Gathering of Waters (21 page)

Now, all that was left from that era were a rusted washtub, hoe, and shovel.

“I’m going to need some help with this,” Tass commented aloud.

She grabbed her purse and went out to her car. Tass would take the long way to the Piggly Wiggly—she didn’t want to ever lay eyes on that store again.

At the Piggly Wiggly, Tass stood behind people pushing shopping carts loaded with cases of water and canned goods. On the drive back, she passed cars with lumber and plywood tied to the roofs.

You would think it was the end of the world,
Tass laughed to herself.

Later, she and Padagonia stood in the center of the yard outfitted in floppy hats, old T-shirts, and sweatpants. Scattered at their feet were vegetable seedlings, a young rosebush, a shiny new spade, and dozens of packets of flower seeds.

The sky above their heads was as clear as any I had ever seen.

“You start over there.” Tass pointed to the far left of the yard. “And I’ll tackle this area.

They raked, dug, pulled, and planted, and in less than an hour the two women were parched and clothes soaked with perspiration.

“Water break, boss?” Padagonia cried from her side of the yard.

Tass chuckled. “I think we both need one.”

They retreated into the kitchen, where Tass filled two glasses with ice water. Padagonia drained her glass before Tass could even steal a sip from hers.

“More, please.”

Outside, the crickets hummed and the horseflies buzzed in the shade.

Padagonia rubbed her belly. “You hungry?”

“I think I could eat,” Tass said.

“I got tuna fish already made. How does that sound to you?”

“Just fine.”

They walked across the road.

After Padagonia set the plates onto the table, she sauntered over to the television.

“Judge Judy is on.”

Tass shrugged. “I guess I can watch one case.”

The hours slipped by, and soon it was five o’clock. After a commercial promoting a weight-loss drink, the news came on. A pretty blue-eyed anchorwoman told the viewing audience that the top stories that evening included a hurricane which was moving rapidly into the Gulf of Mexico.

Padagonia stood up, stretched her long arms over her head, and announced that she was going to have a drink. When she opened the refrigerator door, Tass saw that it held at least eight six-packs of Pink Champale. Padagonia grabbed one six-pack from the shelf and allowed the door to swing shut. Tass turned off the television and followed her out to the porch.

The light was slowly draining from the sky. Down the street, a group of girls played hopscotch while a tight knit of boys watched. Observing the scene, Tass was suddenly flooded with a feeling of nostalgia.

Padagonia pushed a bottle at Tass. “Want one?”

Tass wasn’t a drinker and at first declined, and then swiftly changed her mind. “Yes, I think I will have one.” She unscrewed the top and tilted the bottle to her lips. The frothy sweetness was a pleasant surprise. “That’s really good,” she declared with a smack of her lips. She rolled the cold bottle across her forehead. “It sure was hot today.”

“Yes, it was,” Padagonia said, and then, “It’s too damn quiet out here.”

She disappeared into the house and came back with her transistor radio, which she set down on the windowsill.

“It’s oldies night,” Padagonia announced as she fiddled with the antenna.

Songs sung by Martha and the Vandellas, the Supremes, and Little Richard ushered the two women back through time.

“They don’t make music like that anymore,” Padagonia remarked wistfully.

“That is true.”

Padagonia opened a fresh bottle of Champale, took three swigs, and then set the bottle down between her feet. Casting her eyes up and down the street, she let off a soft, satisfied sigh. “It’s really very beautiful here.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Good people. Christian people.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You would never think something so horrible happened in such a peaceful place.”

Tass glanced over at her friend. “What did you say?”

Padagonia reached for the bottle. “Just thinking out loud.”

They had been through it all before. Fifty years earlier, their young minds had twisted and turned with the effort of trying to understand why J.W. and Roy had done such a thing. That incident had opened up a world of horror for them. Fear and distrust surfaced where before there had been none.

J.W. and Roy didn’t just snatch the childhood away from Emmett; they stole it from every single black child in Mississippi.

Why did Padagonia have to go and make that comment? Now the evening was ruined. Tass stood to leave.

“You going?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna head in.”

