Absalom's Daughters (11 page)

Judith came out not long afterward with a full gas can, maps under her arm, and a fist full of beef jerky. She climbed into the driver's seat, handed the jerky and the maps to Cassie. One was
ALABAMA AND SOUTHERN GEORGIA
. The other was
TENNESSEE AND EASTERN MISSISSIPPI
. To Cassie's surprise, there was a calendar, too. An
OXYDOL
one, just like at home. Judith had already folded it open to February.

Judith started the car. “What that ol' man want with you?”

“We jus' talkin' 'bout his mule,” Cassie said.

*   *   *

Late in the afternoon, they took a break from driving and sat on the cold ground to eat two of the half-dozen ham sandwiches in the basket. Cassie spread out all three maps—two from the gas station and one from Slick. She could see all of Alabama and most of northern Georgia, as well as the southern edge of Tennessee riding in the upper margins. Virginia was nowhere in sight.

“How far we come already?” said Judith. She was crossing out days on the calendar as though she knew the date. She had made
x
's all through the month of January and halfway through February. Cassie wasn't sure of the date exactly, but if Judith was right, they had about four weeks to get through all these states and more that they couldn't see yet.

“Here's Newcome.” Cassie showed her.

“Where them Hilltop folk?”

“They ain't marked. But these the hills. Heron-Neck over here someplace.” She tapped her finger on the ground, off the map, to the west.

“Well,” said Judith, “then I guess we come a fair piece.”

Cassie placed her hands side by side by side and counted four hands between where they were and the Mississippi and Alabama border.

Judith put the calendar aside, chewing jerky. “You think there somethin' special where Mississippi ends and Al'bama starts? Like a golden gate? Or a soldier in a little red house?”

“I think that'd be nice,” said Cassie.

“I hope there is,” said Judith. She got up and wiped her hands. “Let's get goin', or we'll never git to Porterville by dark.”

The farther they got from the hills, the smoother the road became. With the winter sun low behind them, the junk car made good speed. Soon they were going fast enough for the wind to flutter their clothes and lift Judith's limp hair. The car was still noisy, but there was no more blue smoke. It seemed like the junk car had cleared its throat and could breathe again.

Judith drove as they passed through the slight hills of the countryside. As it got later, the air became chilly but not unbearable.

“How close're we to Porterville?” Judith asked about an hour before dark.

“Pretty close.” Cassie was fairly sure she knew where they were. The railroad was on their right like a dependable river. Ahead State Highway 18 would cross the tracks and the road, and there would be Porterville. Cassie wasn't sure what she would say to Judith when they got there or what exactly she would do, but Judith had a car that ran and maps to find her way. And if there was an inheritance, it would be all hers.

“You know what I'd surely like,” said Judith.

“What?”

“A little reddio music.” She pointed at a dirty, dented plastic box on the floor under the dashboard. “Get it up here. Turn it on. See if we kin git a station.”

The radio was a boxy thing under layers of greasy black fingerprints and of dirt from the footwell. Cassie had thought it was some part of the car that had fallen out under the dash. It slid back and forth on a long cord. As long as it lay there and the car still ran, Cassie had figured leave well enough alone. She squeezed down over her own knees and reached for the boxy thing gingerly, a banged-up version of a two-dollar model she'd seen at Tabitha Bromley's estate sale. She pulled herself and the radio out from under the dash, holding it with her fingertips. It was just as filthy as it could be. Even the little bit of glass covering the dial was filthy.

“Turn it on!” said Judith. “I knows it works.”

There were two knobs. Cassie turned one all the way to the right. Static roared out of the radio. She yelped in surprise, and Judith laughed so hard the car swerved on the road. Cassie turned the other knob. There were voices talking, then singing, then static, then something like gospel, then more static.

Judith said, “See if you kin find New York City!”

Cassie turned the knob the other way, slower.

… and the woman fled into the wilderness, where she hath a place prepared of God, that they should feed her there a thousand two hundred …

“If it ain't Sunday, we ain't gotta lissen to the preacher,” said Judith. “Keep goin'.”

