Perfect Peace (25 page)

“You wunnit scared o’ no snake when you was eight, was you?” Gus asked.

“No, I wunnit, but I been a boy my whole life.”

“Well, he been one, too! He just didn’t know it. Now he gotta start actin’ like one.”

“He’s doin’ de best he can, Daddy!”

“You mind yo’ own damn business, boy! I’m de daddy ’round here and I say how things go.”

Authorly’s eyes never left Paul’s. “Here,” he said, hoisting the snake in the air. “Take it.”

“It won’t hurt you,” Mister said. “It’s already dead.”

Paul’s arm felt heavy, like a solid steel rod, but he didn’t intend to get slapped again. He reached forward, prepared to receive the snake with his thumb and index finger, like one might pinch his nose.

“Not like that!” Authorly pushed his hand away. “Like this.” He clutched the snake with his entire palm.

If Paul dropped it, he knew he’d really be in trouble, so he closed his eyes and seized the snake as though angry with it.

“Good. Now. That’s how you do it.”

Woody winked at him. “See? It won’t hurt you. You’ll learn.”

Paul looked at Gus, who looked away. Yes, Paul had held the snake, but, in Gus’s heart, he still didn’t seem like a boy.

“Finish yo’ lunch,” Gus said to everyone. “We still got work to do.”

Sol extracted a book from beneath the bib of his overalls. Knowledge fed his soul
and
his body, he told Gus, although this made no sense to a father who had never read anything. Authorly taught Sol his ABCs at three and by five Sol read better than everyone in the house except Emma Jean. Sometimes he made up words for fun, asking his brothers if they knew what the words meant. Their puzzled expressions evoked his laughter and served as the origin of countless fights between him and Authorly. He would go to college one day, he told the family, although he didn’t know where or how. Only Emma Jean believed him, and if she hadn’t spent the family’s meager savings on Perfect’s birthday party, she would have contributed it to Sol’s college fund. Now that Perfect was Paul, she wished she had.

Paul’s noonday appetite dissipated the moment he touched the snake, and even Mister couldn’t convince him that he’d soon regret an empty stomach. He felt proud of himself, having faced a fear that once seemed insurmountable. He almost thanked Authorly, but decided against it. Encouraging his traumatic—though liberating—approach was definitely not something he wanted to do.

Paul rose and disappeared behind the barn. He unbuckled the straps of his overalls, lowered his underwear, and squatted.

“You don’t pee like that no more,” Authorly said.

Paul hadn’t noticed him following. He jumped, scattering urine across his clothes, unable to cover himself before Authorly beheld his nakedness.

“A man pees standin’ up.”

Paul tried to rebuckle the overall straps, but his trembling hands wouldn’t allow it. “Like this.” Authorly unzipped the fly of his overalls, motioning for Paul to do likewise. Then he extracted his penis.

Paul tried not to gawk at Authorly’s gigantic extension. Would his grow into
that
, he wondered.

“You hold it like this. With one hand.”

Paul looked, from the corners of his eyes, trying not to look at all. Authorly peed and Paul followed suit. “Then you shake it like this. So you don’t leak into yo’ drawers.”

Paul shook his shaft, wondering if Authorly was laughing internally at his miniature penis.

“Then you tuck it back in like this”—Authorly demonstrated the move—“and you go on ’bout yo’ business. Don’t no boys pee sittin’ down.”

Paul zipped his fly and followed Authorly back to the others. For years to
come, he would wait for his penis to evolve into what Authorly had, but it never did. He wondered if something might be wrong with his, if maybe its growth had been stunted during his girlhood days. Every day he looked to see if, finally, his penis size matched his brother’s and every day he was disappointed that it didn’t. Maybe if he could
act
more like a man it would grow, he thought. Yet after age sixteen, and very little success with masculinity, he stopped trying—although he never stopped hoping.

Come Sunday morning, Sol’s singing awakened the household as the sun peeked over the distant horizon. The boys rose, wondering if the family would attend church. Would Paul go, Mister asked himself. What would people say when they saw him?

“I don’t think we better take the boy to church, Gus,” Emma Jean said, leaning up and rolling her stiff neck. “It’s just too soon. He ain’t ready for that.”

