A Fine Dark Line (27 page)

“I was just passin’ through, on my way to see a cousin, and I come to Nacogdoches on the day of the hangin’. It was an October and a nice cool day. They say there was a kind of trial, but the sheriff, John Spradley, he didn’t think it was fair enough, and he done all he could to save the man for a trial. Hid him out on trains and such, took him from one spot or another. But they finally got him and told him he could be hung later or now, to make his choice. He chose to be hung. I was at the back of the crowd. They had a kind of tripod made of lumber and they put Buchannon on that box and kicked it out from
under him, and he strangled to death. Slow-like. I told myself I wouldn’t never purposely watch no hangin’ again. It was like a picnic out there, Stan. All the men and women, mostly white, but there were colored too, way out back of it like me, and we was there to see that poor nigger hang, him swingin’ with his toes just off the ground, that rope squeezin’ the life out of him. It wasn’t even tied right, and on purpose is my guess. That way they had a little more spectacle. No neck break, just slow and horrible, him kickin’ and his tongue hangin’ out of his mouth damn near six inches. There was a fellow out there sellin’ peanuts, and people with wagons, with women and children in them, sittin’ there havin’ a picnic lunch.

“After it was all over I lost my lunch, and I left there and went on my way, avoidin’ anyone and everyone that was white. I was afraid they might not be satisfied, and want ’em another nigger. There’s a point in this story, Stan. What is it?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions?”

“That’s right. Just the other day, you was certain Old Man Stilwind had done it ’cause I laid out a little story for you. Now you done thought maybe James done it. And I thought maybe it was one of each . . . and the other thing is, outside of self-defense, the law is supposed to dish out justice, not you and me.”

“But it doesn’t always, does it?”

“Son, it ain’t like Hopalong Cassidy. Sometimes the good guys lose.”

———

I
SAT OUT THERE
with Buster and watched the movie, but went to my room after only one showing. I climbed into bed and thought about all that I had learned, and thought about Buster’s
story. The idea of a man swinging and strangling like that made me sick.

I lay in bed with my hands behind my head, Nub stretched out over my feet, kicking his foot from time to time as he chased an imaginary rabbit.

I felt pretty miserable about what had happened to Callie. I liked to think my arrival had helped stop what was going on. I should have never let her out of my sight. Not with a guy like James Stilwind. I had an idea what kind of person he was, and I had spent my time looking out the window of the theater.

It was so wild the way the world and Dewmont really were. Probably all towns were like this and most people never found out. I wished I were most people. It was like once the lid was off the world, everything that was ugly and secret came out.

Just a short time ago my biggest concern, my greatest disappointment, was discovering there was no Santa Claus.

I sighed and looked at the ceiling.

Things had to get better.

“They have to,” I said aloud.

But fate wasn’t through with me yet.

N
EXT MORNING
, after breakfast, I let Nub out. He ran to the projection booth and started barking. I thought maybe a coon or a possum had crawled in there. It had happened a couple of times when Buster left the door open, or so Daddy told me.

Daddy said he had to run the critters out with a broom, chase them until they climbed the fence and headed back into the woods.

I had yet to make such a discovery, and was about half excited to think I might have finally done so. I was a little scared too. A coon or a possum can turn nasty when cornered.

I picked up the poking stick we used for picking up trash, and went out there. The door was closed. Coons and possums didn’t close doors behind them.

Buster?

If it was Buster, Nub wouldn’t have barked.

Still, I called Buster’s name.

He didn’t answer.

“Nub,” I said. “You sure?”

Nub scratched at the bottom of the door and growled. I said, “Whoever is in there, I got a gun. You better take it easy.”

I started backing away, ready to get Daddy.

I heard a voice from inside. “It’s okay, Stanley. It’s me. Don’t shoot.”

“Richard?”

“Yeah. Don’t get your daddy or mama.”

The door cracked open, and Richard poked his head out. There was dirt crusted on one side of his face.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I said.

“You don’t have a gun.”

“No,” I said. “What are you doing in the projection booth?”

“I climbed the fence when y’all closed down. Slept in here.”

“Get back inside. I’m coming in.”

