Not long after Chimley had come back to the front, we heard the noise on the car radio. Mapes opened the door and started talking on the speaker. We could hear the static, then the other voice; the static, then Mapes. It went on like that couple minutes—static, other voice; static, then Mapes. Then he hung up the speaker, and him and Lou came-back in the yard. Mapes was grinning. Oh, how he was grinning. Not grinning out, grinning in. You could tell he was grinning in, even if his mouth wasn't moving.
"All right, gather round here," he said.
The people moved in slowly. It had been a long day; The sun was just about down. Mosquitoes was already coming out of the weeds. Everybody was tired, but nobody was thinking about going home—not yet. Not till this was settled and over with.
"Look like you boys put on your brave hats just a little too late," Mapes said. "Fix ain't showing up."
He grinned. His big old jaws was all puffed out. He looked all around, grinning. But nobody was grinning back, because nobody wanted to believe him. We had put in too much to have this day end like this.
Johnny Paul spoke first. "That's a lie," he said.
Johnny Paul wasn't standing more than a arm reach from Mapes. But Mapes didn't want to hit him. He felt grinning at Johnny Paul was good enough. He could arrest Johnny Paul and beat him anytime. Right now, grinning at Johnny Paul was good enough.
"I say that's a lie," Johnny Paul said to the rest of us. "Just trying to make us go home. Y'all know Fix. You know he got to show up."
We all said we knowed Fix and Fix had to show up.
"Hah," Mapes said, grinning.
"That's just to throw us off," Johnny Paul said. "Another white man trick. Look at the blood on that grass. That's Fix boy's blood. You think Fix ain't go show up—his own blood on that grass?"
"He got to show up," Mat said.
"You darn right he got to show up," Johnny Paul said. "Look at the spot on that grass."
We all looked at the spot where Beau had fell. The grass was mashed down, the blood still there.
"He still ain't showing up," Mapes said. "So y'all might's well go on home."
"The sheriff lying," Johnny Paul said to the rest of us. He turned back to Mapes. "Come on, Sheriff, I called you a lie right in front of a bunch of niggers. Ain't you go'n take me in?"
Mapes shook his head. He pointed his finger at Johnny Paul.
"You're trying to be a hero today, Johnny Paul, and you want me to help you. Well, I ain't."
The rest of us stood there looking at Mapes. We didn't know what to do. We didn't want to believe him even if he was telling the truth. We had cranked usself up for a fight, and we wanted usself a fight.
"That just don't sound like Fix," Clatoo said, from the garry. "Nothing could keep Fix from Marshall today."
"That's where you're wrong, Mr. Clatoo," Mapes said, going up closer to the garry and looking up at Clatoo. "Now, that's what I thought, too. Because, you see, me, you, and all the rest of them were thinking about Fix thirty years ago. Thirty years ago Fix woulda been here, woulda hanged Mathu on the nearest tree, and all the rest of you brave people woulda been still hiding under the bed. But something happened the last ten, fifteen years. Salt and Pepper got together. Now, it's nobody's fault but yours," Mapes said, looking round at all of us. "Nobody's fault but yours. Y'all did it. Y'all wasn't satisfied Salt played at LSU on one side of town, and Pepper played for Southern on the other side of town— no, y'all wanted them to play together. Y'all prayed and prayed and prayed for them to play together. Well, they
did—and that's what happened. Salt went back and talked to his daddy. Gil—that white boy who stopped by here—that's Salt. Y'all know him, you seen him on television enough. Went back and told his daddy he needed Pepper and Pepper needed him. Told his daddy he wouldn't go along with his daddy to lynch Mathu. Told his daddy, even, if the name Boutan got in the papers, he would never be Ail-American. But y'all the ones did it," Mapes said. He was moving around the yard. He was looking us all in the face. Stop a second and look at one, then move, and stop and look at another one awhile. "Y'all the one—you cut your own throats. You told God you wanted Salt and Pepper to get together, and God did it for you. At the same time, you wanted God to keep Fix the way Fix was thirty years ago so one day you would get a chance to shoot him. Well, God couldn't do both. Not that He likes Fix, but He thought the other idea was better—Salt and Pepper. Well? Which do you want? Salt and Pepper to play together, or you want God to keep Fix the way he was thirty years ago so you would have a chance to shoot him? Well, make up your mind. I'm sure God's just sitting there waiting."
We all thought Mapes had gone crazy. But it turned out he was just happy. I had never seen a happier white man in all my born days. Looked like he was ready to kiss the first person who come up.
"Well, ain't somebody go'n say something?" he said, looking around.
We didn't know what to say. We didn't know where to turn. It was quiet. Quiet, quiet. You couldn't hear a sound no matter how hard you listened. No moving. Nothing. Quiet.
Mapes turned to Mathu, sitting there on the end of the step.
"Ready, old sport?"
