Caleb's Wars (14 page)

Miss Suzy almost grabbed them. "Tell you what, Lucy. Since you been good enough to sacrifice these for a act of Christian mercy, I'll go to town for you—save you a trip. Is they anything else you need?"

"Ain't no guarantee you gonna find sugar," Pop cautioned. "Just 'cause you got you some stamps don't mean Mr. Ellison gonna have sugar."

"We just got to have faith he will. 'Where the Lord guide, he provide.'"

"See if he has any vanilla," Ma said. "Here's some money."

"And will you come with us when we go? Brother Ford is gon' let us use his wagon."

"I don't know—"

"We
need
you, child! Couldn't make it without you. That's settled, then. Now please tell me what y'all hear from Randall. You know what a favorite he is with me."

"May I be excused?" I asked. I didn't want to hear Miss Suzy gush about Randall or pump Ma for news about stuff that wasn't her business.

"Oh, Caleb. How you be? I didn't hardly notice you sit-tin' over there so quiet. How you enjoy workin' at the Dixie Belle? And what about that prisoner they got there?"

I glanced at Pop, wondering if he'd react. He didn't, and I felt grateful. "It's all right," I assured her. "Pop, I need to go over to Nathan's. We're going fishing."

He said I could, and I guessed he wished he could come with me.

***

Next day Miss Suzy brought what Ma needed, and Ma baked her pound cakes, like she promised. The day after that the ladies of Toad Hop surprised the prisoners with what Pop insisted on calling their "little afternoon tea party."

Ma told us about it over supper. "The prisoners weren't at all what I expected."

"Oh?" Pop didn't sound interested.

"Until today, I hadn't even seen one of them. Why would I? And now that I have, I don't know what to think. They were friendly, Frank. Respectful—and so grateful."

"What you expect? You give a hungry man a piece o' your pound cake, course he gonna be grateful."

"That's sweet. By the way, I saved some for you and Caleb. You can have it for dessert."

"That's my girl!"

Ma wouldn't be sidetracked. "Some of them looked like boys, even younger than Randall. I can't imagine them with guns."

"That's how I feel about Andreas, the guy who works with me," I said.

"That where you both wrong," Pop told us. "They ain't just 'boys.' For one thing, they white. For another thing, they highly trained killers. Germany ain't conquered most o' Europe 'cause its soldiers can do kitchen work and enjoy some homemade cake! Maybe them fellas act all respectful and grateful when somebody give 'em a handout, but if
they
was in charge, it'd be way different. Then they'd be raping and killing and God only knows what else."

Voncille had said the same thing to Betty Jean.

"And you know who they go after first," Pop continued. "After they got rid of every Jew in America, they come after us."

"Their leaders have forced them to fight," Ma responded.

That's what Aunt Lou had said.

"I don't believe those young men would try to hurt us," Ma went on. "They just want to go home."

"Andreas hopes Germany loses the war," I said.

Pop turned on me. "I thought he can't speak no English."

"He's learned a little. On D-day, that's what he told us."

"And you believed him." Pop looked disgusted. "I reckon he know what side
his
bread buttered on. What you expect him to say? 'I hope we slaughter every last one o' yo' men tryin' to get a foothold in France'? Use your head, Caleb. He told y'all just what you wanted to hear."

"You always believe the worst," Ma said. "I guess you want our American boys to be just as bloodthirsty as you say the Germans are."

"Damn right I do! You think we gonna win this war by makin' nice? I didn't want us to fight, but now that we in it, now that Randall is over there, I want us to get the job done and get the hell out."

"Randall wouldn't hurt anyone unless he had to."

"Maybe not, but he better be ready to act without mercy if that time come. His life might depend on it. I hope they taught him
that.
"

***

A couple days later we had heavy thunderstorms. Not many folks showed up at the Dixie Belle for breakfast, and so few turned up at dinnertime that Miss Sondra closed the place early.

Uncle Hiram had been having a bad time all morning. Rainy weather made his rheumatism act up, and his hands ached. During the break after breakfast he soaked them in hot water, and Aunt Lou gave him some aspirin. But he was still in pain, and he dropped a bowl of potato salad because he couldn't make his fingers hold it tight enough.

