It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining (5 page)

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Authors: Ernest Hill

BOOK: It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining
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“Nathaniel.”
He lifted his eyes.
“Why don't you go on in yonder and lie down whilst I run your water.”
Daddy nodded. Yes, he was exhausted—too exhausted to answer. He pushed away from the counter, then turned toward the door.
“I'm gon' put these sweet rolls in the room in case you change your mind.”
“Suit yourself,” Daddy said. He turned to leave again, then paused and looked back at me. “Good night, son.”
“Good night, Daddy,” I said. “See you in the morning.”
They left the kitchen, and I went to my room and once inside, I closed the door and switched off the light, then stretched out lengthways upon the bed. In the stillness, I heard Mama fill the tub; then I heard her go back into the bedroom. I heard Daddy's voice rise above the silence.
“What you and Maurice was talking about when I come in?”
I heard feet shuffling about, and I figured Mama was gathering Daddy's things before he headed into the bathroom to take his bath.
“That gal,” I heard Mama say.
It was quiet again and I knew Mama was waiting for Daddy to say something, but when he did not she spoke again.
“You know that boy had that gal in this house while we was gone?”
“Well, he at that age,” I heard Daddy say.
“That's all you got to say?”
“All there is to say ... Maurice a grown man. We done raised him once. We can't raise him no more.”
“Just don't know what he see in her.”
“Ain't for you to know,” Daddy said. “That boy got to find his own way. And part of finding his own way is making his own choices.”
“Just hate to sit by and let him throw his life away.”
“Well, it's his life,” Daddy said. “You just gon' have to let him live it.”
“Told me him and her still talking 'bout marrying.”
“That shouldn't surprise you none. They been talking about marrying since high school.”
“Well, I don't like it. And I don't think I'd be much of a mother if I sat by and let him make the same mistake we made.”
“And what mistake was that?”
“Slipping off and getting married.”
“So our marriage was a mistake?” Daddy asked.
“No,” Mama said. “Getting married wasn't a mistake. The mistake was getting married too soon. We should have waited. We should have got prepared for life. That boy gon' need his education, and if he get tied up with that gal, it will never happen.”
“A man'll be alright ... long as he'll work.”
“Mo' to it than that, Nathaniel.”
“We did alright,” Daddy said.
“Could've done better,” Mama said, “if we'd had got a education.”
“Well, it's his life and his choice. You best accept that.”
“I can't ... and I won't.”
Chapter Five
T
he talking ceased and through the stillness I could hear the occasional sound of water splashing in the bathroom next door, and from the living room, I could hear the soft steady hum of Mama's smooth soprano voice rising delicately above the quietness that was the night. And as she hummed, I listened intently, trying to place the tune, but try as I might, I could not for she was humming a song of which I was not familiar. It was soft and soothing, and though I could not see her, I assumed that she had returned to the living room to resume her task of mending Daddy's pants. And as I lay prone across the bed listening to her, I only wished that she would accept that which I had told her, for if she did not, I would have no other recourse but to choose. And if I chose, I would choose Omenita.
Outside, a strong breeze had risen, and on the closed window shades I could see the faint outline of shadows cast from dangling limbs dancing wildly under the glare of the full, bright moon. I closed my eyes, summoning sleep but before my active mind could surrender to a somber state of unconsciousness, I heard upon the front door the faint sound of a soft, steady knock, which quickly gave way to the gentle ring of a woman's voice.
“Audrey ... you home?”
There was a moment of silence. Then Mama called back to her. “Cora Lee ... is that you?”
In the darkness of the room, I turned over on my side and raised up to my elbow, listening. All was quiet save for the sound of Mama's feet shuffling across the floor. Suddenly, I heard the screen door creak open. Then I heard my mama's voice again.
“Cora! What you doing out here this time of night?”
There was a brief pause and it sounded like Miss Cora was trying to catch her breath. And I figured she was good and tired because of all the weight she was carrying. And by the way she was breathing I figured she must have walked to our house at a pretty fast gait because she sounded tired, real tired.
“It's Miss Hattie,” I heard her say. Then her voice trailed off and I heard her breathing again.
