Legend of Buddy Bush (9781439131824) (11 page)

I can't believe it. The chain gang is working on Rehobeth Road, paving the road. Is that Uncle Buddy?

Yes, it's him.

Right in front of Jones Property.

In a red and white pinstripe suit with chains around his legs, he is pushing a wheelbarrow with sand in it. Folks have been saying for years that they were going to replace the gravel road with tar—but not with my uncle Buddy's hands.

My feet can't move. Something wet runs down by legs. I pee right there on the floor. Can't control it. Tears from my eyes and the water from my private parts is the last thing on my mind.

I let out a holler that I feel clean to my bones.

Uncle Buddy must hear me hollering because, just for a second, his head raises up in the air like a peacock. Ma surely can hear me, but she is in so much pain, she can't move.

Me, I feel like dying. Heaven or hell will do, I
just want to die. I somehow stop crying long enough to take some dirty clothes out of the hamper and wipe the pee up off the floor. Not feeling or smelling so good, I sit on the floor with no strength to move. All my strength is in the sitting room, crying right along with everyone.

All morning we cry. No one comes to my room and I'm not going in the sitting room. No one fixes breakfast. It is as though the world has stopped. At least it has stopped on Rehobeth Road. Yes, the world has stopped on Jones Property. Only the door divides my pain from their pain.

I guess Mr. Charlie eventually see Uncle Buddy out there in that hot sun, and I can hear him and Miss Doleebuck talking as they coming down the path that leads to the house.

Mr. Charlie is not driving today. Mr. Charlie says when trouble comes, you should walk it to the Lord in prayer.

“Open the door, Braxton. It's me and Doleebuck.”

Nobody gets up to let them in, but Mr. Charlie has a key to the house like Grandpa has one to theirs, so he just lets himself in. On my knees, I look
through the keyhole at them hugging each other.

Miss Doleebuck starts praying like Uncle Buddy really is dead and that makes Ma cry louder.

“Come on in, Jesus, help us if you please,” Miss Doleebuck shouts.

Mr. Charlie takes charge.

“Now, y'all got to pull yourself together. Crying ain't going to make the devil leave here. It ain't going to make them white folks behave. What you going to do is get up from here, get dressed, and go on with your day. We can't let Buddy see us like this. We have to get ourselves together, because we ain't got no other choice. Y'all hear me?”

In between “Lord have mercies,” Ma and Grandma say yes. Even Grandpa agrees, and he don't answer to nobody but the Lord.

One by one, we change into some everyday clothes. We know folks will be coming by to see about us once they learn the law has sent Uncle Buddy to the chain gang until his trial. Now folks on Rehobeth Road can be nosy when they want to, but this is different. Folks are some kind of upset about my uncle Buddy. They ain't coming by to get
a look at their neighbor in pinstripes. They just coming by to pray and make sure everyone is all right. That's just what folks do for each other on Rehobeth Road. Miss Nora came, but she was crying so bad, she left right away.

Folks just worried to death about us and Uncle Buddy. Blood or not, folks consider Uncle Buddy our family.

Ma don't have to say it: I know I am staying home from the fields today for sure. I have decided to sit on the porch with Grandma all day. She just sitting here in Grandpa's rocking chair, rocking back and forth. Grandpa ain't been out here all day. He is getting sicker by the hour, knowing his boy is out here being treated like a dog. Ma told Grandma the doctor said Grandpa can't be under any stress. None. If this ain't stress, I don't know what is.

It will be lunchtime soon and we still ain't had breakfast. I need to check the time so I step off the porch. Using my bare foot, I touch the shadow of my head.

“Grandma, it's time to eat.”

“I ain't hungry.”

“But you got to eat.”

“Later, child.”

But Miss Doleebuck ain't hearing nothing about later. She is in the house cooking fried chicken, mash potatoes, black eye peas, and biscuits. She makes lemonade and lunch is served. She even takes Grandpa his lunch in bed. Ma ain't left Grandpa's side all day and she ordered me not to leave Grandma alone, except to pee. Grandma and Ma have a ladies' agreement. “When the devil comes, you look out for your pappy and I will look out for me.” That's what I heard her tell Ma.

