Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (37 page)

When Mrs. Struthers opened the door and saw us, she nearly

fainted. Mr. Struthers called the police to check on Daddy and

haul him over to the emergency room if he needed it. I thought

it odd that he told the policeman not to disturb Momma but just

to get Hank away from the house. He sat us down with a Coca-

Cola each. He cleaned up Timmy and put ice on his swollen face

and eye. Like a grandfather, he listened to the story of what drove

us to do this to our father.

“I couldn’t take it anymore, Mr. Struthers,” Timmy said.

“I understand, son. But y’all know a child should never raise

a hand against their parents, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir, I know that, but you don’t know what it’s like for

us, for me especially.”

“He’s not lying, Mr. Struthers. Look at his back,” I said.

Timmy stood up and raised the back of his shirt.The welts

were deep red now and Mr. Struthers let out a low whistle.

“Why’d he do this to you,Timmy?”

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“I was using one of his deodorant pads to shine my

shoes,” Timmy answered. “We were going to the dance at the

church and my shoes needed shining. I know I shouldn’t have

done it.”

“That’s all you did?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I was there, Mr. Struthers, so was Susan. He’s telling the

truth,” Maggie said. “It’s always like this for Timmy, and not

much better for us.”

Mr. Struthers raised his eyebrows and sighed again. I under-

stood the expulsion of so much breath to be an expression of his

understanding and vindication for us.

“If we go home and he’s there, he’s gonna finish us off like a

tomato sandwich!” I said this as emphatically as I could so he’d

comprehend the depth of our trouble.

“Does y’all’s momma know y’all’re ’eah?”

“No, sir. We just took off running once we knew Daddy

wasn’t dead,”Timmy said.

“Momma’s in bed anyhow. Sleeps all the time,” I said.

“Why’s that?” Mr. Struthers asked.

“Guess she’s tired or something,” I said.

I wasn’t about to tell the world that both of our parents were

crazy. Besides, I didn’t want to embarrass Momma.

“Well, let’s get y’all home. I’ll stay there and talk to y’all’s

daddy. Don’t worry, nobody gonna hurt y’all chillrun ever again

or I’m not the mayor of this Island. Let’s go now.”

We didn’t budge an inch.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Silence from the choir.

“I’m telling y’all, it’s gonna be all right! Now, trust me, okay?

I’ve been knowing y’all’s daddy since before y’all were born. I

know
him! If I tell him to keep his hands off of y’all, he
will!

Understand?”

We nodded.

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“All right, then, let’s go. It’s getting late and y’all’s momma is

gonna be worried sick about y’all.”

I rolled my eyes at Maggie and, for once, she rolled hers

back in agreement.

Mr. Struthers led the way up our back steps. Maybe Daddy

was afraid of Mr. Struthers; after all, he was the biggest man on

the Island.That was a comforting thought, the first one I’d had

in a while.

“Go tell y’all’s momma I’m here.”

Maggie went to tell Momma,Timmy sank into a chair at the

kitchen table and I opened the refrigerator. My first inclination

was to stay with Timmy and Mr. Struthers. I’d do my duty and

feed them.

“Mr. Struthers? Would you like a beer or some tea? Timmy?

Do y’all want a sandwich?”

“Sure.Whatever you have is fine, Susan.Thanks.”

Mr. Struthers took a chair at the table. He was preoccupied

with what he would say to Momma and, most likely, to Daddy

when he got back from the emergency room.The whole situation

had to be stunning to him. It was to me. I felt like Jell-O inside. I

wondered if I could get arrested for attempted murder or assault

and battery. It didn’t matter because there was nothing I could do

about it. The deed was done. I had knocked my own father out

cold with the branch of a tree. Jesus Christ. I still couldn’t believe I

had done it. My life could be over, I thought, it could be over and

I could wind up in some horrible juvenile detention center until

I’m old enough to go to the state penitentiary. At least Timmy

would be there with me, but probably in a boys’ center. I’d never

even see him.

I took out some boiled ham, iceberg lettuce, half a tomato

and the mayonnaise and began making sandwiches. If I kept

busy I didn’t have to think so much and maybe I could show

Mr. Struthers that I had promise beyond the jailhouse.

Timmy fixed his eyes on the sugar bowl in the center of the

table and he just kept shaking his head back and forth.

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I put two plates in front of them and made a new ice pack for

Timmy’s eye. My mind wasn’t screaming but plotting the next

move, trying to guess how this game would play itself out. Mag-

gie returned with Momma. Momma took one look at Timmy,

whimpered and the automatic tears flowed like the Cooper

River.

“What’s happened? Oh, my God, what’s happened to you,

Timmy? Tell me!”

She leaned over Timmy and kissed the top of his head. He

resisted her attempt to remove the ice pack. She stood back with

some indignation and realized the mayor was sitting at her

kitchen table eating a ham sandwich and drinking tea. The fog

in her eyes seemed to clear.

“Marvin! What’s going on here?” she said.

Over the next few minutes the details of the incident were

laid before our mother. She claimed not to have heard a blessed

thing. She never heard Daddy beat Timmy. She said she didn’t

know. She never heard him order us out to the yard. She never

heard Daddy, Timmy, Maggie and me screaming. She said this

was highly unusual. She never heard the patrol car arrive and

take Daddy away. She had no knowledge that Daddy was at the

emergency room.

Momma seemed shocked and surprised by what she was

hearing. At first I thought she was lying to Mr. Struthers. But I

realized that the truth about her husband was so terrible that she

couldn’t hear it or make sense of it. If she never told anyone or

interfered with our father’s violence, perhaps it didn’t exist. And

Mr. Struthers’s presence violated her perfect imaginary world.

Now Mr. Struthers knew the truth.

