The Sweet by and By (35 page)

April came back with two glasses and a little dish of food. “Dr Pepper.” She sat down a tall frosted glass in front of me.

“What’d they put this skinny straw in it for? I ain’t so old I need to drink a soda with a straw.”

“It’s just the way they do it, Mama.” She pushed the little plate over to me. “I got you some canapés so you don’t get hungry. I already ate a couple while I was waiting for the drinks.”

“When do they give us supper on here anyway?”

“I’m afraid not for a little while, so eat all you want. We’re about to sail away.”

“I knew it, April. I felt somethin move and I thought to myself I can feel waves rockin this thing and we ain’t even pulled out of Miami yet.”

“Are you determined to be seasick by talking about it? It’s a lucky thing you travel with your own personal physician, although I think she may have to retire after this trip.”

“Don’t you worry ’bout me, baby. I said I’d come, I’m here, and as long as we don’t drown I’ll be all right.”

“Good because I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“I hope it’s not one of those pictures they took of us gettin on, April. My eyes were closed every time. I wish you’d go back and ask that boy with the camera for that buoy ring or whatever it was he wanted us to hold up while he took our picture. I told him if it was a extra one, I’d like to take it to my cabin. Where was he from anyway, somewhere in France or Europe, that’s all I could tell from hearing him talk. Seem like maybe he said Norway.”

“There are a lot of Scandinavians in the crew, I think,” April said. “I don’t blame em. If I lived anyplace that cold, I’d be tryin to get

to Florida as fast as I could too.”

A group of waiters and waitresses were all in a clump at the bar, filling up trays of champagne as fast as they could. We’re gon have us a bunch of drunks anytime now, I thought. The music finally stopped;

I reckon everybody needs a break sometime. I never heard this music before, but I haven’t ever thought much of a steel drum. I know a lot of people like it, it’s a real island sound, but it don’t do much for me. The bald-headed man with the microphone kept on singing the same words, somethin about red, red wine, and I’m tired of it. I wonder if they’re gon play a steel drum at church service on this boat. April told me they did have a church service if I wanted to go but I said I believed I’d pass if it was all right with her.

“I think the chaplain is a Catholic priest,” she said.

“Honey, different don’t bother me and hasn’t for a long time. I’ll do my own church just the same.”

April also told me I ought to call it a ship, not a boat. I asked her whose feelings I was gon hurt, the captain, who had taken the mi- crophone from the red wine man and was talking about where all we were gon go and that the weather was expected to be fine for the whole trip.

“Don’t you want to know what your surprise is?” she whispered while the man in white spoke.

“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“I’ll be right back. Close your eyes.” April got up and scooted her chair in. “I mean it Mama, close your eyes!”

“In the middle of this crowd of people?” I asked but did what she told me. I love that girl so much I can’t stand it, and seein her so excited tryin to do something nice for me breaks my heart. A dark- skinned woman in a long silver gown took over at the piano, and some people started dancin. I folded my hands in my lap and took a deep breath with my eyes closed. The music was light and jazzy sounding, I liked it. My daddy always said he would love to go to New York City just one time and stay up all night going around listening to jazz. If he had lived long enough maybe I would have figured out some way to take him. I like that picture, Daddy and me walkin around New York like we owned the place.

“Open your eyes!” somebody screamed right in front of me, and before I could say anything, Althea was trying to kiss me f lat on the mouth, wearing a hat big enough to use as an umbrella. Every time she leaned in, the low brim cut into the bridge of my nose.

“Girl, you’re gon kill me with that hat. It’s pretty but it’s danger- ous.”

“You want me to take it off?” she looked like she’d been cut to the quick.

“No honey, just keep it on a leash. I see you got over the f lu, you musta had a miracle healing.”

“I lied in the service of the greater good.” “Uh-huh.”

“Surprise,” a quiet low voice said behind me. Hands over my eyes, Taylor bent down and kissed me on the cheek from behind and took a step around to where I could see him straight on. “Mama thought she needed my help watching you with all this partying goin on.”

“You come here to me right now!” I said. “I ain’t studyin no party but you.”

