They Tell Me of a Home: A Novel (9 page)
Read They Tell Me of a Home: A Novel Online
Authors: Daniel Black
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary, #Literary, #United States, #Women's Fiction, #Domestic Life, #Contemporary Fiction, #American, #Literary Fiction, #African American, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Psychological
“But you grown now, Willie James. We ain’t kids no more. You ain’t got to bow to Daddy like you his slave.”
“Maybe I ain’t his slave, but I sho’ ain’t free.”
“You got to make yourself free, Willie James.”
“How you do dat?”
“By declaring your freedom.”
“I wish it was that easy, little brother, but it ain’t.” Willie James halted. “I was seein’ this girl about two years ago named Arbella. We wuz courtin’ pretty hard. I brought her home and introduced her to Momma and Daddy one evenin’. They wuz nice and all—you know how they do—but after I came back from takin’ her home, Daddy asked me, ‘Is dat de best thang you can find to fuck?’ I thought she was pretty. In fact, she was beautiful to me. But Daddy said she looked homely. He told me to find someone better so I broke up with her. I ain’t found nobody else, though.”
“You mean you left her because Daddy thought she was ugly?”
“Yep. I didn’t want to hear his mouth, and I didn’t want him to hurt Arbella’s feelin’s one day. I was scared Daddy would be rude to her and tell her she was ugly to her face.”
“Willie James! You can’t give Daddy that much power.”
“He already got it. I ain’t got to give him nothin’.”
“His power only worked because we were kids!”
“No, it works right now. I know I could have stayed with Arbella and married her, but the hell Daddy would make her pay wouldn’t be fair. She said she didn’t understand my fear of him and I told her she never would, but I couldn’t ever see myself confronting him.”
“Why couldn’t you? You’re a grown man, Willie James!”
“Ain’t nobody grown to Daddy but Daddy. Since I don’t know nothin’’bout no other life, I felt like I didn’t have no choice but to please him. He told me a pretty girl would come along one day, but I ain’t met her yet. I think I ain’t goin’ to.”
“Willie James, are you crazy? Go find Arbella and marry that woman! Love is too hard to come by in this life to let it go easily.”
“I didn’t let it go easily. Man, I cried for days about Arbella. It tore me up to let her go without a reason I felt in my heart. But I didn’t have no choice.”
“Why didn’t you get your own place and start your own family?”
“Wit’ what? I ain’t got no money’cause I’m workin’ for Daddy and you know he don’t pay. Food and shelter is’bout all you git, and wit’out some education, I couldn’t git no good-payin’ job. I guess doin’ what I been doin’ is gonna have to work.”
“Are you satisfied with that?”
“I’m tryin’ to be.”
“You don’t have a dream, Willie James? You’re OK with Daddy ruling you like a little child?”
“I got to be ‘cause I ain’t got no other choice. It’s all right, though. The Good Lawd’ll keep takin’ care of me.”
I abandoned the discussion when I realized it was going in circles. Willie James put the feed bucket on the ground next to the barn door.
“Is you free, T.L.?” he posed out of nowhere.
I didn’t quite know how to answer him. I had never thought about the possibility that I wasn’t.
“Of course I’m free, man. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Why you come back here then?”
I was stunned. “I, um, thought I needed to come back and find out some things.”
“What difference would they make if you already free?”
I couldn’t answer the question. Willie James was making too much sense.
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know. Maybe I ain’t as free as I thought I was.”
“Seem like ain’t nobody free really. We all tied to somethin’ or somebody.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Yep.”
Willie James and I investigated each other’s faces and raised our eyebrows knowingly. For an instant, I wished I could have taken him away from Swamp Creek long enough to show him the world. He would be amazed, I thought. He was the obedient child, the one who never rocked the boat. He deserved to know he didn’t have to succumb to Daddy’s demands. Yet what would I do with him afterward? His loyalty to Daddy and Momma would leave him with guilt bigger than anything I could handle.
“How long you stayin’?” Willie James sought to lighten the mood.
“I don’t know. Until I find out what happened to Sister, I suppose.”
“Stay awhile, T.L., if you can.” Willie James’s voice sounded like that of a man in need. “If you can’t, I understand, but if you can, it’d be nice.” He nodded his head and left the barn.
I didn’t say a word.