“Miss Hattie!” I heard my mother say. “What about Miss Hattie?”
I swung my feet to the floor and stood. Mama cooked and cleaned for Miss Hattie. She had done so for years.
“Say she tried to call you,” Miss Cora said, still panting heavily.
“Telephone out,” Mama explained. “Been out better part of a week now.”
“Well, when she couldn't get you she called me,” Miss Cora said, still breathing hard. “Told me to give you a message quick as I could.”
“She ain't sick is she, Cora?”
“Naw. Just going on and on 'bout being in a fix.”
I eased forward and leaned against my bedroom door. From where I stood I could see the living room clock. It was almost nine. Down the hall, I heard Daddy snoring. He had finished his bath and he was sleeping sound and snoring the way a man snores when he's dead tired.
“What kind of fix?” Mama asked. Her voice seemed to relax a little.
“Something about her daughter.”
“Danielle!” I heard Mama say.
“Un-hunh,” Miss Cora said, then paused and let out a deep sigh. “Lord Jesus, I ain't young as I use to be. Look like I can't go from here to there 'thout giving out.”
“You want to come in and sit down,” Mama said. I heard the hinges on the door squeak, and I knew she had opened the door wider.
“Naw,” Miss Cora declined. “I'll be alright ... soon as I catch my breath.”
“Can I get you a drink of water or something?” Mama asked.
“Naw,” Miss Cora said, then paused. “Just give me a minute.”
There was a brief silence, then I heard Mama's voice again. “Why Miss Hattie send you over here this time of night when she know I got to be at her house first thing in the morning for work?”
I heard Miss Cora struggling with her breathing.
“Told me to tell you don't come to work in the morning.”
“Don't come!” Mama said. “Why not?”
“Say she want you to do her a favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
“Say she want you to pick Danielle from the airport.”
“Miss Hattie know I don't drive,” Mama said.
“She wanted to know if Maurice made it in.”
I heard my name, and I moved farther out into the hall next to the door leading into the living room. I poked my head through and looked. Mama's back was turned toward me, and though I could not see her face, I could see that she was standing on the porch with the screen door cracked opened, and Miss Cora was standing on the top step. I could not see Miss Cora clearly. Just the side of her head.
“Made it in this morning,” Mama said. “Why?”
“Well, she say maybe he can drive you to the airport to pick Danielle up.”
“Thought Mr. John was supposed to pick her up,” Mama said. “Least that's the way I understood it 'fo I left there this evening.”
“He was, but Miss Hattie say he called little while ago and said he was stuck in Chicago... . Something come up and he won't be able to get home 'til sometime tomorrow night.... Don't want her sitting at the airport or trying to catch a cab all the way from Monroe.”
“Well, I can't talk for Maurice,” I heard Mama say. “Besides Nathaniel got to have his truck to git back and forth to work.”
“She say for you to send Maurice over her house.”
“For what?” Mama asked.
“She say he can get they car and y'all can go in it.”
It was quiet again and I knew Mama was thinking.
“What time Danielle due in?” she asked, and I could tell from her tone that she was trying to figure things out.
“Little bit before six,” I believe she said.
“In the morning?” Mama asked.
“That's the way I understood it.”
“Well, that ain't gon' do,” Mama said. “Nathaniel expecting Maurice to go to work with him in the morning.”
Mama said that, and it was quiet again.
“Maybe Nathaniel let him come in a little late,” Miss Cora said, “seeing how he the head man down there in the kitchen.”
“I don't know,” Mama said.
“Why don't you ask him,” Cora said. “I can wait.”
“Hate to wake him up,” she said.
“He gone to bed already?”
“Was taking a bath, but I 'spect he in the bed by now.”
“Well, you got to tell Miss Hattie something.”
“Aw right,” she said. She turned to leave, then stopped and turned back. “Sure you don't want to come in?”
“No, thank you,” Cora said. “I'll wait out here.”
“Aw right,” Mama said again. “Oughtn't be but a minute.”
Mama started back toward the bedroom, but she made it as far as the hallway. I stepped from the shadows.
“He's sleep.” I said.