“You want another Pink Champale?”

“No thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Padagonia huffed.

* * *

That night, Tass dreamed she was standing on the porch in her nightgown. Once again, the dark stranger emerged from the grass and waved. Tass waved back.

The person stepped into the moonlight and Tass could see that it was a young man. Head bowed, he inched toward the curb and stopped. He seemed to be contemplating the road. He slid his foot over the edge of the sidewalk and set the toe of his shoe against the blacktop, as if testing the temperature of bathwater. Confident, he then placed his entire foot flat on the surface. The other foot followed.

He did not walk; he lumbered like an old person or a toddler taking his first steps. When he reached Tass’s side of the street, he seemed winded and leaned against a nearby tree.

He must be sick,
Tass thought,
or maybe drunk.

“You all right?”

The man raised his hand and nodded.

“You sure?”

Again, the nod.

The stranger moved away from the tree and shuffled closer. He wore the night like a cape, so even in the moonlight Tass couldn’t make out his features.

“You need something?”

He opened his mouth, and Tass was sure she heard a swishing sound. No, not swishing, Tass thought, lapping, like water against a shore.

“Huh?” She cocked her right ear in his direction and asked if he wouldn’t mind repeating himself, and this time what emanated from his mouth was a gurgle of words wrapped in fathoms of water.

Tass was growing impatient. “Speak up!” she shouted.

The boy balled his fists and Tass sensed that he was summoning strength from a deep, dark waterlogged place. Straining forward, he parted his lips and bubbled, “How you, ma’am?”

Tass leaned back in surprise. “Well,” she laughed, “you don’t have to scream. Can I help you with something?”

He swallowed, then pressed his hand to his throat and said, “Wanted to know if you needed any work done ’round the house.”

Tass glanced at the night sky and then down the dark and quiet street. “Pretty late to be inquiring about work, don’t you think?”

“Yessum.”

“Your parents know you out here … so late?”

“Yessum.”

“Step a little closer, I can’t hardly see you.”

The boy shuffled forward a bit.

“Closer,” Tass insisted. The boy moved his feet, but he did not cover an inch of ground.

“Maybe in the yard?”

“Well, now that you mention the yard, I do need some things done.” She pressed her finger against her chin. “Yeah, I think I could use some help. You wanna come back around eight or nine tomorrow morning?”

The boy shook his head no.

Tass’s eyebrows cinched. “Well, what time were you thinking?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?”

The boy nodded.

“No, no, it’s gotta be nearing ten o’clock. I’m sure your parents would not appreciate you being out so late—how old are you?”

The boy thought about it and then raised his hands and splayed his fingers.

Tass thought he might be retarded. Her heart thumped for him. She straightened her spine and folded her arms across her breasts. “I got children and I sure wouldn’t have allowed them to be working for no man or woman in the dead of night.”

The boy’s head fell forward.

“And besides, how you ’spect to see what you doing in the dark? I ain’t got no light out back, you know.”

The boy kept his head down.

“You go on home and come back when it’s light. Whatever time suits you, I’ll be here all day.”

The boy didn’t make a move to leave.

“Goodnight,” Tass offered sternly, and turned to go inside. Her hand was on the doorknob when she realized she hadn’t given her name or asked for his. When she turned back around, the boy was gone.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

W
hen Tass woke on the morning of the 29th, the dream was still fresh in her mind. She lay in bed for a long time staring at the ceiling, wondering what, if anything, the dream meant.

Outside, the morning was steel-colored, windy, and laced with the scent of rain. When she finally decided to climb out of bed, she knew something was wrong because her feet were covered in brown dust.

Tass sat on the edge of the bed scratching her head. It didn’t make sense. She had taken a bath before going to bed. Even if she had skipped that part of her daily routine, Tass rarely walked about on bare feet, and even if she did, the floors inside the house were clean enough to eat off.

It was all very bizarre.

The dream burned in her mind and Tass decided she needed to find out if she was losing her marbles.

Out the front door and down the steps, she marched right to the place where the young man had stood in her dream. The grass was flattened and when she bent over and laid her hand on the space, she found it to be wet.

