Such Sweet Thunder (40 page)

“You kin straighten up now, Allie,” Viola was saying as she wrapped a bath towel around Miss Allie Mae’s head. “How ’bout a bottle a brew?”

“Yeah, child, I thought somethin’ was missin’!”

Viola shot a glance at him and he immediately got two bottles of beer from the icebox, opened them, and poured their contents into two glasses that Viola handed him from the cupboard.

“Amerigo’s sure growin’, girl!” said Miss Allie Mae, eyeing him with a pretty smile as she sipped her beer. “That’s you all over agin, an’ gittin’ more like you every day! Big pretty eyes. I wish
I
had them lips! He’s sure your boy, all right. How you like your new first-grade teacher, Amerigo?”

“All right.”

“All right!”
Viola laughed. “She’s the apple of his eye, girl! He even writes ’er letters in ’er vacation! Yellah woman with long pretty hair.”

“Aw Mom!”

Miss Allie Mae laughed and threw her head back in a sudden provocative gesture that caused her beer-moistened lips to part and her eyes to flash with reckless mirth.

“What’s ’er name, Vi?”

“You remember ol’ lady Moore?”

“Aw naw! Ol’ lady
Moore?
She still kickin’? Why she musta taught my momma!”

“It’s about time for her to retire, I guess,” said Viola, “at least that’s what I heard. Maybe next year.”

“Unh-unh!… Ol’ lady Moore,” said Miss Allie Mae thoughtfully. “There’ll never be another’n like her!”

“Sure won’t, honey.”

“Next year?”

“Yeah, next year!” said Viola, taking a sip of her beer.

“I wonder who’ll be takin ’er place?” Miss Allie Mae asked.

“One a them young ’uns, I guess,” said Viola. “The ol’-timers all seem to be retirin’ — or dyin’ out.”

“Who’s the new principal now that ol’ man Bowles is dead?” Miss Allie Mae was saying. “He sure was a fine man!”

“He sure was!” said Viola. “I loved ’im like he was my own father. An’ all the white folks respected ’im, too! He sure wasn’ no grinnin’ Uncle Tom! Not him!”

“Who they got now?”

“Ol’ man Grey.”

“Is that so! He’s a mean ’un, honey. An’ the way he kin look at you. Ugh! Usta be over to Yates when I was there. We usta call ’im Ol’ Grey Mule! Hey! hey!”

“He’s a stubborn man, all right,” said Viola.

“An’-an’ rabbit! ’Cause he usta wrinkle his nose all the time,” said Miss Allie Mae, “an’ suckin’ his front teeth! Does he still wrinkle his nose, Amerigo?”

“Yes’m.”

“He’s got a boy oughtta be finishin’ high school about now. Ain’ worth a
dime
, girl.
Always
into somethin’!”

“That’s
always
the way, girl, big shots! All educated an’ high society an’ they kids turn out worse’n any a ours!”

“Got a daughter, too. Cute little thing. I think she’s in high school, too. I forget what year. Wild as the March wind!”

“He always looked like he was half sick to me,” said Viola.

“Yeah, girl, I guess that’s why he’s so mean.”

“I bet he sure makes you all walk the chalk line — huh, Amerigo?” He wriggled uneasily in his chair.

“I guess you’ll be gittin’ your grade cards pretty soon. All full a E’s an’ S’s!”

He stared fixedly into the shadows under the table:

“Mrs. Jones,” he heard Miss Moore say in a grave voice: “I’m glad you could come down to see me. It’s about our young man —”

“He, uh, he ain’ — isn’t getting into no — any trouble, I hope. Whatwhat’s the trouble, Miss Moore?”

“Dreaming. Amerigo Jones is so busy dreaming that he doesn’t seem to be with us half the time. It isn’t that he isn’t intelligent and
can’t
do the work, he simply doesn’t pay any attention to anything except what’s going on inside that busy head of his.
And
, the gentleman’s l-a-z-y!”

“That spells lazy,” he thought.

“I’ll git-get his father to talk — to speak to him.
Then
he’ll straighten up an’ fly right! I mean …” grinning with embarrassment, “or he won’t know the reason why!”

“Does he get to bed early enough?”

“Why, yes, ma’am! He has to be in bed by eight when he has to go to school, but he kin stay up till nine or so on Sad-Saturday.”

“Well, he’s often very late. I keep him after school, but it doesn’t seem to help.” She blushed and flashed a wink at Viola. “And he’s not with the other children. He must wander off by himself on the way to school.”

“I don’t know what he could be up to!” said Viola, “But-but you kin-can rest assured that-that I’ll find out! No tellin’
what
his daddy’ll do when
he
finds out!”

