Such Sweet Thunder (23 page)

Like stars! He noticed now the woman in the ticket office, discovering with delight that the hole in the middle was for her to talk through while the hole at the bottom was for her to stick her hands through when she gave him the pink ticket with writing on it, which she had torn from a big roll of pink tickets shortly after he had said: “One please,” and she had smiled at him, revealing a set of whitish teeth that were partly smudged with the thick red coloring on her lips.

Ticket in hand he went past the popcorn machine where the man shoveled it into tall paper sacks through which grease spots showed for a nickel and pasteboard boxes for a dime. He was just about to open the door when the man called him back and asked him for his ticket. He gave him the ticket and opened the door himself and stepped into a big black room.

The sound of a motor running, of crunching popcorn, fried chicken, Murray’s and Tuxedo hair grease, shoe polish, perfume and talcum powder, freshly ironed linen mixed with the smell of sweat and peppermint chewing gum. The whir of big electric fans. Then he felt hot.
Finally he saw the thin ray of bright light streaming from a hole in the back wall. It got thicker as it flowed toward the big white wall at which everyone was looking.

Slowly his eyes became accustomed to the dark, and he noticed first the glow of the lights shining from under the edges of the seats on the aisles, and then the soft glow of white clothing, a cap, a pair of shoes sticking out of the aisle. He saw an empty seat and took it. He looked at the wall. There was a picture on it: a dark gray sky. He smiled with satisfaction, imagining himself at home in bed, looking out the window at the stars, feeling that old secret familiarity with them, just before a welter of fragmentary thoughts and pictures crowded into his mind and his eyes closed upon them and fastened them in and he grew tired and sleepy and they grew quieter and receded out of mind.

But don’ stay all day
, he heard his mother saying. He jumped quickly to his feet and hurried out of the dark room.

“What you doin’ home so early?” cried Viola who was sitting at the kitchen table straightening her hair. She held the hot straightening comb in midair, awaiting his explanation. “You couldn’t a seen the show already!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Rutherford, come in here and look at your son. He’s been to the show an’ back — already!”

“What?” A rustle of papers. “What did you see, son?” He stepped into the kitchen.

“Some stars.”

“Stars! You hear that, Babe? Your son is a stargazer!”

“Mom said not to stay long!”

“That’s all right, baby,” said Viola, “you go back and tell ’um what happened. They’ll let you back in. Didn’t you see no people or nothin’ on the screen?”

“Just some stars.”

The man at the popcorn machine let him in again. He looked intently at the wall with the pictures on it: A great big man with a great big head and great big thick black eyebrows was chasing a little skinny man with big sad eyes and a little black mustache under his nose whose pants were too big and whose shoes were way too long. He shuffled funny-like when he walked and made everybody laugh. They laughed even harder when he ran. Amerigo laughed, too. He laughed so hard that tears ran down his cheeks. The big man was trying to catch the little man but he couldn’t catch him because he was too quick, but he
almost caught him all the time. Finally the little man ran upstairs in the room of a house and pushed a coal stove out of the window on the big man’s head and the big man fell down like he was dead. All the people in the show laughed hard when the big man fell and the policeman came and got him in the end and took him to jail. Amerigo laughed, too. And then a real pretty lady came and the little man with the big sad eyes saw her and she took him by the arm and all the people went to church, even the big man with the big head and the thick eyebrows and his wife and that was the end. He told the story to his mother on the way home:

“Then that pitcher went away an’ another one came on — with shootin’ an’ real talkin’ an’ horses an’ a big house burned down. An’ the man in the white hat — old Buck Jones, man! — he couldn’ catch ’um ’cause they was shootin’ at ’im — in the head! He was b-l-e-e-d-i-n’ on his horse, a pretty horse, r-e-a-l white with a l-o-n-g tail! An’ then he fell off an’ all them cows like to run over ’im, but they didn’t git ’im ’cause he rolled over behin’ a big rock an’ they couldn’ even do nothin’ to ’im! An’ after that a pretty lady found ’im an’ wrapped his head up, an’ then he got on his horse an’ run after the ones that was shootin’ at ’im till they all fell off a they horses — dead! An’ then the cows come back, an’ then the lady kissed ’im. An’ then the lights come on an’ there was old Tommy an’ William an’ Carl an’ all of ’um down front. An’ then I went down where they was. An’ then the lights went off agin, an’ the li’l funny man an’ the big man who was chasin’ ’im come back agin. An’ then the man with the big white horse … an’ then you come.…”

“You gonna stay here all night? Fast asleep! You better
come
on here, boy!” he had drowsily heard her exclaim. And then she grabbed him by the hand and led him out of the show.