"I'm ready," Mathu said.
Candy had been standing next to Mathu all this time. Even when Mapes passed right by her, talking, she never paid him any mind. I don't know if she was even hearing him. She didn't show it, until he mentioned Mathu's name; then she went out to the walk. Easy like that, she just went out to the walk and stood there with her arms folded.
"What you think you doing?" Mapes asked her. "Don't you know when the show is over?"
Candy didn't answer him. Then my wife left the steps and joined Candy on the walk. I joined my wife. Then everybody started joining in. Glo and her three little grandchildren. Even Corrine managed to get down the steps and come out in the yard.
Mapes was looking at us. He had Mathu by the arm with one hand; he had his gun in the other hand.
"I said the show was over with," he said. "Don't make me hurt anybody."
Nobody moved.
"Clear off that walk, Griffin," Mapes said. "I'm not walking around anybody. Use that gun if you have to."
Griffin had been standing over by the garden with the gun stuck in his belt. He took it out and started toward us. Mat, Cherry Bello, one of the Lejeune brothers raised their guns. Not high. Belt-level.
Griffin stopped.
"Hold it," Clatoo said, from the garry. "Hold it. Sheriff, can we talk? Can me and the rest of the men talk to Mathu inside?"
Mapes was still looking at us. Griffin was looking at us too. He didn't know if them guns was loaded or not, and he wasn't taking any chance.
Mapes looked back at Clatoo. "Talk?" he said. "Talk about what? All I heard since I've been here was talk."
"Give us a couple minutes," Clatoo said. "You can spare us that."
Mapes looked back at us on the walk. More of us had raised our guns belt-level.
"All right," Mapes said to Clatoo. "You have a couple minutes. Make it quick. I'm tired now."
"Y'all come on inside," Clatoo said to us. "Not you, Candy," he said to her.
"Nobody's talking without me," Candy said, coming back toward the garry.
"This time we have to, Candy," Clatoo said. "Just the men with guns."
"Like hell," Candy said. "This is my place."
"I know that, Candy," Clatoo said. "But we don't want you there this time."
That stopped her. Nobody talked to Candy like that—black or white—and specially not black.
"What the hell did you say?" she asked Clatoo. "You know where you're at? You know who you're talking to? Get the hell off my place."
"I'm not going anywhere, Candy," Clatoo said.
"What?" she said.
"Not till this is cleared up," Clatoo said to her. "I already told the' sheriff I don't mind going to jail, or even dying today. And that means I ain't taking no orders either."
Candy was mad now. She was so mad she was trembling. She
tried to make Clatoo look down, but Clatoo wouldn't look no farther down than her eyes. Now she turned to Mapes. Any other time, she wouldn't need to turn to Mapes; Mapes woulda brought Clatoo off that garry even if he had to shoot him down. But this time he just grinned at Candy. He liked what was happening; one of us talking back to her. Candy turned to Lou. Lou reached out his hand and called her name for her to come to him. She turned back on us.
"Y'all can go on and listen to Clatoo if y'all want," she said. "But remember this—Clatoo got a little piece of land to go back to. Y'all don't have nothing but this. You listen to him now, and you won't even have this."
Mapes laughed out loud. Not in now—out. "Well, well, well," he said. "Listen to the savior now. Do what she wants or you're out in the cold. Did y'all hear that?"
Candy turned on him. "You've been trying to split us up all day," she said.
"And you want to keep them slaves the rest of their lives," Mapes said back.
"Nobody is a slave here," Candy said. "I'm protecting them like I've always protected them. Like my people have always protected them. Ask them."
"At least your people let them talk," Mapes said. "That's why they put that church up there. Now you're trying to take that away from them."
Candy didn't know how to answer Mapes. So she turned on Mathu.
"Is that what you want?" she asked him. "You want to go in there alone—without me?"
Mathu shook his head. "Candy, I'm just tired," he said. "If that's what they want, it's all right with me. I just wanta get this over with."
Candy didn't say another word. Like a cat, she sprung up on the garry, went right by Clatoo, and stood in the door with her hands on her hips.
"Now, who'll go by me?" she asked.
"Come down from there," Mapes said. "They want to talk, they'll talk. You come on down from there."
Candy wasn't listening, just standing there with her hands on her hips, daring anybody.
"Griffin," Mapes said to his deputy. "Get up there and pull her away from that door."
Old Griffin still had his gun out. He made two steps toward the garry, and stopped.
"Well?" Mapes said.
"He knows I'll bust his jaw," Candy said.
"Get up them steps, Griffin," Mapes said, going on him. Griffin didn't go up the steps, but he moved away from Mapes, and Mapes was too fat to catch him. The people laughed. Mapes turned on us to make us shut up. Then he looked back at Candy. "Come down from there, Candy," he said. "If I come up them steps, you're going to jail, just sure as hell."