I held his cheeks in both my hands and a few short dreadlocks fell down over his eyes. I didn’t think I would get used to his hair that way, but I did and I liked it on him. He let it grow out at school when he went up to the University of Chicago. At first April wanted him to go to college closer to home, he even got some kind of a scholarship at Duke, but he had his mind set on gettin out of the South for a little while. I stayed out of it, even when April tried to get me to chime in. I just said, “Baby, that child is your son and he’s gon do what he wants and it’ll be fine. The apple don’t fall far from the tree.” But I know how she felt. We didn’t see him for months at the time.

The ship’s horn was loud and sad, the sound an elephant would make if it could cry. Strings of white lights came on over our heads, Althea squealed like she was sixteen years old, and the band started up again. The crew tossed confetti, snowing in rainbow colors, and

we were movin. I knew it this time. For a minute I sat still, waitin for something to happen. I don’t know what, some kind of disaster I reckon, but the main thing was I didn’t feel sick and April was right, I didn’t feel any rockin. Althea had gotten her hands on two glasses of champagne and gave one to me. I took a sip to be polite and set mine down on the table behind us.

“I can’t believe you did this, April. You ain’t never been able to keep a secret from me!”

“Now how would you know that? Think about it.” She winked at Althea.

“Anything worth knowin, I already know, old as I am,” I said. “Ain’t that right, Althea?”

“You better bite your tongue. You might be gettin up there but I am in my prime.”

“Prime compared to what?” I said. I loved to tease Althea so good.

“You look around here at these old women, you couldn’t get most of em to dance if you had a shotgun,” she said. “Me, I ain’t cashin it in until the game’s over.” She made her way back into the crowd, stubborn and feeble at the same time, putting down her glass and taking mine, still full, raising it above her head like the Statue of Lib- erty, except black and wearin a church hat. April cheered, “You go, Althea,” and Taylor whistled with his fingers in his mouth.

“That woman has dipped a few times but has yet to fall,” I shook my head. “That’s why I like her.”

She’s right about one thing though, and I know it. I am old as dirt. There’s some kind of comfort in sayin it, and Lord knows it ain’t like I don’t know exactly what I’m talkin about. I’ve seen every kind of old there is. And I’ve had plenty of time to get used to the idea, so I got no bitterness. I don’t even think about being young, that’s the God’s honest truth, except for sometimes when I get to wishin I could live a thing that happened to me one more time, just to feel it again. I

never have been much of a worrier, there’s plenty folks around who’ll do that for you if you’re a mind to let em. There’s only one thing I worry about and that’s getting lonely. Because what I know, what I have seen with these two eyes, is that loneliness will creep up on anybody at any time. You go on doin what you been doin all your life, one day to another, and then the next thing you know, there’s nobody around. That’s when you know you’re old, when all your people start dying and your phone don’t ring and you don’t feel like puttin up a Christmas tree cause who’s gon see it but you. And you don’t bother to plant f lowers in the spring cause you decide they’re too much trouble to take care of. And even though you love to cook more than anything, you stop turnin on the stove. And you don’t want to put on clothes because you ain’t goin nowhere. And you tell the same stories over and over cause havin new stories means livin and you’re not livin, you’re sittin in a chair or lyin in a bed with the only thing goin on being what’s in your head. And the thing that you never let yourself think about has happened: people have forgotten about you. Without you havin any idea, your days have become like listening to a radio station when you’re drivin way out in the country. You get so far off the map that static starts interruptin the music and it’s a little bit frustrating but you stay with it, tryin to listen, and then there’s more static than music and you might still hang on if you’re interested, but then the music is gone and you have to turn the thing off. The silence is better than the noise.

After dinner, which lasted five times longer than any meal I ever ate, we went back up on the outside deck and grouped some chairs together. I had Taylor turn mine and Althea’s to look out at the water. From here, it don’t even look like water, more like a thick dark bed- spread. Another blond-headed boy in a uniform—they’re everywhere you look—brought us blankets. I think he either read my mind, or else he figured old people were always cold or gon get that way soon, so he might as well save himself a trip later on. Althea, worn clean

out from dancin with a young white man with sideburns and big arm muscles, then eating enough for three people, fell asleep stretched out in a lounge chair beside me. I hadn’t leaned mine back yet. I wanted to look out in the distance, I like that line way out there where the sky starts. April and Taylor had strolled over to the railing, looking over the edge and pointing. That’s my family, I thought. That’s reason enough for me to want to be here. I laid my chair back one notch and tucked the blanket up under my chin. It wasn’t that cold, but the breeze made you want to snuggle up. Althea made a loud noise like she was choking, but she wiggled around some and was quiet again, the way a baby ought to sleep, safe and knowing it.

