Mystery of the Dark Tower (5 page)

Bessie could hear Papa talking. “Ain't no work for a colored man paying no decent money 'round here. That's why I have to spend so much time at the Dark Tower. I'm thinking about moving in there. It's the only way. I've got to get back to her. You see that, don't you? I love her.”

Suddenly Papa spun around and saw Bessie and Eddie crouched at the door. “Y'all, didn't I tell you to go upstairs to bed?”

They raced up to their room.

“What's th-the Tower?” Eddie asked.

“The
Dark
Tower,” Bessie said, annoyed that she didn't know either.

“Papa kept s-s-saying he had to go be with this w-woman at the Dark Tower place. Who is th-the w-w-woman?” Eddie asked.

Bessie pulled Eddie to her and hugged him tightly. So it was true. Papa and Mama were separated, and Papa was seeing another woman. There was nothing she could do about Mama now, except hope that Mama was really coming to Harlem. She couldn't even write to Mama, because Mama had never learned to read too well. But maybe Bessie could find out who the woman was that Papa was talking about, and find out about the Dark Tower. Why would Papa want to be in a dark tower? Bessie tried to imagine what it would be like. Cold and wet and gloomy Spooky, with candles burning. “Don't worry. I'll figure this out,” Bessie said.

“H-how?” Eddie asked.

“I don't know yet. I'm thinking. Just don't worry about it,” Bessie said. “Remember, I'm your big sister. I'll take care of you.”

They took their baths and got in bed. Once again, Papa didn't come in to say good night. He hadn't been in to say good night since their first night in Harlem. Bessie lay awake thinking about what she must do to find out what Papa was up to. Why was he acting like this? Eddie snored lightly beside her. Bessie turned over and pulled out the poem Aunt Nellie had given her. By the light of the moon, she read a few lines:

In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone

I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan—

“Ain't got nobody in all this world,

Ain't got nobody but ma self.
”

Even though there were parts of the poem she didn't understand, the words touched her heart. She felt like she, too, had nobody in the world to help her. But she was determined to find out what Papa was doing.

Bessie heard a noise in the hallway. What was it? She listened to see if it was Papa finally coming to say good night. But their door didn't swing open.

Bessie threw the covers back and sneaked to the door. She slowly turned the knob and peered out. In the dimness she saw Papa walking down the hall. He had his good shoes in his hands. He had changed into his Sunday church clothes, gray pants and his white starched shirt. His suspenders were the black and white ones that Mama had bought him for his birthday last year. He tiptoed into the bathroom and closed the door softly.

Papa must be going out. Was he going to the Dark Tower? It would be useless to ask him. He wouldn't tell her, and he'd already warned Aunt Nellie about telling them grown folks' business. Bessie closed the door quietly There was only one way to find out about this Dark Tower—follow Papa there.

Bessie hurriedly slipped on her clothes. She waited at the door of her room. Her heart beat like Brownie's hooves when the mare was at full gallop. It thumped so loudly, Bessie feared Papa would hear it when he sneaked past her door and down the stairs.

Bessie waited until she heard Papa go out the front door. She moved quietly down the stairs and out the door. Bessie could see Papa up ahead, turning the corner. Bessie knew she needed to stay far enough behind that Papa didn't hear or see her. She followed him, trying to keep her steps light on the pavement.

After a few blocks, the smell of turnips and pork chops drifted out of an apartment building. Three men hopped out of a car.

“Hurry up, man. We're late for jooking,” one man said. They were dressed in black suits, white shirts, and black bow ties and carried black horn cases. Papa stopped and talked to the men as if he knew them. Papa's friends back home were all farmers and laborers, like Papa.

Two ladies in high-heeled shoes with lots of lipstick and big jangling earrings stopped and talked to Papa. One woman hugged him around the neck. Bessie heard her say, “I hears you been painting uptown.” Bessie knew what “painting the town” meant—having fun. Papa ought to be ashamed of himself. What would Mama think? Mama was back home alone, and Papa was painting up the town in Harlem.

For the first time, Bessie was glad Mama wasn't here to see how Papa was acting. Then it came to her that if Mama were here, maybe Papa wouldn't be doing this. She had to stop Papa from seeing other women. If Papa had another woman, Mama might not take him back.

Another man came up and grabbed Papa. They laughed and slapped each other on the back. The man gave Papa a brown paper sack. “I hated to make you come down here for this, but I needed to get out myself,” the man said. “I did you a special favor, though—there are two of each for you. You can stow away some for yourself.”

“I'll have to hide one set at home,” Papa said. “I'm keeping this a secret from my family.”

“Come on into the rent party for a minute,” the man said, slapping Papa's back again. “You ain't got to stay long. I know you dying to get back to that Tower. But you deserve a break, man.”

This isn't the Dark Tower
, Bessie thought. Then where were they? And what was in that bag that Papa was keeping a secret?

Bessie watched Papa stop by the door next to a fancy-dressed woman smoking a long cigarette. He gave her something out of his pocket and went up the steps. Bessie could see other people crowding up the steps, too.

Bessie waited until no one but the woman was standing on the steps. She wanted to get a better look at the sign hanging by the door. Maybe it would help her figure out what Papa was up to in there.

Bessie walked briskly toward the building. She read the sign:
RENT PARTY. Only 10¢. Live pick-up trio. Boiled pig's feet, hopping John, ham hocks, and sweet potato pie. Come on in and swing
.

The cigarette woman waved Bessie over to her. One of the apartment windows upstairs had a red light glowing from it. Loud jazz music filled the air. Through the window, Bessie could see people dancing and hear their laughter ringing like bells from above.

