Let the Circle Be Unbroken (18 page)

At church Papa parked the Ford next to Mr. Wellever’s Model A, the only other car amidst the battered farm wagons. As always, Uncle Hammer was greeted enthusiastically, for he was one of the few people who had ever ventured north from the community and, in the eyes of the people at Great Faith, had made quite a success of his move. The fact that he had arrived walking only a few months before had not dented people’s conviction that he was doing well up in Chicago, for hadn’t he come down in a car just like Harlan Granger’s just a year ago? It didn’t matter that he had had to give it up; after all, everybody had hard times. It didn’t matter either that the Ford was ten years older than the Packard. It was better than anything they had ever had, and Uncle Hammer’s supposed prosperity somehow reflected on them.

A small crowd had gathered when we arrived, but Big Ma soon broke it up, shooing us inside as the bell began to ring for Sunday school. An hour later, when Sunday school was over and everyone escaped for the half-hour break before service, the crowd began to form again. The boys and I squeezed in among the men, finding their gathering more interesting than our own friends this morning.

“Didn’t I tell ya, Page? Didn’t I tell ya?” said Mr. Tom Bee. “When ole Hammer come walkin’ down that road at Big Meetin’ I said he ain’t gon’ be walkin’ long. No sir! There was some folks said once you sold that Packard most likely you wasn’t gon’ get another one. And here you come in this fine yellow thing!” he exclaimed with admiration, choosing to ignore in his enthusiasm the car’s age. “Always did fancy yellow—”

“Yeah, it’s nice all right,” put in Mr. Silas Lanier; “but
y’all ’member last year when Hammer come home in that big ole fine Packard like Mr. Granger’s? Now ain’t nothin’ gonna ever be fine as that.”

“’Member it?” cried Mr. Tom Bee. “’Member it! Owwww, Looooord, have mercy, that thing sho’ did do me good. Ole Harlan Granger was ’bout fit to be tied when he seed ole Hammer with that car.” He chuckled with satisfaction. “Sez to me, sez: ‘Tom, how you reckon Hammer come by a car like that?’ And I sez, I sez: ‘I sho’ly don’t know, Mr. Granger . . . but ain’t it fine?’” Again Mr. Tom Bee laughed heartily, exposing his toothless gums. “Ow-weeel That there thing done me so much good. Sho’ did. . . .”

“Well, I likes this one,” said Joe, who had been standing a little outside the circle admiring the car.

“Boy, what you know ’bout what you like and don’t like?” questioned Mr. Page Ellis. “You know ’bout as much ’bout cars as I do ’bout white folks’ politickin’ . . . nothin’!”

“I knows what I like!” contended Joe, as all the men except Papa and Uncle Hammer laughed at his childlike defense.

Papa, who was standing nearest Joe, asked: “How come you like it, Joe?”

The laughter died as the men noted Papa’s seriousness.

“I likes the color,” Joe spoke up. “I likes yellow. One of these here days I’m gon’ get me a car and go on up North and visit Hammer. That be all right, Hammer?”

“That’d be fine, Joe.”

Mr. Page Ellis snorted his disbelief.

“Well, I is! Gon’ get me one just like Hammer!”

“You like this car better than that one I had last year?” Uncle Hammer asked.

“That one with all that gray and pretty insides and looking like Mr. Granger’s?” Joe spurted out excitedly.

Uncle Hammer nodded. “That’s right. I didn’t have it long.”

“No, sir, sho’ didn’t,” Joe agreed. Then after a moment’s pause, he added, “But ya had it long ’nough.”

Uncle Hammer smiled in appreciation of Joe’s frankness.

“It was sho’ nice all right . . . but this here, it’s better ’cause that one ’minded me of it raining all the time. This here, it ’minds me of the sunshine.” Joe timidly put out his hand and ran his callused fingers gingerly along the car’s hood. “I sho’ wish I could take me a ride—”

“Boy, get your hands off Hammer’s car ’fore you get it dirty!” ordered Mr. Ellis.

“My hands ain’t dirty! They clean as yours—”

Papa put a hand on Joe’s shoulder, quieting him, and glanced at Uncle Hammer. “It all right with you if I take Joe for a short ride? There’s time yet ’fore church.”

Uncle Hammer nodded. “Go ’head.”

“Ya mean it? Ya mean it?” Joe gushed. “Gon’ get me a ride in Hammer’s car!” Excitedly and with a triumphant look at Mr. Ellis, who had ridden in neither the Packard nor the Ford, he climbed into the front seat.

“David,” said Mr. Silas Lanier, “’fore you go, there’s something I wanna find out. Any union men come by your place yesterday?”

“A Morris Wheeler and a John Moses.”

