Such Sweet Thunder (27 page)

Index finger. He repeated the word to himself, and suddenly recognized the word
joint
.

Till the law comes! he heard Rutherford saying, just before he bent over the Victrola to put Fats Waller on
.

He cut the orange and black sheets of paper into strips and made rings of the orange strips by sticking the ends together with paste and then looped the black strips through the orange rings and pasted the ends in order to make a chain.

“Like this,” said Miss Chapman, holding up a sample. And the chains of black and orange rings grew longer in his sticky hands and coiled like a snake and swelled into heaps of orange and black rings that they later had to straighten out and hang with the aid of ladders brought by Mr. Johnson, the janitor, a tall black man with shiny hair, laughing eyes, and sparkling gold teeth, in sweeping arcs against the walls of the kindergarten room until it looked pretty.

Like Christmas! Only Christmas is different: red and green and white and silver — with snow that isn’t really snow but soap, and Santa Claus! Red and green rings. He pondered the difference, as the red and green and silver and Santa Claus faded into the past, which was not really the past, but the future, somewhere between the present, which was Halloween.

That evening after school he stood at the foot of the front steps with the little group of children:

“I ain’ gonna let no black cats cross my path tanight!” Carl declared.

“Me neither, me neither,” said Toodle-lum, grinning excitedly, his store-bought paper pumpkin in his hand.

“Got the chalk?” Tommy asked.

“Yeah, man!” said Turner with a cunning grin. “An’ soap, lots of it. Laundry soap that you can’t rub off!”

“Look what I made you!” cried Viola as he entered the house. She lifted a little orange-and-black harlequin costume out of the trunk.

“Look at that!” said Rutherford.

He examined the costume and pulled at the orange and black balls attached to the collar.

“Here, try this on.” Placing the cone-shaped hat on his head. One half was orange and the other half was black and there were two little balls attached to the peak, one orange and one black. “Well … it’s a little small,” eyeing it critically, “but I think it’ll do if you push it down tight. You got a head as big as your daddy’s!” Rutherford looked up from his paper and smiled. “Here’s the mask to go with it.” He put it on.

“It hurts.”

“That little joker’s eyes is so b-i-g!” Rutherford laughed maliciously.

“Go an’ git me the scissors,” said Viola.

He went and got the scissors. She cut the eyes a little larger.

“There — that’s better, ain’ it?”

“Yes’m.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Come on in!” cried Rutherford.

As the door opened they heard a long low soulful whistle:

“Zoo!” Viola exclaimed. “Well Har-rold Fergison! Wheeeere in the w-o-r-l-d have you been!” smiling at the black curly-headed man who slipped quietly into the room like a beautiful shadow.

“The old Miestro!” he rasped. “Heh heh heh,” laughing from the side of his mouth, from the other side issued a big black cigar. He bit down on it and smiled.

“What you say, m-a-n!” said Rutherford warmly.

Amerigo merely grinned at him.

“Glim this Jaspah!” he said to Rutherford, indicating the child with an extended right hand with manicured nails. Like a woman’s. His neck sank deeper between his rounded shoulders as he gave him his hand as he would a man. “Pray hip me, what have we here? You look like you all rigged up for a spook fest! Heh heh heh. Eh … yeah-ahem.” He grinned as he examined the costume, fingering the balls on the collar.

“We gittin’ fixed up for Hallaween!” said Viola. “Tanight’s the night!”

“I see!” said Mr. Zoo. “My boy’s gonna be like Jack the Bear — everywhere! Heh heh heh.” The vein in his neck swelled under his tight collar. The knot in his tie appeared to be so hard that he could hardly breathe. Meanwhile Viola, observing his shining hair swelling up in deep waves from his smooth black forehead, said:

“You really got your moss layin’ down to the bricks, there, Zoo!”

“Heh heh heh … thought I’d give the broads a thrill! They like a straight wig! Eh-heh heh heh!” His huge Adam’s apple slid up and down when he swallowed the juice from his cigar.

“That monkey’s got a
pound
a Murray’s on ’is head!” cried Rutherford. “Haw-haw! Niggah, you oughtta be hoss-whipped for ruinin’ your hair like that. You got
good
hair. Was that you was whistlin’ when you come in?”

“Aw, I don’ know. I’m just like the whale in jail: All I kin do is blow! Eh-heh heh heh.”

“That cat kin w-h-i-s-t-l-e, Amerigo,” Rutherford exclaimed. “Always could. Better’n most cats kin blow a horn!”

Mr. Zoo grinned appreciatively, bearing a mouthful of perfect large yellow teeth, which because of his black skin looked almost white. Like Aunt Lily’s. And his eyes were big and rusty looking, with very long lashes, longer than a woman’s. They made him look mean or like he was dreaming awake, or sleeping sitting up! Grandpa Will came to mind when he discovered Mr. Zoo’s prominent nose with its high “Indian” bridge. And now he even discerned a deep rich red flesh tone surging up out of the blackness of his skin.