In the beginning was the Word …

“
Is
it Sunday?” said Judith. “Mebbe we should check the calendar.”

“I don't think it is.”

“Then keep lookin'.”

Today, President Eisenhower told the press that …

Cassie turned the knob once more. There was music, thin and sweet.

“That Doris Day,” said Judith. She sang along full-throated but stopped in the middle. “Oh, I hate this song. You like this song?”

“I never heard it before,” said Cassie. “Sounds like she singin' inna tin can.”

“Her voice all right,” said Judith, “but that
song
. La la laaaah, lala.” She let her tongue loll out on each
la
.

Doris Day faded into an announcer's voice and more music. Judith listened intently to the first few notes, then crooned along. It was a song about someone's papa, how good and gentle and lovable he was.

Cassie snorted. “He don't sound nuthin' like
your
papa.”

“No, he don't,” said Judith. “Now here's how the song go about
your
papa.”

Oh, your pa-pa, he run out on your mama

Oh, your pa-pa, he ran out on mine tooooo

No one could be so turr-i-ble

Lyin' an' incur-gi-ble

He a skirt-chasin', adulteratin' white trash mannnn!

They laughed so hard, Judith had to steer with one hand while she wiped her eyes. “You think we could git that on the reddio?”

“It don't even rhyme
,
” said Cassie, and they started laughing again.

Another song came through the static, and Judith reached over to turn it way up. “I know this one! Jack played it!”

She started to sing along but stopped again. “This ain't right. These ain't the same guys.”

The voices were smooth, like an ironed sheet. “They white,” Cassie said, so suddenly she surprised herself.

“They
white
?” Judith fixed her eyes on the radio as though she could tell more by looking at it. “Singin' a black song?” She belted out the chorus the way they'd heard it upstairs at the Wivells'.

“They on the reddio,” said Cassie. “They must be doin' somethin' right.”

“I wonder if Jack know ennythin' about this.” Judith reached over and switched off the noise.

*   *   *

It was dark by the time the railroad tracks turned slightly north and their road met a paved two-lane road marked
MISSISSIPPI STATE HIGHWAY
18.

Without even a sliver of a moon, the two of them looked around for Porterville.

They looked for lights or houses or even someone's back fence. There were tracks on the right and open pastures on the left. The one thing that made the intersection remarkable was a billboard, and it was too dark to see what it was for.

“Town's s'posed to be right here,” said Judith.

It was too dark to check the map, but Cassie had been checking all afternoon. “Right here,” she said.

“Mistah Ovid Beale couldn't bin lyin' to us 'cause he showed this place on the map. What's it called again?”

“Porterville. You think we missed it?”

“We din't miss nuthin',” said Judith. She peered into the night. “Kin you hide a whole town?”

“Colored folks maybe want to keep out of sight of the road.”

“If that the case, whyn't ennybody say ennythin'?”

Maybe the town would become obvious in the daylight, but Cassie had a terrible feeling in her stomach. She pointed at the billboard. “See if we can get the car back behind there. Just stay here for the night.”

Behind the billboard Judith ran the car back and forth in the dry winter brush until the brush lay down in a thick mat. They cleared a space and built a fire out of the broken sticks. Cassie put the rest of the eggs in the skillet, took the ham out of the sandwiches from Hilltop, and cooked them together. When the eggs were cooked and the ham was hot, Judith shoveled hers back between the two slices of bread. Cassie toasted hers and ate the ham and eggs with her fingers out of the cooling skillet.

“Good ham in Hilltop,” said Judith. She opened her mouth for another bite and hesitated and lowered the sandwich. “Hey now. You don't s'pose they turnin' men into hawgs, too—like that mule. I bin thinkin' about it, an' I think he was the husband of that woman in the coffin. They was makin' him haul his own dead wife.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You think they was witches?”

“I don't think anyone can turn a man into a mule.”

“So why was they takin' him into the church?”

“Maybe the whole church was already fulla mules an' chickens an' hawgs.”

