Gone Fishin' (12 page)

The
minister let his head fall forward. The room had the silence of grace
in it. Everybody, from Reese Corn to Sweet William to Miss Alexander,
everybody felt a mighty presence. Not necessarily a presence of love
or even salvation. But there was truth in the room; it was almost
solid it was so real.

‘The
land don’t belong to you. No it don’t. Your houses and
your clothes and your chirren too. None’a them belong to you.’

A small
boy was sitting on the other side of Theresa, his eyes filled with
tears.

‘It’s
all the love of Jesus, the love of God. If he wants it, then he’ll
take it, an’ it’s not fo’ us to question his
infinite will. This life is just a test for your love an’ your
faith.

‘I
feel love for my land and my labours. I feel rage when I am being
mistreated and cheated. But all that takes a backseat to the love of
God.’ Reverend Peters was crying but his face was full of
light. ‘And when the time comes it will be his scriptures I
look to for my answers.’

He bowed
his head again.

Somehow he
must have signalled the pianist because she started playing softly.
Brother Decker got in front of the podium and said, ‘Sunday
school will begin at half past nine at Miss Trevor’s house.
There will be a meeting of the church council directly after this
service.’

We were
all quiet in the balmy morning outside the chapel. I wondered at the
sermon’s meaning. I could see something in what Miss Dixon told
me. But there were parts that I just didn’t understand. Why did
I have to live so close to disaster? Why would God want that?

It was a
mystery but I didn’t have time to think about it because that’s
when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

‘Where
Raymond?’ daddyReese asked me.

The whites
of his eyes had gone yellow, and the smell of his breath was like the
stench of a corpse. I told him that I hadn’t seen Mouse in a
few days.

He grabbed
my wrist and leaned against me; he hissed into my face, ‘You
tell him that I don’t care what happens. I see my soul in hell
fo’ I let up on a dime, you hear that?’

‘I hear ya, Reese.’

‘Not one fuddn’ dime!’

‘I ain’t seen’im, Reese, an’ I don’t
know when I’m gonna.’

Reese
pulled on my arm with one hand and went for his pocket with the
other. He was weak and sick but I wasn’t too spry myself. I
don’t know if I had the strength to hold him from cutting my
throat.

‘Hi,
Reese,’ Momma Jo said. ‘Been a long time since I seen you
at church.’

At the
sound of her voice Reese let me go and fell back. ‘Get away
from me, witch. Get away from me.’ And he turned, running from
her.

‘What he want, Easy?’

‘I dunno, Jo. He want Mouse, not me.’

When we
all walked back to the store Jo said to me, ‘I’m havin’
supper wit’ Domaque and Ernestine, Easy, why’ont you come
on out?’

‘I’m sick, Jo,’ I said to her feet. ‘I gotta
get some rest.’

She put her hand on my throat again.

‘You is hot,’ she said.

When I got
to the room a calm had set in on me. I was wondering if the minister
was right. Was everything I experienced the whim of God or his test
to see if I was worthy? I laid down on the bed and let the strength
flow from my arms and legs; and in my weakness I gave up my
responsibilities.

I thought
about how Mouse was like Job’s devil; how he had called
daddyReese the devil. I didn’t even care about the dogs.

When I
opened my eyes Mouse was sitting on the crate facing me.

‘How
you feel, Ease?’

‘li’l
sick I guess, but ‘I’ma leave soon as I can walk down
t’the car.’

‘Well,
by then everything should be done.’ There was a serious tone in
his voice, not the brash way he usually sounded.

‘What
you tryin’ t’do, Raymond? What’s all this mess wit’
Clifton an’ Ernestine an’ Reese?’

‘It’s
more than that. I got wheels turnin’ all over. Wheels inside’a
wheels, like a great big ole clock.’

I didn’t
have the strength to even ask him anything but he started talking
again.

‘Yo’
daddy run out on you when you was a boy, right, Ease? I know that
that prob’ly hurt you. You prob’ly want him back so bad.
I know how it feel. I was hopin’ fo’a daddy when I’as
a chile. Momma loved me but you know kids ain’t never satisfied
so I wanted me a daddy too. I always be pesterin’ her ‘bout
my real daddy, an’ I knew I was hurtin’ her. So she
married Reese. She wouldn’ta done it if not for my pesterin’.’
Mouse’s dear eyes had the light of honesty in them. ‘An’
he kilt her. Abused her an’ hurt her through me. Reese is a
harsh man. A woods man. The kind of man that likes to hurt. She knew
what he was but she did it for me.’