Inside, Richard said, “I slept on the floor on that piece of carpet. Wasn’t too bad. Best place I’ve slept in over a week.”

Richard was wearing a pair of overalls, no shirt. The overalls looked as if they had been washed in mud and dried in sin. There were bumps on his face from mosquitoes and his nose had run and dirt was crusted on his upper lip like a Hitler mustache. One knee of his overalls was ripped and the kneecap that poked through it had a scab on it. He didn’t have shoes on. His feet were caked with red clay and I could see scratches on top of them and along the ankles where he had outgrown his overalls.

“Your daddy was looking for you,” I said.

“I know,” he said.

“He and my daddy had words. They had more than words.”

“When was this?”

I told him what happened and said I was really sorry.

“Don’t be. I ain’t been home since before that happened. It must have happened mornin’ after the night I run off. He was lookin’ for me ’cause I run away and he wasn’t through whuppin’ on me. He run me out in the middle of the night, and if I hadn’t been sleepin’ in my overalls I wouldn’t be wearin’ nothin’.”

Richard turned. His back, bare except for the overall straps, showed long crusty red marks. “He got in some good licks, but I wouldn’t gonna take no more, so I took off.”

I noticed there were white scars next to the red marks. I knew his father whipped him more than I thought was right, but now I knew how bad he whipped him.

“Heavens,” I said.

“He took a horsewhip to me. Belt’s bad enough, but when I run, he grabbed up the whip, caught me out in the yard. It hadn’t been dark, I don’t know I’d have got away from him. He chased me a mile through the corn and then on out to the woods. Said he’d kill me if he caught me.”

“What started it?”

“Comic books. He said all that readin’ was makin’ me think I was better’n him, and he wasn’t gonna have that.”

“That started it?”

“Yeah. Sort of. One thing led to another. I told him I thought maybe I ought to finish high school. He wanted me to quit. Said the law wouldn’t do nothin’. Not around here. They didn’t care.”

Richard melted onto the carpet on the floor. I sat on the projection booth stool. I said, “Where have you been all this time?”

“Here and there. Out in them woods. Hid in a nigger’s barn outside of town. Stole some food out of a house. Just enough to eat, mind you. Some old corn bread was left on the stove and
I got a piece a chicken out of the icebox. Left them a thank-you note, but I didn’t put my name to it.”

“Good grief, Richard.”

“Just couldn’t stay home no more. Daddy told me he was gonna kill me.”

“Surely he didn’t mean it.”

Richard laughed, but he didn’t sound all that amused. “You got it so good you don’t know a thing about how it is. I didn’t know it was any different till I met you. Just thought that’s the way it was. Beatin’s and all. Mamas havin’ black eyes and a swollen lip all the time . . . Stanley, think maybe you could get me somethin’ to eat?”

“I’ll get you something.”

“Maybe you can wrap me up a little somethin’, some bread maybe. Let me have that old canteen of yours. You know, the army one? I’m gonna try and catch a boxcar out later.”

“Where to?”

“Where my old man can’t find me. I started to catch me one last night, but it wasn’t slow enough. May need to walk up to the next town. I think they got a switchin’ station there. Might go where I can get me a job of some kind. Workin’ on a farm. I know how to work, and if they hire them little wetback kids, they’re sure to hire me.”

“What about your mother?”

“She don’t care about me neither. Thought she did, but I finally come to think she don’t. She lets him beat me.”

“He beats her too,” I said.

“I know. But . . .”

“What?”

“She kind of likes it.”

“Likes a beating?”

“Uh huh. That’s how come all this.”

“I thought it was reading, wanting to go to school.”

“That’s what set him off finally, but it’s because I run in on him beatin’ her the other day, and I fought him. He whupped me good with his fists, and my mama told me to mind my own business. That it was the way they did things.”

“She said that?”

“Yes.”

“She could have been trying to help you. Keep you out of it.”

“I wanted to think that, but way she looked . . . It was like she was havin’ fun. Ain’t nobody ought to like that, should they?”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“I been stupid, Stanley. I been stayin’ home for her, and she don’t want me there.” Richard started to cry. “I’m so tired.”

“Come on, Richard, you don’t need to stay out here.”