Across the street Padagonia was sweeping. When she saw Tass her jaw dropped. “What the hell are you doing out here in your nightgown?”

Tass looked up and presented Padagonia with a grin she hadn’t seen since they were girls.

“What you cheesing about?” Padagonia started across the street with the broom in tow. “You okay?” she asked when she and Tass were face to face.

Tass was giddy. “I dreamed that I was talking to a boy who was standing right here.” She stabbed her finger at the spot. “And when I woke up this morning my feet were dirty, because the porch is dirty.” Once again she pointed at the spot on the grass. “The grass is pressed in where he was standing.”

Padagonia stared. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“I had this dream. Well, I thought it was a dream, but—”

Padagonia dropped the broom. “I don’t think you’re feeling well, Tass.” She raised a hand to her friend’s forehead and checked for fever, but Tass was as cool as winter. Still, Padagonia took her back into the house and put her to bed.

Padagonia placed the kettle of water on the stove. She battled with the idea of calling Sonny. She decided that she would wait a day, just to see if Tass was suffering from grief or had truly taken leave of her senses.

When the water reached its boil, Padagonia drained it into a mug and dropped in a tea bag.

In the bedroom, Tass was sitting up, staring out of the window.

“Drink this,” Padagonia said as she eased the mug into her friend’s hand.

Tass held the mug up to her lips and gazed at Pada-gonia through the ropes of steam. “Don’t look so worried,” she said. “I’m fine, really, it was just a dream.”

“Uh-huh,” Padagonia sounded. “Drink.”

Tass took a small sip.

“I’m gonna get my radio,” Padagonia announced. “I’ll be right back.”

Outside, the street was buzzing with activity as people hurriedly loaded their cars with luggage and irreplaceable objects.

Padagonia sauntered over to one of her neighbors and asked, “What’s going on?”

The man had a stack of photo albums in his hand. His eyes rolled over her. “Ain’t you heard?” he said with an air of annoyance. “Hurricane coming.”

Padagonia frowned and looked up at the sky. It was gray, but the early-morning wind had died down to nothing and the birds were still chattering away in the treetops.

“Where you hear that?” she asked as she trailed the man to his car.

“The news!” The man dropped the stack of albums into the trunk of the car and slammed it shut.

“It don’t look like no hurricane headed this-a-way. Maybe some hard rain, but that’s all.”

“I ain’t taking no chances,” he said, and turned his back on Padagonia’s stupefied expression.

Back in Tass’s house, Padagonia placed her six-pack of Pink Champale on the top shelf of the refrigerator. She plugged in the transistor radio and fiddled with the knobs and the antenna, but all she got was static, so she went in to check on Tass.

“How you doing, girl?”

Tass peeked out over the edge of the blanket. “A little sleepy,” she yawned.

“Uh-huh. I’m gonna make us something to eat, okay?”

“Okay.”

In the kitchen, Padagonia opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of Champale, unscrewed the top, and took a swig. It was nowhere near noon, but under the circumstances Padagonia felt that God would forgive her this one little indiscretion.

After her drink, she returned to the refrigerator and surveyed its contents. She decided on eggs, bacon, and grits. After laying the strips of bacon in the pan, Padagonia went to the window and peered out and found that the clouds had turned dark in the little time it took the bacon to crisp.

While Padagonia was in the kitchen removing the bacon from the frying pan, Tass was curled under the blankets, wrapped in slumber, searching for the night boy with the water voice.

This time, when he appeared, the sun was up and she could see him quite clearly. Young, dark, fullbellied, and smiling. From the porch, she raised her hand in greeting and did not suppress the urge to run to him. It took forever—the space between them seemed to stretch for miles—and when she finally reached him, she was fifteen-and-a-quarter years old and the gown she wore was too long and too big for her.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he responded, and extended his hand.

Tass took it and they started down the street.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he said.

Tass gathered the skirt of her gown and began to skip. The boy laughed and joined in. They skipped all the way to Bryant’s grocery store. Tass stopped and the hem of her gown slipped from her hands.