Mouse
clasped his hands between his knees. ‘So it’s like I
killed her by never bein’ satisfied wit’ what we had.
‘Cause you know from the first day in that house me an’
Reese was at it; an’ me an’ Navrochet, that’s
Reese’s blood son me an’ Navrochet was at it too. They
had my momma workin’ and toilin’ while they was just as
mean as they could be. An’ they come down on me too. I was
young, Easy, an’ I could take it. But they wore Momma out.’

Sunlight
came through the muslin curtains with a small breeze. I was breathing
softly and watching the cloth wave; I had forgotten Mouse was there
until he went on.

‘I
thought I had let it go. Before she died Momma borrowed some money
from Sweet William an’ sent me t’Houston when I was still
just a kid. That was about the same time you come into town. I had me
a new life an’ I never even thought about Momma or Reese or
Pariah at all. Cousin Pernell an’ his wife Justine took good
care’a me until I could see after myself. Momma axed Sweet
William to drop by an’ check in on me now and then.’
Mouse smiled. ‘I grew up like a weed an’ all I cared
about was my friends and a good time. But Etta changed that. It’s
not like she reminds me’a Momma or nuthin’ like that; you
know my momma was a slight girl with a little smile and soft ways.
But it’s what we did together kept remindin’ me of the
ole days ‘fo’ she married Reese.

‘You
know Etta always have breakfast waitin’ fo’me in the
mo’nin’. I got a hundred girls suck my dick all night
long but who gonna worry ‘bout how I be eatin’ in the
mo’nin’? An’ when we talk she know how I feel. An’
when I love her I always be thinkin’ ‘bout babies; I see
her sucklin’ my son… An’ then you know what I be
thinkin? I think about Reese. I think about how he hurt me an’
how he kilt Momma an’ I know he gotta pay fo’it. That’s
why I come out here; ‘cause Momma wanna see me wit’ a
fine weddin’. If she was alive she’d get a church and all
her friends and they’d cook fo’a week and she wouldn’t
let me lift a finger or spend a dime. An’ since she cain’t
do it I’ma make sure that Reese do it fo’her.’

I wanted
to talk to him. I wanted to warn him about Reese and ask him just to
come back home with me. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I
was sick but I don’t think I was too sick to talk. I just felt
helpless. What was I going to do? Raymond couldn’t help what he
was; Raymond couldn’t stop himself. That’s what I thought
then; maybe it was true.

‘But
now, Easy, I’m scared,’ Mouse said. “Cause I know I
got Reese by his nuts wit’ that doll. He from voodoo country
an’ a curse gonna tear him up, I know that. But now I’m
ascared he gonna die fo’ I get what’s mine. My li’l
spies be tellin* me ‘bout how Reese is sick. But I gotta have
that man’s money. He cain’t die ‘fore that.’

Then he
was still, sitting there wringing his hands. I didn’t have
anything to say or maybe it was all a dream. Because I had a terrible
fever that night. There was nothing I could do to stop what was going
to happen. And as much as I knew I didn’t know everything, I’d
like to think that if I knew what Mouse’s plans were I’d’ve
tried to stop him right then. But maybe what happened was ordained
like that minister said. Maybe it really was out of my hands.

It wasn’t
until years later, after the war, that I understood about Mouse; long
after I’d learned to read and write I came across the meaning
of the word that described him: inspiration. Raymond wasn’t
smarter than the next man; he didn’t do anything new in the
world. But he created lead from gold. He created his revenge on Reese
from his love of EttaMae or maybe he found that revenge in her love
of him. He changed the world to fit his twisted feelings.

Raymond
was an artist. He always said that a poor man has got to work with
flesh and blood. ‘Po’ man ain’t got time t’be
worryin’ bout finery, Ease; po’ man cain’t even
watch his own ass, ‘cause you know if you so much as flinch
down here that’s all she wrote fo’ you.’

I kept
fading out and coming awake again to see Mouse sitting there,
wringing his hands and thinking. Finally I opened my eyes and he was
gone. That’s when the fever set in and I was lost.