Mr. Struthers went on saying, as nicely as possible, that taking

care of her children and her mother were probably too much for

her, but that she still had a responsibility to us. Even though the

burden, on such a delicate and refined lady, was overwhelming.

“What are you telling me, Marvin?”

“I’m telling you that Hank can’t do this to his children. In

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the least case, it ain’t right. In the eyes of the law, it’s criminal

behavior.”

“Criminal!”

“Yes, MC, criminal. Child abuse. It’s against the law.”

She reached in the drawer and took out a pack of cigarettes.

I’d never seen my mother smoke.

“What am I supposed to do, Marvin? Tell me that!”

“That’s why I’m here, MC. I’ve been knowing you all my

life. I know what you can face up to and what you can’t. I’m

gonna talk to him.”

She inhaled and exhaled a billowing cloud from her Salem

100. The smoke was sucked up to the ceiling fan, dispersing

itself into nothingness. She had to choose. Either she would take

Daddy’s side or ours. In her classic bob-and-weave fashion, she

chose neither.

She told Timmy to go lie down. She sent Maggie to get

Henry and the twins from Aunt Carol’s, where they had been

for the day, playing with her pack of dogs. She ignored me,

probably furious that I had had the nerve to protect her child

against her husband. Or maybe she was glad. I couldn’t tell.

I poured her some tea and refilled Mr. Struthers’s glass. He

asked for the newspaper and began to read while Momma fid-

geted, finally announcing she was going upstairs to change from

her bathrobe into a dress or something. She had at least realized

that it was unusual for a normal person to be in her nightgown

at seven in the evening.

Soon Maggie came back with the twins and Henry, who

immediately ran for his room. Maggie heated up two bottles for

Sophie and Allie, announced she was going to put the twins to

bed and said she was going to bed herself. I stayed in the back-

ground until I heard Daddy coming up the back steps. As fast

as I could, I hid myself in the hall closet.

It was hard to hear from behind all the coats, which muffled

their voices, but I heard enough to know that Mr. Struthers

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251

bought us some time. He explained the difference between nor-

mal discipline and child abuse to Daddy and Momma. Every time

Daddy raised his voice to object, Mr. Struthers would calmly ask

Daddy if he’d prefer to settle this dispute in court. Every time

Momma would try to defend Daddy, probably out of fear for her

own safety, Marvin would remind her of the definition of negli-

gence. I was too young to understand the implications of all that

he said, but I was old enough to know we would all be safer for a

while.The most frightening thing of all was that I had to be pro-

tected from my momma and daddy. It filled me with shame.

As the house became quiet, I must’ve fallen asleep in the

warmth of the closet. I didn’t know how I got to my bed that night

until I found one of my grandmother’s hairpins in my bed. Bless

her heart, I remember thinking, how did that poor old skinny bag

of bones get me up the stairs and how had she found me?

A f t e r s c h o o l o n Monday, I ran from the school bus ahead of

everyone and told Livvie what Daddy had done to Timmy and

what we did to Daddy and how he got twenty-seven stitches in

his head. I’d never seen her so angry. She began to iron with a

vengeance, pushing the flat bottom of the iron into the clothes

with all her strength, her lips set in a straight, hard line.

“Are you angry with me, Livvie?”

“Not one bit. Go on get Timmy in ’eah to me,” she said.

Something in the back of her voice prompted me to drop

my books on the table and run for Timmy. I brought him back,

she put the iron on the resting plate and stood up from her

stool. First, she stared at his black eye and bruised face.

“Pull up your shirt, boy,” she said and he did it at once.

He turned around and she saw the welts.

“Ain’t right. My granddaddy died with whipping scars on

he back.This ain’t right.” The sight of his back kindled a pow-

erful feeling down deep inside of her. Her breathing wasn’t reg-

ular. Her nostrils flared as she stared at my brother’s back. She let

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go of an enormous breath and, gently, she reached out and laid

her hand across his skin. Her hand traveled each red mark, regis-

tering its length and width.Timmy didn’t flinch. She moved her

hand on Timmy’s eye and jaw.

“Still hurt, son?” she said to him.

“Not now. It’s alright now, Livvie.”

“Ain’t alright. Ain’t alright nohow.”

The wipe of her beautiful, long, dark fingers had taken away

Timmy’s pain. Timmy was healed, but now Livvie carried the

wound. She hardened toward my father in a declaration of war.

She was very serious about protecting us.“Chillrun be Gawd’s

gift, ain’t no doubt about that, no sir,” she’d say to us over and over.

We’d never know for sure, but I thought she would’ve done any-

thing to shield us from Daddy. And, in a karmic twist of fate,

within days Daddy needed shielding himself.

Daddy caught the devil from the president of the board of

education for Charleston County. I heard Big Hank telling

Momma that he’d been called in and told to scratch the cafete-

ria and heating in the school he was building and that the bas-

ketball courts and library were a waste of energy and money.

Daddy was disgusted. He took a lot of pride in his work. He

may have been horrible to us, but he believed in education and

equal opportunity for everyone. Just because no other black school

in the state had those things, did that mean they never should?

Daddy said that maybe it was time for them to raise the standard of

facilities anyway. And apparently this guy told Daddy to mind his

own business and do what he was told. But you couldn’t tell Hank

Hamilton something like that. Oh, no.

He and his crew continued the building his way, not altering

one thumbtack of the plans. Although I had every reason to

despise him, I had to give him some due for having the courage

to match his convictions. I wished he cared half as much about us.

Monday of that week, he went to work in the morning and

found crosses burned into the grass and equipment smashed to

pieces. It was the trademark of the Klan and the worst damage

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done to his work site so far. He continued anyway. On Tuesday,