A Cry of Angels (41 page)

"Tricky, hell, you chop her through the trunk and the top'll hit the ground. I've seen it happen dozens of times. Jayell, you've cleared land, cut pulpwood . . . what's the matter with you?"

"The houses are pretty close, Em, and one that tall ought to be topped out. You'd need safety belts . . . saws . . ."

"Hellfire, all you got to do is run some guy lines, chop 'er on the yea side, and lay 'er down right across the yard; it's a clear fall straight to the woods!"

There was an awkward silence, some of the people were clearly offended by this outburst from the sweaty laborer. Women folded their arms and drifted away. Gwen's eyes were blazing. "Jayell, this is getting us nowhere," she said between gritted teeth.

"Look," said Jayell, "we'll talk about it later." He turned to the Hendersons. "Harold, Eleanor, I'm sorry about what happened. I'll have it taken care of right away."

"Well," said Eleanor Henderson, "in the meantime I think you ought to put up a fence or something to keep little children away from that thing."

"I will, Eleanor, I'll do that." They left towing little Harvey, and the others moved away to their own yards. Gwen turned and marched briskly to the house. "That's it for today, fellas," Jayell said to the shop boys. "We'll get a fresh start Monday."

"Tomorrow's Saturday," I said, "we could come back then."

Jayell sighed. "We're supposed to go up to the Hendersons' hunting lodge this weekend."

Em was yanking the bike from under the carport.

"Anybody that's goin' with me better come on!"

Em ranted and fumed the rest of the day, and that night there was no peace in the house. He ate little and griped about everything. There were no clean towels. The tea had soured. There was too much mayonnaise in the cole slaw, bones in the salmon croquettes. Down the road, Wash Fuller had gone off and left Jincey in heat and a pack of dogs was tearing down the porch. Up and down, he paced, up and down.

I knelt by the footlocker trying to iron, my knees aching, sweat dripping, the towels under the shirt riding up, riding up.

"Damn fool!" he stormed. "S'all he ever was, all he'll ever be!"

I tried again for the yoke. There was no way to get a good even stroke without the iron bumping into a locker hinge.

"Well, I ain't gonna get mixed up in it. Don't want no part of it. He made his bed . . ."

"Em, if you make me burn this thing . . ." I set my jaw and tried again. Now it was the damned buttons getting caught.

" . . . gets moved up yonder where he don't belong—gets so stropped in he can't cut down a goddamned tree, it ain't no skin off mine!"

"Okay, you made your point . . ."

"What the hell do I care, huh? Anybody lets theirselves get tied up in sump'n where they got no business—they deserve what they get!"

"Em, if you don't . . ."

"Hell, naw, I ain't gonna stew over it, let him sweat, let him rot! I don't care. I don't look out for nobody but
me
!"

I slammed down the iron as hard as I could. "For God's sake, will you shut up or get the hell out of here!"

In a burst of fury he kicked the cot over against the wall and grabbed his hat.

Thank God, I thought. When he was like that he was insufferable. Drunk, I could handle him. Sick, I could handle him. But that gripe-gripe-gripe, I never could stand it.

He was stopped at the door. I could feel him standing there.

I kept ironing. I wasn't going to ease the situation. A fine thing, I thought, if he couldn't hold a mad till he got out the door.

Then Em's voice came low and tentative, soothing. "Lord sakes, honey . . . come in, come in."

I looked around, and slowly got to my feet.

It was Phaedra Boggs, standing in the doorway in a dazzling white party dress. Her face was drawn, tears glistened softly on her cheeks. She looked as though she had been crying a long time. She took the chair Em pulled out for her and sat there. Phaedra Boggs, with the look of a lost and frightened child.

There were stains across the front of her dress. Brown stains, like I got in the summer from cradling wood, and for one confused moment I wondered why Phaedra would be toting wood in a new white dress.

Then I caught the smell.

"We need help, Em," she said, choking, "Papa's in no shape . . ." She broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

The Indian knelt beside her and cradled her to him, clumsily patting her shoulder.

Mrs. Bogg's funeral was held Sunday afternoon, a simple graveside service. Reverend Reese of Rehobath Pentecostal officiated. He didn't know the Boggses, but Em pressed five dollars in his hand and he came. Phaedra stood with an arm lined in her father's. Marvin Boggs, a scrawny little man with a brown suit coat over his overalls, stood rubbing his stringy hair in his eyes as he cried. There were just the three of us, besides the preacher. Em didn't come, as I knew he probably wouldn't. He told the preacher I would show him the way and disappeared.

