A Short History of a Small Place (45 page)

So after the family register got filled up there was not any general evacuation from the Heavenly Rest as the commander had expected and folks persisted in viewing what there was to view which aside from the doorknobs and aside from the doors and aside from each other meant the commander. And Daddy said the crowd of mourners commenced to encircle the commander roundabout and closed in on him directly before he could devise any sort of successful evasive maneuver which proved a great disappointment to Daddy considering the Tuttle tradition of courageous resourcefulness under fire. And even as the commander was reaching with two fingers into his fob pocket so as to produce the rivet and wear the crowd down some with tediousness, Mrs. Estelle Singletary latched onto his wrist and demanded of him, “What’s she wearing?”

“Who?” the commander said.

“Miss Pettigrew.”

“Miss Pettigrew? Well, I do believe she’s wearing a dress. Isn’t she wearing a dress?” the commander asked Mr. Dunn who Daddy said was standing against the far wall like a piece of blue pinstriped puritanical furniture, and Mr. Dunn shook his head yes it was a dress she was wearing.

“What color dress?” Mrs. Estelle Singletary wanted to know.

“Well I do believe it was a red dress,” the commander replied and looked at Mr. Dunn who Daddy said hunched his shoulders and opened his hands and looked back at the commander with a wholly moronic expression on his face. “But then maybe it was Mrs. Mueller we buried in a red dress. Come to think of it I do believe it was Mrs. Mueller. Seems to me Miss Pettigrew’s dress was white.”

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Estelle Singletary said.

“Well I’m sure now it wasn’t a red dress and I do believe it was a white dress, though”—and Daddy said the commander grabbed the end of his nose between his right thumb and forefinger and looked down at the floor in front of him—“it might have been a black dress. I saw a black dress somewhere; now where was it I saw it?” And Daddy said once the commander let go of his nose and looked at Mrs. Estelle Singletary again and looked at the faces of the people all around her, he seemed to realize exactly how inadequate he was proving to be and he jerked his head at Mr. Dunn, who went down into the basement to fetch Mr. Tally, the mortician.

In Neely all of the Tallys are each other’s mothers or fathers or husbands or wives or sons or daughters or cousins or in-laws except for the Frank Lewis Tallys who are negroes. And in Neely all of the Tallys, except for the Frank Lewis Tallys, are a very slightly built and sheepish bunch of people, what Daddy calls wispy folk, and perhaps Mr. James Elsworth Tally the mortician is one of the wispiest. Consequently, he did not much desire to seize the opportunity to go upstairs into the parlor and discuss the color of Miss Pettigrew’s clothes with Mrs. Estelle Singletary or anybody else, but also consequently he could not prevent Mr. Dunn from taking him upstairs anyway since Dunns were generally not wispy in the least. So Mr. Tally got brought out into the parlor against his will and was deposited next to the commander who Daddy said appeared truly relieved to have the company. “Hello, J.E.,” he said, and Mr. Tally, who could not find anywhere to put his hands on account of the black rubber apron he wore that covered up his pockets, nodded at the commander and then crossed his arms over his chest. “Mrs. Singletary here would like to ask you a thing or two about Miss Pettigrew,” the commander said, and Mr. Tally glanced sideways at Mrs. Singletary and then looked full on the commander again and replied, “Alright.”

“Mr. Tally,” Mrs. Singletary said, “what sort of outfit is it that Miss Pettigrew has on?”

And Mr. Tally, who had studied the carpet throughout the course of Mrs. Singletary’s question, looked directly at the commander and replied, “Suit.”

“A skirt and a blouse and a jacket?” Mrs. Singletary said.

“Yes ma’m,” Mr. Tally told the commander.

“Wool?” Mrs. Singletary wanted to know.

“Cotton blend,” Mr. Tally replied and very nearly looked at Mrs. Singletary as he said it.

“And what color is it?” Mrs. Singletary asked, and Daddy said the women drew in tight all roundabout her and peered at Mr. Tally as intently as Mrs. Singletary herself.

“It’s peach, ma’m,” Mr. Tally said, looking full on Mrs. Singletary. “It’s a rich shade of peach.”

And according to Daddy it did not seem as if Mr. Tally could have said anything more pleasing. “Ah, peach,” Mrs. Singletary crooned, and several of the ladies behind her said “peach” themselves in low, excited voices.