After we closed up, Uncle Hiram went into the alley as he did most days, to smoke his pipe before the long process of cleaning up began. When Aunt Lou asked me to empty the garbage, I toted it into the alley. Uncle Hiram was leaning against the wall, rubbing his gnarled hands together. Tears were running down his face.

"Oh, Caleb!" He looked embarrassed and quickly wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve.

I put down the can and went to him. "What's wrong, Uncle Hiram? Your hands still hurt?"

"Worse'n ever. They hurts so bad I can't hardly stand it no more. And I's so tired o' not bein' able to do my work the way I use to." He went back to rubbing his hands, like he was trying to push the pain and the stiffness out of them.

"I'm real sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, son. Just please don't tell Lou I's out here actin' like a baby."

"All right. I'll tell her you're finishing your pipe."

"Thanks, Caleb. I be back in a minute, soon as I got hold o' myself."

The second I went through the door, I heard a voice say, "Caleb."

I didn't have to stop and think—or ask any questions. I knew.

No one else in the kitchen had heard anything. Andreas was bent over the sink, scrubbing a baking pan. Aunt Lou was dishing leftovers into a bowl. It was all so ordinary—and so unbelievable.

And now? I stopped and listened, but the only sounds were the regular noises of kitchen work. I had to do
something
for Uncle Hiram, but I realized that was for me to decide.

I went back into the alley and found Uncle Hiram in the same place, his forehead wet with sweat, his eyes closed tight. He jumped when I touched his arm.

"You back," he said. "Anything wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. I want to pray for you—ask God to fix your hands."

Uncle Hiram smiled, showing the empty places where teeth used to be. "Aw, honey, that's right sweet o' you. I shore could use some prayer."

I prayed to God every night, asking him to protect Randall, but this was different—personal. "What do I say?" I asked silently, but there was no answer. It was up to me.

Uncle Hiram held out his hands, palms up, like he expected me to put something in them. I took them in mine—gently, so I wouldn't add to his misery—and closed my eyes.

"Father in heaven, Uncle Hiram is hurting, hurting real bad. He ... uh, he wants the pain to go away. And his hands to get back to the way they used to be, before the rheumatism got them so he can't do his work the way he used to."

"Oh, yes," said Uncle Hiram.

"So, Father, please touch Uncle Hiram's hands and heal them. Amen."

"Amen!" Uncle Hiram declared. "Thank you, honey. Thank you!"

We went back into the kitchen together to help the others finish cleaning up so we could all go home.

I walked through rain the whole way, but I didn't care. Being wet didn't matter. The lightning that cracked around me wasn't important either. Only one thing was on my mind: God had spoken to me again.

M
A WAS SURPRISED
to see me home early, and she fussed over me, which is just what I wanted. Soon I was in dry clothes, drinking a cup of coffee with lots of milk and sugar. She sat across the kitchen table from me, working on a pair of socks she was knitting for Randall.

"What is it?" Ma asked after a while. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm all right."

"You don't look all right. You have something on your mind. I can see it all over you. Things bad at the restaurant?"

I hadn't planned to say anything, but I plunged in. "Ma, I've been wanting to tell you some things for a long time."

"You're not in trouble?"

"No, ma'am. At least I don't think so. But strange stuff has been happening to me—"

"I knew it! You haven't been acting quite yourself. Tell me."

"The day I got baptized ... God spoke to me."

Ma dropped her knitting. "
God?
You're sure?"

I nodded. "Three times. The same thing each time."

"Why didn't you tell me? What did he say?" Ma's voice had dropped to a whisper.

"When I was under the water, God said my name and then 'Behold my servant.'"

Ma leaned toward me. "Then what happened?"

"I went home to change into dry clothes, remember?"

"Yes—"

"And I was in my bedroom, undressed, and a voice said the same thing. Real clear: 'Behold my servant.'"

"You heard it with your ears, the way you're hearing me now?"

"Yes, ma'am. I thought it was Nathan playing a joke. I looked everywhere, but no one was in the house with me. Then I heard it again, but not with my ears. It was like something coming from inside me, like an idea."

Ma folded her hands and rested her chin on them, like she was getting ready to pray. "You haven't told anyone else?"