When the service was over I waited until Phaedra led her father away, and then I broke and came across the ridge running as hard as I could, ripping off the coat and tie and feeling the wind in my face. The ceremony had been more of an ordeal than I had expected. As I stood at the graveside, the memory of the other funeral, the one with the two coffins, had come flashing back, with edges of the howling dream.

I would not put myself through that again. The next funeral I attended would be my own.

I could scarcely breathe.

I slowed to a stop and found myself on the main street of the Ape Yard. People were staring. All right! I told myself, what's the sense bringing up old troubles. I deliberately waited until the pounding in my ears subsided, then, slinging my coat and tie over my back, I began slowly to stroll up the road toward Teague's store.

It was the Ape Yard, after all. It was Sunday. The weather was warm. Children ran by rolling hoops.

There was Tio—the store sneaked open on the Sabbath again.

Life!

"Ay, Lord!" I swung into the store.

"Well, would you ever looka yonder, Mr. Teague, it's one of our favorite customers! Yes, sir, sump'n we can help you with?" Good old Tio. He knew, of course, and had wanted to come, but he also knew it was better if he didn't. So he was ready with the next best thing.

"Give me a pound of cheese," I said.

"Pound of cheese for the man!" Tio cut it out of the hoop. "How about some nice goose eggs to go with it? We got fresh ones in today, but ain't nobody buyin' 'em. Probably have to mark 'em down."

Mr. Teague was giving him a hard look.

"No, we got plenty of eggs. Thought I'd get a couple of those fried pies and melt some cheese over them for dessert tonight."

"Peach or apple?" Tio asked, picking over the bakery rack. "Better take apple. Peach don't look too good."

"Apple's fine," I said.

"This one's mashed. Half price on this mashed pie, Mr. Teague?" The old man looked over and nodded. "Half price—half price," and he went back to his paper.

"How many you say you wanted?

Two."

Tio mashed another one. "There you are. Anything else?"

"No, and don't bother to put them in a bag, I gotta run. Em'll be grumbling for his supper."

"Ain't no use to hurry on his account," Tio said, "he ain't home.

How do you know?"

"I saw him a little while ago, headin' out toward Marble Park.

Marble Park? Are you sure?"

"'Course I'm sure. Had a cartload of ropes and things. Skeeter and Carlos was with him. I hollered at him but I guess he didn't hear me . . ."

I batted through the screen door and tore up the alley behind the store, scaring a drunk facing the wall who looked down at his pants and yelled something after me.

Marble Park was resting in its Sunday quiet, the lawns all tended and its residents on the golf course or at the lake. The hacking sounds reached me long before I climbed the upper street and came in sight of Jayell's yard. I ran into the yard holding my sides and stopped, trying to get my breath. Em looked around and saw me and grinned, and went back to swinging his ax.

"Em, have you lost your mind?"

"Boy, you're a born worrier, you know that?" He threw himself into his swing.

Overhead, from the top of the tree, a network of heavy ropes stretched away in all directions, to the trunks of neighboring trees, to the carport, the stone mailbox mount, a fire hydrant, a telephone pole across the street. The topmost rope ran through a block and tackle anchored to a magnolia in the Hendersons' yard, to Carlos, standing nearby. Another traveled through another pulley system and was held by Skeeter, who waved sheepishly from the upstairs bedroom window.

"Did you have to get them mixed up in it?"

"They wanted to come, and I needed the help." Em leaned on his ax and flipped a bead of sweat off his nose. "You know what time it is?"

"No. Em, they're gonna put us under the jail, you know that, don't you? We'll never see daylight again."

"Rest easy, Early boy, I know what I'm about."

"Where did you get all this gear?"

"I borried it."

"From where?"

"Where they're puttin' up the new water tower."

"We'll never see daylight again."

"I'll have it back before they know it's gone."

"Aw, Em, why didn't you stay home—I brought you cheese and everything."

"Born worrier," he said, shaking his head. "Now, stand back out of my swing." The hacking continued, Em throwing his whole body into it, thick slabs of wood flying steadily from the wedge-shaped wound in the tree.