Grandma always makes it clear she can take care of Babe Jones. So when trouble comes, Ma goes to Grandpa and Grandma goes to the Lord.

“Here's your lunch, Grandma.”

“Thank you, child. Where's your someteat?”

“I'll eat it in a minute.”

Grandma takes her plate and I go back inside to get myself something to eat. When I get back on the front porch, she is still sitting there, taking small bites like it is the Last Supper. I sit down beside her and join her in her unspeakable pain.

People continue to come by, but they say little or nothing. They just hug us and pray. Some sit a while and get up and go home. Miss Katie just came in with a cake and Miss Thelma is right behind her with some fried pork chops and some Kool-Aid. I'm telling you, these folks act like Uncle Buddy done died and went to glory. I sure hope Miss Thelma feels sorry enough for us to bring a lemon pie tomorrow. Can't nobody cook lemon pie like Miss Thelma. Some folks even come by on their lunch break from the fields. The few that are still working. Folks just plain scared to work today.

Round six o'clock, the guards round up Uncle Buddy and the other men to go back to the jailhouse and the prison camp. They don't take that gun off of Uncle Buddy the entire time. Like he is going to run with the big chains on his ankles. Then they all get into a bus with bars all around the windows. Grandma puts her head down and only the sound of the bus going down Rehobeth Road, past Jones Property, can be heard. I ain't going to say a word because Grandma's hurt done turn to anger.

Miss Doleebuck is back at the stove and Ma is still sitting with Grandpa. Mr. Charlie sits on the back porch all day. Every now and then he goes in the house and sit with Grandpa. Grandma, as usual, decides it is time to change things around this house.

“The devil is a liar,” she says as she stands up and go in the house, slamming the door. Now Grandpa got two screen doors to fix.

“Doleebuck, you and Charlie been here all day,” Grandma says. “Now, y'all go on home, I can finish supper. The law got my boy, but they ain't got my soul. We going be all right. That's what the Lord made tomorrows for.”

I can smell the corn bread on the porch. Grandma don't need to cook no meat. We're eating Miss Thelma's pork chops tonight.

Miss Doleebuck wipes the corn meal off of her hands and hugs Grandma.

“I reckon we best get on home. It's time for Charlie to take his blood pressure medicine.”

They gather their things and say good-bye.

“Bye, Mr. Charlie. Bye, Miss Doleebuck,” I
yell as I walk them to the end of the path.

“Bye, grandbaby,” they yell back as they cross the road that now has sand on it waiting for gravel. Sand laid by Uncle Buddy's hands.

We go to bed early. We go to bed sad.

•  •  •

This morning I hear Grandma long before 5:00. I get up, too, because I know the chain gang will be back with Uncle Buddy. Sure enough, when they come, Grandma is waiting. She ain't crying this morning. She just sitting in her chair and watching the devils giving Uncle Buddy orders of what to do today. I sit here holding her hand for hours, while the sweat rolls down Uncle Buddy's body. He never looks towards Jones Property. He waves slightly when the guards aren't looking. But he never looks our way. He waves again in the afternoon. But he still don't look our way. He don't want them white folks to see how much they are hurting him. How much they are hurting the only ma my uncle Buddy can remember.

When they leave with my uncle Buddy, Ma starts crying and praying. Grandpa gets out of bed
and takes his place on the porch. Mr. Charlie is here now and sits with Grandpa until it gets so dark they can't see each other. This is going to be a long sad night.

Ma comes on the porch and announces that I will be going back to work in the fields tomorrow. She says Randy will look out for me. I don't want to go, but I have to. Ma sent word by Mr. Charlie for Randy to pick me up in the morning.

Randy shows up, all right, but he ain't stopping at the end of the road. He comes in the yard and everyone on that truck gets out and speak to Grandma, who is back in her chair.

“Morning, Miss Babe.”

“How you doing, Miss Babe?”

“Can we do something to help, Miss Babe?”

Miss Nora hugs Grandma and me real tight. But she don't say nothing. Not one word. Then she move out the way and all Miss Blanche children hug Grandma.