“Well, I guess I'm gon' have to wake 'im up.”
“Ain't no need in bothering him,” I said. “Crowd ought to be light... 'til after lunch. We ought to be back by then.”
“Well,” Mama hesitated. “I don't know.”
“I'm sure it won't be a problem,” I said again. “There's no sense in bothering Daddy. I'm sure it's alright.”
I saw her look at the closed bedroom door, then at me.
“Well, if you think it'll be aw right.”
“It will,” I said.
“Aw right,” she said. And though she was giving in, I could tell she was still a little uneasy with the decision. “Let me go tell Cora.”
She turned to leave and I went back inside my bedroom.
“Tell Miss Hattie we'll be there first thing in the morning,” I heard her say.
“I'll tell her right now,” Miss Cora said.
“Be careful on them old steps,” I heard Mama say.
“I will,” Miss Cora told her.
I heard the door shut and I heard Miss Cora's feet on the steps. Then I heard Mama in the hall walking toward the kitchen.
Chapter Six
I
t was a quarter 'til five when we exited the house and headed toward Daddy's old pickup truck. It had been my intent to walk to Miss Hattie's house (it was just a little over two miles) to get the car, then pick Mama up on the way out, but Daddy wouldn't hear of it. Just kept saying it didn't make any sense for me to walk when we could catch a ride with him. And as soon as we had stepped outside, I was glad he had made the offer. Overnight, the temperature had dropped and the unseasonably warm climate had given way. And not only was I thankful for the ride but I was also glad that I had brought my heavy clothes home with me from school. Up until this point the weather had been mild, but now it was cold. Freezing cold.
When we reached the truck, Daddy climbed behind the wheel, and I followed Mama to the passenger side, and when she was ready, I opened the door and helped her in. She slid next to Daddy, then I climbed in next to her and hurriedly closed the door. It was cold in the truck. Real cold. I saw Mama look at Daddy.
“Now, Nathaniel if this gon' throw you off, me and Maurice can walk.”
“Ain't no sense in that,” Daddy said. “Besides, it's too cold to walk.”
“Well, me and Maurice both bundled up pretty good,” she said. “I imagine we can manage if we have to. Just don't want you to be late.”
She was wearing her long, gray coat and her heavy winter shoes. I was wearing my tan jacket that stopped just below my waist.
“I got time,” Daddy said.
I saw Daddy put the key in the ignition. I heard the old engine turn over slow a couple of times before it finally started. It was cold inside the truck and I saw Daddy release the steering wheel and blow on his hands, then I saw him step on the gas. I heard the engine roar, then fall, then roar again. I buried my hands in my pockets, then leaned forward, shivering. I saw Daddy looking at me.
“Soon as the engine warm up a little, I'll turn on the heater.”
I nodded, then dug my hands deep in my pockets. It was quiet a moment, and I saw Mama slide a little closer to Daddy. I don't think it was conscious. Just think she was reacting to the cold.
“You sure you can make out without Maurice for a little while?” she asked.
I saw Daddy nod, then turn on the wipers. Overnight, there had been a light freeze and a thin sheet of ice had formed on the windshield.
“We'll make out just fine,” he said.
“Hate to leave you shorthanded.”
“We'll be fine,” Daddy said again.
“Well, I know Miss Hattie appreciate it.”
“Un-hunh,” Daddy said. He depressed the accelerator again. The engine roared.
“Nice of her to give me a whole day's pay for a couple hours work,” Mama said. “She ain't had to do that.”
“This ain't about you,” Daddy said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pull the truck into gear and peer back over his shoulder. “This about Maurice.”
I had been leaning forward looking down toward the floor but when I heard my name I leaned back and turned toward Daddy.
“Me!” I said.
“Yeah,” Daddy said. “You!”
I continued to look at Daddy, but he was no longer looking at me. I watched him back the truck out into the street. Then, I heard the gears grind, and I felt the truck lurch forward.
“What this got to do with me?” I asked.
“Miss Hattie just making sure she teach you a lesson she figure you ain't learned in school, that's all,” Daddy said.
“A lesson!” I said.
“That's right,” he said. “A lesson.”
