Caleb's Wars (3 page)

"How is it?" I asked.

"Okay. Burn, though. Here."

I took the bottle. Truth is, I'd never had a drink of moonshine before, and I felt nervous.

Henry was right. It felt like fire going down. "Not bad."

"Gimme," Nathan said. He drank a long swig, then passed the bottle back to Henry, who sipped a little more.

"How y'all like it?" Nathan asked. "Pretty sweet, ain't it?"

"It's all right," I lied.

"Have some more."

So we shared it around. It didn't take long for me to start getting lightheaded.

"How y'all feel about tomorrow?" Henry asked.

"Don't feel nothin' about it," Nathan said breezily.

"You better. We gonna be grown-up members of the church. Come tomorrow, we responsible for our sins."

"Let's go visit Rose right now, then," Nathan said.

"Since we ain't responsible for nothin' we do tonight."

I'd heard that Rose would do it with anybody, but not for free. "You got the money?" I asked.

"Maybe."

"Nathan, you ain't never serious about nothin'," Henry said. "You really don't care about tomorrow?"

Nathan shrugged. "Hadn't thought about it."

"After everything Daddy taught us?"

"Don't know."

"Then why do it?" Henry asked.

"Mama want me to."

"What about your daddy?"

"He say they ain't no harm in it," said Nathan. "If I feel like doin' it, he fine with that."

"Don't you want it for yourself?"

"I reckon. Guess I need my sins washed away more than some folks do."

Henry didn't laugh. "What about you, Caleb?"

"Same as Nathan. I'm doing it for Ma."

"Your
daddy
sure don't care nothin' about it. My daddy say he ain't even a Christian. And you know what that mean."

"He goin' straight to hell, right?" Nathan said. "Lake o' unquenchable fire and all that mess. That what your daddy say?"

"Not exactly."

"Maybe you and your daddy should mind your own business," I said. "Let's go
do
something."

"Like head home and hit the bed," Henry declared. "I don't feel good."

"That 'cause you drunk, little man," Nathan told him.

"Am not!"

I could have sacked out, too, but there was a little thing to take care of first. "I have a plan. You boys up for a real adventure?"

"Sure." Nathan was ready.

"It's dangerous," I added.

"What?" Henry whispered.

"It's nothing for a boy," I told him. "It's man's work."

"
What?
" He sounded scared, like I hoped he would. Nathan was right: sometimes it
was
fun to mess with Henry.

"What say we go into town and pay the Dixie Belle a visit?"

"Now you talkin'," Nathan said.

"I ain't in this," Henry objected.

"Suit yourself."

"Come on," I said. "We'll take you home."

Henry protested, but not too much. We slipped through the shadows in Toad Hop, and Nathan gave Henry a boost up into his window.

Then Nathan and I went through the woods to Davisville and took every alley and deserted side street. At this hour, nobody was around.

Soon we were in the alley behind the Dixie Belle. I felt brave and powerful—ready to tear the building down brick by brick. I looked around to see what we could mess with. There were garbage cans, and a rat ran from us. Mops hung from pegs, brooms leaned against the wall, and some wooden crates sat in front of the door. Inside one were collards. Another was full of potatoes.

"I know," I whispered to Nathan.

"Steal 'em?"

"Nope. Something better."

I put the crates on the ground and pulled up their lids. Then I undid my fly and peed all over them. Nathan laughed and did the same. When we were done, we put down the lids and restacked the crates. Then we headed home.

I climbed in my window, got out of my clothes, and went to bed. Right away my head started to spin. Maybe I
was
drunk. Lying down was no good, so I propped myself against the wall. That's the last thing I remember.

***

Next morning I overslept, and Ma had to wake me. My head ached, and my stomach felt bad. But I couldn't let on.

I dressed and went into the kitchen. My place was set, but the rest of the table had been cleared. Ma was washing dishes.

"Where's Pop?"

"He got up early and took the wagon. Said he's going to cut wood this morning. You ready for something to eat? I got some grits, and I can fry you some eggs." "Just coffee." "Aren't you hungry?"

No, ma am.

"I guess you're nervous about your big day. How about a biscuit?"

"No, thanks. Pop's not coming to church?" Ma put the coffee in front of me. "He never does. You know that."