“You want to come in to the rent party, miss?” the woman shouted. Her speech was slurred, and smoke curled out of her mouth. “Come on. Help a body get up their rent. You know these landlords is raising rents so high, every dime counts. Landlords'll kick us out if we don't make some money here tonight to pay our rent. Come on, now. Help a sister out. You can dance all you want. Eat all you want.”

Bessie figured the woman must have been drinking spirits, the way she swayed and slurred her words.

“It's just a dime to get in,” the woman continued, grabbing Bessie by the arm. “We got a live band. Can't you hear it?” Then the woman looked at Bessie, as if seeing her for the first time. “Why, you just a little girl. Go on. Get on out of here and go home. Ain't no children allowed in here,” she said, turning Bessie's arm loose.

Bessie backed away from the woman. She didn't want any more trouble than she already had. Bessie hadn't followed Papa to the Dark Tower, but to a party. What had come over Papa? He never did things like this. Back home Papa was a hardworking man. He came home every night. Bessie had never seen Papa even look at another woman. Whatever happened to Papa must have happened here in Harlem. And Bessie would bet a plug nickel that the Dark Tower woman had something to do with it.

C
HAPTER
4

W
EARY
B
LUES

Bessie started for home. Her chest tightened. She'd never been so far from home at night. The normally busy street was quiet and still. What if she got lost? Bessie tried to retrace her steps, but the streets seemed darker than when she'd followed Papa.

The shadows from the streetlights played tricks with her eyes. Did she see someone move up ahead? She ducked into an alley. It smelled of rotting food. Bessie felt something on her foot and glanced down. A mouse sat on her shoe. She kicked her foot, trying to shake the mouse off. “Go on,” she whispered. “Git off. Go. Git.” Bessie wasn't afraid of the mouse. She'd had field mice for pets back home. The mouse looked at her bravely, then scurried away. The sight of the fearless little creature made Bessie feel braver. She touched her Memaw necklace for courage and started out again, hurrying home as fast as she could.

Bessie sighed with relief as she sneaked back into her aunts' house. Upstairs, she found Eddie sound asleep. But Bessie couldn't sleep. What in the world was happening to Papa? Had he forgotten about Mama already?

A pang of hurt passed through Bessie. What about
her
? Didn't she sometimes forget about Mama when she was playing? Was she just as bad as Papa?

Bessie decided to stay awake and listen for Papa to come back home. But the next morning, she woke with a start. She realized she'd dozed off to sleep. Had Papa come home last night? Bessie raced to his room and flung the door open.

“What's the matter?” Aunt Nellie asked, coming up the stairs. “You need something?”

“No, ma'am,” Bessie said. But it wasn't true—she needed Papa. Not this new Papa, but the old Papa who loved his children and Mama. “I was looking for Papa,” Bessie said. “Is he downstairs?”

“No. I mean, your papa, well, he … he left early to go to work,” Aunt Nellie said, tugging at her ear. “He had to go back to work last night and he came in real late. And then he had to get up early this morning and leave again. Yes, that's right.”

Bessie stared at her. Aunt Nellie wasn't a very good fibber, that was for sure.

“Come on down and get your breakfast. I've made you and Eddie some hotcakes and homemade syrup. Hurry up, now. You don't want the cakes to get cold,” she said, leaving Bessie alone in Papa's room.

Bessie leaned against the door and thought about what Aunt Nellie had said. That was the same story Aunt Nellie told them every time they asked for Papa. Suppose he went out every night the way he did last night. Maybe that's why he had stopped coming in to say good night. Suppose he stayed out all night at parties. Bessie looked around Papa's room. His bed sure didn't look slept in. How could she know whether or not Papa even slept here?

Bessie had an idea. She pulled at a loose string near the top of the bedspread. Leaving one end of the string connected to the bedspread, she tied the other end to the nearest leg of the bed. If the string was broken tomorrow, Bessie would know that Papa had pulled the spread back to get into bed. Bessie hoped that string would be broken the next time she checked.

The next morning, right after breakfast, Bessie hurried into Papa's bedroom. Her string was still there in one piece. According to Aunt Nellie, Papa had once again come home after they were asleep and left early in the morning. Bessie liked Aunt Nellie and knew she meant well. But Aunt Nellie was fibbing for Papa.

Now Bessie knew Papa wasn't
sleeping
at home. But was he coming home at all? For two nights Bessie tried tricks to stay awake so she would hear if Papa came in. But it was hard to stay awake. Back home, Bessie was in the habit of going to bed with the chickens around seven o'clock. That way she got plenty of rest before Mama called her at dawn to do chores.

Last night she had fallen asleep before ten o'clock. Now it was ten-thirty, and Bessie was struggling to keep her eyes open. She tried not to think about Mama and Papa, because it made her sad. But she couldn't help thinking about home.

She thought about a day several weeks before they left Burlington. It was soon after Bessie had noticed Mama's unhappiness. Bessie had been sitting on the floor between Mama's legs while Mama combed, greased, and plaited Bessie's hair. “Bessie,” she had said softly, “I love fixing your hair. I think it's what I will miss the most.”

Mama had been giving clues all along, and Bessie had missed them. Now she could see that it all added up. Papa not saying his sugar-sweets. Mama saying she would miss combing Bessie's hair. Mama giving her Memaw's necklace. Yes, Mama knew that she and Papa were going to separate and that Papa would take them to Harlem. Those were her ways of saying good-bye. But why would Papa tell a fib and say that Mama was coming to Harlem? Bessie had never known Papa to fib before.

People change, though. Bessie knew that.
She'd
changed. Since coming to Harlem, she'd almost forgotten Brownie. Back home she'd ridden her horse every day She'd wake up thinking about that horse. Now she went days without thinking about her. Or about the starry sky in her room. What if she forgot Mama? There could be nothing worse than to forget your own mama.