Mozart and Leadbelly (9 page)

Benny started crying again. He still had the little stick in his hand.

My old man looked at Benny, then he looked at me.

“Well, we might as well move along,” he said, picking up the string of fishes. “You’re taking off now, George?”

“Might as well,” Mr. James said, and stood up.

Mr. James looked at Benny sitting against the tree with his head down, then picked up his string of fishes. He and my old man started out of the yard. I went to the tree where Benny was.

“You’re going, now, Benny?” I asked him.

Benny didn’t look up. I stood there about a minute looking down at him, and he didn’t look up once.

“Well, I’d better be going,” I said. “I’ll have to clean the fishes for supper.”

I caught up with my old man and Mr. James and we walked down the road without saying anything.

When we had gone about a half of a mile, Mr. James looked over his shoulder and saw Benny following us.

“Damn it,” Mr. James said. “This is one day that boy is going to do what I say.”

Mr. James turned around and started up the road toward Benny. Benny saw him coming and stopped.

Mr. James walked up to Benny and grabbed him by the arm and turned him around. We were too far to hear if Benny was crying or not, but within myself I knew he was crying.

My old man and I started walking again.

“I guess you think you’re a man, now?” my old man said.

“Sir?”

“You heard me,” my old man said.

“No, sir,” I said. “I don’t think I’m a man.”

“Well, you are,” my old man said.

I didn’t say anything, and my old man didn’t say any more. The sun was going down, and the cool dust felt good under my bare feet.

BOY IN THE DOUBLE-BREASTED SUIT

Before I could see what had made the noise I saw my old man still holding on to the piece of chicken, and again “pow,” and my old man dropped the piece of chicken on the platter, still shocked, and the preacher lowered his head a little more because all the time it was lowered a little, and commenced blessing the food, saying, “Gracious Master, we thank thee for this food which is prepared for us, the nurses of our bodies, for Christ sake, we pray, amen.” Then he raised his head and looked at my old man, and got himself a piece of chicken off the platter, and passed the platter around to Mrs. Adele, right in front of my face, but Mrs. Adele passed it over to my old man, and he took off a piece, then he passed it back to her and she let me take off a piece by myself, and smiled her very wonderful way of smiling at me, then she took off a piece and we began to eat, trying not to look at my old man because he was still red where the preacher had hit him twice on the hand when he had reached for a piece of chicken without first saying his blessing.

“I suppose that hurt you,” the preacher said, putting a spoonful of potato salad in his mouth and looking at my old man at the same time.

My old man didn’t answer the preacher, but I knew he was mad, because nobody ever hit him and got away with it. Sitting there, I wondered if that preacher knew how lucky he was, being a preacher and not just an ordinary man.

“Now suppose the Good Lord struck you,” the preacher said. “You know how much more it would hurt.”

But my old man still didn’t say anything and he didn’t eat, and didn’t move either for that much. But the preacher kept on talking, and putting chicken in his mouth, and tearing it away from the bone, and chewing; then putting the bone half covered with chicken back in his mouth, and pulling the bone out of his mouth, very clean and white like it had been washed in a stream, clean of everything.

The preacher was a tall man, and wore a black suit with a long black coat and always had a wide-rim black hat, and carried a gold chain over his chest, hooked into a buttonhole and the other end in his vest pocket, hooked onto a big watch that you could hear ticking if you sat ten feet away from him. He had very big wrinkled hands, and you could see the big veins on back of his hands and up his arms. He had eyes that set far back in his face, close-together eyes, gray eyes, and his teeth that looked almost like horse teeth were very strong, and it was said around Wakeville that he could pick up a fifty-pound sack of rice with his teeth and swing it like a pendulum for a minute every weekday, and go to church on Sunday and preach two full hours without stopping as long as the sisters of the church kept wiping his face with the towel and supplying him with ice water.

The preacher—his name was Reverend Johnson—had a little grayish-color-looking church about a mile from where Mrs. Adele lived, and Mrs. Adele and I used to go there every Sunday to Sunday school and church.

This relationship between Mrs. Adele and me came about something like this. Mom died when I was no more than seven, and about a year later my old man began to feel lonely for a lady, and he also wanted someone to kind of look after me. So he met Mrs. Adele, who was a widow, and Mrs. Adele liked him very much because he was big and strong and could cut lots of wood and make grocery for her and do all the other little chores around a house that ladies oughtn’t have to do. And she liked me, too, because I looked so much like Oscar—that’s my old man—as she put it, and she told me she would teach me how to keep my shirt inside my pants and keep my face clean and if I was a good little boy she would buy me a double-breasted suit with long pant legs, and I could stay with her sometimes.

