scooped them out with his spoon and swallowed them. He said nothing, but his eyes filled with tears.
“Well, do I?” Marie demanded, as she placed a saucer with the piece of toast in front of Gloryann, who instantly stuffed it into her mouth.
From the beige radio beside the toaster that had been playing religious music came a booming male voice: “If you’re looking to save money on all your furniture or appliance needs, come to Amberton’s Bargain Barn on the traffic circle on North Dixie Drive in Northridge, freeway close to beautiful downtown Dayton. Amberton’s Bargain Barn, where savings is a barn burner.”
“Brother Amberton sure can talk up a storm, can’t he? May the good Lord one day bless us much’s he’s been blessed,” Marie remarked.
“I’ll help you do the dishes,” Rennie assured Del.
“Why, thank you, Rennie,” Marie said. “Does your mommy know what a treasure she has in you?” She wiped a grape jelly smudge off Gloryann’s chin with her apron.
Rennie smiled. “Yeah, I think she does.”
After Rennie had helped Del do the dishes by rinsing them, drying them with a towel, and placing them into the cupboards, the boys went outside into the hazy and muggy Ohio morning to ride their bikes. Del and Devon wanted to emulate the stunts that they had seen Joie Chitwood’s Thrill Show drivers perform last Friday when Uncle Dwayne and his wife, Aunt Melda, had taken them to the Preble County Fair in Eaton. The cars had dumbfounded Del and Devon, who had never been to a car stunt show. The cars catapulted over each other by zooming up and down ramps and then crisscrossed each other dangerously close along the staightaway. But the most fascinating stunt to Devon was the one in which a driver would race over a ramp with only one front and one rear wheel of the car on the ramp, allowing the driver to balance the car on two wheels down the track for moments, almost the entire length of the staightaway.
“Ain’t that sump’n’?” Uncle Dwayne had said admiringly.
“Yeah, it shore is,” Del agreed.
Devon could only stare in awe.
Gloryann sat down on the sidewalk which led from the driveway to the front porch and started playing with the dog. The boys found a two-by-six piece of wood and a concrete block under a black tarpaulin in the backyard and made a makeshift ramp in the front yard, resting one end of the piece of wood atop the block. They spent the next two hours riding their bikes up the ramp and into the air, just like Joie Chitwood’s daredevils. The only problem was that the board would fall off the block after a few runs and one of the boys would have to put it back. They first tried to see who could go the highest into the air off the end of the ramp. Then they competed to see who could go highest and farthest. Rennie won on both counts because he could zoom up the board with his ten-speed faster than either Del or Devon, who had only gearless bikes. Devon, however, managed to make his bike sound like a motorbike by attaching a piece of cardboard to the rear fender with a clothespin which brushed against the spokes when he pedaled. The cardboard, unfortunately, would only last a few minutes before becoming too limp to sound like a motor, and then he would have to replace it with another piece.
They even tried to mimic the drivers’ balancing their cars on two wheels by leaning their bikes to one side as they rode them down the road. This was less exciting than going into the air off the ramp.
A man in bib overalls and a long-sleeved black-and-red flannel shirt came off the porch of the house next door, knelt in the garden, and began pulling weeds from the corn rows of the small vegetable garden next to the house.
Devon, tired of pretending to be Joie Chitwood, parked his bike in the driveway and walked over to the man and squatted beside him. “Whatcha doin’, Uncle Jonnie?”
The man continued to pull the weeds between the cornstalks with his callused and wrinkled hands. “Ah jus’ heppin’ duh cone in dey houses by doin’ some house cleanin’.”
“The corn has houses?” Devon queried.
“Yassuh. Duh house o’ duh cone is duh uhf. See what rich houses dey got?” He plunged his fingers into the ground between the cornstalks and held the black dirt up to Devon’s face for him to see. Two earthworms were squirming in the dirt. One slithered out of his palm and onto the ground. “Dese fellas make show duh cone lib in rich houses.”
“How do they do that?”
“Why, dey makes duh uhf breade when dey crawls frew it an’ makes it bettuh by leabin’ dey droppin’s.”
“Oh . . . How come you know so much, Uncle Jonnie?”
“Well, Ah reckon dat comes from goin’ roun’ duh sun quite a few tams. Quite a few. Dat, an’ Ah’s bless to hab muh deah ol’ mudduh, who rilly muh ant, to lawn me mos’ o’ what Ah knows.”
He pulled a brown woolly worm off a cornstalk, unbuttoned the left breast pocket of his overalls and placed it inside, then buttoned it back.
“Why’d
ja put ‘im in your pocket, Uncle Jonnie?” Devon asked.