“Yes ma’m,” Mr. Tally said, “a very rich and beautiful shade of peach,” and he smiled at Mrs. Singletary which Daddy said was probably the first time he had ever seen a Tally smile directly at anybody.

“And her condition?” Mrs. Singletary wanted to know.

“Ma’m?” Mr. Tally said.

And the Mrs. Rosemont Hills Watts asked him by way of elaboration, “Was she much damaged, Mr. Tally? Was she much damaged in the accident?”

“Not hardly on the outside,” Mr. Tally said, “just a few bruises here and there and a plug out of her left forearm but not hardly anything otherwise. I guess the most of the damage is on the inside; she had to die from something don’t you know.” And Daddy said Mr. Tally grinned at Mrs. Rosemont Hills Watts and at Mrs. Singletary and at the women gathered all roundabout her and then he grinned at the commander just prior to leering at the carpet for good measure. Daddy said it was probably the first time he had ever seen a Tally attempt a joke.

“Does she look natural, Mr. Tally?” Mrs. Mary Margaret Vance Needham asked him. “Does she have much coloration?”

“I suppose she looks natural,” Mr. Tally said. “I really hadn’t seen her enough to know what comes in the way of natural for her and that neegra of hers wouldn’t give us a photograph, said weren’t any photographs to be had. So I guess she looks natural, anyway she came to us all pink in the face and didn’t call for much blush or highlighter and I swear to you she looks healthy enough to sit up and say hello.”

“And her cheekbones?” Mrs. Phillip J. King said.

“She’s got both of them, ma’m,” Mr. Tally told her, and winked at Daddy, who was standing behind Mrs. Phillip J. King and who said he had never been winked at by a Tally before.

And Mrs. Phillip J. King snapped back at him, “Are they prominent, Mr. Tally?”

“Oh, yes ma’m,” Mr. Tally said, “they’re a lovely pair of cheekbones. Not a thing sunk in about them.”

And the bald Jeeter Throckmorton, who had been standing quietly beside Mrs. Estelle Singletary with her right arm hooked into the crook of little Ivy’s left elbow, cleared her throat and said, “How is her expression, Mr. Tally? Does she appear to be at ease?”

“At ease, ma’m?” Mr. Tally said. “Why yes I believe I’d say her expression is ...” and Daddy said Mr. Tally paused and sucked on his top lip and then selected one of his fingers and chewed the end of it and then rubbed his eyes with his knuckle and appeared set to grab ahold of the back of his neck when the commander leaned towards him ever so slightly and directed a brief observation at the side of Mr. Tally’s head for which Mr. Tally appeared exceedingly grateful, and Daddy said he thanked the commander straightaway and then turned his attention full on the bald Jeeter Throckmorton and told her, “Serene, ma’m. I’d say her expression is quite serene.”

“And overall,” Mrs. Estelle Singletary began, “with her peach dress and her natural flush and her serene expression, how would you say she looked, Mr. Tally?”

But according to Daddy even before Mr. Tally could fully consider what part of himself he would suck or chew or rub or grab ahold of Momma said, “Elegant,” and Mr. Tally thanked her straightaway and then turned his attention full on Mrs. Estelle Singletary and told her, “Elegant, ma’m. I’d say overall she looks quite elegant.”

Nobody seemed to have much use for Mr. Tally after that except for one of the Richardson Road contingent who was burning to know what color Miss Pettigrew’s shoes were, so the commander excused him at length and Mr. Tally made his manners in the form of a slight, imperial bow and then went off towards the basement door looking altogether taller, Daddy said, than he’d ever seen a Tally look before. And after Mr. Tally was gone from sight, people went back to viewing the shut double doors but with some renewed interest since they were surer of just what was behind them, and in the spirit of gracious solicitude, Daddy called it, the commander volunteered that all of the fittings on the Pettigrew casket were made from solid brass which caused quite a stir among the mourners and sparked exclamations of “Ah, brass!” from all across the parlor. And Daddy said all of the women who had previously drawn in together around Mrs. Estelle Singletary drew in together around her again before the shut double doors and the crowd of them repeated most everything that had been said by Mr. Tally and most everything that had been said to Mr. Tally. They called Miss Pettigrew serene and easeful and lovely and natural and elegant, called her just about every uncorpselike thing they could think of, but when the commander approached them with his fingers in his fob pocket, the women decided they had exhausted themselves in praise and the crowd dispersed in a kind of agitated flurry.

