Don't Worry About the Kids (15 page)

Going out, in the hall, you can see into the kitchen, they got something rolled up in the living room drape, tore off the window, you wouldn't hardly think a body could be so small. The Sheriff goes in with one of James's brothers, but I don't follow. Upstairs, old Aunt Emma, she singing like she does, it a song I like, makes my head settle down some.

She sings it the same whenever somebody dead in the family, always filling in the name of the person. Lucius's mother calls the Sheriff back to the living room, asks him if it's okay to move the body yet, they didn't want to do nothing against the law. The Sheriff says he got to have somebody from the town come take it for a while, then they can go on with the funeral.

“I'm real sorry,” he says. “But we got to have an autopsy. It's the law.”

Lucius's mother shakes her head like she known it, then she looks straight at the Sheriff. “I hope there ain't gonna be no trial,” she says to him. “That all I pray for, that there be no trial. Whoever done it, if you get him, he'll make fun on James's memory.” She wipes her eyes, got her glasses in her lap. “That all I pray for, Sheriff, that nobody make fun on James's memory. That there ain't gonna be no trial. That the one thing I pray for—” The Sheriff, he don't say nothing, seems like he listening to Aunt Emma too. “Let him go peaceful,” she says.

The Sheriff don't speak to what she says, but he says he'll be back tomorrow, they be sure to let him know if there's anything needs doing. He says that if they got any message and they can't reach him, to give it to me. I go out of the house without looking in the kitchen.

Lucius, he hiding on the other side the station wagon, we both step back we see him.

“I'm sorry about your brother, Lucius,” the Sheriff says.

“Don't tell 'em I'm here,” he says. “I snuck out.”

“We won't tell,” the Sheriff says. He tries to open the door to get in, but Lucius grabs his arm, I get scared a minute, you can see the veins in his neck spreading. “I got a big knife hid in the dirt,” Lucius says. “I gonna get whoever kill James. Gonna get him the same way. I got a big knife hid in the dirt.”

“You best calm down, Lucius,” the Sheriff says. “You let me take care of it. That's my job.”

“No, sir,” Lucius says, he concentrating real hard to get his sense together. I take a look at the Sheriff's gun on the seat in the car, hope Lucius don't see it. “Momma says can't be no trial. No trial—”

The Sheriff pushes him to one side and gets in, puts his gun in his holster. I go round the other side, Lucius crouch down so nobody see him. “Please,” he says to the Sheriff. “I be careful. Nobody ever know. I been thinking, Sheriff. I could do lots of things to him. Lots. Please—” I look at him, he trembling from his anger, but his eyes ain't crazy. They not moving ten ways, just open big. “Please—”

“You be careful,” the Sheriff says, guns the engine. “Take care of your mother.”

“Please—” Lucius says again, he almost crying. “I got to—” The Sheriff pulls out to the road, Lucius hangs on to the window with his big hands, pleading like a schoolchild, till the Sheriff reaches over bangs him real hard on his knuckles with his fist. “Get off now,” he says, angry, but Lucius stays on. “Dumb bastard,” the Sheriff says and steps on the gas, Lucius's hands rip off, he bangs on the side of the car, falls down. I see him in the mirror, he run a few steps, then starts shaking both his fists, screaming after us.

We get out to where they got Ed Robinson hid, Mister Turner and the others they all in the barn. I know them. The Sheriff, he see Ed Robinson, first thing he does is haul off and slam him a shot to the jaw makes that little guy spin around, some blood starts at the corner of his mouth.

“You goddamn dumb bastard,” the Sheriff says, stands over him, then says it again.

Ed Robinson, he shakes his head, he a kind of little guy, skinny and always moving his fingers ‘gainst one another. He reaches inside his mouth, looks like the Sheriff loosed one of his teeth. The Sheriff breathing hard. “Let's go,” he says, fixes handcuffs on Ed Robinson.

“I'm real sorry,” Ed Robinson says, you can see how scared he is. The other men, they can't hardly look the Sheriff in the eye, just shuffle around. Ed Robinson stands up. He pretty old, got the skinniest jaw you ever seen, lots of sandy hair on his head still. He got a truck farm he runs by himself when he ain't working at the packing plant. “I didn't aim to make no trouble for you, Jim,” he says.

