Nowhere Is a Place (8 page)

Lou jumped at the sound of her booming voice. “I gotta go,” she said, and turned and scurried toward the house, leaving Buena Vista standing there.

“Can I visit with you again?” he yelled at her back.

Lou turned her head toward him and threw him a look that didn’t look like “no” to him.

He jumped jubilantly into the air and slapped his hat against the palm of his hand. Then he placed it back on his head and started off toward the waiting carriage.

That look gave him all the fuel he needed, with some left over to spare.

___________________

Oswald remained on his steed and spoke down to them all. Henry and Verna on the porch. Lou and Buena standing shoulder-to-shoulder below.

Henry had barely heard the part about how Oswald’s wife was not getting any better, and how it looked as if her days were numbered, and they’d never sold the property off back home, and so Kentucky was where they were headed back to . . .

He’d heard some of that. But what his mind was stuck on was the part about Buena Vista and Lou getting hitched.

“He claims he loves her,” Oswald had said with a laugh. “Well, you know I
don’t believe they know anything
’
bout that. But in any case, they wants to be together and old Buena here has been a mighty good slave. Not a moment of trouble.” Oswald beamed.

Henry’s mind was still stuck on “hitched.”

Henry just looked at them. “Something’s wrong here,” he said as he rocked on his heels and chewed on the tip of his pipe.

“What’s wrong with it?” Verna asked. “He wanna marry her—or whatever it is they do down in that clearing—so let it be.”

“She an injun and he a darkey. T’aint right.”

“So what? You talking about them like they’re actually part of the human
race, for chrissakes,” Verna spat.

“Well, they ain’t of the same race. He a nigger and she a savage. Like trying to mate a cat with a dog.” Henry chewed on the end of his pipe. “Just might be against the law,” he added thoughtfully.

“I assure you, it’s not,” Verna said and, throwing her knitting needles down into her lap in frustration, she jumped up from her chair and quickly moved to her husband’s side.

Henry spat over the porch railing, sending a glob of saliva to land on the toe of Buena Vista’s boot.

“Look, Henry, I hate to lose Buena; he’s a strong buck, damn good carpenter, quick in the field, and his seed is top-notch.”

Verna’s eyebrows went up. “‘Seed’?” she repeated.

Oswald nodded his head and laughed. “He a stud, sure
’
nuff. I done bred him with four of my best nigga womens; all of them had boys first time around—last girl gave me twins!”

Lou flinched, but her eyes did not move from her bare feet.

Naples had told her that it was time for her to choose a man, and the pickings were next to none there. “That man sure do believe in you,” Naples had said with a laugh. “Got it bad, from what I see.”

Lou had just blushed and continued shucking peas.

“You of age now anyhow. Time to make some babies, continue where your mammy and pappy left off.”

Lou had just looked at Naples.

“You hear me, gal?” Naples pressed.

Lou had heard, and nodded her head yes. And so when Buena Vista spoke his intentions for the third time, she’d nodded her head again and said, “Yes.”

“So, you see, I can’t let him go for less than nine hundred dollars. And that there is a bargain,” Oswald said.

Henry opened his mouth to speak, but Oswald threw his hand up, halting his words.

“Or, I’ll tell you what else I’m prepared to do because we’re family,” Oswald boomed. “I can give you three hundred for the girl and take her back to my place.”

Henry’s head started shaking even before the words began to spill from his mouth. “No, no, no.”

“Don’t be a fool, Henry, that’s more than what you paid for her. She’s sickly, anyway. Always bedded down with one thing or another. Can’t work the field past eleven,
’
cause she faints in the heat. She’s a waste; get rid of her,” Verna hissed.

Henry stepped away from his wife and leaned over the railing of the porch. His eyes fell on Lou who stood coyly by, head bowed. She was his. He bought her, nurtured her, and watched and waited patiently for the years to shepherd her into womanhood, and now she was here—beautiful, glowing, and ripe for the picking.

Every man who’d ever stepped foot on his property had commented on how beautiful she was, how exotic looking. “I had one once. Like fire, they are,” one man had said.

“Careful—one time and you’ll be lost to the world forever,” another had warned with a sly grin.

He wanted to be lost to the world forever. He couldn’t let her go, at least not before—

“Nine hundred dollars, you say?”

“Henry!” Verna erupted, then caught herself and threw a shamed look at Oswald. “Oswald, will you excuse me and my husband for a moment, please?”

Oswald nodded his head but let out a heavy breath of irritation.

Once inside, Verna caught Henry by the elbow. “Have you lost your mind? I can’t believe you’re even considering purchasing that Negro. We cannot afford him; we’re already up to our necks in debt. Did you forget about our bill at the feed store and the land taxes?”

Henry’s face twisted in anger. “Don’t you tell me about my affairs. I know what I can afford and what I can’t,” he said, and pushed past her and out the door.

“Oswald, let’s take this conversation into the drawing room.”

Oswald gave him a puzzled look. “Well, I—”

“I have some French cognac I’d like you to try.”

“Well, that sounds quite inviting.” Oswald grinned and climbed down from his steed.

* * *

The sun was setting a fiery orange when Oswald mounted his horse again. Head spinning from the cognac, he waved at Buena Vista and gave him a loose smile before he clucked his tongue and hollered, “Git on, Moses!”

It had been a fine day, he thought to himself as he galloped down the road toward home. One strong black buck for a string of fine pearls and the promise of Lou and Buena’s first-born child.

It had been a fine day indeed.

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Two stops for gas and lunch. Arizona eight long hours behind us, Albuquerque, New Mexico, sprawled out ahead of us.

Sherry cell phone ring. She pick it up, glance at the number, pluck the earpiece from her ear, and hand the phone over to me.