“Old Dee-Dee usta blow a mean harp, too,” Rutherford was saying. “I remember sometimes we’d be comin’ home from school, or from a dance or somethin’, an’ those two jokers’d git to b-l-o-w-i-n’! An’ that Zoo! I swear, I ain’
never
heard n-o-body whistle like that cat! Blowed his way through school. Old Zoo never would study! Haw-haw!”

“Aaaaaw,” Mr. Zoo grinned.

“Pull up a chair,” Rutherford said, “an’ set a while. We’ll open up a keg a nails!”

“Eh-heh heh heh. Don’ mind if I do!”

Rutherford reached under the sink and got several bottles of homebrew. Viola set the glasses on the table and, while Rutherford poured out the beer, she placed a can of Spanish peanuts before him. There was a long silence while they took the first swig of beer. After setting their glasses down they still sat quietly for a moment, ruminating over the past they had shared in order to find something suitable to say.

“Mom, kin I go now?”

“I guess so. Who’s goin’ with you?”

“Tommy an’ Turner an’ them.”

“Well, have a good time. But don’ git into no mischief! Is your hat on good? Let me see.” She examined him carefully, turning him this way and that.

“Aw let that boy alone, woman!” said Rutherford impatiently. “Go on, Amerigo, an’ have a good time! She’ll make a sissy out a you! Don’t git into no mischief? Woman, what’s Halloween
for?
Ha!” He slapped his palm against his knee. “Zoo, do you remember when you an’ ol’ Elmer an’ Dee-Dee an’ T. C. an’ ol’ Clarence an’ me put ol’ man Wiggins’s Ford up-on-top-a-that-toilet? No kiddin’, Babe! Didn’ we, Zoo?”

“Heh heh heh.”

“Rutherford,” Viola exclaimed, “don’t you start that lie!”

“Babe if I’m-if I’m lyin’, listen! I’ll take a oath! Them niggahs was engineers, Jack!” He turned to Amerigo: “We was engineers, Amerigo.” He stood upon the threshold of the kitchen door, held by
the entreaty in his father’s voice. “We took two boards an’ some chain an’ a ol’ piece a rope. An’ half of ’um pushed an’ the other half pulled. If that rope had a broke a-l-l ’em li’l niggahs’d been dead! I’m tellin’ you! Anyhow, when we finally got it up there, we all hid around the side of the house. An’
scaired!
Ol’ Clarence kept hollerin’: Aw-aw-we in trouble now! An’ that cat started cryin’! Haw haw haw!”

“Naw!” cried Viola.

“Yeah!”

“Eh-heh heh heh.”

He grinned and tightened his grip on his mother’s arm.

“An’ then ol’ T. C., he had to be all brave an’ ever’thin’, he e-a-s-e-d up to the door an’ rung the bell. An’ then bust out runnin’! Old man Wiggins come to the door with a
shotgun!
”

“He must a heard ’um,” cried Viola.

“Yeah! An’ T. C. fell! Fell, Babe. An’ Mister Wiggins leveled that double-barreled shotgun down on ’im, Jack. Took
aim!
An’ yelled out: ‘HALT!’ An’-ha ha!
an
’ T-T. C. like to-like to dug a
tunnel
in the man’s yard, gittin’ away! M-a-n, that joker ran so fast that the bullet just laid on ’is back!”

“Couldn’ go in!” shouted Viola with a burst of laughter, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Rutherford, Rutherford, you the l-y-i-n-’es’ man that ever walked. You oughtta
crawl
to church on your hands an’ knees an’ ask the Lord to forgive you for tellin’ a lie like that!”

“Ho ho!” Rutherford laughed.

“Tee hee hee!” laughed Amerigo.

“He-heh heh,” Mr. Zoo clamped down on his soggy cigar, brushing the fallen ashes from his knee.

“Them li’l niggahs was b-a-d!” said Rutherford, as the laughter died down.

“If you couldn’ blow you had to go!” Mr. Zoo grinned. A long low rush of air issued from between his purple lips.

“Blow one, Zoo!” said Viola.

“Aaaaw.”

“Come on, Zoo, let’s git way back!” Rutherford encouraged.

“Aw come on, Mister Zoo,” said Amerigo.

“What!” Rutherford exclaimed, “you still here? I thought you was havin’ a fit to git out a here!”

“I wanna hear!”

Mr. Zoo settled himself in his chair and grinned embarrassedly. “I don’ know what to blow.”

“You’d better be gittin’ while the gittin’s good,” said Viola to Amerigo. “It’s gonna be nine before you even git started!”