Had
Willie James told me how Sister died, I would have left Swamp Creek that Sunday. After our little chat, however, I knew it wasn’t going to be him. He was scared to death of Momma and Daddy and afraid to think of what life would be like without them. He was also terrified of what they might do to him if he told me what happened. I couldn’t blame him for his silence. Our family had always reverted to silence when speaking threatened to annihilate our comfort zones. Willie James knew no other way to bear the weight of Daddy’s authority. At times, I felt like Willie James wanted to tell me, but since he couldn’t imagine a life on his own terms, he had no choice but to follow Daddy’s edict. I could tell my agony moved his heart, yet, again, his compassion was certainly not greater than his fear. So he kept his distance from me and probably prayed that I wouldn’t confront him again.
Willie James told me how Sister died, I would have left Swamp Creek that Sunday. After our little chat, however, I knew it wasn’t going to be him. He was scared to death of Momma and Daddy and afraid to think of what life would be like without them. He was also terrified of what they might do to him if he told me what happened. I couldn’t blame him for his silence. Our family had always reverted to silence when speaking threatened to annihilate our comfort zones. Willie James knew no other way to bear the weight of Daddy’s authority. At times, I felt like Willie James wanted to tell me, but since he couldn’t imagine a life on his own terms, he had no choice but to follow Daddy’s edict. I could tell my agony moved his heart, yet, again, his compassion was certainly not greater than his fear. So he kept his distance from me and probably prayed that I wouldn’t confront him again.
Walking back to the house, I thought about my older sister, Shelia. People implied our extraordinary similarities. She was pretty and smart as a whip, Ms. Polly said. Her kindness and exuberant spirit were rare, even eerie, for a child. Folks said she drowned in Ole Man Blue’s pond a week after her fifth birthday. I overheard Daddy years ago talking
to Mr. Blue on the phone about it. Daddy said Shelia had been missing for days and everybody in Swamp Creek stopped what they were doing to look for her. It was mid-November and folks were hopeful that, wherever she was, she was inside. After three days, Daddy said, he stopped searching. “If a five-year-old child can’t find her way down de road and back, she a fool anyway.” Shelia loved to eat, so he was sure hunger would make her reappear. He was wrong. A week went by and no word from Shelia. He said he wasn’t worried. “De Lawd’s will be done.” Then, one day, Old Man Blue was out checking on one of his cows, Daddy said, and noticed a red object floating in his pond. He didn’t think anything of it at first, but then he remembered Momma had told Ms. Polly that Shelia was wearing her red coat the last time they saw her. He walked over to the pond, waded in a short distance, and, sure enough, it was Shelia. He trembled in horror, for her body was floating faceup. This is what Ole Man Blue told Daddy. She had a big grin on her face and her arms were stretched out like she had been crucified. He wasn’t sure whether to pull her from the pond or leave her as she was. He hesitated a moment but then took her body to his house and immediately called Momma and Daddy. When they got there, Shelia wasn’t smiling anymore. Privately, they concluded Ole Man Blue was probably in a state of shock and didn’t know what he was talking about, but Daddy said Ole Man Blue insisted, “She was smiling, I tell ya! When I laid her in dat bed she was smiling. I know she looks pale and frowned now, but just a few minutes ago, she was smilin’. I ain’t crazy. I know what I saw. I had enough sense to drag her out of the pond, didn’t I? What make you think I ain’t got enough sense to know how she was lookin’ when I dragged her? She was smilin’ big and any minute I thought she might open her eyes and tell me everything she wanted me to know. Soon as y’all come, though, she stop grinnin’. I can’t explain it, but it’s sho’ de truth.” Momma and Daddy probably didn’t say anything else. I suppose they thanked Ole Man Blue and Daddy carried Shelia’s body back to the house.
