Shaking the Sugar Tree (19 page)

“And he admits it,” Papaw offered.

“You’re not from around here,” Bill observed, hearing Jackson’s Yankee accent.

“I’m from Boston.”

“And he admits that, too,” Papaw said incredulously.

“Long way from Boston, ain’t it?” Bill asked suspiciously.

“What do you do, Bill?” Jackson asked.

“I work at Lane,” he said, as if this was explanation enough. For most people in these parts, it was.

“Good deal,” Jackson said when nothing else was forthcoming.

“Y’all went camping?” Bill asked. “Catch any fish?”

“Don’t we always?” I said.

“There’s a bastard catfish in that river that I’ve been trying to catch since I was fourteen,” Bill informed us. “Son of a bitch takes your hook and leaves you holding your balls. If I ever catch that bastard, I’ll be holding his balls and he won’t be happy about it.”

Jackson laughed, then abruptly stopped, unsure whether this was a joke or… well, he wasn’t sure what it was.

“So you and my brother are….” Bill said, the wad of chew in his cheek bulging.

“We’re dating,” Jackson said.

“Is that what you call it?”

“What do you call it?”

“I can think of a few things,” Bill allowed.

Jackson was silent. Again he wasn’t sure what was meant; wasn’t sure how to respond.

“They’re queer for each other,” Papaw said, just to make certain it was understood.

“Thank you, Papaw,” I said, giving him a dirty look.

Mary came to fetch us for lunch. She wore a pretty dress and had a ribbon in her hair, which was long and fell down her back.

“Memaw said stop drinking and get your butts in the house,” she announced. “Are you dipping, Dad? Jeez! I thought Mama told you to stop.”

“Ain’t like I ever listen to your Mama, is it? Go tell the boys to come inside.”

“Hi,” she said, looking frankly at Jackson. “Your Uncle Wiley’s…
friend
?”

“Yes,” Jackson said.

“Memaw says you talk like a damned Yankee—” she observed.

“Mary, watch your mouth and go fetch the boys,” Bill said, cutting her off.

“I heard you the first time, Daddy!”

“Well, do it then, damn it!” he snapped.

She went to the edge of the porch, screamed out, “Eli! Josh! Time to eat!”

She turned back to us, smiling sweetly.

“Hell of a set of lungs on that one,” Papaw said.

“Bye,” she said, twirling around and heading back inside.

“She’s pretty,” Jackson said.

“She’s a pretty pain in my ass,” Bill said.

Bill spit out his chew and we followed him inside.

We arranged ourselves around the table, Jackson and myself with Noah between us on one side, Bill and Shelly on the other with Mary in the middle, Papaw at the foot of the table, Mama at the head, the boys squeezing themselves in where they could.

“Let’s pray,” Mama said.

“You and you goddamn prayers,” Papaw said.

“Hush, Daddy,” Mama said.

We held hands and said grace.

“How do you like Tupelo, Jackson?” Shelly asked, trying to make conversation as we passed around a roast, mashed potatoes, carrots, black-eyed peas, fried okra, and rolls.

“I like it,” Jackson said. “Please call me Jack. It’s small, though.”

“Tupelo is small?” Mary said, her eyes going wide.

“Compared to Boston,” he added.

“Oh,” she said.

“Mary, let your elders talk,” Shelly said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mama said y’all were skinny-dipping,” Bill said, abruptly changing gears.

“What’s wrong with that?” Papaw asked.

“Billy, not at the table,” Mama said.

“I want to speak my piece about it,” Bill said.

Shelly rolled her eyes in resignation.

“Don’t get him started,” Mama said.

“I’ll get him started,” Bill said, looking at me.

I offered my bring-it-on smile.

“I don’t care about your
lifestyle choices,
Wiley, but don’t involve your son in it,” Bill said. “Don’t you think it’s kind of inappropriate, y’all exposing yourselves like that in front of a child?”

“Why does every single conversation in this family have to be about my penis?” I asked, rolling my eyes.

Jackson snorted.

“Wiley!” Mama exclaimed. “Do not use that word in this house!”

“Penis,” I said. “Penis penis schmeenis. Who cares, Mama?”

“Oh, here we go,” Shelly said, shaking her head sadly.

I stood, unzipping my pants.

“Would y’all like to see it?” I asked “Would that make you happy?”

The boys shrieked with laughter.

