Caleb's Wars (10 page)

"Move to
Atlanta?
" Ma asked.

The idea stunned me. Randall couldn't move away! I needed him. "Why didn't you tell me last night?" I asked.

He didn't seem to hear me. "Atlanta is my big chance, Ma. A chance to get ahead, make somethin' of my life. There ain't a thing for me here in Toad Hop. Or in Davisville, either."

"So yo' family don't count for anything—that what you sayin'?" Pop asked. "Our plans for you to come back and work with me, take over my puny little business one day when I'm too wore out to keep goin'? That ain't anything?"

"I don't mean it that way."

"How
do
you mean it?" Ma asked. "Your whole life is here—what little family you have is here. You don't know anyone in Atlanta."

"I know Sonny. He's got lots of friends my age. I'll get to know them, too. Up there, I can find a girl, get married, have a family. And get away from livin' like a slave in my own town."

"You think things are better up in Atlanta?" Pop asked. "You still be stuck in the Deep South, least that's the last I heard."

"Sonny says things are better there. They got areas of town where it's almost all Negroes. You don't have to worry about white folks messin' with you all the time. God, Pop—I've had enough of white folks to last me my whole life!"

"You and me both, and I been havin' to put up with 'em a lot longer 'n you. But if you think you gonna get away from 'em by movin' up to Atlanta, you mistaken. White man rules the roost from here to Virginia and beyond. No gettin' around him."

I couldn't hold back any longer. "Don't leave," I pleaded. "What am I gonna do without you?"

Randall looked surprised. "I thought you'd want me to go, Caleb, as much as you hate it here, too. And here's an idea: you can come with me."

"Your brother ain't goin' nowhere!" Pop assured me. "You either. This is just one o' his big ideas. When the war is over, he gonna see things different."

Ma took out a handkerchief and began twisting it in her hands.

"No, I won't see things different, Pop! It's the war that's made me realize there's more to America than this dump, where men like Lee Davis lord it over everybody just because they got some money. I won't stay here—and I won't change my mind. You'll see."

"You gonna come back and work with me," Pop declared. "That what you promised me. I'm countin' on you."

"Let Caleb take my place."

"Hey, wait a minute—" I began.

Pop broke in. "Your brother ain't no more cut out to be a carpenter than you cut out to be the president. 'Sides, Caleb probably be rarin' to join you up in Atlanta. Leave his ma and me here to grow old and rot all by ourselves."

Randall was starting to lose his temper. "Pop, why do you have to be this way? Don't you want Caleb and me to have a better life?"

"Course I do. Your ma does, too. That's what all parents want for they children. But I can't see how runnin' off to Atlanta is gonna guarantee you that better life. You don't know this Sonny fella enough to trust anything he tell you. Hell, Randall! The world full of people with big ideas—people who make promises the way rabbits make babies."

"You never did trust me, Pop. That's what this is all about. You don't think I can make a good decision for myself. But I'm gonna do it. Just as soon as the war is over."

Ma stood up. "Let's please not argue this thing any more. I need Randall's visit to be a good one."

Pop got up and put his arms around Ma. "All right, sugar. All this is in the future. We can talk about it some other time."

"There ain't no reason to," Randall objected. "My mind's made up, and that's all there is to it."

Pop frowned at him but said nothing.

Ma went to her room, and Pop went to the porch to smoke his pipe. That left Randall and me to clean up. When we were done, Randall changed clothes, grabbed his wallet, and told me he'd be back later. He was headed for Tick's, the juke joint outside of Toad Hop, where he could get something to drink. And maybe Rose's after that.

I walked Randall out to the porch. I expected we'd run into Pop and that he and Randall would start wrangling again, but Pop wasn't there. Randall left, and I sat and watched the light fade down to gray, and then the stars came out, one by one. Still no Pop.

When the mosquitoes started biting, I went inside. Pop didn't come in, and there was no sign of Randall, so I finally went to bed.

A noise woke me up. Randall's bed was empty. I got up to see the time; the clock in the sitting room said two. There were voices on the porch—Pop's and Randall's. I moved toward the door and stood where it was dark and I couldn't be seen.