“I’m afraid that if he doesn’t make a great improvement, he may not be able to pass next year.”

“Aw naw!” Viola burst out uncontrollably: “Don’t you worry about a
thing
, Miss Moore! When his daddy gits through with
him
he’ll be the smartest thing in the whole school!”

“Well, I hope so, Mrs. Jones. Things will be different for those of his generation
who are prepared
. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he didn’t have something to say to us. It is up to us to help him say it.”

“All full a E’s an’ S’s,” Miss Allie Mae was saying. And then her voice blended into Rutherford’s voice:

“I waited ’specially till Wednsd’y night to tell you, Amerigo, so it wouldn’ be no women here. Don’ be scaired, I ain’ gonna whip you.” He saw his father sitting in the comfortable chair, himself at his feet, staring ashamedly at the bright flowered pattern in the rug:

“Your momma tells me that you ain’ doin’ so hot in school. Always got your head up in the clouds, thinkin’ ’bout somethin’ else. What you thinkin’ ’bout? Huh?”

His eyes filled with tears.

He looked up at his father, and his blurred gaze drifted past his face and came to rest at the feet of the Spanish lady who stood upon the silver balcony under the silver stars. He chose one.

Huh?

He looked at the strange man who stared at him as though he expected him to say something. He lowered his eyes once more to the pattern in the rug.

“You’re smart! You know that? You one a the smartest children I ever seen. Barrin’ none. That means white ones an’ all! An’ deep, too! You ain’ got no business
flunkin’ out
in school! Ain’ another child in the whole North End that’s more thought of than you. Your momma an’ me’s tryin’ to help you all we kin. You got a nice clean home. Your folks is decent folks. Ain’ no lot a gittin’ drunk an’ cussin’ fightin’ all
the time — like with half these niggahs down here. What they gonna say when
you
come flunkin’ out in school an’ can’t go to high school? Huh? Got to go to high school before you git to college. How you gonna amount to somethin’ when you can’t even git out a the first grade! You kin be smart as Solomon! But if you ain’ got a piece a paper in your hand to prove it, your name is mud. You end up like me, workin’ in a hotel. I coulda been a-a lawyer, or a doctor or somethin’ if-if I-I’d a had the chance to git a education. Now I want to see your homework — every day — from now on! You hear me?”

“Yessir.”

“An’ if you come up with some more bad marks on your grade card, I’m gonna get somethin’ from you. You understand what
that
means, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Viola was saying with a heavy sigh, “it won’ be long now! Half the North End’s waitin’ on that grade card. An’ I
know
he ain’ gonna let ’um down!”

“Ain’ that sweet!” said Miss Allie Mae.

“Yeah, girl, Unc done promised ’im a dime for ever’ S an’ a quarter for ever’ E!”

“Naw!”

“No kiddin’, honey! An’ Mister Harrison’s givin’ ’im a quarter for ever’thin’ over a M. Why, he
should
make a killin’: ol’ lady McMahon, Aunt Nancy, Bra Mo, an’ Mrs. Derby — an’ you
know
Miss Sadie’s gonna give ’er
baby
somethin’! Sure is nice, the way
ever’body
just
loves
him!”

“Yeah,” said Miss Allie Mae, “that’s right, all right. You an’ Rutherford’s doin’ a good job on that boy. Makin’ a gen’leman out a ’im. Tippin’ his hat an’ sayin’ ’scuse me to the grown-ups an’ all. Why I noticed it often — he’s got better manners’n most men, even the educated ones!”

“That’s what ever’body says,” said Viola. “ ’Course, I ain’ sayin’ he’s nothin’ special, mind you, he ain’ no better’n nobody else’s kids, but that’s sure what the people a-l-l say, honey, the black
an
’ the white! Them white gals down at the laundry usta be just crazy about ’im, an’ the reveren’ an’ all the sisters an’ brothers at Saint John’s —”

“He said his piece so nice!” said Miss Allie Mae, “on the First Sunday program — in front a the whole church, girl.”

“I didn’ hear it, but I heard all about it. I was too nervous, girl. I git to thinkin’ ’bout what if he makes a mistake or somethin’!”

“He spoke like a li’l man!”

He stirred uneasily in the warmth of the women’s praise.

“Yeah, girl,” said Miss Allie Mae, following her own train of thought, “I try to see that that young ’un a mine toes the line, too. Little devil! Takes after ’er daddy. Gittin’ more like ’im every day. Say, speakin’ a men, when’s the last time you seen ol’ T. C.? I ain’ seen that boy in a coon’s age. He still workin’ at the station?”