“Are you cold, Grandma?” Taylor was by my chair. “You want another blanket?”

“I’m all right, baby. Thank you though.”

“It must be late, we’re the only ones out here,” April motioned to the wadded up mound beside me. “Look at Althea, bless her heart, she’s dead to the world.” Althea was talking in her sleep real quiet, her lips barely moving, saying something like “kitty cat, kitty cat,” over and over.

“I know it,” I said. “Of all people to fall asleep before a party’s over. She’d die if she knew. We’re gon have to tell her she didn’t miss nothin.”

“From what I saw, she didn’t.” April laughed. “Let’s go to bed.” She reached for my arm to help me up.

“No, no, no,” I said, not taking hold. “I just have got myself com- fortable good. I ain’t ready to go yet. I’m gon stay out here and look at the stars for a little while.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Taylor said.

“You night owls suit yourselves. I’ll see you at breakfast. Taylor, get your grandma and Sleeping Beauty back to their cabin.” She pulled her thin sweater close around her shoulders and left us.

Taylor yawned, stretching his arms behind his head and looking up. “It’s like home,” he said.

“In the middle of the ocean?”

“We never see stars in Chicago, too many lights.” He cupped his hands around his eyes. “If I shut out everything and look straight up, it’s like a long time ago when we used to sit out in the field at your house.”

I tried to let my eyes follow his, both of us peeping through cupped hands like little children. We stared together at the patterns of light above our heads, a million stitches in a quilt that didn’t look like it was finished. He was quiet, I wanted to talk. “I think those stars might be closer to earth than you are right now,” I said.

Taylor didn’t look at me. “You know, Mama used to say we’re made for the stars and born for eternity. Actually I’m pretty sure Dr. King is the one who said it, but she adopted it.”

“What about you?”

“I think eternity’s overrated. I know that doesn’t sit too well with you.”

“Lord knows you ain’t on earth to please me,” I put my hand on his arm so he would look my way. “Taylor, you know I’m not an educated woman, so go on and write me off as old and simple if you want to.”

“What are you talking about?” He frowned.

“Let’s just say I’m closer to the end of the story than the begin- ning.”

“Don’t talk that way.”

“Now, now, now just wait a minute. I want to tell you somethin. I’m old but I do know this. If you ever want to feel full in this life, you’re gon have to ask if you might be made for somethin bigger than yourself. And when you can answer that, the only other question is what are you gon do about it.”

“I’m not religious, Grandma.”

“I don’t blame you, it can get you in trouble.” “I mean I don’t believe in God.”

“Honey, I ain’t in that. That’s your business. And if you’re tryin to shock me, you’ve waited about fifty years too long. God or not, you got to find your own way to anything that lasts. Most of what we think is important don’t have enough glue in it to stick. Have you had enough of my preachin?”

“If I knew a preacher like you I might listen.”

“No you wouldn’t. You ain’t gon listen to nobody too much yet, that’s all right. I’m just tellin you now in case I don’t get the chance to again.”

“I hate it when you’re morbid.”

“Honey, I might not be doin too good next time I see you.”

“I’m gonna try to come home Easter, it’s not that long.” He sounded nervous.

“Well that’s good,” I said, “ that’s real good, but I want you to do something for me.”

“Tell me.”

“Promise me you won’t ever stop talkin to me. I need that.” “What are you saying?”

“And let me touch you sometimes. That’s all.” “Grandma . . .”

I didn’t let him finish. “Hush now.” I pulled his head down onto my shoulder and stroked his cheek. There was the stubble of a beard, the only thing that made it any different from when I held him as a baby. I felt a warm dampness from his eyes on my hand, cradling him while I stared off into the sky. All that open space over our heads had slipped down around us and creeped inside through cracks we couldn’t see, making the bigness of it all part of us too. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a revelation, probably not, at least not straight from God. Most of what I believe sort of rises up to the top like butter in a churn after swirlin around inside me for longer than I would like. Holdin my