to Mr. Blue on the phone about it. Daddy said Shelia had been missing for days and everybody in Swamp Creek stopped what they were doing to look for her. It was mid-November and folks were hopeful that, wherever she was, she was inside. After three days, Daddy said, he stopped searching. “If a five-year-old child can’t find her way down de road and back, she a fool anyway.” Shelia loved to eat, so he was sure hunger would make her reappear. He was wrong. A week went by and no word from Shelia. He said he wasn’t worried. “De Lawd’s will be done.” Then, one day, Old Man Blue was out checking on one of his cows, Daddy said, and noticed a red object floating in his pond. He didn’t think anything of it at first, but then he remembered Momma had told Ms. Polly that Shelia was wearing her red coat the last time they saw her. He walked over to the pond, waded in a short distance, and, sure enough, it was Shelia. He trembled in horror, for her body was floating faceup. This is what Ole Man Blue told Daddy. She had a big grin on her face and her arms were stretched out like she had been crucified. He wasn’t sure whether to pull her from the pond or leave her as she was. He hesitated a moment but then took her body to his house and immediately called Momma and Daddy. When they got there, Shelia wasn’t smiling anymore. Privately, they concluded Ole Man Blue was probably in a state of shock and didn’t know what he was talking about, but Daddy said Ole Man Blue insisted, “She was smiling, I tell ya! When I laid her in dat bed she was smiling. I know she looks pale and frowned now, but just a few minutes ago, she was smilin’. I ain’t crazy. I know what I saw. I had enough sense to drag her out of the pond, didn’t I? What make you think I ain’t got enough sense to know how she was lookin’ when I dragged her? She was smilin’ big and any minute I thought she might open her eyes and tell me everything she wanted me to know. Soon as y’all come, though, she stop grinnin’. I can’t explain it, but it’s sho’ de truth.” Momma and Daddy probably didn’t say anything else. I suppose they thanked Ole Man Blue and Daddy carried Shelia’s body back to the house.
I asked Ms. Janey about the funeral. She said everybody cried except
Momma and Daddy. They sat in church as though required to be there against their will. As soon as the funeral ended, Ms. Janey said, Momma and Daddy accompanied the casket to the graveyard, covered it up, and never mentioned Shelia’s name again. I wouldn’t have known I had another sister if I hadn’t overheard Daddy’s conversation. Of course, I told Sister about it. She was surprised but accepted, quite easily, the reality of another sibling. Yet Shelia’s death puzzled me for a long time. I seemed to have all the details, but I wasn’t at peace about it. I asked Grandma, but she didn’t know any more than I did. Then, one day, it hit me. It wasn’t Shelia’s death that was troublesome; it was the funeral. The way Ms. Janey described it didn’t fit the conventions of a Swamp Creek homegoing. I went through some of Momma’s old papers to reexamine the obituary, but I didn’t find it. In fact, I realized Momma didn’t even have a copy. She had kept no record of the passing of her daughter from life to death. Maybe she wanted to rid herself of all memory of Shelia. I remembered what Ms. Janey had said: “Marion was fine. It was the rest of us who were crying. She never shed a tear.” Momma undoubtedly told them, “Oh, don’t cry, baby. Shelia’s all right.” I couldn’t figure out why, but there was another reason Momma didn’t have Shelia’s obituary. I went to Ms. Janey’s house and asked, from the porch, to examine her copy. Everything was normal until I got to the poem Ms. Janey said Momma told everyone Shelia had written before she disappeared:
Momma and Daddy. They sat in church as though required to be there against their will. As soon as the funeral ended, Ms. Janey said, Momma and Daddy accompanied the casket to the graveyard, covered it up, and never mentioned Shelia’s name again. I wouldn’t have known I had another sister if I hadn’t overheard Daddy’s conversation. Of course, I told Sister about it. She was surprised but accepted, quite easily, the reality of another sibling. Yet Shelia’s death puzzled me for a long time. I seemed to have all the details, but I wasn’t at peace about it. I asked Grandma, but she didn’t know any more than I did. Then, one day, it hit me. It wasn’t Shelia’s death that was troublesome; it was the funeral. The way Ms. Janey described it didn’t fit the conventions of a Swamp Creek homegoing. I went through some of Momma’s old papers to reexamine the obituary, but I didn’t find it. In fact, I realized Momma didn’t even have a copy. She had kept no record of the passing of her daughter from life to death. Maybe she wanted to rid herself of all memory of Shelia. I remembered what Ms. Janey had said: “Marion was fine. It was the rest of us who were crying. She never shed a tear.” Momma undoubtedly told them, “Oh, don’t cry, baby. Shelia’s all right.” I couldn’t figure out why, but there was another reason Momma didn’t have Shelia’s obituary. I went to Ms. Janey’s house and asked, from the porch, to examine her copy. Everything was normal until I got to the poem Ms. Janey said Momma told everyone Shelia had written before she disappeared:
I play hide-and-seek
with myself sometimes.