“Ah’s gonna take ‘im into duh woods down by duh ribbuh an’ lets ‘im go free. What happens aftuh dat is God bidness, but Uncle Jonnie nevuh huhts ‘im, nevuh huhts ‘im. Dat’s duh God’s troof. We’s all God’s crittuhs, an’ we dassn’t do each udduh no hahm, o’ God not likin’ it. Watch dis.”
He skillfully plucked a large, brown grasshopper from a corn blade and held it gingerly between his left thumb and forefinger. He put his right forefinger beneath the grasshopper’s mouth and chanted softly and gently:
Brudduh hoppuh, brudduh hoppuh,
Yo an’ me’s one, yo an’ me’s one.
Please gib us some ‘bacca, gib us some ‘bacca,
‘Foe duh day is done, ‘foe duh day is done.
The grasshopper worked its mandibles slowly and then deposited a small sphere of brown liquid onto the tip of Uncle Jonnie’s finger. He smiled. “See? Dat’s what Ah’s talkin’ ‘bout. Missuh Hoppuh an’ me unnuhstan’ each udduh. He knows Ah ax him foe sump’n’ an’ ‘cause Ah ‘specks him an’ duh woolly wuhm, he done gib me what Ah ax him foe.”
Devon, wide-eyed with wonder, said, “Neat! Is it really tobacco?”
Uncle Jonnie replied, “Show as Ah’s standin’ rat heeah in front o’ yo, it be ‘bacca. Naychuh doan play no tricks on ya if yo’s ahness wif it. Nebbuh do, no suhee.”
“Will you teach me the song?”
“Why, Ah show will. It goes lack dis. Yo says it aftuh me.”
“OK.”
“Brudduh hoppuh, brudduh hoppuh, yo an’ me’s one, yo an’ me’s one.”
Devon repeated: “Brother hopper, brother hopper, you an’ me’s one, you an’ me’s one.”
“Dat’s fan,” Uncle Jonnie remarked, nodding his head. “Dat’s rill fan.”
“Thanks.”
“Please gib us some ‘bacca, gib us some ‘bacca, ‘foe duh day is done, ‘foe duh day is done.”
“Please give us some tobacco, give us some tobacco, ‘fore the day is done, ‘fore the day is done.”
“Dat’s it! Yo gots it, show ‘nuff. Now yo takes Missuh Hoppuh an’ sees if yo can make ‘im gib ya some moe ‘bacca jess lack Ah lawns ya. Uncle Jonnie needs to git back to wuhk now.” He placed the grasshopper onto Devon’s palm, who quickly covered it with his other hand so it wouldn’t jump away.
“Thanks, Uncle Jonnie.”
“Duh pledjuh was all man, all man. Ah jess glad Ah could lawn ya sump’n’ ‘bout duh muhkles o’ naychuh.”
The three Brower siblings—Doug, Ron, and Janice, came into the front yard from their house near the dogleg just down the street. Doug approached Del and Rennie. “Ya wanta play some ball?” he asked.
“OK,” Del and Rennie replied.
Janice walked over to Gloryann and petted the dog. She took Gloryann by the hand, and they walked onto the porch and sat down on the green-and-white metal glider.
“Not me,” Devon said, keeping the grasshopper concealed beneath his hand. “I’m gonna sit on the porch.”
Del went inside to get the bat, ball, and gloves. The three other boys went to the vacant lot south of the house. Janice had upended the dog and was holding it in her arms like a baby. The dog licked her face. Gloryann rubbed his belly. He stretched out all four legs and arched his back so he could luxuriate in the attention. Del came out with the equipment and went to the vacant lot. Shouting and arguing soon disturbed the humid Ohio morning.
Devon sat down beside the girls, now holding the grasshopper between his left forefinger and thumb by his thigh, out of sight. “I jus’ learn’ sump’n’ from Uncle Jonnie,” he proclaimed. “Wanta see?”
“Oh yeah?” Janice asked skeptically. “What?”
Devon held the grasshopper in front of their faces.
Janice said, “Ewwwww!”
Gloryann screamed.
“Hush that mouth, Glory,” Devon admonished. “It ain’t nothin’ but a little bitty ol’ grasshopper.” He moved it back in front of him and said, “Watch this. Brother hopper, brother hopper, you an’ me’s one, you an’ me’s one. Give us some tobacco, give us some tobacco, ‘fore the day is done, ‘fore the day is done.” He held his right forefinger under the grasshopper’s mouth expectantly. Seconds passed. Nothing happened.
“What’s he s’pose to do?” Janice asked.
“He s’pose to give me some tobacco on my finger. Let me try again. Brother hopper, brother hopper, you an’ me’s one, you an’ me’s one. Give us some tobacco, give us some tobacco, ‘fore the day is done, ‘fore the day is done.”