This goes on for about ten minutes, then we all pile on Ole Man Taylor's truck and go to work.

Miss Nora and me talk all day in the field about
what's going to happen when Uncle Buddy goes to court.

“Miss Nora, do you think they are going to put Uncle Buddy in prison for life with those other men?”

“Now, child, stop worrying about grown folks business.”

She may be a city woman, but she still believes that grown folks business is grown folks business. She give me some more information about New York and stops talking about my uncle. I really don't care about the North right now. I just want Grandpa's tumor to go away and Uncle Buddy to come home.

I'm so glad it's Friday, so I can stay home with my folks for two days. We off work at 2:00 today because it is so hot that the sun has made Chick-A-Boo blacker. I see Grandma sitting on the porch long before we make it to Jones Property. Uncle Buddy is still out there in that hot sun working like a dog. I go straight to the front porch.

“How you doing, Grandma?”

She don't even do her control thing; she answers me in seconds.

“Hey, baby, I'm fine. Ole Man Taylor let you off earlier today?”

“Yes, Grandma, he did.”

“You wash up and get you someteat.”

I do as I am told, and check on Grandpa, who is sleeping. My mind must be playing tricks on me because the sound I suddenly hear coming from the road is women folks singing. I rush to the front door and Lord I am in shock.

Sure enough, it is the women from church. The women from the choir.

All of them.

Walking.

Walking and singing.

“Jesus, what in the world is they doing?” Grandma says as she stands up.

They are all dressed in white and Miss Cora Mae Jones, who ain't related to us, is leading the choir.

“Hush, somebody calling my name,” she sing on and on.

By the time they get to the doorstep, Grandma is singing, too. I join in as Grandma shouts for joy.

“Yes, Lord, yes,” she says as her apron flops up and down like a rooster's feather.

Now them white folks guarding Uncle Buddy don't know what to do. They just look at us and order the men to keep working.

Grandma yells as loud as she can in between hymns, “The devil is a liar.”

I want to yell, “That would be you, white boy!” But they might shoot Uncle Buddy if I do that.

Grandpa somehow makes it to the window and looks. He knows he can't do nothing with the women of the church. Ma is now out here shouting, too.

They are having church right here this afternoon and there is nothing nobody can do to stop them.

I am shouting too, and run to the end of the path in the spirit, to listen to what the white men are saying.

They pay me no mind.

“Let's get them niggers out of here. They all done lost their minds.”

They start loading Uncle Buddy and the other men on the truck and it is only 3:30.

“Praise him, oh praise him,” Grandma shouts as they leave Rehobeth Road and give us our dignity back.

Ma looks at Grandma, who is still caught in the spirit.

“You think they will be back, Ma Babe?”

“Don't know. But if they do, we will meet them at the gate with Jesus, until they see the glory of the Lord.”

We are so tired from shouting we are going to bed earlier again tonight.

I can't wait to get up tomorrow.

I want to see if they are coming back.

•  •  •

5 o'clock. No guards.

6 o'clock. No guards.

When Randy picks me up, it is clear the devils are not coming today.

They have heard the coming of the Lord. Never to return.

T
oday is June 30, 1947.

We dressed like we are going to church.

But we ain't.

We going to a trial. Uncle Buddy's trial.

Mr. Charlie picks us up. Grandpa must be losing his sight because Grandma had to help him dress this morning. Nobody says a word all the way to the courthouse.

I've never been in a building this big before. Nor have I ever seen this many white folks in the same place at the same time.

I look in the little box that the jury is sitting in.
That is where the men who will decide about my uncle's life sit.

Uncle Buddy is in trouble, judging by these faces.

“Sit here.” Ma points for me to sit where Uncle Buddy can turn around and see me. He does and I feel much better.

It is a long day in that courthouse. They call all the white folks' names who have trials for one thing or another today before they get to Uncle Buddy. When they finally call Uncle Buddy's name, the judge takes a sip of water.

A long sip.

Then he reaches in his pocket and bite a piece of tobacco. Is this what white folks go to law school for? To chew tobacco in public places? In between chews, he say, “This trial has been rescheduled for November 1, 1947.”