“We goin’,” Gus said. “And he’s goin’, too. Ain’t no need o’ hidin’ him, and it ain’t gon’ get no easier. The sooner the better.”

“I know. You’re right. But maybe if we waited just one more week, he’d be a little . . . um . . . you know . . . stronger so if people laughed at him he could take it a little better.”

“We goin’ today. All of us.” He slid into his good overalls and entered the living room. “What y’all waitin’ for? Y’all know we goes to church on Sunday mornins. Get y’all’s behinds up and get ready for service.”

They obeyed, each wondering how they’d survive the day. Authorly might fight, Mister considered, if someone said the wrong thing. Then Woody would have no choice but to assist. Sol hated violence, but Mister felt certain that Sol would fight if he had to. Of course James Earl couldn’t be counted on for anything. The guarantee was that he’d watch and cry, squeezing his head until the commotion subsided.

Other boys would definitely have something smart to say. That was to be expected. Mister just hoped they wouldn’t say it during church.

Eva Mae saw Paul first and wondered why she was dressed in boy’s clothes. And why had someone cut her hair like that?

“Hey, Perfect,” she called.

When Paul turned, he was relieved that Eva Mae wasn’t horrified.

“What happened to your hair? And why you got on them boys’ clothes?”

Before he could answer, Gus said, “Mind yo’ business, li’l girl. This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.”

Eva Mae bit her bottom lip and stared at her best friend. “We ain’t gon’ sit together like we always do?”

Authorly pushed Paul away from Eva Mae as though she were the problem. What had she done, she wondered. Paul wanted to tell her that they were still best friends, if she wanted to be, but everyone made it clear that he was not to speak for himself. Not that day.

Within minutes, a crowd gathered around the Peace clan as though Paul were a celebrity. Or a freak. The frowns and whispers were more than Emma Jean could bear.

“What happened to that child?” W. C. asked Gus. “Who did that to her?”

Sugar Baby laughed and shouted, “He all right now! He all right now!”

The crowd awaited a response, but Gus said nothing. He tried to lead the family into the church, but the crowd blocked his way.

“Emma Jean?” Miss Mamie called. “What happened to that girl?”

“He ain’t no girl,” Emma Jean slurred. “He’s a boy. Now.”

“What! What chu mean ‘he’s a boy now’?”

Gus intervened. “Let it go, Emma Jean. They ain’t gon’ understand. You can’t make this make sense to nobody.”

The family pressed through the crowd and into the church.

“I told y’all that heffa was crazy!” Miss Mamie said. “Didn’t I tell you? Lawd have mercy! Ain’t no tellin’ what that woman done done to dat chile. How you make a li’l girl into a boy? Huh? Somebody tell me dat!”

Folks shook their heads sadly. W. C. urged everyone into the church, saying, “Mind yo’ own business. I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

Sandwiched between Emma Jean and Authorly, Paul slumped in shame. He heard every whisper, joke, and cackle as though people’s voices had been amplified. Didn’t they know their words hurt? Didn’t they care?

Reverend Lindsey emerged from the pastor’s study, wondering about the source of the commotion. He glanced across the congregation without noticing what everyone else had already seen. “Somebody give us an opening song,” he said.

Miss Mamie stood and sang, “I woke up this morning with my mind!”

The congregation filled in the chorus: “Stayed on Jesus!”

“Yes, I woke up this morning with my mind!”

“Stayed on Jesus.”

“Hallelujah, I woke up this morning with my mind!”

“Stayed on Jesus.”

Together, everyone sang, “Hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelu . . . jah!”

Miss Mamie waved her arms, stared at Emma Jean, and sang, “It ain’t no harm to keep yo’ mind!”

Emma Jean stared back and mumbled with the crowd, “Stayed on Jesus!”