So she and my old man started getting along pretty good, and my old man would take me over there on Saturday afternoon for me to stay with her all night Saturday and then he would come and get me on Sunday evening late, after church, and take me back home until the next Saturday. Mrs. Adele and I were getting along all right, too, and about two Saturdays later when I got there she showed me a long box and told me to look inside of it, and when I saw the double-breasted blue suit I ran to her and threw my arms around her and kissed her, and she smiled and hugged me and told me to go put it on.

I did, and she and my old man liked it because it was a perfect fit, and she told me to go walk around in the road in it to show it off, and I did and when I came back I saw her and my old man lying across the bed playing with each other, and I was so happy I started crying. My old man got mad and wanted to whip me because he thought I had sneaked in on them, but Mrs. Adele wouldn’t let him whip me, and she told me that she and my old man were going to be married one day and she was going to be my stepmother, and I felt so good that I ran over to her and cried some more. But my old man didn’t like to see me crying, and he told me to take off my double-breasted suit, and put on my old clothes and go out into the yard or somewhere in the road and play with the other children.

Though their wedding day didn’t come off as soon as I thought it ought to, that didn’t stop me from going over there every Saturday and going to Sunday school and church with Mrs. Adele every Sunday. We would walk side by side in the middle of the road, because the sidewalk was too grassy, and every once in a while she would look at me and smile and I would look at her and grin, and she would lay her hand on my shoulder and I would feel so good. And at the church all the people would meet her and talk to her and say what a nice-looking young man I was in my double-breasted blue suit, and she would feel so proud of me, and then we would go inside and sit down and listen to the preacher preach and beat on the big Bible with both fists, and I would ask her why he was beating on the Bible and hollering and she would nod her head and tell me I oughtn’t talk in church but pay attention and listen so I could be a good boy. So I would sit there and try to listen and try to make out what he was saying, but all the time not being able to because he was making too much noise, and soon I would find myself yawning out loud.

Then after church Mrs. Adele would talk with the preacher awhile, and they would wander on my old man’s name and saying what a nice young man I was, and wouldn’t it be great if all three of us could come to church together; and then she would talk with some other people who kept a little girl with them, and all the time she would be feeling so proud of me, and they would be so proud of her for bringing me to church and soon getting married herself, and while they would be up there talking I would be trying to figure out a way to get that little old funny-looking girl around the church somewhere so I could yank her hair or do her something, but she would never follow me, being smart, and just stand there with her little old freckled face, her legs crossed, and looking at me. Then Mrs. Adele and I would walk home to her house and wait for my old man, and then we would all eat supper together, and then my old man and I would start out for home across the fields, and not get there till way up in the night.

“The Lord is good,” the preacher said. “If He was only like man.”

“Amen,” Mrs. Adele said.

I looked at Mrs. Adele because I had never heard her say amen in the house before and something kind of slipped out of my mouth—I don’t know what—and my old man looked at me and said, “What’s that you said, Max? Now don’t you start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You should be proud of him,” the preacher said. “But ashamed of yourself.”

“I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, preacher,” my old man said, and for the first time he took a bite off the piece of chicken.

“What?” the preacher said. “You mean to sit there and say you’re not ashamed of your sins?”

My old man ate and didn’t say anything else to the preacher.

“I’m talking to you, Oscar Wheeler,” the preacher said, rolling his eyes at my old man.

My old man kept on eating.

The preacher stuck his tongue down in the corner of his mouth, between his back teeth and his jaw, and dugged out a piece of chicken that he hadn’t swallowed, and chewed on it and all the time looking straight at my old man.

“Well, if you’ve got nothing to be sorry about, I’m sorry for you,” the preacher said. And when my old man didn’t say anything, the preacher struck his big fist on the table and made a loud noise.

My old man looked at the preacher, yet didn’t say anything. But if you knew my old man like I did, you could tell by his eyes that he wanted to say, “Don’t knock on that table like that. You can talk to me without beating on the table, can’t you? I ain’t deaf, and I’m right here.” But he didn’t say this and he and the preacher just looked into each other’s eyes until my old man finally bit off the chicken again.

“I suppose you put him up to this,” my old man said, looking at Mrs. Adele.

Mrs. Adele looked down at the table. I felt sorry for her.

“Well, neither one of you’ll have to worry about my sins after today,” he said.