Mr. Lanier nodded. “Said they had. Thought I’d check. What you think?”

“’Bout the union?” Papa took a moment as the men waited. “Well . . . if I was a sharecropping man, I might consider it. What they had to say made sense. Only thing is this here business of unionizing with white folks. I don’t much trust that.”

“Well, I sho’ don’t trust it,” said Mr. Wiggins, Little
Willie’s father. The Wigginses, like us, owned their own place. “Don’t trust nothin’ white folks gonna be part of.”

Mr. Lanier agreed, but said, “Thing is, though, I think he’s tellin’ the truth of it. We got us a better chance of gettin’ something done ’round here, we all join in together.”

“Well, I tell y’all,” said Mr. Ellis, “I jus’ don’t know what we gonna do, Mr. Granger don’t let up on that government money. We plantin’ less and gettin’ less money too.”

“Ah, man, waitin’ for Mr. Granger to give us that money’s like waitin’ for hell to freeze over,” Mr. Lanier scoffed.

“Ain’t that the truth,” Mr. Tom Bee agreed.

Mr. Lanier rubbed his chin, then shook his head at the dismal prospects. “Well, seem like maybe the union’s the best way to go then. Leastways, see what them union men got in mind to do.”

All the men were silent. Then Mr. Ellis said, “We go joinin’ unions ’round here, some heads gonna roll. Mr. Granger done already told me that. Said anybody joins can jus’ get off his land.”

And once again the men were silent.

“David, come on!” Joe called from the car. “Gonna have to ring that bell any minute now!”

“David, you think it’s all right?” Mr. Ellis asked as Papa turned to the car. “’Bout the meeting?”

Papa met Mr. Ellis’s eyes. “What I think ain’t as important as what you think. We ain’t affected the same way.”

“But you goin’ to the meeting?”

Papa glanced over at Uncle Hammer, then back to Mr. Ellis. “Most likely,” he said and got into the car.

Little Man and Christopher-John scrambled in for the ride, but Stacey and I remained with Uncle Hammer. For several minutes the men continued to talk of the union, then
of their crops, their families, and what life could hold for them in that far-off place called the North. Then Mr. Page Ellis said: “Hammer, I ’magine David done sho’ ’nough started somethin’ by takin’ that boy Joe for a ride, ’cause that’s all he gonna be talkin’ ’bout from now on. Now if he’d had a chance to ride in that Packard—”

“Lord, never woulda heard the end of it,” laughed Mr. Tom Bee.

“Seems to me like that Packard’s all I’m hearing ’bout as it is anyways. Just how you come to sell it? Payments get too high?”

Everyone in the circle looked around searching for the man who had spoken. Our eyes settled on a heavyset, dark-skinned stranger standing a little outside the circle. The man was smiling at Uncle Hammer. The rest of us looked curiously from the man to Uncle Hammer, for no one who knew Uncle Hammer would have dared ask him such a question.

Uncle Hammer studied the man. Finally, he said, “I know you?”

“Name’s Jake Willis,” said the stranger with a broadening grin that revealed two gold teeth. “Come down visiting with my friend Jesse Randall here and his folks.” He gestured toward a short, thin man standing behind him. I knew the man. He was the son of Mr. and Mrs. Moss Randall, who lived over near Smellings Creek. Mr. Jesse Randall looked just a bit uneasy as Jake Willis continued to talk. “Course I know who you are,” he said. “Should. All I been hearin’ ’bout since I got to church this morning is Hammer Logan.” The grin was still on his face, but there was something in his tone which made me uncomfortable.

“You from ’round these parts?” Uncle Hammer asked, not returning his smile. “I know most folks far as Strawberry.”

“No sir, as a matter of fact I just come from Jackson a couple of weeks back. Heard they was gettin’ ready to set up some government jobs down here. Thought I’d be here waiting for ’em when they come.”

Uncle Hammer nodded, his eyes steady on the man, and Jake Willis went on.

“I’m sure hoping I can get one too. I hear tell the government’s set aside some jobs for colored so’s the white folks don’t take ’em all.” He laughed. “Course now, I know even if I do get lucky and get me a job, I know I ain’t gonna near ’bout be making no kind of money to go and buy me no Packard—”

“Jake,” interrupted Mr. Randall, looking haplessly from Uncle Hammer to his friend, trying to stop him. “Jake—”

“—like some folks—”

“Jake, I think—”

“Most niggers I know can’t get them no kinda car at all, let alone no Packard. White folks can’t hardly buy nothin’ neither. Just wondering how come you so lucky.”

Stacey and I looked at each other, then back to Uncle Hammer, who after a solemn appraisal of Mr. Willis, said: “Luck, Mr. Willis, ain’t had a thing to do with it.”