We were
running out of the slaughterhouse and everybody was yelling. One man
grabbed my father but he sent that man to the floor. Another man came
up and he went down too. I noticed then that the rest yelled but they
kept their distance.

We ran out
into the truck yard in front of the building and down an alley. My
father had picked me up into his arms and he was running fast. You
could see the fear in his face, and that fear is what I remembered
most. A scared little colored man with a child in his arms; the world
shaking up and down like it was about to break apart and we were
panting like dogs on the run.

Only dogs
are hunters and we were hunted.

We ran
down to the stream, where we had been trawling for crayfish not three
days before, and fell into a heap. My father was breathing so hard
that his throat sang.

‘You
gotta run up home, Ezekiel,’ he said to me. ‘You gotta go
up the back way an’ get yo’ momma an’ them an’
go down t’Momma Lindsay’s. You hear me, Ezekiel?’

‘Yes, Daddy.’

‘I love you, boy.’

‘Where you be?’

‘I
gotta run right now, son. I don’t know where I end up but I
tell ya when I get there.’

‘You
gonna come get us?’

He said,
‘Take care’a yo’self, boy,’ then he kissed me
on the lips and hurried me on my way. And then I was a man running
down the path yelling for my mother but never getting there.

There was
something tickling my stomach. I looked down and saw a white cloth
taped to my belly; it was writhing against me. I reached out to pull
it away but a big black hand grabbed my hand and tied it to the
bedpost.

My mother
and I sat in the parlour of Momma Lindsay’s house. My mother
was on a chair and I was sprawled out on the couch. I was thirsty and
she had made lemonade. Everything was natural except that a line of
black ants ran down from the arm of her chair, they seemed to be
coming from her clothes, and I was a full-grown man - I knew that she
had been dead for many years.

‘Where’s
Daddy, Momma?’ I asked.

‘I
don’t know, honey,’ she said. She was smiling at me with
so much love…

‘But
I wanna know where he gone. He said he gonna come get us.’

She just
kept on smiling, nodding slightly. The ants had cut across her
forehead and they made a sound like bees buzzing.

Out of the
window there were clothes on the line. The wind was blowing hard and
they snapped so violently that I was afraid they’d blow off
completely.

Then I’d
have no clothes to wear.

I was
aware of being naked on the couch so I sat up and crossed my legs. I
was hoping that Momma would leave so I could go save my clothes
before they blew away. But she just kept smiling at me with the ants
all over her and the buzzing coming louder and louder.

I was
running out into the bright and windy day; all my clothes had blown
away. I ran full out in an open grassy field. The blades of grass
beat against my bare ankles, pelicans and gulls glided far above.

‘What you callin’ fo’, honey?’ a voice asked.

‘My daddy!’ I yelled, not like a man at all.

‘Where is he, Easy?’

‘He’s
gone,’ I said and then the world started to cry. Everything was
tears and crying. I was so thirsty that I started sticking my tongue
out and praying for rain. But the rain didn’t come.

‘Easy,
you cain’t be worried ‘bout every little thing,’
Mouse was saying. We were in my house drinking beer from green quart
bottles.

“Cause
a po’ man ain’t got that kinda a lux’ry. Shit! If
all you got is two po’k chops an’ ten chirren what you
gonna do?’

I waited
for him to answer the question but he didn’t. He just stood up
and walked out of the house. He was laughing to himself. I could feel
the sweat pouring down my face.

‘Res’
now, Easy,’ Jo said.

She was
swaying in a homemade rocker at the foot of the bed; a giant mother
in a child’s small room. The chair and the floor creaked as she
moved forward and back.

There was
vapour rising from behind her. The room was hot.

‘Water,’
I croaked. I didn’t even recognise my own voice.

When she
rose I was filled with awe at the size and might of her. I remembered
the armadillos and that severed head. It was nighttime again and felt
like I was back in the bayou, out behind those stunted pears.

She lifted
my head to pour water into my mouth from a liquor bottle. She’d
tip a spoonful in and wait for me to swallow, then she’d pour
another one. When the water hit my empty stomach I got small cramps
that quivered down through the intestines. But I didn’t
complain - the water tasted too good for any complaints.

‘You
been real sick, baby. Ev’rybody been worried. Dom an’
Mouse an’ li’l ole Ernestine. You had us all goin’.’