After the song, W. C. bent to one knee before a rusted fold-up chair and prayed, “It’s once more and again we come befo’ Yo’ throne, Lawd, like empty vessels befo’ a full fountain. You didn’t have to wake us dis mornin’, but You did, Lawd, and we can’t neva thank You enough. Sometime we don’t understand Yo’ ways, Lawd, but we know dat You sits high and looks low, and everythang You do is holy and righteous. Send us Yo’ power, Lawd, so we know how to walk right and talk right and treat our neighbor right. We cain’t do nothin’ ’til You come, Lawd, so we ask that You come on down and be in dis heah service, Lawd, and let de Holy Ghost have its way. Sometimes thangs happen we jes’ don’t understand, Lawd, but I ask You right now to give us understandin’.”

“Yes!” The crowd shouted. Reverend Lindsey frowned.

“. . . ’Cause You told us in Yo’ word that with all thy gettin’, get understandin’, so I’m prayin’ for understandin’ right now, Lawd!” W. C. paused, clapping his hands vigorously, then added, “Visit de Peace household, Lawd, and give ’em comfort in dis time o’ distress.”

When Reverend Lindsey looked up, his eyes fell on Paul. W. C. had completed the morning prayer, and now the congregation sat in silence.

Authorly wanted to rise and scream,
What is you lookin’ at, Reverend!
but he already knew, and, unfortunately, he had no explanation.

Reverend Lindsey couldn’t speak. He blinked two or three times, but never closed his mouth. W. C. dismissed the congregation to Sunday school.

“Am I seeing things?” he asked W. C. once the sanctuary emptied.

“Nawsir, you ain’t seein’ thangs. I don’t know what happened. Gus wouldn’t say nothin’.”

“It is a little girl, right?”

“I don’t know. Emma Jean said it’s a boy now.”

“What!”

“Dat’s what she said. Then they walked on in the church like they do every Sunday.”

“Oh God.”

“Yeah. It’s crazy. I mean, it’s really crazy.”

Paul attended Sunday school with a bowed head. The teacher tried to ignore him, but couldn’t help staring. Mister reminded her several times of the topic and eventually she dismissed Paul from her mind with the wave of a hand. He appreciated the gesture. Eva Mae decided she’d get to the bottom of this after church. Perfect was her best friend, and she felt she deserved to know.

Before Reverend Lindsey preached, he said, “I don’t do this often, but I’m gon’ ask Emma Jean if she wouldn’t mind singing ‘Amazing Grace.’ I feel like I need to hear that this morning.”

Emma Jean tried to deny the request, but the crowd insisted. Yes, she was crazy, and, yes, ain’t no tellin’ what she had done to that chile, but everyone in Swamp Creek forgave her shortcomings whenever she opened her mouth to sing. The opportunity to hear Emma Jean croon was simply a blessing no one was willing to forego. She rose, like a timid child awaiting reprimand, and shuffled to the front of the church. Gus stared out of the window, anxious for church to be over yet grateful it hadn’t been as bad as he had imagined. At least not yet.

Paul lifted his head for the first time when Emma Jean began, sweetly, “Amazing Grace, shall always be my song of praise.” She closed her eyes as tears poured. “For it was grace that bought my liberty. I do not know, just why He came to love me so. . . . He looked beyond my faults and saw my needs.”

“You better sang, Emma Jean Peace!” people shouted. Hands were raised all over the sanctuary. Any minute now, they knew, Miss Mamie would faint under the power of the Holy Ghost.

“I shall foreeeeever lift mine eyes to Calvary!” Emma Jean belted. “To view the cross, where Jeeeesus died for me, how marvelous!”

Miss Mamie collapsed. Usher Board Number One fanned her violently as W. C. carried her out.

“. . . was the grace that caught my falling soul.” Tears dangled from Emma Jean’s chin. “He looked beyond my faults and saaaaaaw my needs.”

She returned to her seat as the congregation dried their weepy eyes. She needed the song, too, she thought, and now she felt a little better. Of course Paul’s situation was all her doing, but if God and Gus could look beyond her faults, she didn’t give a damn what other folks said.

After service, the congregation reconvened outdoors in front of the church. Gus had hoped to load the family onto the wagon and escape without incident, but that didn’t happen.

“What’s wrong wid that girl?” Snukey Cunningham, W. C. and Mamie’s oldest grandson, asked. He and Authorly were only a month apart, but Authorly was twice his size.