Outside the naked lightbulbs were very bright and all the lights along the avenue were on and many people walked up and down the street with their Sunday clothes on. They climbed Campbell Hill in the dark because the streetlight was out. They paused at the gate. The empty house, a big black bulky mass with points of light from the alley filtering through its windows, cast eerie shadows upon the walls. He clutched her hand.

“It’s just that old empty house,” she said impatiently. “You see it every day. Whew! Still stinkin’.”

He entered the front room and turned on the light and got in bed.

“Ain’t you gonna put out the light?”

“Yes’m, I forgot.” He put out the light and got in bed and drew the
covers around his neck. He fixed his eyes upon the window, upon the stars. They blended with the stars in the show and he heard the lowing of cattle mingling with the faithful voice of Sister James, encouraging him to walk the straight and narrow, while the reverend demanded of him the unspoken word whose insistent reverberations filled the wide roomy space called the future. A cat meowed in the street; a cool breeze chilled him. He pulled the covers over his head and promised God that he would be better. He fell off to sleep.

The little skinny man chased the big bad man. The big bad man picked up the empty house and threw it at the skinny man’s head and he fell down like he was dead. Amerigo laughed hard, threw his head back and laughed so hard that the tears rolled down his cheeks and glistered like crystal marbles — millions of them! They rolled under the gate and ran fast down the cobblestoned alley leaving him sitting in the yard before the kitchen door of a house facing the woman who sat at the table feeding a little baby. He looked at the naked breast between the eye and the voice. It ticked four o’clock. And he laughed and laughed until the marbles bubbled up in his throat and strangled him. He woke up. Miss Chapman was bending over him.

“You just laughin’ to beat the band!” said Viola. “What in the world you dreamin’ about?” She rubbed his face and settled him back in bed and kissed him. Stricken with shame, he drew away and closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

While washing his face the following morning he noticed a pretty ring on the drainboard. That’s Dad’s. He picked it up and looked at it. It was black with a shiny piece of glass in the middle. The thin part that slipped over his finger had writing on it. It was too big. He took it off and put it back on the drainboard. The glass in the middle of the black part shone like a star:

What’s share mean?

It means givin’ others some a what you got
.

He put the ring in his pocket.

At school during recess when all the other children were out playing he slipped back into the classroom. He stood at the door and watched Miss Chapman for a minute. She sat at her desk, writing on some cards. She wore a blue dress. He walked slowly to her desk and stood at her elbow. He pressed his cheek against it.

“Why, Amerigo! Why aren’t you out playing with the other children?” She stopped writing and looked at him with a tender but reserved expression. He blushed furiously and looked at the floor. It had boards in it like those in the floor of the Sunday school room. They ran beyond the wall, all the way down here to the kindergarten. His heart pounded. “Run along and play,” said Miss Chapman, “you haven’t got long. The bell will be ringing in ten minutes.” He withdrew the ring from his pocket. He placed it on the desk, turned, and started to run away.

“What a beautiful ring!” She took it up and looked at it. “Is it for me?”

He looked at the floor.

“Thank you very much. It’s sweet of you, but I don’t think I can accept it,” looking at the inscription in the band. “Why, it’s from your mother to your father!” His face grew hot, his forehead cool, while his body felt hot all over. “Here” she said, wrapping the ring in a sheet of paper, “you take this back home and give it to your father. Do you hear?” He took the ring with downcast eyes and stalked out of the room.

He saw Mr. Bowles on the playground, standing by the front wall, surveying the children. His expression was calm, serene, kind. His hair was white. But he wasn’t Irish because he didn’t have blue eyes and his skin was of a light golden color, like Mr. Gus:

A fine man!

A race man!

A educated man!