“Ready or not, here I come.”
But then I can’t find myself
And the game ceases to be fun.
with myself sometimes.
“Ready or not, here I come.”
But then I can’t find myself
And the game ceases to be fun.
“What?” I exclaimed aloud.
“Your mother said Shelia wrote it. It seems a little bizarre to me, too, son.”
I knew I was on to something. Ain’t no way a five-year-old could have written a poem that complex. If Shelia didn’t write it, who did? And, more important, why? No one lived in Swamp Creek who was literary enough to care about poetry, except Ms. Janey and Ms. Pauline. And of course, Momma wouldn’t have made any such concession on their behalf. I didn’t understand. I pondered for weeks, trying to piece together some sort of explanation, but nothing materialized. Eventually, I let it go.
Instead of going inside, I turned abruptly and decided to walk down to Old Man Blue’s place and visit Ms. Polly. The house was dark except for a lamp burning in the living room window. I was usually scared to walk those dark dirt roads alone, yet for some reason, I wasn’t scared that evening. I suppose Sister’s death made me immune to fear. I heard hoot owls and all kinds of rustling in the grass next to the road, but the sounds didn’t bother me at all.
I stepped onto the porch and stood there a moment. The house was nothing grand. It was made of two-by-fours and had a tin roof. There were only four rooms—a living room, bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom—but the house had always been squeaky clean. I hesitated a moment because I thought about how content Mr. Blue and Ms. Polly were. They were old folks who owned few worldly possessions and had no desire for them. They didn’t have a brick home, a fine car, or a heavy bankroll, although people said Mr. Blue had a coupla thousand dollars hidden away. Their kids sent them money every month and he sho’ ain’t spent it on nothing, others said. The things that brought them joy were children, honeysuckles, and fresh catfish. They didn’t care about mink coats or forty-dollar Stevie Wonder concert tickets. Their health seemed to be their joy.
I knocked hard because Ms. Polly’s hearing was bad even when I was a child.
“Come on in,” she said without moving from her rocker.
“How y’all doin’,” I said loudly as I entered the front room.
“Oh Lawd, chile, come on in heayh and sit down! I’m sittin’ up
heayh half-noddin’. I’m sho’ is glad you done made it back home.”
heayh half-noddin’. I’m sho’ is glad you done made it back home.”
She grabbed the arms of the rocker and began to rise, offering me her seat.
“Oh, no ma‘am, I’ll sit right here on the couch. I came by to holler at y’all since I told Mr. Blue I would.”
“Well, I’m sho’ is glad you seed fit. Go’n in de kitchen thar and fix you a plate. Got some roast and cabbages and collards, and you can have one of dem fried pies if you wont it.” She started grinning because she knew that’s exactly what I wanted.
“No, ma‘am, I just ate. But I sho’ will have one of those pies.”
“Help cho’ self, boy.”
That fried pie almost made me hurt myself. The crust was extra flaky, crumbling heavily every time I took a bite. The cinnamon, nutmeg, and brown sugar made my mouth water like a salivating canine’s.
“Ms. Polly, your fried pies are the best!” I exclaimed.
“Oh, boy, hush yo’ mouth. I throwed dem thangs together dis moaning when I was half-’sleep.” She chuckled.
“What cho’ momma nem doin’ dis evening?”
“Sittin’ round watchin’ TV, I guess.”
We both smiled at each other like we were about to speak, but neither of us did. Mr. Blue said nothing more than, “How you doin’ dis evenin’, boy?” the entire time I had been there. The silence was becoming awkward so I decided to direct the conversation.
“How are your children, Ms. Polly?”
“Oh Lawd, chile, dey’s jes’ fine. You know dey calls me every weekend and lets me talk to my grandchi’ren. Dey wears me out on dat phone, chile!”
Ms. Polly knew if her children didn’t call every Saturday night she would have a fit. All the fuss about being worn-out was simply drama.
“I sure am glad to know they all doin’ fine.” I couldn’t say much more than that because I hadn’t called my own mother in ten years.
“You sho’ looks well, boy! You done gone off’way from heayh and got right handsome. Jus’ as tall!”