Rutherford, still smiling over his story, poured himself some more beer, while Viola helped herself to the peanuts.

“Kin I have some?” Amerigo asked.

“Yeah, take some,” said Viola.

He grabbed a fistful and stuffed them into his pocket through the slit in his costume. Then he took another, and another. His hand darted out a fourth time, just as Mr. Zoo was pursing his lips to blow:

“Don’t be no pig!” said Rutherford. “Leave some for somebody else!”

Mr. Zoo grinned and strummed his polished fingers nervously upon his knee. A few wrinkles broke the surface of his smooth forehead. “Eh, heh heh heh. What shall I whistle? You want me to —”

“An’ don’ forgit to stop by an’ see Aunt Lily an’ Mrs. Derby an’ let ’um see how you look. An’ thank Aunt Lily for the sewin’ she done on it. You hear?”

“Yes’m.”

“You gonna blow one for us, Zoo?” Rutherford asked.

“Aaaaaw,” Mr. Zoo grinned cupidly. He cleared his throat. Then he reached for his glass of beer. “Better have a little swig of this righteous brew before I consult my muse! Heh heh heh.” He sipped his beer. Then he lit a match. It went out. He lit another one. He took a puff on his cigar. He put the burned-out match on the table.

“Go git a ashtray, Amerigo,” said Viola.

He set an ashtray before Mr. Zoo. Mr. Zoo deposited his match, but broke the crusted end in doing so and had to brush the crumbs off the table and put them into the ashtray. Then he withdrew a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his hands, replaced it, and suddenly he had drawn his lips together and his jaws were filled with air. A sad sound had pierced the autumn evening.

Like the whole world wasn’t nothin’ but a vacuum, Rutherford had said after Mr. Zoo had gone. Like it was all by itself in a place — a place where nobody has ever been before.

Amerigo watched Mr. Zoo with awe. A dizzy, whirring sensation filled his mind. I’ve heard that song before! And then he was suddenly bewildered by a flash of cool splendid color that illuminated the dark chambers of memory, breaking up into particles of color as it whirred. And all the colors were the same, but different. I’ve been here before. Where? A pain filled his chest. That isn’t pain, that’s just a good feeling! So good that he could hardly stand it.

Mr. Zoo closed his eyes. His silky lashes trembled upon his cheeks, while his hands folded upon his lap. His right foot gently tapped out the beat. It ran along the parallel grooves between the planks that grew broader as they got farther away, beyond the window opposite which the old black woman sat, dozing in her rocking chair, beyond the wall with the stained-glass windows where you could not see where they went. It’s the same beat! Mr. Zoo tapped it out as he blew.

And suddenly the sound had stopped. The air had gone out of Mr. Zoo’s jaws and his lips were still. One could hear the drip-drop of water coming from the spigot. He saw himself putting the dirty dishes on the drainboard one sunny morning when he wasn’t yet in kindergarten. He heard the clank of the garbage can in the yard below, and saw the pair of wild yellow eyes staring up at him from the depths of a blue shadow that fell upon Aunt Lily’s porch.

“That sure was pretty, Zoo!” Viola said at last.

“Unh-unh! You oughtta be rich! Ain’ that right, Babe?”

“He sure kin whistle all right!”

“If-if-
he
that man there,” pointing at Mr. Zoo with his forefinger and tapping his knee: “If you was
white
you’d be s-t-r-a-i-g-h-t, Jack! Git you one a them high-powered managers. Why you-you I ain’ kiddin’! You could whistle your way ’round the w-o-r-l-d! To- to France! An’ all them places in Europe. Ever heard of Ira Aldridge?”

“Heh heh heh, eh-heh heh heh,” Mr. Zoo shook his head.

“Well,” said Rutherford, “he was a actor. I mean a
actor!
None a that laughin’ an’ gigglin’ Uncle Tom stuff. I mean a ac-tor! Like-like he acted Shakespeare an’ Hamlet — all them high-powered old cats! Famous niggah all over the world except in his own country!”

“When did he live?” Viola asked skeptically. “I ain’ never heard a no spook doin’ all a that. Prejudice is in France an’ them places, too, ain’ it?”

“Not in Europe it ain’!” Rutherford protested. “Naw sir! I’m tellin’ you, Babe, while my momma an’ your momma was pickin’ cotton in Alabama or Georgia — wherever it was down there — Ira Aldridge was havin’ supper with kings! They didn’t print it in the schoolbooks, but I read it just the same. An’ he never was no slave, neither! There’s lots and lots a g-r-e-a-t Negroes that we don’ never hear nothin’ about, ’cause
they
write the history. All we read about is George Washington an’ all them jokers, but it ain’ nothin’ never happened in this country — good or bad — that they wasn’t a Negro had somethin’ to do with it! Well, anyway old Zoo here could be on big time if he got a break like that!”