Candy didn't move.
"Come down, Candy," Lou told her. "Don't make a spectacle of yourself in front of these people."
"She's been doing that all day," Mapes said. "Tell her not to make a bigger ass of herself."
We all looked at Candy standing in the door with her hands on her hips. Beulah laughed out loud. "Stand your ground, honey," she said. "Just stand your ground."
"You better shut your goddamn mouth," Mapes told her. "I'm tired now. You hear me? I'm tired."
"Let me talk to her, Sheriff," Mathu said, and went up the steps.
Candy watched Mathu coming toward her. Her hands was on her hips at first; then they slid to her side, like she was ready to fight Mathu if he said the wrong thing. But as he got closer to her, you could see her face changing, you could see her fists loosening.
"I want you to go home," he said. Not loud. Quiet. Soft. The way he used to talk to her when she was a little girl.
She shook her head.
"That's what I want," he said.
She shook her head again.
Years ago, when she was five or six, she used to come down
here and play in his yard and follow him around in the garden. Near sundown he would tell her to go on home. "No," she would say. "Go on home." "No," she would say. He would take her by the hand or put her on his shoulder or on his back and ride her up to the big house. The next day, near sundown: "Go on home, now." "No," she would say.
Now they looked at each other. I could see her biting her lip. She wanted to cry. But she couldn't, not in front of us.
"I have to go," Mathu said. "I have to pay."
"No," she said. "Daddy and Grandpa said you paid enough. You always paid for them. You won't pay for me, too."
He laid his old hand against her face, and she helt it there.
Lou had followed Mathu up the steps, but he stayed back while they talked. When they got quiet, he moved in a little closer.
"Let's go, Candy," he said.
She didn't even hear him. Mathu had brought his hand down from her face, but she still helt his hand with both of hers.
"This is not Marshall, without you," she told him.
"I'll always be here, Candy," he said.
"This is nothing but a few miles of dirt," she said. "Weeds, trees, dirt — but this is not Marshall without you."
"I'll be here," he said.
"Candy," Lou said.
"You knew the first," Candy said to Mathu. She wasn't hearing Lou at all. "You knew Grandpa Nate. The first Marshall. Remember from the war—the Civil War?"
"I remember the Colonel."
"You knew them all," Candy said. "Grew up with my grandpa. Raised my daddy. Raised me. I want you to help me with my own child one day."
"I'll be here," he said.
"Not like that," she said. "Not back there under those trees—spirit alone. I want you to hold his hand. Tell him about Grandpa. Tell him about the field. Tell him how the river looked before the cabins and wharves. No one else to tell him about these things but you."
"I'll tell him," he said.
"No," she said. "You can't tell him from the grave. You'll die if they put you in that jail. And this place'll die, too. There's no reason for this place to be if you're not here. My daddy, he said, you, you, you."
"I'll be here," he said.
"Candy," Lou said.
"Go with him," Mathu said. "It's time you went to him. I'll be all right."
Lou moved in closer. "Come on, Candy," he said.
Candy still helt Mathu's hand. "My daddy, all of them, said it was you, you, you," she said. Lou pulled on her, but she was still holding on to Mathu. "They said it was Mathu," she said. "They said Mathu. They said you were. They said it was you."
"Come on, Candy," Lou said, pulling on her.
"They said if you went, it went, because we could not—it could not—not without you, Mathu."
Mathu covered her hands with his big old ashy, gray-black hand and pulled her free. Lou picked her up, under his arm, and came with her down the steps. Candy was cussing him, hitting at him, cussing Mapes, kicking, but Lou didn't pay her any mind. He took her out to the road, throwed her into her own car, and slammed the door. Then he stood there with his back against the door, looking at us in the yard.
"Y'all got fifteen minutes," Mapes said to us. "Then I'm taking him in. If y'all want to come along, you're welcome. But I'm warning you, you follow me to Bayonne, I'm throwing the book at you for interfering with the law. Now, you got exactly fifteen minutes."
We went inside. It was dark in there, and Clatoo pulled the string to turn on the light. You could see from the way the place was kept Mathu stayed there by himself. The wallpaper his wife, Lottie, had put there years, years ago was all faded and torn. Dirtdobbers' nests hung on the wall and on the picture frames. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Mathu had a old chifforobe in one corner, an old washstand with a china bowl and a pitcher in another corner, a old brass bed sagging in the middle against the wall by the window, and a rocking chair and a bench by the firehalf. He had a coal-oil lamp on the mantelpiece, in case 'lectricity went out. His old tin cup he used to take out in the field was on the mantelpiece, too. The old cup was so old it had turned black. Mathu stood at one end of the firehalf, Clatoo at the other end. Billy Washington caught the door, Rufe caught the window. Now it was hot and stuffy in there with the door and window both closed.
A Gathering Of Old Men (V1)txt Page 17