Mr. Page Ellis cleared his throat and Mr. Tom Bee looked uneasily toward the church. “Wonder how come that boy ain’t rung that bell yet,” he mumbled, seeming to forget that Joe was out riding with Papa.

“Jake, we’d better join Grandpa in church,” Mr. Randall said. “Bell’s gonna ring any minute now.”

Jake Willis waited a moment before agreeing, then, with sudden consternation, looked around the circle. “Hey . . . I sho’ hope I ain’t said nothin’ out of place or anything. I sho’ didn’t mean no offense. . . .”

The Ford came onto the church grounds and the men
gratefully turned their attention to its arrival.

“Hey, Hammer, that’s one fine car all right,” hollered Joe, jumping out. “Sho’ is! One fine car—gots to ring that bell now!” With that, he dashed for the belfry and the men began to disperse.

“Come on, Cassie, Stacey,” Papa called as Uncle Hammer joined him, Christopher-John, and Little Man on the other side of the car. “We’d better get on into the church.”

Stacey and I followed them, passing Mr. Jesse Randall and Jake Willis. As we passed, Mr. Randall said, “You ain’t from ’round here so you don’t know, but man, don’t you go messin’ with Hammer Logan. That nigger’s crazy!”

Jake Willis glanced over at Uncle Hammer, who had by now reached the church steps. The lips pulled back over the gold teeth and he grinned widely.

“Ya don’t say!” was all he said.

*   *   *

Reverend Gabson was in splendid form. I listened attentively for his first hour, as he recounted the birth of the baby Jesus, my favorite sermon—and his too, for it mattered not to him what time of year he preached it. But then when the wise men and the shepherds had paid their visit and Mary, Joseph, and the baby had fled into Egypt, my attention began to wane. Reverend Gabson began to expound on the theory that too many of us were like King Herod, suspicious and jealous of someone who wasn’t even thinking about us, and that we should be loving our neighbors instead of sitting around worrying about what they were doing.

I knew that now he had hit on the real meat of his sermon, he would preach on for another good hour. Unfortunately, because he preached here only every other Sunday, dividing his time between Great Faith and New Hope in Strawberry, he seemed to think he would be remiss in dismissing
the congregation after only one hour. At least in winter his long sermons were easier to take; in the heat and sweat of summer, the long hours in the small church were hell itself. Now as he droned on, I attempted to fight off the drowsiness which was quickly slipping over me. I pinched myself, I bit my lips, I even went so far as to dig my nails into my arms. Nothing helped. Reverend Gabson’s sermons were just made for sleeping.

Big Ma woke me with a sharp nudge and, after a disapproving glance, leaned over and shook Christopher-John, sitting beside me snoring blissfully. At her touch he awoke, looked around shamefaced, then folded his plump hands and gazed with great earnestness at Reverend Gabson. Little Man, sitting between Mama and Papa, was wide awake, his hands folded in his lap, and his eyes on a spider crawling up the pew in front of us. Stacey, who never fell asleep in church, sat beside Uncle Hammer paying strict attention like the adult person he thought he was. With Big Ma’s attention once again on the preacher, I looked around the church. Half the children were dozing. At the back of the church sat Jake Willis with the Randall family. He wasn’t smiling now. His eyes were directed on Reverend Gabson, but there was something in his look that made me think he was paying less attention to the sermon than I.

“Girl, turn ’round,” Big Ma said.

I started to obey, then noticed another stranger. He was sitting in the very last pew, two rows behind the Randalls. He wasn’t from around here—I knew that—and I couldn’t remember ever having seen him before, yet there was something about the square-jawed cut of his face that seemed very familiar.

“Cassie!”

I turned quickly and went back to the business of trying
to stay awake. By the time Reverend Gabson opened the doors of the church and welcomed all visitors to stand, the stranger was gone. But when we were finally dismissed and left the church, I spied him standing beside a car parked near Uncle Hammer’s. He watched as the people came out, then, seeming to recognize someone, pushed his way through the crowd. He stood outside the small group which had gathered to say hello to Uncle Hammer. I thought that perhaps he knew Uncle Hammer too and was waiting to speak to him, but then he said: “Mary Louise, how’d you like to turn ’round and take a look at a genuine grown Delta boy?”

I looked from the man to Mama, who was turning in surprise. She stood for a moment, stunned, then ventured quizzically, “Buddy? Buddy, is that you?”

“Who else?” said the man, laughing.

“Bud! Oh, good Lord, Bud! I don’t believe it! David!” Mama tugged excitedly at Papa, whose back was to her. “David, this here’s Bud!” And with that, she threw her arms around the man and began to both laugh and cry at once.