The other men they try to say how they're sorry, but the Sheriff don't look like he hears them. “Let's go,” he says, and pulls Ed Robinson along with him, we get to the station wagon, he cuffs Robinson and me together in the back seat, we head for town. Ed Robinson don't like being attached to me. He leans forward, right next to the Sheriff, we travel some and he don't seem all that scared no more. I guess he figures the worst is over.

“You still got power, Jim,” he says, rubbing his jaw. The Sheriff don't answer. “Mind if I smoke?”

The Sheriff still don't answer. Ed Robinson, he jerks my hand toward him before I know it, lights up his cigarette. I don't say nothing. He gonna get his, I figure. But Ed Robinson, he figures different.

“I told you I'm sorry,” he says. “I mean, I didn't mean to do it, Jim. That's the truth. But when he started screaming I was gonna kill him, it made something go wild in me. You know?” He laughs. “Crazy nigra—I'll tell you the truth, Jim—with all that stuff he was spoutin' about freedom and rights, he weren't ever gonna hurt nobody. I know that.” He laughs some more. “Gonna miss havin' him around, if you know what I mean.” The Sheriff don't answer. Ed Robinson, he start getting fidgety again, yanks me toward him so he can scratch his chest. This time I yank back, he looks at me hard like maybe he want to kill me too. “Ah, I wish it hadn't of happened, Jim,” he says. “For your sake. It puts you on the spot, don't it?”

“You killed a man and you got to pay,” the Sheriff says and I watch Ed Robinson's eyes move forward. He don't expect this. Me neither, you want the truth.

“Ah, c'mon,” he says, his neck jerk out of his shirt like a turtle. “Stop kiddin' around. He was just a nigra—nutty one too.”

“This is Connorsville, Virginia,” the Sheriff says. “It ain't Miss'ssippi and it ain't even Alabama.”

Ed Robinson screws up his face like he don't quite get what the Sheriff trying to say. He chuckles some to hisself, though. “Hell, I'll just say it was self-defense, Jim—no jury round here gonna hang a white man for killin' a nigra.”

“Maybe not,” the Sheriff says.

Then Ed Robinson leans forward, touches the Sheriff on the back. “C'mon—you ain't serious, are you, Jim?”

“Get your hands off me. Pull him back, Homer. You got a job back there—do it.”

“Yes sir, cap'n,” I say, yank my wrist hard and Ed Robinson hit against the back of the seat, glare at me and I feeling pretty good, helping the Sheriff this way. Ed Robinson, he don't say much the rest of the trip, we get him to the office, though, you can tell he been cooking something under his skull.

“Thought you liked to keep this place empty,” he says.

“That's right.”

“C'mon, Jim—I know I put you on a spot and if I could take the whole thing back I would—but you only gonna be making more trouble for yourself, you lock me up.”

“Maybe,” the Sheriff says, sits down at his desk.

Ed Robinson breathes easy, seeing he ain't locked up yet. The Sheriff tosses me the keys, tells me to take the cuffs off. I get them off, move quick to the other side of the room.

“Look,” Ed Robinson says. “You let me go and who's gonna know the difference? None of the boys with me ever gonna tell—nobody but us knows I did it—and the niggers around here, they respect you, they won't push. I mean, who's gonna know the difference?”

“Me,” I say. “I'll know.” Then I look around real quick cause I ain't sure where those words come from. The Sheriff and Ed Robinson, they booth look at me about as surprised as I am. The Sheriff he chew on his lip, just keep staring at me, wondering if he can understand me any better than I do. Ed Robinson, though, he starts laughing.

“Homer—” He waves his hand, brushes his hair back. “Everybody in this town knows he does what you tell him, Jim. Why the way I hear it, the N-double-A-C-P, they gettin' ready to prosecute you for slave-holding!” He laughs some more, a kind of crazy laugh, he got to sit down. “Look, Jim,” he says, “I mean, you and me, we known each other a long time, right? And in this town we got things pretty good—nice and quiet, no trouble, you want to have a personal slave, you don't hear anybody holler, right?” He wags his finger at the Sheriff, I think to myself, you doing the wrong thing, Mister Robinson, don't be shaking your finger at the Sheriff. “But you put a white man on trial here for killin' a nigger, you gonna have that N-double-A-C-P down your neck for sure. They gonna come in here with their TV and their newspapers, make a hero out of that crazy James and before you know it, you gonna have the federal government buttin' in too.” He closes his eyes narrow. “That James, like I say, we all know he ain't held together right in his head, but he was connected up with them groups up North and in Washington, and they gonna come down here, this town never be the same—ain't nobody gonna be thanking you for that. They gonna start messin' with our schools and they be wantin' niggers on the jury—oh yeah, you gonna have real trouble, Jim. And for what?” He stops talking. I look at the Sheriff, then back at Ed Robinson, then to the Sheriff. I feeling a little dizzy, count of what he say about me.