"I just thought that maybe today..."

Ma sat down and reached her hand across the table. "You're disappointed. This day means a lot to you."

Truth be told, it didn't. Like I'd told my buddies, I was only doing it to please Ma—to try to make up for Randall's being gone, and for all the times I'd gotten into trouble.

"Yes, ma'am," I lied. "It does mean a lot."

Ma beamed. "You've made me so happy, son. Somehow I know in my spirit that this day is going to be the start of a new life for you."

"I wish Pop could believe that."

"You have to give him time. And..."

"And what?"

"Prove to him that you can change. No more fighting. No more stealing. No more talking back."

I'd heard this sermon before. "I'll do better, Ma. Starting today. I promise."

She went into the front room and came back with something wrapped in brown paper. "This is for you. Open it."

I undid the paper and found Grandpa Somerville's Bible inside. I was shocked. There wasn't anything Ma valued more than that Bible.

"I want you to have it. To mark the day of your baptism—the beginning of a new life."

"No, Ma. I know how much it means to you."

She put both hands on the tattered black cover. "Your grandpa read from this Bible every day of his life. He had it opened on his lap the morning we found him. He'd gone to heaven while reading from God's holy word."

I'd been hearing that little speech all my life, too. And now Ma would wipe away some tears, just like she always did.

Ma didn't disappoint me. "Your grandpa would have wanted you to have it," she assured me, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Randall should have it. He's older."

She sighed. "Your brother's not walking with the Lord. He's chosen another path, the same path your father's walked all these years. But you, Caleb—I've always seen something in you: a heart for God, even these past couple years when you've fallen into temptation. I remember when you were young. You always insisted we ask the blessing at meals. And you never forgot your prayers before bed—"

"Ma, I—"

"You don't know how many hours I've spent on my knees, praying for you. And now that you're going to get baptized today, I know all my prayers have been answered."

What else could I do? I held on to the Bible. "I'll take good care of it."

"I know you will. But that's not the important thing. Promise me you'll
read
it."

I had to promise that, too.

Ma smiled, and for the first time in a long while, she actually looked happy. "Did I ever tell you that your grandpa blessed you when you were a little fellow?"

Plenty of times, I wanted to say. "I think you did. But I'd like to hear about it again."

So Ma told me the old, familiar story, how not long before Grandpa died, he asked to hold me. I wasn't very old, two maybe. They put me on his lap, and he laid his hand on my head and spoke a blessing, and said Father God had told him one day I would do great and mighty things for his kingdom.

What would Grandpa Somerville think of me now, if he knew that the night before I came to get baptized, I'd gotten drunk and then gone and pissed all over some white folks' food?

***

I looked for Nathan in the churchyard but didn't see him anywhere. Plenty of folks were around, though, all dressed up for the big day. I was wearing an old shirt and pants that would get soaked when I went into the pond, and Ma had bought me a new outfit for later.

Uncle Hiram and Aunt Lou saw me and headed my way. They weren't my real uncle and aunt, but I'd called them that ever since I could remember. All the young folks did.

Uncle Hiram was turned out in his best suit, complete with a starched, shining white shirt and string tie with a piece of turquoise set in the slide. He was right proud of that slide—said he bought it off a Navajo Indian chief way over in New Mexico a long time ago. Pop said Uncle Hiram just liked to tell stories—the old man had never been out of the county, let alone Georgia.

"How you, Caleb?" he asked. His big smile showed that half his teeth were gone. "Big day, ain't it?" He put out his hand, the knuckles all swollen and fingers twisted and curving toward his little finger. Rheumatism, Uncle Hiram called it. When I was little, his hands scared me, made me not want him to touch me. Now that I was older and understood, I felt sorry for him. Rheumatism was no joke. It made his hands hurt bad and twisted them up, but that never stopped him. Old as he was, Uncle Hiram could still do a hard day's work. Like he reminded everyone, there wasn't any choice—not if he wanted to eat.

I shook hands but didn't squeeze tight, the way Pop had taught me to shake. I wouldn't hurt Uncle Hiram for anything. He'd always been good to our family. He was praying for Randall every day, and that had to count for a lot, as good a man as he was.