Half an hour, an hour dragged by, and then I realized something funny was going on. For no good reason Em had stopped working. The tree was hardly more than notched when he ceased his energetic chopping and began puttering around, sizing up the tree, checking tension on the lines. Another half-hour went by. Skeeter sat in the upstairs window, his line dangling loosely in his hand. Carlos dawdled in the shade of the magnolia.

Suddenly Em, standing at the edge of the yard smoking, making a lame pretense at surveying the job, threw down his cigarette and ran for his ax. Then I saw the Hendersons' station wagon pulling into the entrance to Marble Park. When they drove up with screeching brakes and slamming doors, Em was furiously hacking again.

Gwen was gasping with rage, "You have no right . . . who told you . . ." Jayell limped up, neighbors came running.

Em looked genuinely confused and disappointed. "I was going to surprise you," he said.

"Surprise us!" she shrieked. "You raving maniac! Of all the unmitigated . . . you!" She aimed a trembling finger at Skeeter. "You get out of my bedroom!"

"Now, just hold on," said Em, "ain't nothing to make a fuss about."

"Somebody do something!" cried Gwen. "Harold, your house is in jeopardy too!" Galvanized into action by her panic, Harold Henderson ran to one of the guy ropes. Em latched a hand on his shoulder and tumbled him to the ground.

"Now, ever'body just hold on!" The people stopped and backed away. "Jayell, come over here!" Jayell obediently limped up to him, and Em looked down and spoke carefully, deliberately, in a voice low enough so that the others couldn't hear. "Phaedra Boggs's mama. She's dead."

Jayell looked up at him. He stood so for several moments, his eyes flickering as he studied the Indian's face.

"Now, I want you to listen to me. See up there"—he pointed to the top of the tree—"look there—and there, see what I done? Got sustainers there, there and there, and the topmost lines with the main tension is run through them block and tackles the boys are holdin'. They can lift an automobile apiece with them rigs. Now, look at the way she's notched, big broad notch, okay?

"So, if you keep your guy lines taut, and throw most of the pull to Skeeter, there ain't but one way she can fall"—he pointed his arm, palm-bladed—"shoop! Right between the carport and the road. But," he said, watching Jayell intently, "you'll want to be careful, 'cause if you let them guy lines there and there get slack on you, and Carlos lays back on his rope too hard . . ." he slowly swung his stiffened arm toward the house, "then you better get Skeeter out of there."

Em handed the ax to Jayell and walked to the edge of the yard. Jayell said nothing. He stood squinting into the sun. Then he drifted along the yard, surveying the situation, calculating angles. He rubbed his hand over his mouth.

A breeze caught the top branches and the big tree groaned. A hush fell over the yard. "Tighten up there, Skeet," ordered Em, and in the upstairs window the boy set his foot against the sill and leaned. "Everybody clear out of here." The people didn't have to be told twice. They were all crossing the road into Judge Strickland's yard. All except Gwen, who stood in a kind of trance.

Jayell turned and looked at Jojohn, and in that brief, savage glance of joy there was for an instant the old, other Jayell—the idiot-looking out of his eyes.

I heard a loud crack and a man in a baseball cap ticked with fishhooks jerked off his sunglasses and pointed. "There's a crack starting, Jayell!"

Instantly Jayell was in charge. He ran to the window and shouted up at Skeeter. "Throw me down that line and get out of there." Skeeter hesitated and looked at Em. "Do what I tell you!" Skeeter tossed him the line and jumped to the stoop and dropped to the ground. "Em, untie the one on the mailbox."

"I wouldn't do that, Jayell."

"Don't argue with me; from now on this is mine, you hear me? Everybody, do exactly what I say!" Jayell picked up Skeeter's line and backed off with the heavy rope braced across his back. "Earl, untie the one on the hydrant, then Em, you break loose those other two." We jumped to obey his orders. I was certain then of what he was up to. Em was swaying, singing softly to himself.

"All right, Carlos, from now on it's going to be you and me. When I tell you, you turn loose and run like hell, you hear me?" Carlos nodded, blowing with the strain. "The one in the road now, Earl, hurry!"

I ran to the one anchored to the telephone pole and grappled with the knot; it was already drawing, spitting fibers. Suddenly it snapped and lashed across the yard, sending ropes whirling in the pulleys.