Raney (6 page)

"Read
the answer.
Read
the answer. Shit, when I went to school
—
"

"Nate!" Mama says. "I said I was not going to have it and I mean it. If you want me to call the law you just keep it up. I'll do it. I'll do it right this very night."

Uncle Nate got quiet, almost whispering
—
"When I went to school you learned your lessons. You went home and learned your lessons. And when it was time to work you worked. And when it was time to go to church, you went to church. And when it was time to go to bed, you went to bed. And when it was ti
—
"

"Well, I'm just glad I didn't have to learn the states and capitals," said Charles.

"We had to
spell
them too." Uncle Nate spit on "spell." "Miss'ippi. Capol M-i-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i. Jackson. Capol J-a-c-k-s-o-n."

"Well, I'm glad you learned all that," said Charles, getting up from the couch. "I think it's about time I turned in."

"I don't care if you're too good to talk to me," says Uncle Nate.

"I don't think I'm too good to talk to you."

"Oh yes you do."

"I do not."

"Oh yes, yes, yes you do. I know when somebody thinks they're too good to talk to me. But don't
worry,
you're not the first one. You just go right ahead off to beddy bye, sonny."

Charles looked at me and I remembered we were sleeping on the couch. Everybody but Daddy had been sitting around listening. They started getting up
—
except Mama, who was sitting on a stool by the sink
—
and heading off to bed. It was time anyway. Charles asked me if I wanted to go out and get a breath of fresh air and I said I did.

"I thought you wanted to go to bed?" said Uncle Nate.

"You're sitting on my bed," said Charles.

"I'm sitting on the goddamn couch."

Mama stood up. "Uncle Nate," I said. "Now, listen, Charles does not think he's too good for you. You've just had too much to drink, and I think you ought to cut out that language. You're here with the entire family and the least you can do is be polite. Charles does not think he's too good for you. He's just got his own opinions like anybody else, that's all."

Uncle Nate looked straight at me, with his mouth open and his eyes red and droopy, "You're right, honey," he says. "You're exactly right." And he starts crying. "I love you all more than anything," he says, "and I pray for ever'one of you ever'night. I pray for you, Doris, and you, Raney, and for you, Naomi, and Thurman, and you, Flossie, and the kids and you too, Charles."

"Nate, you'd better pray for yourself," says Mama.

Uncle Nate looked at Mama. His head was bobbing around and tears were on his cheeks. His head got still and he smiled and said, "Oh, I do that first."

"Let's go outside," Charles says to me. I walked over and patted Uncle Nate on the back and then
me
and Charles went outside while Mama fussed at Uncle Nate for taking the Lord's name in vain.

We walked down to the beach and started toward the pier. Mary Faye was following us. We stopped and she stopped.

"You'll have to go back, Mary Faye," I said.

"Why?"

"You just will."

"I don't want to."

"We're going to walk down to the pier and it's time for you to go to bed."

"I'm not sleepy. Come on. Let me go. Daddy said I could."

I told Charles to wait and I went back and talked to Mary Faye. I figured she might be upset too. I told her that Uncle Nate was a good man at heart and not to be afraid of him, that God moves in mysterious ways, and that Uncle Nate's cussing was the work of the Devil.

She said she just wanted to go to the pier.

So I explained that Charles was upset about Uncle Nate and that I needed to talk to him and that we'd go to the pier tomorrow.

She kicked the sand, making it squeak, turned around and went on back.

At the pier, Charles said Uncle Nate was a "weird bird."

"What do you mean?" I said.

"When he's sober he's so neat, and so infernally obsessive. Drinking water at the same time every day?"

"When he's sober he does. Three o'clock in the afternoon."

"It's just ... the way he sits around and falls asleep; and then those incredible binges. He's obviously depressed."

"Charles, he had some terrible times in World War II and sometimes he can't hardly breathe with that asthma and emphysema or whatever. He never recovered from the war and Mama's had to take care of him, don't you see? And he won't talk to anybody about what happened to him, except Uncle Newton
—
all night one night, they say. And Uncle Newton's getting too sick for anybody to talk to, much. And he has to take those drugs for his nerves and his asthma. And he got that terrible burn on over fifty percent of his body. He's got one big awful scar all over his body that he'll have to carry with him all his life, plus his lungs from inhaling all that smoke."

"Raney, there are lots of men who were wounded and had terrible times in World War II, and Vietnam, and World War I. They don't necessarily sit around falling asleep all the time."

"Maybe they sleep at night, Charles. Maybe you don't know all about what's wrong with everybody, and maybe it's something besides 'psychology.' I think part of the problem is you don't think Uncle Nate likes you all that much."

"That's right. And where do you suppose I got that idea? He is obviously jealous. It's not a great deal of fun being around that."

"He's not the only other one in my family who you get to be around, Charles."

"No, he's not the only other one; that's for sure."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing."

It's too bad Charles was
a
only child brought up without any family around. When he went to see
a
aunt or uncle, his mama and daddy had to carry him to another state. He just
don't
have a single sense about family, about having family.

When Uncle Nate is sober he's as nice as he can be. And you'll never find anybody neater. His clothes are always pressed and starched. Well, Mama keeps them that way, but he keeps everything hung up and straight and folded. Then he'll get drunk and filthy and come home and cuss something awful. And nobody able to do a thing unless it's the law. Dorcus Kerr, the deputy sheriff, can usually handle him pretty well. Mama hates it when it comes to that. Daddy usually calls Dorcus, and Dorcus comes in his uniform. He puts it on if he's off duty. Uncle Nate respects a uniform.

