Sweet Song (30 page)

What could Jenny have seen in his feet? One glance. What story had she already noticed? The young farm boy? The liar?

Bob slipped his feet back under the blanket. How could he have any life, but that of a liar’s? Jenny, nor any woman, could know the truth. He remembered the betrayal he felt when the five roaming Negroes had lied to him.

His side ached. He had not even thought of his injuries until they throbbed or a pain struck through him like lightning. Now, his head hurt too, and his neck. He patted the book on the stand next to him, as if to say later. He stared out the window wondering how the day was proceeding for Jasper.

T
hanks to Hugh, Bob’s ribs were not cracked or broken. Bruises dappled his arms and legs and side. As his muscle scraped and pulled against the tenderized skin and nerves, pain pulsed through him making his movements slow. But he could work. And he could get around just fine. No one had said so, but Bob knew that one of the men who attacked him was Jacob.

Another act was heading into town, five black women and an old black man, a baritone. Jimmy Finch needed the room for some of them. “An unusual bunch. And I don’t know how the clientele’s going to take to it, but I know several of the women. Grew up with ‘em you might say, and they’re good people.”

Bob had dressed. Hugh had stopped by as an escort. Jenny stood behind and to the right of Jimmy, making occasional eye contact with Bob.

Bob, so hypnotized by her damp, sweet eyes, couldn’t help looking over at her each time she caught his attention. At one point, Jimmy turned to look behind him, noticing Bob’s attention shift elsewhere.

Jenny laughed and turned her face away.

After all the thank you’s and small talk, Hugh led Bob outside and onto the sunny street. Mosquitoes and gnats were thick and annoying. Bob squinted.

“You all right?” Hugh asked.

“Fine. Why would you ask?”

“You’re still walking pretty slow.”

“More stiff than sore,” Bob said. He picked up the pace.

Hugh stared ahead, “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Go right ahead.”

“You’re not thinking about Jimmy’s sister are you?”

“She wouldn’t want the likes of me.”

“Shit. You are. God dammit. You can’t go thinkin’ about that.”

“Why not?”

Hugh’s voice quieted. He talked in a whisper out the corner of his mouth. “What the hell color you think your children would be?”

They kept walking. Bob didn’t know how he felt about Jenny nor did he extend those feelings as far into the future as Hugh did. “Don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t think about it.”

“Well you’d better, my friend. Not just for your sake, but for hers.”

“That family doesn’t feel that way, though, you said so yourself. Look at all the Negroes moving through that house.”

“That’s different. I’ll guarantee it.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Those are acts. They’re passing through. They’re not family.” Hugh squinted his eyes and swatted at a clutch of gnats, slapping violently at the air in front of him. “Not everyone in this town is so tolerant. And when they find out you lied, they’re going to feel tricked and cheated. It won’t be pretty.”

“You’re telling me I can’t have a life?”

“No. I’m not sayin’ that.”

“You think I’m less than you.”

Hugh grabbed Bob’s arm. “God damn you. They’d lynch you sure as we’re standin’ here. Do you know that? Jesus Holy Christ you chose this life, now you God damned better live it like you told it.”

Bob stared into Hugh’s square face. The man’s eyes penetrated with strength and logic. Bob wasn’t interested in having either. “A baby could just as easily be white. Look at the two of us. Look at me. What do you see?” His teeth clenched. He knew what Hugh saw, but he also knew what Hugh knew, and the two didn’t mix well, not even to Bob. But he wasn’t about to let go, not then. He hadn’t known a moment ago how he felt about Jenny. After Hugh stripped away layers of thought, Bob sensed his emotions more clearly. His
interest in Jenny lay deeper than he’d understood at first. His interest penetrated more than mere curiosity.

Hugh walked Bob to the back entrance of Jasper’s bakery. Another man, a one-armed man wearing a torn soldier’s shirt, stood at the oven. “Hey, boss,” the man said.

Jasper looked back over his shoulder, a big toothy smile across his face until he saw Bob and Hugh, then his lips tightened. “Ah, dammit,” he said. “I’m sorry Bob. I had to find someone. I needed the help.” He shook his head.

“Well, he’s back,” Hugh piped in.

Bob put his hand on Hugh’s chest to stop him from advancing any closer to Jasper. Bob nodded to the soldier first, then to Jasper. He said, “I understand and it’s all right.”

“Bob?” Hugh said.

“No. I mean it.”

“There’re plenty of jobs you can do,” Jasper said.

The soldier turned his head away.

“It’s okay, Mr. Snipe, this man deserves to work too.” Bob nodded again to the soldier, then he let a small grin slide over his face, a ripple of acceptance.

“I’m sorry,” Jasper said as Bob left.

In the alley Hugh grabbed Bob by the elbow and spun him around. “What the hell did you just do? That was your job.”

“Jobs don’t belong to people.”

“The hell they don’t.”

“The mill changed your job as soon as you got hurt. I can find something. I’m smart enough,” Bob said.

“You’re not acting smart,” Hugh said.

“That man back there. When I saw him, I thought of you. He didn’t choose the life he has. An accident and everything changes,” Bob said.

Hugh held up his hand. “It’s healing.”

“You still have yours. Can you imagine how he feels after fighting for what he believed in? Jasper’s a good man for hiring him, and a better man for keeping him.”

“What happened to you to make you give a shit?”