The grasshopper slowly worked its mandibles as though it were going to deposit tobacco, but then stopped moving them.
“C’mon, stupid grasshopper,” Devon pleaded. “Do whatchou did for Uncle Jonnie.”
“Uncle Jonnie got him to spit tobacco?” Janice asked.
“Yeah,” Devon replied.
“Well, I guess you gotta be a ree-tard to git him to do it.”
“I ain’t no ree-tard,” Devon said angrily, “an’ neither is Uncle Jonnie.” He stomped off the porch.
“I never said you was.”
He walked over to the garden and handed the grasshopper to Uncle Jonnie. “Here, Uncle Jonnie. He won’t do it for me.”
Uncle Jonnie took the grasshopper, unbuttoned his right breast pocket and carefully placed the grasshopper into it. He buttoned it back. “Why, chile, yo cain’t ‘speck it to wuhk on duh fuss try. Took Uncle Jonnie ten yahs ‘foe he an’ Missuh Hoppuh comes to a unnuhstan’in’. Ten yahs. Yo jess gots to stick wit it, dat’s all.”
“I can’t do it no ten years,” Devon said dejectedly. “I wanted ‘im to do it now.”
“Why, chile, yo’s young. How ole is yo? Twelve? Firteen?”
“Ten.”
“Ten? Why yo ain’t dry behine yo eeahs yet. Yo keeps sayin’ duh chant, an’ by duh tam yo’s twenty, Missuh Hoppuh be gibbin’ ya a finguh fulla good ‘bacca, yo sees.”
Devon turned around and walked across the driveway into his yard. “I ain’t sayin’ it no ten years,” he mumbled. He walked past the porch and the girls in the glider. Janice, still cradling Dukie in her arms, sang him a song.
“Yankee doodle went to town, a ridin’ on a doggie, put a feather in his hat an’ called it pollywoggy.”
Gloryann laughed.
“You sing it with me now, Glory,” she told her.
“OK. How’s it go?”
Devon lay down in the grass beside the house, where he could hear the boys playing baseball, but was out of their sight and the girls on the porch. “Stupid grasshopper!” he thought angrily. “I shoulda known he woulden do it for me.”
Devon had entered the first grade at Old South School in Franklin, Ohio. His first grade teacher had been Mrs. Smith, who had taught him and the class intensive phonics, which had enabled him to read the comics section in the Sunday paper, for which he had long aspired.
Also that year, he fell in love for the first time. Her name was Donna. She had long, shiny black hair, a gentle retroussé nose, and two missing front teeth. She always wore dresses with flowers on them and black, shiny shoes. They would pass notes to each other which read: I love you. Do you love me? Below the neatly printed words, they would draw two not-quite squares, one labeled Yes and the other No. Devon always marked an “X” in the Yes box and surreptitiously returned the note to Donna. They were happy being in love, and the school year passed in a whirlwind of reading about Dick and Jane’s adventures, learning how to color with crayons and stay within the lines, and making Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day, and Father’s Day cards to bring home to his parents, which they always taped to the refrigerator door. Mrs. Smith had been one of his best teachers.
The first two years of school had passed uneventfully, except that in the second grade the school district placed him in a different school, Anthony Wayne, and he never saw Donna again. He did not seem to miss her, however, and the only things he recalled from
the second grade were coming in late from recess once because he did not know that he was supposed to return to class when the first bell rang and, after presenting their science project in the school cafeteria, he and his partner, Freddie, drinking the vinegar they had used for the project on their way back to the classroom. They had pretended to get drunk and were reprimanded by the teacher for giggling when they returned to their seats. He thought about Donna often now and wondered what would have happened had he remained in the same schools as she.
In the third grade began the torment from which he would never escape. He had grown to be a head taller than everyone else in class and had become the object of ridicule of the other children. His growth spurt was unaccompanied by any ability to make his body do as he wished, and he found the simplest things, such as playing dodgeball or baseball, beyond his ability. Consequently, other children shouting “Clumsy!” at him and laughing at his feeble attempts to do as simple a thing as catch a fly ball were as painful to him as though they had stabbed him in the stomach with a knife. So he avoided the pain by withdrawing from their play altogether and talking to Willie, who was the only black boy in class and had been shunned by the others because of the color of his skin. After they ate their lunch and during every recess, they would meet at the northeast corner of the school and lean against the rough red bricks outside their classroom and talk. They were outcasts, their only bond their shared misery. Their crime was that they did not look or act like the others. It did not help that the school district had placed him in yet another school, Central, a pattern which was to continue through the fifth grade.
Fiery Rivers Page 4