“Supposed to be,” said Viola, “but you can’t never tell about T. C., though. Day after payday you got to go lookin’ for ’im. An’ when you
do
find ’im, he’s broke. He’d give his head away if it wasn’ sewed on tight!”

“Is he still with Mabel? Now there’s a sweet girl —”

“She’s crazy about T. C. but he just won’ do right to save his life. An’ she ain’ the first one to fall for ’im like a ton a bricks. You git ’im all fixed up — an’ he’s a good-lookin’ man!”

“You tellin’ me!”

“It’s a dirty shame!”

“How’s his momma? There’s a saint of a woman if there ever was one. So kindhearted. No matter what he does he kin always go home. It’s a good thing she’s got that house an’ a few roomers.”

“I guess she’s all right, the last time I heard. T. said he was comin’ by this week. That means we might not see ’im till this time next year!”

Next year sometime, he thought, startled by the loudness of his thought, which suddenly emerged from the teeming din of voices that tumbled into his path.

He tried to place his feet squarely in the middle of the long crevice separating the sidewalk from the curbstone — through the endless street that was This Year, faltering now and then, fighting the golden air in order to balance himself with his arms, looking warily both ways at the dangerous intersections: Independence and Forest, Christmas Day and New Year’s Day, which in order to pass he had to show his report card: an E, three S’s, and an M! He heaved a deep sigh as he tipped his Sunday hat and smiled along the perilous paths of the North End like the good little boy everyone knew and expected him to be.

“Look out, ’Mer’go! —” Tommy cried.

“What?” He looked around curiously, when suddenly he saw a knot of strange little curly black heads advancing toward them just as they were crossing Troost Avenue. He stumbled dreamily on the fringe of
the crowd next to Tommy and William, Carl and Turner, Sammy, Etta, and Mildred, a short stoutly built black girl who had started late to school. She moved well out in front of the others.

“Let’s git them muthafuggahs!” she cried, her fists doubling into knots that appeared to be as hard as the muscles in the calves of her short stubby legs.

“Aaaaaaaaw!” His mouth flew open with astonishment.

“Come on, you niggahs!” she cried.

He found himself amid a profusion of flying fists and arms as the two little knots of black and white children fused into one seething mass of arms and legs. A ringed fist grazed his face and caused him to bite his tongue.

He was through it. He trembled all over. His sheep-lined coat was torn. He touched his right cheek. Blood! He started to cry.

He was running.

“A nigger done it!”
cried a familiar voice: a throbbing pain shot through his big toe, and then a searing pain from the bruise on his knee. The pavement grew hot under his feet.…

The siren screamed louder! His chest heaved up and down and he breathed with great effort. His legs moved with leaden sluggishness up the ravine of the hill at the corner of Independence and Pacific Street, and down the other side, down past the church and the bunch of frame houses, until a bell like the bell of a huge alarm clock rang:

“Look!” Tommy cried.

They stopped in front of the wall bordering the playground. A little girl was writhing on the ground. She wore a pretty pink dress, white stockings, and shiny patent-leather shoes. Her eyes stared wildly into the sky. Flecks of foam spouted from her mouth, and she gasped for air. “…  Like soap suds …” He watched her smooth orange skin grow purple, and then blue. Suddenly she clamped her mouth shut and her eyes walled around in her head.

“ ’Lectra’s havin’ a fit!” Leroy cried.

“Gimme that stick!” Tommy cried.

“What stick?” he asked.

“Aw, man —
that
stick!” pushing him aside and picking up a small twig near his right foot. She fought and kicked and uttered grunting sounds. “Grab ’er hands!” Tommy shouted.

He grabbed the arm nearest him, Leroy grabbed the other, while Tommy forced the twig between her teeth and pried her mouth open, grabbing her tongue with his fingers.

“It’s purple!” Amerigo said.

“Here!” said Tommy nervously, “that’s what the teacher said to do when she gits a fit to keep ’er from swallowin’ ’er tongue.”

“Aw, can’t nobody swallow they tongue! You crazy!” he exclaimed.

“Aw, yeah, they kin, too!” said Tommy, “That’s what Big Rabbit said, an’ the nurse, too. They
sure
oughtta know!”

“I don’t care.…”

The air seeped into her lungs, her body grew quiet, and a peaceful expression came into her face. Her black eyes shone with a burning brightness. Her hair was long, silky, and black, done up in two big pretty braids with blue ribbons tied at the ends.

Electra was smiling at him.

Her teeth are almost as white as Mom’s.…

She extended her hand to him. He took it and helped her to her feet. Then he, his companions, and the golden Electra walked on down the street. The last bell rang just as they stepped onto the playground.