"I been waitin' for you," Pop was saying. "Why you out so late? You know what time it is?"

"I'm a grown man. Do I have to answer for everything I do?"

"Keep yo' voice down. I just want to know where you been. Down at Tick's, I reckon. You drunk, ain't you? That why you tripped on the steps."

I hoped they wouldn't start fighting again. It would upset Ma. If they got into it, I could go on the porch and try to stop them. I hoped it wouldn't happen.

"What if I am drunk?" Randall shot back at Pop. "It's my life."

"I told you to keep it down. Now we gonna talk."

"There's nothin' more to say."

"Oh, yes, they is! Sit down."

"Pop, I'm beat. Can't this keep till morning?"

"No, it can't keep till morning! I'm gonna knock this idea about goin' to Atlanta out of your head if it's the last thing I do."

"You can save your breath. I already told you: my mind's made up."

"I know you don't give a shit about me, but can't you stop and think about your ma? She already worried sick about losin' you in the war. Your comin' home safe will be her reward for all the prayers and sleepless nights she already been havin'. I don't like to think how much worse it gonna be once you ship out. You gonna break her heart by leavin' her again after you make it home?"

"Atlanta's not that far away. You and Ma will see me."

"I'm almost fifty years old, and I ain't never been to Atlanta." Pop's voice sounded tight, like he was embarrassed to admit it. "What make you think things gonna change? You go up there, we might never see you again."

"Then I'll come see you. It ain't a big problem."

"Why you have to bring all this mess up now, on top of everything else we already got to handle?"

"Because I can't postpone actin' like a man in front of you anymore. Bein' in the army's changed me, Pop. I'd hoped you'd see that. My life is mine to live, whether you like it nor not. Guess I should have known you'd act this way."

"You ain't changed," Pop sneered. "Never a thought for anybody but yourself. That sums it all up, don't it? You and your brother just alike. It high time you both started thinkin'—about somethin' besides your own selves."

I could hear Randall get up. Now he'd go for Pop, and they'd tear each other apart. I started for the door. Then Randall said, "If Caleb and me are that bad, maybe you ought to think about how we got that way. We're your sons, Pop." He headed for the front door, and I hightailed it to our room and jumped into bed.

Randall came in a moment later and started to undress.

"Hey."

He turned around fast. "What are you doin' awake?"

"Listening to you and Pop fight."

"Oh, God! You heard all that mess?"

I told him yes. He lay down on top of his sheets.

"You mad at Pop?"

He sighed. "I dunno. More tired than mad. And sorry for Ma. Think what it's like for her, married to Pop all these years. And how do
you
stand it?"

"I stay out of his way. Like I told you: if he ever tries to lay a hand on me again, I'm gone."

"Good for you. The way Pop acted tonight—that makes me even more set on leaving. I'm serious about you comin' to Atlanta with me. As long as we live here, he'll try to run our lives. I'm sick of it."

"He thinks he knows best about everything, but he's wrong."

"Ah, hell! Let's not go over that ground again. There gotta be other things to talk about besides him." Randall paused for a moment. "Last night, you started to tell me somethin' about gettin' baptized. Least I think you did."

"Yeah, and you were so interested, you fell asleep."

"Sorry. Want to tell me now?"

I did, but how much should I tell? "I went ahead and did it for Ma's sake. She's been after me a long time."

"Just like she used to do me. Until she saw it was wasted breath."

"Pop's proud you see it his way."

"Oh, great! At least we see eye to eye on one thing. Did he try to stop you?"

"Naw, but when it was over, I got his speech about why he's against God and religion."

"He can't ever give that a rest! God, Caleb. We been hearin' that mess for years."

My heart was beating fast. This was my chance to share everything with my brother. I decided to tell him all about it. "Something ... unusual happened when I got baptized."

"You get pond water up your nose?" Randall laughed at his joke.

"No, not that. Something crazy. Something I don't get."

"Yeah? Like what?"

It wasn't easy, because I knew what Randall thought, but I told him the whole story, including the only explanation that made any kind of sense: "The voice I told you about, that called my name and spoke to me right in this room—it was God."

"Oh, come on, Caleb! You don't really believe that."