His heart overflowed with love for the great man. When the last bell rang he dashed into the room with the big black letters written on the glass door that you couldn’t see through. It said:
O-F-F-I-C-E-O-F-T-H-E-P-R-I-N-C-I-P-A-L
; he spelled it out. Mr. Bowles sat at his desk with his head bent over a book with fine writing in it. He looked up and smiled as he timidly approached him.

“Well, do I have a visitor?”

He stood speechless before the desk.

“What can I do for you, Amerigo?”

He took a step closer and thrust a crumpled piece of paper into Mr. Bowles’s hand. Mr. Bowles unfolded the paper and discovered the silver ring with the small diamond set in an onyx ground.

“You kin have it.”

Mr. Bowles examined the ring and read the inscription.

“Where did you get this?”

“I found it on the drainboard.”

“You are very kind to want to give me this ring,” said Mr. Bowles, “but I’m afraid it’s not yours to give away; it belongs to your father. Amerigo, would you go around and ask Miss Chapman if she would come here a minute, please, and you come with her.”

He appeared minutes later with Miss Chapman.

“I told him to return the ring to his father, Mr. Bowles,” she said upon entering the office. He thought he perceived the trace of a smile upon her face.

“I see,” said Mr. Bowles. “Well, for the time being, I will keep this. You may return to your class, Amerigo.” He left the office, but Miss Chapman stayed behind a few minutes to talk to Mr. Bowles.

That evening at supper he was very quiet. He listened passively while his mother told his father about his staying late at the movie. Rutherford laughed. “That ain’ nothin’, Amerigo. Your momma usta take her
lunch
to the show!”

“Aw, Rutherford. You know you lyin’ like a dog!”

“I swear on a stack a Bibles! If I’m lyin’ I hope lightnin’ strikes me dead!”

“Lightnin’s gonna take you up on one a them lies one a these days!”

They laughed. He laughed, nervously.

The telephone rang. Rutherford went into the middle room to answer it.

“I see,” said Rutherford in a serious tone. Amerigo looked into his plate. Viola stopped eating. “It’ll be all right, Pr’fessor Bowles. I’ll
talk
to ’im.…” Viola looked at him uneasily. Rutherford entered the kitchen. Anger flashed in his eyes.

“What was it?” asked Viola.

“Pr’fessor Bowles,” he answered coldly. He took his place at the table and stared at Amerigo for several seconds without speaking.

“What’s the
matter
?” cried Viola impatiently.

“Git out a my sight!” Rutherford said to him.

“Rutherford, what
is
it?” He sneaked away from the table and went out on the back porch and sat on the orange crate and looked in at his parents through the screen.

“Kin you beat that?” Rutherford exclaimed almost to himself. “After all we try to do for that li’l niggah!”

“What did he
do?
” Viola’s voice was strained with worry now.

“You know how I sometimes take off my ring when I wash up, scaired I might lose it?”

“Yeah?”

“Well I missed it this mornin’, but I wasn’t worried ’cause you always know when you done really lost somethin’. Well, your son got it into his head to give it to the teacher! She looked in it an’ saw the inscription, I guess, an’ — But wait a minute! That ain’ all! She gave it back to ’im an’ told ’im to bring it home! But naw! He had to haul off an’ give it to Pr’fessor Bowles!”

“Aw-naw!”

“Yeah!”

Amerigo stared into the alley. The scene blurred before his eyes.

“Yeah!”
Rutherford was saying: “Us workin’ to feed ’im, an’-an’ tryin’ to give ’im a nice home an’ all — an’ ’im
stealin’
from us!”

“He didn’ know what he was doin’, Rutherford, he’s just a baby!” Viola pleaded.

“Didn’ know,
hell!
After they
told
that muckle-head to bring the damned thing home! Boy!”

He stepped into the kitchen and stood a good distance from his father.

“COME HERE!”

He stepped a little closer, anxiously watching Rutherford’s hands. “You don’t have to be scaired
now
,” said Rutherford, “Aw naw! I’m gonna wait an’ git you We’nesd’y night, when your momma goes to club meetin’, when it ain’ nobody here but just you an’ me. You lis’nin’?”

“Yessir.”

“You bring that ring home
tamarra
, an put it
back
on the
drainboard
where you found it. An’
as long as you live don’t you never take nothin’ out a this house agin that don’ belong to you
. You hear?”