The Best Bad Luck I Ever Had (21 page)

Doc Haley took a step forward to pick it up and Big Foot punched him in the stomach. Doc doubled over in pain and Big Foot hit him again, knocking him to the ground.

I couldn’t believe it. This couldn’t happen again. What if Big Foot hurt Doc worse this time? Elbert stood frozen and Emma wouldn’t meet my gaze. Big Foot kept kicking Doc as he lay on the floor and I knew I had to do something. “You think you’re such a big man, beating up your own brother!” I called out.

Big Foot stopped kicking Doc and turned toward me. His scar shone white as ice on his left cheek. “What did you say?” he growled.

I glanced at Emma standing by the stove. Dr. Griffith had taken out the stitches, but if you knew where to look, you could still see the small pink mark on her forehead. “Nothing.” I stared at the floor.

Big Foot took a step toward me. Doc Haley struggled to his feet. “Don’t you touch him, Big Foot.”

“Shut up, nigger.”

“He’s just a child. If you need someone to hit, hit me.”

Big Foot turned back to Doc. “You’ve been talking.”

Elbert flashed me a look that would have just about killed me if I hadn’t already felt like I wanted to die.

“I ain’t said nothing,” said Doc.

Big Foot pulled out the large pistol from his hip and aimed it at Doc. “Then how does he know?”

“I don’t know.” Doc’s face was ashen, but his voice was steady.

“Tell me, nigger, or I’ll shoot!”

Emma threw the pan of frying fish into Big Foot’s face. He lost his balance, and as he fell, his gun went off. Doc Haley dove behind the barber chair. I grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her under the small table in the corner. Elbert pushed over the shelf and ducked behind it.

“Goddamn it!” Big Foot slapped at his face, frantically rubbing off the hot oil. It left a large red welt on his right cheek.

Doc crouched on the floor behind the barber chair and desperately searched a low drawer.

Big Foot scrambled to his feet and picked up his gun. “Come on out!” he cried.

I didn’t know if he was talking to us or Doc Haley or Elbert. I could see Doc still rummaging through the drawer.

Doc finally pulled out a small pistol.

“I said, come on out!” yelled Big Foot. Me and Emma didn’t move. Big Foot was between us and the front door.

Doc ducked out from behind the chair and aimed his pistol at Big Foot.

Big Foot stumbled back in surprise and almost tripped on the frying pan on the floor. “So the nigger has a gun,” he said tauntingly.

“I’m not gonna let you shoot me.”

“I told you I was gonna get you. You should’ve left when you had the chance.”

“I never did nothing to you.”

“Just ’cause we had the same daddy don’t mean you’re my equal,” said Big Foot.

“I never said you were my equal.”

“Get up off the floor so I can shoot you like a man.”

“No.”

Big Foot fired his gun, but Doc Haley squirmed out of the way. The bullet bounced off the barber chair and hit a mirror, causing shards of broken glass to rain down on the floor. From under the table, I could see Doc behind the chair, the pistol shaking in his hand. Big Foot approached the barber chair, his boots crunching on the broken glass. He was too close to miss now, and his finger was on the trigger.

Doc aimed for Big Foot’s leg, but the sheriff spun the chair around, hitting Doc’s arm. Both pistols went off at once. The bullet from Doc’s gun hit Big Foot square in the chest. The sheriff gasped and fell to the ground, twitching wildly.

Doc Haley dropped his gun and scrambled to his feet. With his one good arm, he snatched the gun from Big Foot’s hand and tossed the weapon into the back room. Big Foot stopped moving, but the red stain in the middle of his dirty shirt kept getting larger. Doc grabbed a towel from the barber chair and pressed it into Big Foot’s chest, trying to stop the blood.

“You all right, Pa?” asked Elbert, standing up from behind the overturned shelf.

Doc glanced at the mirror and saw the blood running down the side of his head. He tried to wipe it away with another towel, but his legs collapsed under him and he fell to the floor. Only then did we realize he’d also been shot.

43

 

 

 

DOC HALEY WAS THROWN IN JAIL THAT very afternoon. Dr. Griffith barely had a chance to stitch up his head before Mayor Davidson came to take him away. Me, Elbert and Emma all swore the killing had been self-defense, but Mayor Davidson just shook his head.

“What else you gonna do with a Negra who shoots a white man?” he asked.

“Jail’s probably the safest place for you right now,” Dr. Griffith said to Doc. “At least till things calm down.”

Doc Haley didn’t answer, but he went quietly as Mayor Davidson led him off to jail.

That night, I relived the scene in the barbershop over and over in my dreams. Each time, I kept my mouth shut and both Big Foot and Doc Haley got out alive. And each time I awoke, I realized that dreaming ain’t worth squat. The only thing I was good at was killing things.

The next morning I went by the jailhouse. Just snuck in the same back door me and Chip had used and walked down the stairs. Doc Haley was in the same cell I had been locked in, sitting on an old dirty cot. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

“Hi,” I said quietly. “I brought you breakfast.” I passed a couple of my mama’s biscuits through the prison bars. Doc Haley took them and ate them, but he didn’t say a word. I could see the stitches where Dr. Griffith had sewed up the side of his head. I forced myself to look Doc straight in the eyes, but he wouldn’t return my gaze.

“I’m sorry, Doc,” I said finally. “I never meant for this to happen.”

“I know, Dit.”