“I don’t want your parents to know. I don’t want to tell nobody.”

“It’s all right, Richard. Really. Come on. Let’s get Rosy to fix you a big breakfast. You know how she can cook.”

I held out my hand and he took it, and I helped him up. He sniffed a few times and quit crying. We walked to the house. Richard walked with his head hung, and his poor wrecked feet lifted no more than they had to.

———

W
HEN WE CAME IN
through the back, Rosy saw Richard and looked at me. I said, “He needs something to eat, Rosy.”

“Well, we gonna fix that,” she said, and pans started clanging. Mom came into the kitchen a few moments later. She had slept late. She was still wearing her robe, and hair hung in her eyes.

“You sound like you’re trying to tear down the house, Rosy . . . Oh, hi, Richard.”

“Hi, Mrs. Mitchel.”

“You look a mess, son. What have you been doing?”

Richard put his head on the table and started to cry again. Mom pulled a chair up next to him, put her arm around him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“It’s not that,” I said.

“What is it?” Mom asked.

“Let him eat now, Miss Gal,” Rosy said. “That’s what a growin’ boy needs.”

So Rosy cooked and Richard ate. When he was finished Mom didn’t ask him any questions. She showed him where he could bathe and I went upstairs and got some of my clothes for him.

When Richard was finished, he dressed, except for shoes, and came back to the kitchen. Rosy and Mom were waiting on him. They had him perch on his knees on a chair in front of the sink, and they washed his hair, using strong soap and turpentine to kill lice. When they finished that, they rinsed his hair, dried it, combed it for him. Exhausted, he ended up on the living room couch.

Instantly, he was sound asleep.

Daddy came in for breakfast, and while Rosy cooked it, Mom guided him to the living room to see Richard sleeping on the couch.

“What’s this about?” Daddy asked.

“Stanley?” Mom said.

In the kitchen, at the table, I explained.

———

I
’
VE HEARD OF PEOPLE
like that,” Daddy said. “They call them masochist, and the one does it to them a sadist.”

“That’s sick,” Mom said.

“I suppose,” Daddy said, “anyone wants to hurt someone and likes it, or someone likes or thinks they deserve being hurt, is, yeah, a little sick.”

“You liked slapping Chester around,” I said.

“I did. Liked slapping Chapman around, for that matter. Like it better now I know what he’s done to that boy. But for me, not just anyone will do. James Stilwind would do. I’d like to slap him around.”

“What are we going to do with Richard?” Mom asked.

“Nothing,” Daddy said. “He can sleep in Stanley’s room for now. By the way, where in the hell is Callie?”

“Still sleeping,” Mom said.

“I hope she can get up when school starts,” Dad said.

“We were late ourselves,” Mom said.

“Yes,” Daddy said, smiling at Mom, “but we weren’t sleeping.”

Mom reddened a little. “What if Mr. Chapman comes for him?”

“He won’t,” Daddy said. “He doesn’t want to come around here. If he does, he gets another slapping.”

“You can’t solve everything by slapping someone around,” Mom said.

“I know,” Daddy said. “But some things you can. At least temporarily. Haven’t seen Chester around here lately, have you?”

“We could call the police on Chapman,” Mom said.

“They’d just take Richard back to him,” Dad said. “Way the law works when kids run off, darn near no matter what the reason, law takes them back. There’s folks believe kids belong
to parents and they can do what they want with their own kids. Law wouldn’t help, Gal.”

“The law does that?” Mom asked. “Gives beat-up kids back?”

“Afraid so,” Daddy said.

“What if Chapman calls the police?” I said. “He could call them on us.”

“He could,” Daddy said, “but he might be thinking we know more than he wants us to know. And we do. Law might give him Richard back, but Chapman wouldn’t want us spreading his business. Town like this, his business would burn through it like a wildfire. Wouldn’t be anyone didn’t know it. When it comes right down to it, he and Stilwind aren’t all that different.”

“Do you think Stilwind will bother us, Daddy? You know, with regulations and all that?”

“That’s his style, son. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

———

O
N A HOT STICKY NIGHT
with mosquitoes, the Friday starting off the weekend before school was to begin, I went out to visit with Buster.