“You ridiculous. I cain't even have a sensible conversation with you.”

“You the one think you eatin' a man-sandwich.”

“Well, do you want it?”

Cassie held out her hand, and Judith slapped the warm remains of the sandwich into her palm.

“I feel bad for leavin' that ol' mule back there on his own,” said Judith.

“Maybe he deserved to be a mule. Mister Beale was talkin' 'bout him just like he was a skirt-chasin' adulterator.”

Judith poked a stick into the fire and let out a laugh. “You s'pose they could do
that
to my daddy?”

*   *   *

In the morning there was no more trace of Porterville than there had been in the night. They crossed the tracks and drove on State Highway 18 for miles in each direction only to find more piney woods. Judith drove, and Cassie turned on the radio for company. It was Sunday, February 20, according to Judith's
OXYDOL
calendar, but instead of gospel music all they got was static, and Cassie turned it off. They backtracked alongside the railroad tracks, searching the fields and forests until they were halfway back to Newcome. There was no sign of a town or any human habitation.

Judith yawned to show how tired she was of driving in circles. “Mebbe we din't go far enough las' night.”

“He said it was at the intersection,” said Cassie. She felt far away from everything. “Maybe I saw it wrong when he showed me.”

“Mebbe he wuz wrong. He said we wouldn't be safe by the tracks at night, but here we are, so why we still wastin' time lookin'? We got to git goin'. We only got eight days left in February, an' who knows how long it'll take this ol' heap to git to Virginia.”

“What if his uncle was expecting us?”

“How Mistah Ovid Beale gonna send word 'bout us to his uncle? Smoke signals?”

Judith put the car in reverse, looked over her shoulder, and steered with one hand as she backed up in a wide curve until they were facing east again. “Course,” said Judith, “if they was witches, mebbe they usin' crystal balls.” She shoved the car into a forward gear. “You ready?”

Cassie turned the folded map to show the eastward road. She felt desperate, but she didn't know what else to do. “I guess so.”

After Johnstown, which was just a collection of shacks, came Larvadale. After Larvadale, where there was no more than two houses and a barn, they began to see signs for Wilburville. Judith decided she was done with driving for now, and they switched. Judith turned the radio back on and soon found gospel choirs up and down the radio dial.

“Mus' be a big place, Wilburville,” said Judith.

“Find a station where they singin' ‘Ol' Rugged Cross,'” said Cassie.

Judith spun the dial. “That your favorite?”

“Lil Ma likes when I sing it.”

Judith hunched over the radio and searched, skipping through various renditions of “Rock of Ages.” “I ain't finding it.” Judith shut the radio off and sat up straight in her seat. “Reckon I'll have to sing it for you.” She tapped Cassie's shoulder, like a schoolteacher. “I'll do the main part. You sing the harmonies.”

On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,

the emblem of suffering and shame;

Judith's voice was like a thick piece of chocolate cake. Cassie's own voice was plain beside it, but they sounded good together, and it was easy to make the harmonies heartfelt.

Cassie thought of Lil Ma ironing white women's sheets and pillowcases, sweating late at night over stained table napkins. For the first time the song filled her with a sense of terrible shame. Was Lil Ma's Rugged Cross the light-skinned child she was supposed to bear? Was Cassie's own darkness the suffering and shame? With Cassie gone, how was Lil Ma supposed to redeem herself? What would Grandmother come up with? Cassie shivered. Was Lil Ma strong enough now to refuse her own mother's wishes? Had Cassie thrown away family to set herself—and only herself—free?

“Judith…” But Judith let out a yelp.

“Slow down! Slow down! Stop an' pull over! Lawd Lawd! Them Justice boys come to git us for stealin' they car!”

Cassie looked up at the rearview mirror and saw a police car behind them. He flashed his lights and turned the siren on, and Cassie's hands froze on the wheel. Here was God's consequence. But the Justice boys had been ready to torch this car, so how could it be stolen? Hadn't she and Judith saved the car, like a disintegrating rotten old soul?