The skin of his palm felt tough against my hand, and I could feel where it was hard with calluses. He could hardly close his fingers enough to give a real shake, but I didn't mind. He was doing the best he could.

"I been prayin' for you, Caleb," Uncle Hiram told me. His pale eyes were gentle. "Askin' Father to enlighten yo' mind and lead yuh in paths o' righteousness for his name sake."

"You makin' yo' mama right proud this day," Aunt Lou added. She was a tiny woman, especially compared to Uncle Hiram, who was tall and thin—a beanpole, Ma would have said. Aunt Lou had on a long, dark skirt, all the way to her shoes, a long-sleeved blouse with a brooch pinned at the neck, and a knit shawl over her shoulders, even on this warm spring day.

"Y'all hear from Randall lately?" she asked.

I started to tell them we'd had a letter yesterday, but Brother Johnson appeared at the church door and spotted me. "Come on inside," he called to me. "It's gettin' late, and you ain't even in your robe yet."

"Run on, now," Aunt Lou told me, reaching up and patting my shoulder. "I'll get Lucy to tell me about Randall during the picnic."

"God bless you, son," Uncle Hiram added. "I got the feelin' this is gon' be a big day in yo' life."

I didn't know about that, but I thanked them and let Aunt Lou kiss my cheek.

Inside, people were taking their places on the wooden benches. Everyone was talking. There always was a big crowd on baptism days—Pop said nobody in Toad Hop would ever miss the free dinner that followed the service.

"Here," Brother Johnson said, handing me a white choir robe. "Y'all sit up front, 'cause I got some special words for you in the sermon. At the pond, do just like we practiced."

"And keep our mouths and eyes closed," Henry added helpfully.

"That's right," Brother Johnson said. "I put my hand over y'all's noses. Y'all be okay. It only take a second. Now go to the back and get your robes on. And remember, boys: listen real careful to the sermon. The Lord got somethin' important to say to you today. God bless you."

We went to the back. Ma appeared, smoothed down the shoulders of my robe, and turned me around so she could make sure my shirt collar wasn't sticking up.

"I'm so proud of you," she told me. "Today you're a man in the eyes of God. If only..."

I guessed what she was thinking. Pop and Randall.

"Never forget this day," she said.

That morning went by in a blur. I remember sitting on the front bench along with Nathan and Henry, and how we were the only ones up there. I remember feeling lots of eyes looking at the back of my head. I remember Brother Johnson preaching a long time, but what he talked about, I don't know. My mind went everywhere except his words—to drinking the moonshine with Nathan and Henry, to the fancy table on the other side of the window at the Dixie Belle Café...

At last the service was over. My shirt was soaked, and I wanted a glass of water real bad. Someone started a song, folks began to clap, and Brother Johnson led us to Hale's Pond—a two-minute walk. Behind us, people were shouting "Hallelujah!" and "Praise Jesus!"

On one side of me, Henry was clapping and shouting, too. He looked happy, the way the old folks did when the Spirit fell and they got joyful in the Lord. I'd never seen Henry look that way before.

Nathan was trying hard to keep from laughing. He rolled his eyes when I glanced at him. Maybe he was wishing this whole thing would be over soon and he could take off that silly white robe. That's just how I felt.

Folks gathered at the pond. The music continued. "Down by the Riverside," then "What a Friend We Have in Jesus." It felt like the singing went on forever. More than anything I wanted a big drink of water.

At last, Brother Johnson called for quiet. He prayed again. My stomach growled. Then he waded into the pond up to his waist, and Henry went in after him. Brother Johnson put one hand on Henry's back, the other over Henry's nose, and cried, "Henry Jefferson Johnson, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." He pushed Henry backward under the water.

Henry came back up, raised both hands over his head, and shouted, "Oh, hallelujah! I'm saved! Thank you, Lord!" He was grinning from ear to ear.

"Sweet Jesus," Nathan muttered. I knew better than to look at him.

Henry came out of the pond, his robe clinging to him. His mama met him with a towel, and he let her take him into her arms. "I'm saved, Mama!"

Then it was Nathan's turn. He went into the water and stood in front of Brother Johnson like an innocent little lamb. I had to bite my lip.