I'd figured he'd be skeptical, but his reaction hurt anyway. "Yeah, I do. What else could it be?"

"Your imagination. A daydream. Your mind playin' tricks. Lots o' things."

"You're wrong. It was God."

"If God exists, he sure don't talk to people. You go around sayin' shit like that in the army, they label you a section eight and hustle you out of the service."

"Section eight?"

"A nut case. I've heard of guys tryin' stuff like that—'God talked to me'—to try to get a discharge. The docs can usually tell the difference between the ones who are really off their rockers and the ones only pretending."

"I know what happened, and I'm not pretending."

"It was in your mind! Has it happened again since that day?"

"No—"

"You told anyone else?"

"I wanted to tell Ma, but she'd get all excited. You know how she is. And she'd probably tell Brother Johnson, make a big deal out of it."

"That's for sure. You best forget it."

I can't!

"Look, Caleb. It was just one of them strange things that happen—things we can't explain. Like how fortunetellers are right sometimes."

There was no way to convince him. I'd tried, but he didn't get it.

"You always had the wildest imagination of anybody I know. Let it go." Randall said he was tired, turned over, and dropped into sleep.

"I know it was you," I told God. "How about letting me in on what you have in mind?"

God didn't, though, so there I was again, alone with my truth.

N
ATHAN KNOCKED
at the window a little later. Randall was so dead to the world that he didn't even move when I climbed over him—watching where I put my feet—and went out.

At the creek, Nathan told me all about what had been going on at Lee Davis's place, where he was working in the fields. "I bet washin' dishes ain't nothin' compared to the excitement you been missin' at Old Man Davis's. It really been somethin' these past two days."

Nathan and his big talk. His imagination was a lot bigger than his brain. "Oh, sure. The excitement of chopping weeds. You can have it."

"It ain't what us Toad Hop folks been doin'. It's
other
folks and what
they
been doin' that make all the excitement. Just as good as a movie."

"Did a truckload of beautiful babes show up at Lee Davis's place for work?"

"I wish! Naw, we got ourselves twenty-five Germans!"

"Get out!"

"God's truth, my man! Mr. Lee didn't waste no time puttin' them in harness. They brought 'em over first thing yesterday morning and hustled 'em right into the fields. From the way they work, look like none of 'em is a farm-boy. I guess in Germany they teach 'em how to use guns when they little, not hoes."

"They worked right there with you?"

"Naw. They kept 'em away from us, but not so far I couldn't see. Davis's man Stryker was there, showin' 'em what to do. They was soldiers with guns guardin' 'em, too.

I hated to admit it, but I was impressed. "Sounds pretty interesting. Were any of the Germans the guys we threw rocks at?"

Nathan shrugged. "I dunno. They was too far away to see 'em good."

"How'd it go?"

"Yesterday, smooth as silk. Today was different, though." He looked like a kid with a secret he was dying to tell but was going to make you beg to hear. Nathan could be annoying that way.

I had to play his game. "So tell me!"

Nathan looked so satisfied that I wanted to smack him. "All right. First off, couple o' prisoners try to make a break for it. I was mindin' my business, doin' my work, when I heard this shoutin', and looked up, and they was two of 'em, runnin' toward the woods at the back of the field." He acted out each happening as he went along, first working his hoe, then looking startled, and then becoming a prisoner, running away, arms pumping.

I had to smile. "Yeah? And then?"

"The guards shouted, and they just kept goin', and then they was gunshots, and that stop 'em! They fell down like they been hit, and for a second I thought maybe they been killed. Turn out the guards only fired into the air, and the men was smart enough to drop before another round come they way. Anyway, guards got 'em and marched 'em back to the truck. One of the guards hurries up to the big house while two others stand by the prisoners at the truck, they rifles ready."

"You're not making this up?" I asked Nathan.

He pretended to look hurt. "Cross my heart! Other guard be watchin' the rest o' the prisoners, yellin' at 'em to get back to work. Then here come the guard from the house, and after a while, Davis and Stryker come along,and then after that, another army truck come and take them two Nazis away in handcuffs and leg irons." Nathan folded his arms and looked at me like it was my turn to tell a good story. "Anything good as
that
happen at the Dixie Belle?"