Papaw grinned and clapped his papery hands together. “Come on, fag boy!” he cried happily. “Give them a good what for! Don’t take it lying down!”

“Uncle Wiley!” Mary exclaimed. “You’re such a pervert!”

“Sit down,” Bill said.

“We went skinny-dipping!” I said. “It’s not a crime in the state of Mississippi to go swimming with your willy hanging out.”

“You’ve got to free your willy, Billy,” Papaw said.

More laughter from the boys.

Bill turned red with rage.

“You see what I mean?” Mama said, looking at Bill. “You’ll never get through to him. Everything is just a joke to him. He’s just like his grandfather.”

“Do we have to talk about this now?” Shelly demanded in a shrill voice.

“Why don’t y’all just leave me alone?” I suggested, taking my seat.

“Leave his willy alone,” Papaw said. “God knows it needs all the rest it can get.”

“You have a child to think about, Wiley,” Bill said. “You can’t just do anything you want. Would it kill you to think about Noah’s best interests once in a while?”

“I could ask the same of you guys,” I pointed out.

“I
am
thinking about his best interests,” Bill said. “The Bible makes it pretty clear what his best interests are.”

“Does it?” I asked.

“Being exposed to your lifestyle is not part of the deal.”

I braced myself for another dispatch from BaptistLand.

“Hail Mary, full of grace,” Papaw said, “please tell Billy to shut his face.”

“I intend to speak my mind,” Bill said.

“Oh, Christians,” Papaw said with a heavy sigh. “Always got to speak their fucking minds like we haven’t heard it all a million times already. They think the sun rises just to hear them crow. What a bunch of Christless bastards.”

“Don’t swear in front of my kids, Papaw,” Bill said hotly.

“Daddy, hush,” Mama said.

“I’ll swear anytime I goddamn want to, Billy Cantrell,” Papaw replied. “You Christians are so uptight. Every time you sit down, I hold my breath because I’m afraid you’ll suck the whole goddamn world up your asses.”

“Daddy!” Mama cried.

“It’s true, Martha. You should know. There’s a hole in the sofa where you’re always sitting. Probably got half the living room swirling around in your rectum. Billy’s probably got half of Tupelo up his ass. Next time something comes up missing, Shelly, just tell him to bend over and take a look in his ass because that’s probably where it is.”

Mama shook her head sadly.

The boys laughed, sensing it was funny but not exactly sure why.

“Not in front of the kids, Papaw,” Shelly pleaded.

“The truth ain’t gonna hurt them,” Papaw said. “They have to sit and listen to that Christless Baptist preacher of yours, don’t they?”

“Papaw,” Billy said earnestly, “being gay is so shameful in the sight of God that good people are told not to mention it in conversation. ‘Man working with man that which is unseemly.’ And here Wiley is, flaunting it in front of his son. Taking his son camping with his new boyfriend. Wallowing in sin. Man working with man—literally. Parading his nudity around like he’s proud of himself.”

“I don’t think it’s as bad as all of that,” I said lightly, trying hard not to roll my eyes in the face of this missionary overture. Bill had never been much of a Catholic, but after he married Shelly and started hanging with the Baptists, he had become just as much of a fatuous bastard as the rest of them.

“Brother John says we’re being steamrolled by the homosexual agenda,” Bill went on, determined, “forced to accept sin as something normal, something we should be ‘celebrating.’ I’m not going to celebrate your sin, Wiley. And I’m not going to sit back in silence while you damn my nephew to hell.”

“I thought the homosexual agenda was about having nice drapes,” I said.

“Good one, Wiley,” Papaw said, nodding his head.

“And what’s this I hear about your singing at a gay rights protest again?” Bill asked. “Are you going to take Noah to another one of those? After the last time?”

“Yes, I am,” I said.

“Wiley!” Mama exclaimed, shocked. “You can’t take a child to those things!”

“I already have, Mama. Several of them, in fact.”

“This is what I’m talking about,” Bill said. “He doesn’t care what he exposes Noah to.”

“It’s a human rights protest,” I pointed out.

“But how could you take a child to something like that?” Shelly asked.

“He needs to know the truth about the world he lives in,” I replied.

“Rub his nose in it,” Bill said dismissively. “And you wonder why you can’t get a decent job.”

“And why is that, Billy?” I asked.

“Because nobody wants to hire a fag,” he said. “If you’d just play by the rules, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

“What rules are those, Bill?” Jackson asked.