I looked at him, confused.
“What lesson?”
He didn't answer me immediately. Instead, he stared at the highway for a moment like he was thinking about something. Or like I was supposed to figure it out. And when I didn't he decided to tell me.
“Your place,” he said.
Suddenly, I felt the seat move.
“That ain' true,” Mama said, turning toward Daddy. “And Nathaniel, you ought to be shame of yourself for saying such a thang.”
“It is true,” Daddy said. “And you the one ought to be shame.”
I saw Daddy lean forward and turn on the heater. I heard the fan rattle, then I felt the warm air from the vents on my cold, throbbing fingers.
“I don't understand,” I said, still confused.
“Ain't nothing to understand,” Daddy said. “Miss Hattie just trying to teach you that no matter how much education you get, you still ain't fit for nothing but to run white folks' errands.”
“Nathaniel!” Mama said. “Miss Hattie ain't like that and you know it.... And for the life of me, I can't understand why you'd go and say such a mean, hateful thing.”
“ 'Cause it's the truth,” Daddy said.
“It ain't the truth,” Mama snapped, “and you know it.”
“I don't know no such thing,” Daddy said.
“Miss Hattie been good to us,” Mama said. “Her and Mr. John both. And you ain't got no cause to sit here and drag her name through the mud like that, no cause at all. She been good to us.”
I saw Mama looking at Daddy. But he wasn't looking at her; he was looking straight ahead.
“When you ever knowed Miss Hattie to mistreat anybody?” Mama asked him.
Daddy didn't answer.
“I tell you when,” Mama answered for him. “Never, that's when. Miss Hattie asked Maurice to go on account I don't drive. And that's the only reason.”
“Woman, this ain't about you,” Daddy said again.
“I done known Miss Hattie and Mr. John my whole life,” Mama said. “And they good people.... They good people through and through.”
“Never said they wasn't, just said this ain't 'bout you.”
“If you didn't want Maurice to go,” Mama said, “why didn't you say so?”
“Maurice a grown man,” Daddy said. “He do as he please. He got to find his own way. Got to make up his own mind.”
“It's no big deal to me,” I said. “I don't mind going.”
“Nathaniel, you wrong about Miss Hattie,” Mama said. “Dead wrong.”
“Been wrong 'bout lots of things in my life,” Daddy said, “but I don't figure this one of 'em.”
“Well it is,” Mama said. “You wrong, I tell you. Wrong as wrong can be.”
“It's no big deal,” I said again.
Then all was quiet save for the sound of the heater blowing warm air through the vent. I had said it, but I was sure they were not listening to me. Both had retreated within themselves. Daddy clutching the steering wheel looking far up the road and Mama sitting statuelike between the two of us, her hands folded across her pocketbook, her eyes staring straight ahead. I looked at them for a minute then turned my head. It was early yet, and though there were but a few people out and about; inside their homes they were beginning to stir. Through the darkness, I could see the occasional glow of a burning light illuminating a distant window or a front door or a back porch, and I knew that those were the domiciles of people like my father who had to be up and about long before the rest of the world had begun to stir.
I was staring at the house when I felt the truck slow. I turned my head back toward the windshield and looked. We had reached the intersection at Main Street. Daddy paused a minute to let a car pass, then turned right and headed out of town. A block or two before Main Street, Daddy turned right at what had once been the Ford dealership. The building was still there—boarded up and abandoned—but the business was not. Like so many others, it had gone under when the plant closed and the locals who had worked there moved away in search of a place that could offer them what Brownsville no longer could: employment. And after they had gone, what was left for a town was mostly a collection of poor and old people, mixed in with a few wealthy white folks like Miss Hattie and Mr. John who had amassed their wealth during more prosperous times. Back then, Mr. John had been a lawyer; he was now a judge. And Miss Hattie, his wife, had simply married well.
I had rarely ventured into this section of town. Very few blacks had unless like my mother, they did so to cook or clean, or attend to some other folks' children. For this section was the domain of that elite class of whites who had been born into old money and had come of age wedded to old ways. No, I rarely came unless there was some unusual occasion in which there was a task Mama had to perform that was beyond her—something too heavy for her to lift or too big for her to move. Then and only then, did I come.