I expected him to be angry or maybe even scared, but he just sounded sad. That made me feel even worse.

“If you hadn’t fired, Big Foot would have killed you,” I said.

Doc Haley shook his head. “I don’t think the jury will see it that way.”

We stood there in silence for a long moment. The clock in city hall struck eight.

“I gotta go now,” I said finally. “But I’ll visit you every day after school.”

“No,” said Doc firmly. “I don’t want you to come here again.”

“But . . .”

“Dit, there’s just one thing I’m asking of you and it’s this.” He paused to make sure I was listening, then spoke real slow. “Go home and don’t come back.”

He lifted his head and looked at me then, and his eyes looked just like a dog who’s broke his leg and knows you’re gonna put him down.

 

 

That afternoon after school, I stopped by the barbershop. Figured it would only get harder the longer I waited. And I had to see Elbert.

Elbert was on his hands and knees, scrubbing at the blood-stains on the floor. Soon as I set foot in the barbershop, he stopped and looked up. “What do you want?”

“Elbert, I . . . I’m really sorry.”

“You should be. It’s your fault my pa’s in jail.”

“I didn’t mean to . . .”

“But you did,” Elbert snapped. “You told the secret I trusted you with.”

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“If you had just kept your mouth shut for once, this wouldn’t have happened.” He was yelling now, but I didn’t even flinch. I’d meant well, but he was right.

“I’ll tell the judge what really happened and he’ll—”

“Don’t you know nothing?” yelled Elbert. “Your opinion means squat. All that jury’s gonna hear is my daddy shot a white man.”

“I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

“How?” Elbert scoffed. “What you gonna do?”

He was right. There was nothing I could do. There was nothing else I could say.

“Just get out of here. And don’t ever come back!”

 

 

I ran. Down Main Street and across the field and through the woods and all the way up the mound to our secret cave. I sat there in the dark with the door closed and cried. Not sure how long I stayed there. After a while, I realized Emma had come in too. She didn’t say nothing, just handed me a root beer and we drank in silence.

 

 

My nerves were rubbed raw as a peeled carrot by the time Big Foot’s funeral rolled around. I had known Big Foot my entire life—how could I not go to his funeral? On the other hand, attending seemed disloyal to Doc Haley and Elbert. But they weren’t talking to me, so I went with the rest of my family.

Big Foot looked handsome and peaceful lying in his coffin. He was dressed in his pa’s Confederate uniform and a starched white shirt. I stood a long time, looking into his still face. They’d put something on his cheeks, ’cause I couldn’t see his scar. Pa stood behind me and didn’t say a word.

After Big Foot’s body was in the ground, everyone met for a potluck supper in Mrs. Pooley’s store. I hung around outside and watched Mayor Davidson turn Big Foot’s things over to Mrs. Pooley. There wasn’t much—just the deed to the old house, the eagle in her cage, a large ring of keys and a small suitcase. Mrs. Pooley started crying. Mayor Davidson patted her back as she sobbed.

I went inside and ate some chicken I couldn’t taste. For once, I wasn’t hungry. Even my mama’s corn bread tasted like sand.

44

 

 

 

DOC HALEY’S TRIAL WAS HELD IN SELMA ’cause Moundville was too small to have its own courthouse. Besides, the district judge said passions ran too high here for a fair trial. So we followed events in the newspaper. Every evening I’d pick up the newspaper from the 7 p.m. train and run home. Pa would pull up a chair close to the kerosene lantern and Mama would settle down with her sewing in her lap. Three or four of us kids would sprawl out on the floor and listen while Pa read the paper aloud.

The paper made it sound like Big Foot just walked into that barbershop, looking for a haircut. Everyone in Moundville knew that wasn’t true. It didn’t mention that the sheriff had a gun or point out that Big Foot had fired first. I thought me and Emma’d be called to testify, but the paper said we were just children who “couldn’t be trusted.” Made me madder than a stepped-on bee, but there wasn’t nothing I could do.

A couple of newspapermen did come to Moundville to talk to me about the shooting. I answered their questions, then told them they should also speak to Emma, ’cause she was there too. Most just ignored me, but one leaned over and said in a quiet voice, “Boy, no one wants to know what a little colored child saw.”

“Why?” I asked loudly. “Her eyes work just as well as mine.”

The man turned red. I didn’t see him in town no more after that.

 

 

As the trial went on, even Mama spent more time ripping stitches out than putting them in. Got so I didn’t want to get the paper. But like a fish that can’t help snapping at the lure, I always sat with the others on the floor to listen to Pa read us more bad news.

“They can say whatever they want in the paper,” Emma reassured me, “but in the end, it’s the jury’s opinion that matters. We both know it was self-defense, and maybe they’ll see that too.” I wanted to believe her, but when I repeated her words to Pa, he just shook his head.

Me, Emma and Mr. and Mrs. Walker took the train to Selma to hear the verdict read. We got up early and caught the 7 a.m. train. No one said much, not even Emma.

The courthouse was packed when we arrived. Like the theater where me and Emma had seen the moving picture, whites were on the main floor and the balcony was filled with Negras. I squeezed with Emma and her family onto the balcony. A couple of old Negra women glared at me, and I heard Mr. Walker whisper to them, “He’s all right.”

Far below us, Doc Haley sat at a small table, Elbert by his side. I waved, but they didn’t see me. Doc looked tired, his face pinched, the pale scar from the bullet wound clearly visible.