It’s for you, she say.

Hello?

Dumpling! Madeline, screaming.

I grab my chest, say, Oh Lord, what’s wrong?!

She say, I been trying to reach you for hours!

We fine.

Why didn’t Sherry answer the phone?

No service, I say.

What?

We were in the desert, on a reservation.

On a what?!

Reservation, with Indians.

Madeline suck her teeth, blow some air. What y’all doing on a reservation?

Uhm, we spent the night there. Them people some of Sherry’s friends.

Figures, she say, and then, Let me talk to her.

I pass the phone to Sherry. She hesitates but takes it.

Hello, Madeline, she say, and not much else except some throaty sounds and then she just pull the phone away from her face, look at it like Madeline done said something off-color—like she been known to do—and then Sherry just hit a button, a little music play, and then nothing. She done. The phone is off.

She toss it down in her lap, wiggle her butt in her seat, screw up her face, and shake her head like she talking inside of herself and the conversation ain’t good.

I don’t even ask what Madeline said. I know my children.

Sherry move right and slide that SUV between a blue Volkswagen Beetle and a brown Ford that look like the one my husband sold off two years before he died.

The traffic crawls and we inch our way down the Fourth Street exit. I point at a sign and say out loud, University Boulevard, Downtown.

Sherry look at me. Why must you do that? she say.

What?

Announce the signs.

I just shrug my shoulders.

We drive some and then I see a sign that says,
SUPER 8 MOTEL—MIDTOWN
.

I open my mouth, then snap it shut and wait.

We drive some more and pull into the parking lot of the Super 8. Anything better than a cabin, I think as Sherry cut the engine and open her door.

We step into the lobby and Sherry’s face frowning ’fore I can finish reading the words on the small plaque set on the front desk that say,
WELCOME.

I look around. Lobby seem okay to me. Purple carpet, a few places to sit, Glade in the air, smiling young girl asking how she can help us.

In the room now, Sherry look around and already I know she see something wrong.

She particular and peculiar.

Mattress too thin, she say.

She pull the blankets off and toss them onto the floor, bring in two quilts from the back of her SUV.

They don’t wash them after every stay, she say. Full of other people’s germs. Like sleeping with twenty people.

Okay, I say. I just want to eat and go to sleep.

Can we order room service?

Sherry pick up the menu, flip it over, flip it back, toss it down on the bed. If you want to eat that stuff, she say, and pull out a bag of granola.

Yes, I do, I say to the closing door, and pick up the phone, press the button with a picture of a little man carrying a tray, and order me a cheeseburger, onion rings, and two Pepsi colas!

Sherry leave the room and come back with a small fountain with blue marble rocks. She look behind the beds, the dresser, and the nightstand until she find a socket that suit her. When she plug it in, night sounds come out the back.

Nice, huh?

I shrug my shoulders. I usually fall off to sounds of the television.

She smile, go into the bathroom, come out with a glass of water, and pour it into the fountain. Now we got water sounds too. I think I’m going to be up pissing all night long!

The food come and Sherry turn her nose up at the smell of it. She also turn the air conditioner on high, so’s I have to eat my food while I’m wrapped up in one of her blankets to keep from freezing to death.

After I’m done, all showered and clean and wrapped up tight in my bed, Sherry turn off the lights, move to the middle of her bed, and fold her legs Indian-style.

She start making sounds like the woman on the CD in her car. I mean, SUV.

What you doing? I cry.

Meditating.

I turn over, punch my pillow, and think maybe the next stop I can hop a plane.

* * *

In the morning we drive into town, have breakfast at a little café. We sit outside and I order pancakes and bacon; Sherry order a bowl of fruit and ask the waitress to bring her just hot water, she have her own tea bags.

What’s wrong with the tea they got here? I ask. She say she only drink organic green tea.

I pull the wet wipes from my bag and clean my hands.

Sherry watch me and then ask, How many times a day do you have a bowel movement? She say this as I stuff a forkful of pancakes in my mouth.

I’m eating, I say. What you wanna know for anyway?

You know, she starts, and rests her elbows on the table, you should go like a baby does.

What?

After every meal. That’s the proper way.

Shut up, Sherry, and let me worry about how many times I shit.

She huff, but drop the subject.

We sit for a while after our meals are finished and watch the world around us. Plenty of Mexican-looking peoples around here. Red chili peppers draped across almost everything like Christmas lights.

You ready to hear the rest? she ask.

What?

Sherry waving the red spiral notebook in my face.

Oh, yeah, why not.

She call for another cup of hot water.

I say, And another coffee, and lean back into my chair and listen.

___________________

Only two slave quarters, each with one large room. No privacy at all for a man and his wife after they say “I do” down in the clearing.

It’s midday anyway, and a Thursday at that, so Henry hustles everyone back out and into the field and sends Lou off to the kitchen.

“Later,” Buena whispers in her ear, catching hold of her hand before Meade the nigger slave driver pushes the end of his whip into Buena’s back, hurrying him along.

Lou walks off to the kitchen. The honeysuckle necklace Nellie had draped over her neck is already going limp in the heat, the blossoms wilting and turning brown.

* * *

“Naples, you go on down to the quarters and rest some.” Henry didn’t know what to say to get Lou alone.

Naples turned on her heel. “Sir?” She hadn’t seen the inside of one of those shacks in more than seven years. Her place was in the pantry, right below the shelves laden with jars of preserves and bags of flour.

Henry avoided Naples’s eyes and looked off to his left. “You heard me.”

Naples took a deep breath, and her whole body shuddered. She let her eyes fall on Lou for a moment and thought to mouth some word of warning to her, but didn’t.

“Yassa, Mr. Vicey sir,” Naples said, and exited the kitchen through the back door.