Ms. Polly grinned at me as she spoke. I was grateful for her attempt to make me feel good, but I was neither tall nor handsome. Both of us knew it.
“What chu doin’ back round dese parts?”
“I’m not sure. In my heart, I felt the need to come home.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know, Ms. Polly. I been tryin’ to define my life, and, somehow, I ended up back in Swamp Creek.”
Mr. Blue rocked in his rocker, seemingly oblivious to our exchange.
“Well, you back now. What chu done found out?” Ms. Polly asked curiously.
I could tell she didn’t mean to ask that question. At least not yet. Her mouth twitched, both from the desire to retrieve her words and from the frustration of knowing she could not.
“Ms. Polly, you’ve been like a mother to me. Can you please tell me what’s going on round this place? No one will tell me anything.”
“I don’t know what—”
“You know’zactly what he mean, Polly,” Mr. Blue said softly. He neither raised his head nor said anything more.
“Baby, that thang done troubled me since it happened, and I still ain’t got no understandin’. I walked ova theah early one afternoon and saw yo’ momma diggin’ like a wild woman. I stood beside that big oak out from the yard and watched her. I didn’t say nothin’’cause I didn’t want to disturb her. She looked frantic and panicky. I started gettin’ scared’cause I ain’t neva seen nobody act like dat befo’.” Ms. Polly shook her head from side to side sadly. She continued, “All a sudden she dropped the shovel and ran into duh house. I started to follow her and ask her what was duh matter, but my spirit told me not to. I stood dere, tryin’ to make sense of all this. A minute or two later, I saw her draggin’ somethin’ big out of duh house. It seemed like a body wrapped in a sheet, but I wasn’t sho’. The sheets were bloody and dirty. I covered my mouth to keep from hollerin’. I still didn’t
know what was goin’ on, but I knowed it was bad news. I turned to run and go get somebody, but I decided to wait and see what cho’ momma was gon’ do next.”
know what was goin’ on, but I knowed it was bad news. I turned to run and go get somebody, but I decided to wait and see what cho’ momma was gon’ do next.”
Mr. Blue gazed at Ms. Polly, warning her not to say too much.
“Yo’ momma took what she was draggin’ and throwed it in dat hole she dug. Then she started coverin’ it up real fast like she was scared. In a minute or two, the hole was full of dirt again. She stared at it real hard and walked away real slow like she was satisfied. She took the shovel back to the barn, I guess. I don’t know fo’ sho’’cause dat’s when I left. I was scared, chile; I didn’t know what to do. I come home and started readin’ my Bible and askin’ de Lawd to give me understandin’.”
“You didn’t tell anybody?” I asked.
“Not for ‘bout three days. Blue keppa astin’ me what was de matta wit’ me, but I didn’t say nothin’. Then I got up one morning and he told me he heard yo’ baby sister had died and she was buried in y’all’s backyard. That’s when I couldn’t keep it no mo’. I told Blue everythang.”
“Is that all you know, Ms. Polly? Is that everything?” I leaned forward in desperation.
She studied Mr. Blue’s face before she proceeded. “Well, I don’t really know if I oughta be the one tellin’ you this, T.L.,” she said skittishly.
“Ms. Polly, please! My family won’t tell me anything. I deserve to know! You know how close Sister and I were.” I was about to scream.
“Yeah, Lawd, I remembers you two runnin’ round heayh like y’all ain’t got a care in de wurld. I’d see y’all and jes’ go to grinnin’. Y’all was really somethin’!”
I knew she was evading the subject. I dropped my head to make her feel bad. It worked.
She was silent for a moment; then she said, “After ya’ momma dropped dat bundle in de hole she throwed somethin’ else in dere, too.”
I waited for Ms. Polly to go on although I could tell she didn’t want to.
“It looked like framed pictures. One of them I saw pretty clear ‘cause she dropped it on de ground. When she bent ova to pick it up, she jes’ happened to be holdin’ it wheres I could see pretty good.”
“Was it me?” I asked slowly, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, T.L., it was a picture of you. I believe de other one was yo’ sister, but I ain’t sho’. I couldn’t believe what I was seein’. It didn’t make no sense.”
Mr. Blue had been unusually silent the entire time. He sat in his rocker like God, overseeing things. Ms. Polly proceeded.
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