“If you’re my insurance agent and I find out you’re gay, I’ll be getting a new insurance agent,” Bill said. “That’s how it works. No insurance company is going to want an openly gay person selling insurance for them because they’ll lose business. Same thing with used car salesmen, doctors, lawyers. If you don’t respect our community and our values, we won’t do business with you. That’s how it is, and that’s how it’s going to stay because it’s the right thing to do.”

“That’s… interesting,” Jackson said quietly, as if he couldn’t bring himself to believe what he was hearing.

“That’s bigotry,” I added.

“That’s how we do things, Wiley,” Bill said, “and if you ever want to get a decent job or make something of yourself, you need to get with the program. If you can’t do that, at least keep your mouth shut about it and be discreet. Don’t stand on a sidewalk for the whole world to see. People don’t want it shoved down their throats.”

Jackson gave me a sideways glance.

“If you’re so smart and doing so well,” Bill went on, “why do you live in a dump with crack whores walking around the neighborhood like they own it?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen a crack whore since the late 1980s, Billy,” I said. “I don’t even know if they sell crack anymore.”

“I find that hard to believe since Noah is a crack baby,” he said, rather cruelly.

“He’s not a crack baby,” I said. “He’s a meth baby. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever,” he said dismissively.

“Crack babies,” Papaw said, smiling.

“Are we really having this conversation?” Jackson asked in disbelief.

I offered him a smile.

“Why do you live in that bad neighborhood?” Bill wanted to know.

“It’s close to Noah’s school and close to my job.”

“Oh,” he said with exaggerated emphasis. “Your
job
. Right. FoodWorld!
Nobody beats our meats!
”

“Why are you busting my balls?” I asked.

“Wiley, when are you going to get a decent job? Stop living in public housing? Make something of yourself? It’s not that complicated, bro.”

“I’m a single father, in case you forgot.”

“So?”

“I’ve lost out on a lot of jobs because I have to take care of Noah. I can’t work any shift, any hours, any day, weekends, holidays—and that eliminates a lot of decent jobs. I’m doing the best I can.”

“We have company, you guys,” Mary said primly.

“Oh, to hell with that,” Bill said, shooting a nasty look at Jackson, who seemed extremely uncomfortable as he picked at his roast.

“You know how he is when he gets a burr up his butt,” Papaw observed. “When he was a little boy, we had to tie his hands to a fencepost to keep him from digging around in his own butthole.”

Bill sat back, blowing out a puff of angry air from his lips.

“Wiley’s another story,” Papaw went on. “We had to tie him up because he couldn’t keep his hands off his own willy. Boy used to sit out there on the fencepost baling his hay for the whole world to see. You just could not get him to stop. All fucking day that boy sat out there, beating his meat.”

“Daddy, you cannot talk at the table like this!” Mama exclaimed loudly and angrily.

“It’s true, Martha,” he said. “Ain’t you the one that asked me what the hell we were going to do about it? Boy used to beat that meat so much we were afraid it was going to fall off. I swear to God, Sheriff Carter stopped in the driveway one day and told me to do something about it because the neighbors were sick of seeing it and the cows in the other pastures were afraid of him and wouldn’t give milk no more.”

Jackson looked at me as if to ascertain whether this was true or not.

I shrugged helplessly.

“Are you finished, Papaw?” Bill asked prissily.

“Oh excuse me,” Papaw said. “Are we straying from your Christian bullcrap?”

“Why don’t you just fuck off with your religion, Billy?” I added.

“Why don’t you bite me?” Bill countered.

“Bill!” Shelly exclaimed.

“I’m sick of his bullcrap,” Bill said hotly. “He can bite me for all I care.”

“Bill!” Shelly repeated.

“What the hell is wrong with you today?” I asked.

“You,” he said with venom in his voice.

“And what have I done now?”

“Inviting some homosexual to go camping with you and Noah, that’s what. Skinny-dipping and God knows what else you were doing out there while Noah was watching. Taking Noah to a gay rights march. Exposing him to all of this bullcrap. Once in a while I wish you would think about what you’re doing, how it might to look to other people.”

“You’re assuming I give a shit.”

“You should.”

“And why is that?”

“Because we live in the real world. This isn’t like some scene from one your stupid novels, Wiley. This is the real world. You like to take it up the wazoo. Good for you! But don’t involve your son in it.”