Mrs. Adele raised her head and looked at him, and I looked at him and I was wondering if my old man was thinking about going off someplace—or maybe shoot himself like Mr. Robbins had done because he had so many children.

“I won’t be coming back,” he said.

“You don’t mean that, Oscar,” Mrs. Adele said.

“I like Mrs. Adele.”

“You keep out of this, Max,” my old man said.

“Run, sinner, run,” the preacher said.

My old man looked at the preacher, then he reached over and got another piece of chicken from the platter. Mrs. Adele wanted to hold the platter up so he could get more than one piece, but my old man didn’t want but one piece then, or if he did, he was going to show Mrs. Adele that he was mad with her, too.

“You think running going to do any good?” the preacher said. “Can’t the Good Lord find you no matter where you run or hide?”

“Can’t you shut him up?”

“Sure,” the preacher said. “Sure, shut up the word of the Lord.”

My old man didn’t hit the preacher like he wanted to, but kept on eating the piece of chicken. He was holding the drumstick with both hands. He had to know where both his hands were all the time, or he might’ve accidentally hit the preacher. And though he wasn’t a churchgoing man, preachers were the only type of people I had never seen my old man take a swing at.

“I thought it was best, Oscar,” Mrs. Adele said. “Like you, Max, and me all together.”

“I’ll do my own thinking from now on,” my old man said.

“Pa—”

“Shut up, Max.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You just can’t reason with some people,” the preacher said. He looked at my old man awhile, then he looked at Mrs. Adele. “For your sake, Adele, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t give up, Reverend Johnson,” she said.

“I’m not giving up,” the preacher said. “I’m just sorry for you.”

“Go take off your suit, Max,” my old man said.

“Sir?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t want to take it off.”

“I said take it off,” my old man roared.

“What are you making him take it off for?” Mrs. Adele asked.

“He’s leaving it,” my old man said.

“I want my double-breasted suit.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” my old man said.

“This is between you and me, Oscar,” Mrs. Adele said. “And I won’t allow you to take it out on that child.”

My old man gave me one of those looks that I knew what it meant, and I went around the table and stood in the door, looking at the three of them. I could feel the hot tears coming into my eyes.

“I don’t want to take off my suit, Pa.”

“Well, you’re going to,” he said. “‘And hurry up about it. I want to get home before dark.”

“Oscar,” Mrs. Adele said; she was almost crying. “Please.”

But my old man just looked at me, and I knew there was no use, and I went to the room that I stayed in when I was at Mrs. Adele’s house. I sat on the bed, and I could feel a big lump in my throat, and I wanted to cry, but couldn’t, then Mrs. Adele came into the room and knelt down in front of me and hugged me and I hugged her and we both cried.

Then she stopped and kissed me on both cheeks, and I saw where the tears had run down her face. She wiped her eyes on a little pocket handkerchief, then she wiped mine and held the little handkerchief up to my nose and told me to blow, but nothing came out, and she wiped my eyes again.

“You’re not acting like a big boy,” she said.

“I thought you were going to be my stepmother.”

“Still am,” she said.

“No,” I said. “Pa’ll never come back.”

She smiled and nodded her head. “He will,” she said.

“I hope so, Mrs. Adele,” I said. “I want you to be my stepmother so bad. And you all were getting along so good before that—before today.”

She hugged me, then when I started to unbutton my suit coat, she stood up to get my clothes off the nail that was back of the door, and she was going to leave the room till I had changed clothes so she wouldn’t have to look at me.

Just when she was getting ready to reach for the clothes, we heard
ka-bung,
and we ran out of the room into the kitchen and I saw my old man getting off the floor, and the preacher standing beside the table with his long arms and big fists hanging to his side. I didn’t know how it had happened, but that preacher must’ve hit my old man when he wasn’t looking, but my old man was getting off the floor when we got to the kitchen and he was going to tear into the preacher if Mrs. Adele hadn’t started screaming.

“Don’t you hit a man of God, Oscar Wheeler,” she screamed. “Don’t you hit a man of God.”

She stood between my old man and the preacher with them glaring at each other, then my old man raised his hand and felt his jaw like he was trying to reset it. He looked at the preacher again, then he jerked away and went out on the little back porch.

“I’m sorry, Adele,” the preacher said. Then he looked up at the ceiling and said a low prayer that nobody could hear but himself. After that he got his hat. “Sometimes you got to play by the other fellow’s rules to get results.”

“No, Reverend Johnson,” Mrs. Adele said Christian-like.

He patted her on the shoulder.