"Only Randall. He said it was just my imagination and I should forget it."

"But you know it wasn't."

"I thought about it a lot, and I can't figure anything else."

"Maybe when Grandpa blessed you, he gave you the gift of hearing from God."

That sounded pretty strange—spooky, even.

"I always knew there was something in you," Ma told me. "And now—"

"I don't like it!"

"Oh, son, why not? It's a rare blessing to have God speak to you."

Her words didn't help. "Please don't tell Pop."

Ma put a hand toward me, as if she wanted to make me stop and calm down. She looked thoughtful. "I understand about not telling your father. You're sure God said, 'Behold my servant'?"

"Yes. Why does God always want Negroes to be servants, Ma?"

She sighed. "Maybe God
doesn't
like how things are for us. But there are different ways to be a servant. Jesus washed the feet of his disciples at the Last Supper. That was a servant's job back in those days. He did it to show us how to serve one another."

That made sense. I was obeying God and serving Uncle Hiram at the same time. I told Ma about hearing the voice and then praying for Uncle Hiram.

Ma reached across the table and put her hand on mine. "This is important, Caleb. What's happened to you, I mean. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Your father really should know, even if—"

"No! He'd just make fun of me.
Please
don't tell him!"

She sighed. "All right. We'll wait."

***

Pop came home all steamed up about how he'd been shortchanged at the hardware store. He went on about it over supper, and then he got on to some bad war news from the Pacific. He didn't ask about my day or anything, and that suited me fine.

After supper I answered a knock at the door. There stood Aunt Lou and Uncle Hiram.

"Uncle Hiram?" Ma said. "Aunt Lou? Are y'all okay? Please, come in the house."

They didn't move. "A miracle done happened!" Uncle Hiram cried.

Pop joined us at the door. "Uncle Hiram, what is it?"

"Show 'em," Aunt Lou said.

Uncle Hiram held out his hands. The fingers weren't all pressed up against one another, tilted at that crazy angle toward his little fingers, the way they used to be. They were still an old man's hands, but the fingers were almost straight. His knuckles and joints looked normal, too—no more swelling.

"Looka here," he said, flexing his fingers. The words came faster and faster. "My rheumatism—no! I ain't gonna call it
mine
no more, it warn't
ever
mine, but a curse the devil put on me—that damn old rheumatism is
gone!
God done took it outta my body and sent it as far from me as east is from the west. Caleb prayed to God, askin' him to heal me, and God done heard his prayer!"

Uncle Hiram grabbed my hands and held them tight. His hands were strong now—the hands of a man who'd used them for hard work all his life.

"Oh, Lord Jesus!" Ma cried.

"Caleb prayed for me this afternoon, and God done healed me! Thank you, honey! Oh, thank you, God!" He put his hands over his face, and his shoulders began to heave.

Suddenly my head felt all squeezy, and I had to sit down.

"I'll get some water," I heard Ma say.

When my head cleared, Uncle Hiram and Aunt Lou were sitting on the settee, holding hands. Pop stood by the front door, his arms crossed.

Ma wiped my forehead with a damp cloth, and I felt better.

"Tell your mama and daddy how it happened," Uncle Hiram said.

I glanced at Pop. I didn't like the deep wrinkle between his eyes, but I went ahead and told the story again.

After I finished, Ma asked Uncle Hiram, "When did you truly get healed?"

"It didn't happen right off. Lou and me went home, just like Caleb did, and we was wet to our skins, even though we had a umbrella. Wind was so bad, nothin' could o' kept us dry."

"I put on the kettle right away," Aunt Lou said, "and sent Hiram to change into dry things. When I come to the bedroom to tell him the tea was ready, he was sound asleep, quilt pulled up over him, so I let him be."

"While I was asleep, I had the most wonderful dream!" Uncle Hiram was smiling as he remembered. "I was sittin' on my porch swing. Jasmine was bloomin' all 'long the fence, and honeysuckle on the porch pillars. Bees hummin' everywhere. And while I's sittin' there, here come a man up the porch steps, and right away I knowed it was a angel."

"An angel!" Ma exclaimed. "What did he look like?"

"Just like you, Frank," Uncle Hiram replied. "Big, strong fella."