Daddy said him and Momma departed from the Heavenly Rest in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Phillip J. King and before the four of them could get off the porch Mrs. Phillip J. King had to stop and dab at her eyes with a Kleenex. “A pillar of virtue,” she announced. “The purest example of sweetness and light.” And Daddy said Momma looked at her but did not offer to elaborate or answer back, and the four of them managed to reach the bottom of the steps before Mrs. Phillip J. King stopped again and this time dabbed at her nose. “An inspiration to us each and every one,” she said, but Momma did not even turn her head and Daddy said they had not taken four strides altogether when Mrs. Phillip J. King stopped once more, threw her hands up in the air and passionately exclaimed, “Oh peach is such an exquisite color.” Daddy said it was perhaps the passion of the exclamation that startled Sheriff Burton and startled his ladyfriend from Leaksville who both jumped out from behind the commander’s elm tree where they had been mourning in private, and as Daddy figured it Sheriff Burton had not yet decided it was just Mrs. Phillip J. King being Mrs. Phillip J. King when Mrs. Phillip J. King herself saw the sheriff and his ladyfriend off in the shadows, dropped her hands to her side, and said, “Hussy!” in a low violent whisper that sounded like a sneeze. Then she was gone, Daddy said, gone off into the darkness leaving no trace of herself but for a used-up Kleenex on the commander’s lawn and the sound of her heels pecking at the sidewalk, and Daddy said Mr. Phillip J. King explained to him and Momma that his wife had an exceptionally low tolerance for unprincipled women. “ExCEPtionally low,” he told them.

 

 

iv

 

 

“Roadapples,” Daddy said and put his feet up on the porch bannister.

“But a tragic figure,” I told him, “such a tragic figure.”

And Daddy said, “Roadapples” again and scratched himself.

He had not ever gone into the house but had taken off his grey jacket and his blue speckled necktie and draped them over the back of a chair and me and him together had brought the glider out to the front of the porch so we could prop ourselves against the rail. As far as I could tell Momma had gone direct to the kitchen to turn the taps on and we didn’t hear much from her after the sink filled except for every now and again when a couple of plates would bump together. Otherwise there wasn’t much noise anywhere but for the crickets and the clicking of Tiny Aaron’s wheel bearings as he drove his white Impala up and down in front of our house.

“But Momma says he was tragic,” I told him, “and Mrs. Phillip J. King says he was tragic and freshly divorced and very nearly skewered on a naked sabre.”

“Roadapples,” Daddy said. “More roadapples from the queen patoot.” And Daddy prized his hand down in between two glider cushions and brought out a matchpack. “Slimy,” he told me, “not tragic.” And when he had lit his Tareyton he lay his head back until he was looking at the ceiling.

“Not tragic?”

“No sir,” Daddy said.

“And not freshly divorced?”

“No sir,” Daddy said.

“And not even very nearly skewered on a naked sabre?”

“No sir,” Daddy said.

“Well what then?” I asked him.

“Just slimy,” Daddy said.

“But he was only out to take a wife. Momma says so. Mrs. Phillip J. King says so.”

“No sir,” Daddy said.

“No wife?”

“No sir,” Daddy said.

“Well what then?” I asked him.

“Favors,” Daddy said.

“Whose?”

“Hers,” Daddy said. And when I did not say anything back, and when Daddy had drawn on his cigarette and blown the smoke away and I still did not say anything back, he brought his head off from the glider cushion and asked me, “Do you see what I mean, Louis?”

“No sir,” I said.

So Daddy said, “Come on,” and got up from the glider and after he’d hollered at Momma through the screen door me and him went down the steps together and along the sidewalk towards town. We stopped at Mr. Gibbons’s mailbox long enough for Daddy to extract from it a handful of kitchen matches, all of which he gave over to me except for the one he fired against Mr. Gibbons’s retaining wall, and then we made straightaway for the intersection and turned right onto the boulevard. It was not a particularly cool night but was a night full of little breezes that stirred the heat sufficiently to make things comfortable, and after we had walked a block or so Daddy took an exceedingly deep breath and told me he believed it was a night ripe for romance, which was not at all the sort of thing Daddy was given to say. I didn’t know what to tell him back so I just poked at the cracks in the sidewalk with a stick I had picked up especially for that purpose, and just when I was beginning to think Daddy had been temporarily moonstruck and would recover he said to me, “Louis, do you know much about romance?”