Miss Hattie's house was located toward the end of the street. It was a large plantation-style house with four impressive pillars and a beautiful second-story balcony. It wasn't exactly on the street, rather it set well off the street on a moderate side lot and was partially hidden by several large trees. Oak, I believe. And if I wasn't mistaken, I heard at one time or another while I was still living in Brownsville that those trees were well over one hundred years old and had been planted there by Mr. John's father, the late Theodore Shaw.
Just as we approached the house, I could see the long driveway leading up to the carport, but Daddy didn't turn into the driveway, instead he pulled to the shoulder and stopped. I could tell that Miss Hattie was waiting for us. The porch light was on, and in the house I could see a second light burning in what I knew was the parlor.
When I opened the door and stepped out, I felt the ice-cold wind engulf me. I pulled my hood over my head, covered my ears, then ran my hands deep into my pockets and when I did I felt myself involuntarily sucking in cold, dry air through numb, chattering teeth. And each time I released the air, I saw my breath flow out, then dissipate into the frigid morning air.
I heard the springs in the seat creak and I saw Mama climb from the passenger side and ease to the ground. I pulled my hands from my pockets and reached out to assist her. And when she was on the ground, I quickly jammed my hands back into my pockets and followed her up the long sidewalk until we stood boulderlike before the front door. Mama pushed the button. The doorbell rang, then from deep inside the house, I heard quickening footsteps, then I saw the curtain move and I saw Miss Hattie's shifty gray eyes peering out at us.
“Who is it?”
“Miss Hattie,” Mama called back to her, “it's me. Audrey.”
The chain rattled and the door swung open.
“Land sakes,” she said. “Y'all come on in out of this weather.”
Mama stepped into the foyer. I followed her.
“Good morning, Miss Hattie,” I heard Mama say.
I heard her because I was not looking. My shoulders had been hunched against the cold, but now that we were inside the warm house my shoulders relaxed, and I removed my hands from my pockets and began rubbing them together. I had been rubbing them together when Mama spoke
“Morning, Audrey,” I heard Miss Hattie respond.
And when she did I looked at her. She was a petite lady whom I guess was only a few years older than my mother. She stood about five foot three or five foot four and weighed somewhere around a hundred pounds. She had dark, straight hair; an oval face; and dark brown eyes. And though it was early, she was already dressed. She wore a beige dress and a pair of ruby red slippers.
“Miss Hattie,” Mama called to her again, “you remember Maurice?”
Mama stepped aside and I felt Miss Hattie studying me.
“Well I do declare,” she said. “If you didn't grow up to be a handsome one.”
“Morning, Miss Hattie,” I said.
She smiled and looked at Mama, then back at me.
“And polite too.”
I forced a faint smile, then looked away.
“Henry got a fire going in the parlor,” I heard Miss Hattie say. Henry was the handyman. He had been with the Davenports for years. “Y'all come on around to the fire and warm up.” I turned toward the parlor, but before I had a chance to move, the sound of Mama's voice stopped me.
“No, thank you, Miss Hattie,” she said. “Like to be at the airport when Miss Danielle step off the plane, if I can. It's almost five now. If we gon' get there in time we best be on our way.”
I saw Miss Hattie look at her watch.
“Didn't know it was so late,” she said.
“Yes, ma'am,” Mama said again. “We best be going ... hate to have Miss Danielle waiting.”
I saw Miss Hattie look at her watch again, then at Mama.
“Well, let me get the keys,” she said, “and you can be on your way.”
I watched her go down the hall and turn into the parlor. Though I had not been in there in years, I could remember the room well. It was a quaint space, not too large and not too small. There were hardwood floors and oriental rugs and a large fireplace surrounded by a small sofa and two antique chairs. There were also a couple of lamps and a few pieces of art—and only a few—Mr. John was an outdoorsman and on the wall were mostly the heads of large exotic animals that bore testimony to that fact. From where I stood, I could hear Miss Hattie moving about in the parlor, and when she returned she was carrying the keys in one hand and a small white envelope in the other.

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