“You be committin' suicide, you run a trial here,” Ed Robinson says. But he ain't getting any reaction from the Sheriff. He keeps trying, though. Scratches his chin and laughs. “Okay, okay—you know something? Not for the fact of all the trouble it make for everybody I'd kind of like the chance to testify in court. Never done that. You should of seen the way that James was carrying on—I'll tell you something—you can bet your best pair of boots I'd have that jury rolling in the aisle, imitatin' how he was going on—” He wags his finger again and I feel this nerve along my shoulder start heart-beating. “Long as things are peaceful here, long as you keep order, people stay pretty tolerant, Jim. They don't care too much how you go about doing it. But once they think this civil rights stuff gonna invade our town, you be surprised how quick they get together. Like I say, not for the trouble that'd come, I'd kind of like the chance to sit up there in the courthouse. Only I'd be the one they'd make a hero, Jim, and you better believe that.” He stops. The Sheriff, I sure don't want to be him now, damned if he do and damned if he don't. Ed Robinson, he feeling good. He stands up and stretches, laughs nice and easy like him and the Sheriff good buddies again and he going to do his best to get the Sheriff off the hook. “Hell, Jim,” he says. “You did the same thing yourself, you and me used to run around together.” The Sheriff's eyes shift real quick, Ed Robinson see it too. “Things were different in those days, huh, Jim? I mean, I'm as sorry as I can be I put you in a fix—but I'm remembering the time, wouldn't of been no fix at all to take after a nigra. Remember in high school, we had nothin' to do on a Saturday night, we used to get those chains and ride around looking for a stray one?” He looks kind of wild in his eyes, remembering. “Jesus, I remember that time you got that big black boy out behind the old stone quarry. Some job you did on him—”

The Sheriff, he's done thinking. “Go on home, Ed,” he says, real calm, but Ed Robinson, he a little surprised, hear the words so sudden.

“You mean it?”

“Unless you want me to keep you here—for your own protection. I'll do that, if you want.”

Ed Robinson, he only been putting up a front, you can see now, cause he starts laughing kind of hysterical, he so relieved. “Who's gonna touch me?” he asks. “That's a good one, Jim—for my own protection!”

“I thought maybe you were scared the nigras might find out—”

Ed Robinson howls now, slaps his knee. “That'll be the day, won't it though,” he says. “When the niggers go after us. Why when that day comes, Jim, lemme tell you, I'll say okay, set 'em all free, let 'em eat where I eat, live where I live, drink where I drink. I'll say set em all free—even Homer here.”

“Go on home, Ed,” the Sheriff says again. I ain't looking up, the room turning kind of sideways, I not sure what I want to do to Ed Robinson, but it something awful.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Sheriff,” I say when Ed Robinson gone. I head for the door.

“Stay put, goddamn you!” the Sheriff says.

“Yes sir, cap'n,” I say.

He stands up, real angry—I didn't see how angry he is till now. “And stop saying that, hear? ‘Yes sir, cap'n, yes sir, cap'n'—it's driving me crazy—!

“Yes—” But that as far as I get, I get control of my mouth, stop the rest.

“Goddamn, just goddamn,” the Sheriff says, walks around the room some. His jaw, it set so hard, he gonna break something. I scared of him now, afraid I gonna say the wrong thing. He come up close to me after a while, jab my chest with his finger. “You know where Ed Robinson lives?” he asks.

“Yes sir, cap'n,” I say, and then he lets me have it—wham! I go flying, knock down a whole bunch of guns and things. The floor goes backwards and I slide some, the whole world racing around me and I got to catch hold onto something.

“Get up!” he says. “Goddamn you, get up!”