By Friday night, Uncle Nate had gotten sober
on his own,
thank goodness. After supper he wanted to hear "Give Me the Roses," so Charles and me got out our instruments and did it. It's one of our favorites too. It goes like this:

Wonderful things of folks are said
   
  

When they are passed away.

Roses adorn their narrow bed
   
  

Over the sleeping clay.

Give me the roses while I live,
   
  

Trying to cheer me on.

Useless are flowers that you give
   
  

After the soul is gone.

And it has a couple more verses.

Then Daddy wanted to hear "Unclouded Day," which Charles has
been wanting
to learn ever since I met him. We learned it about three weeks ago. So we did that, and then "Are You Tired of Me, My Darling?" and "Fifty Miles of Elbow Room," two other Carter family tunes Daddy and Charles like. We tried to get everybody to sing on "Fifty Miles," but Uncle Nate and Daddy would be so far off key everybody would start laughing and that would get me laughing and that would get Charles laughing.

When we finished singing, Uncle Nate told about the Christmas Uncle Pugg went to Raleigh to sell wreaths and holly and mistletoe and got lost and was too proud to ask anybody the way home. He slept that night in a church and the next morning the preacher saw him come out and asked him if he was the man who'd come to fix the steps. Uncle Pugg said he was. He had his tools in a box in the wagon. He fixed the steps and the preacher asked him to fix the roof and so he did that. Then the preacher asked him if he brought the window to put in. Uncle Pugg said he didn't but that a man over in Bethel had the window and could the preacher tell him how to get there. The preacher told him, and Uncle Pugg came on home.

At about ten o'clock when everybody else was going to bed,
me
and Charles walked out to the pier. Charles said he wasn't even sure about the
names
of anybody in his family, besides his mama and daddy and aunts and uncles. I couldn't imagine aunts and uncles not sitting around and telling all about
their
aunts and uncles.

Out on the pier the breeze was steady and cool and the air had that fresh salty smell without the dead fish smell. The moon was coming up over the water, and waves hit against the poles, moving the pier the least bit. The moon was a dark red
—
because of the atmosphere, Charles said. He said it looks big at the horizon because it's magnified by the air, which I'd never thought about. I always thought the orbit was closer when it came up, and then moved away. It sure
looks
that way. Charles said the red was because of chemicals and such in the atmosphere. He knows about stuff I never think about. Anyway, the moon got whiter and higher and soon reflected white off the water.

We stood against the rail, pushing our shoulders together, and Charles sung this little song:

I see the moon and the moon sees me. And the moon sees the one that I want to see. God bless the moon and God bless me. And God bless the one that I want to see.

I love Charles more than anything. Sometimes he's hard to get along with, and sometimes he has some problems with the family, but he makes up for it in all kinds of little ways, and he's always praising my singing to other people. Daddy said he thought Charles had plenty of common sense beneath all that book learning, and then too at the wedding Daddy said he thought Charles was a good man.

We came back home on Saturday and on the way Mama read to us out of a pamphlet she got in a drug store. It was about having a Christian home and the husband's role and the wife's role. I thought it made good sense, but Charles goes into a sermon right there in the back seat about customs being different in Bible times
—
which is not the point.

After we got back from the beach, and Charles got his rods separated out, and we drove on home and unpacked, and finished eating supper
—
some chili I froze before we left
—
Charles says, "I think I'll call Johnny." I had totally
forgot
to say anything about the vent or ask Charles if Johnny was a minority, but before I could say anything, Charles was on the phone, talking about the beach trip. I was eating peaches for dessert and it didn't seem like Charles minded me sitting there listening.

"She's got blue hair," he said, "and talks more than anybody I ever met." He was talking about you know who: Aunt Naomi, and eyeing me while he sat there, twisting the curly black phone cord around his finger. Then Johnny must have asked Charles what I looked like. "What does
she
look like?" said Charles, and looked at me and winked. "The most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, some kind of blue-green, and her front two teeth tuck back just enough to make her mouth cute, kind of pouty, and besides all that, she has the purest singing voice ever
—
can bend a note on a country song as good as any blues singer you ever heard.... What? No. No bad habits. Wait a minute. Raney, would you please leave the room?" Then he laughed and said I cussed too much which was a flip-flop because Charles is the one who cusses, and then he said the only fault he could think of was I didn't give him any warning when I started a song and that I rubbed my nose straight up with the flat palm of my hand, but that was cute. Then he said none of my other faults were my fault.

I thought about going to the bedroom and listening through the vent, but that wouldn't have been fair. Maybe it would have been fair if Charles was my child. Mama read my mail; but it was for my own interest. She said she wasn't interested from curiosity, but for the sake of my well-being. So since Charles won't my child and did have a peculiar reaction about privacy which I don't understand, I decided I should tell him about the vent when he finished talking. But he talked so
long.
He told about the fish hook in Norris's nose and then
went
through Uncle Nate's spelling lesson almost word for word and then some more about Aunt Naomi. He had good things to say about Daddy and Aunt Flossie.

When they finished talking, Charles said Johnny said hello.

I asked Charles what I dreaded: "
Charles,
is Johnny a minority?"