Bob thought the question through. “I don’t know. Another time it may have pissed me off. Things can go two ways. I can feel controlled or free. If I were passing for Negro and everywhere I turned someone was taking advantage or treating me poorly, I might be pretty mad. I learned, though, that I’m not a killer. Don’t exactly know why. And now I know I don’t take someone’s job from them.”

“I’ve seen beatings and lynchings and all sorts of other abuses. Inhumane behavior. Some men become more like beasts than men,” Hugh said.

Bob remembered his beating as a child, how Mr. Carpenter had touched his mother’s cheek, how he’d escaped being killed. “I’ve seen men act compassionately even when they didn’t have to, when the pressure was against them.” Bob pursed his lips and made a smacking sound with them. “I know I could be killed for what I’m doing. I know it. I don’t think I realized it at first. There’s no doubt now. I’m also living free right now and the feeling reminds me that not all people of one color are bad and not all are good. It’s not easy, but you have to take each person and figure them out on their own.”

“There’s a lot of liars and cheats out there, too, don’t fool yourself,” Hugh said.

“Like me?”

“Ha. You don’t even know.”

“Know what?”

“How you feel. You’re looking at your history, your ma and pa, not yourself. You look the next time you get a chance. Then we see how you feel. I’ll tell you, if you’re not standing next to your parents, everything about you says white. And I don’t mean poor or ignorant white. I mean city white. Now, you can lie about your heritage, but you damned well can’t lie about what’s inside you screaming to come out.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“Well, think of it. Stop pitchin’ back and forth in the middle.”

“Right now I’ve done enough thinking and too much talking. I’ve got to get work.”

“Always work at the mill this time of year.” Hugh slapped a mosquito that landed on his arm. A dot of blood appeared and he
wiped it against his pants leg. Sweat dripped down the side of his head.

Bob’s muscles loosened up. He walked straighter. “Not the mill,” he said.

“You’re right.” Hugh patted Bob’s shoulder. “You don’t want to work at the mill. Look what it’s done to me.”

“I’ll find something. But first I’ve got to get out of that boarding house and find something that’s nicer.”

“Tired of the piss smell or a few days in that bed at Jimmy Finch’s spoil you?”

“I do like a bed with fewer bedbugs.”

Hugh laughed. “You like a bed with a woman in the room. I don’t blame you, but you better listen to me about that or your life might get a whole lot more complicated.”

“I don’t know. Look at me. The chances are—”

“Don’t go back there again. I’ve seen Negroes, Indians, and white all mixed and you don’t know what’s coming out. You’re brother might look opposite of you. And, Bob, you don’t want to take that chance. You don’t want to put Jenny or any other woman through that. I’m telling you,” Hugh said. “You’d better listen.”

Bob got the feeling something in Hugh’s past must have given him special knowledge of the situation, but he didn’t express his thoughts about it.

Hugh pealed off to work the rest of the day, while Bob headed for the boarding house. It might be more difficult to find a place to stay than to find a job, but he was willing to try.

The moment he entered the room, he knew he couldn’t live with the stench any longer. His first thought was to leave his bedroll and books as well. Instead, he held his breath momentarily, walked to his cot, collected his things, and left for good. He had paid through the week. There was no reason to talk with anyone.

Bob wandered up and down Third and Fourth Streets while weaving in and out of the side streets too. Trying not to favor the pain in his ribs, Bob strolled from Arch Street to Market Street, stopping anywhere he thought might be able to put him up even if he didn’t see a sign. When he found nothing, he traveled up Market Street and weaved up and down side streets between Park Avenue
and High Street. Between those roads, he found a place on Green Street a block from Campbell Street, which conveniently led to the river. He wouldn’t be in the thick of things, but he’d be close enough. A young family was renting a room in their house that had been cleared of personal items. Two young boys now slept in their parents’ room.

Carl, the husband, introduced himself and showed Bob into the house. “I don’t recognize you Bob,” he said. “Then there’s hundreds who work at the mill.”

“I don’t work there,” Bob said.

“No?”

“I’m looking for a job now. I did work at Jasper Snipe’s Bakery.”

Carl’s face lightened up. “Oh, I do know you.” Then he stepped back. “Wait a minute. Used to?”

“I got jumped and he hired a soldier.”

“Look mister I need this rent.”

“I’ve got plenty. It’s in the bank. I save everything.”

“A week up front. I can’t wait for payday.”

“I understand.” Bob pulled the money from his pocket. “Three dollars?” he said, quoting the sign he’d seen. He handed it over. “Here, let’s do two weeks.”

Bob looked at Carl’s bandaged right hand. Fingers were missing. Probably all of them but the thumb.
The mill took lives a little at a time
, he thought. Carl took the money with his good hand, his left, and stuffed it into his pocket.

Carl led Bob down a short hall. The kitchen was to their right. Bob peered in as they passed.

“Look mister, I live here with my wife and boy. The kitchen’s private. A few blocks down Campbell and you can get meals.”

“I understand,” Bob said. “I’ll be as scarce as I can.”

Carl nodded. “I heal fast. I’ll be workin’ again soon.”

Bob looked at him. Regardless of his outward stance, Carl appeared pitiful, unsure of himself. His assurances were all too aggressive. He was scared. “As soon as you’re on your feet, I’ll find somewhere else,” Bob said.

“A man’s house is private. I’m only doing this ‘cause I have to.”

“I can see that, sir.”

“Here’s the room,” Carl let Bob look in.

Two wood plank beds filled much of the space. A dresser stood against one wall between them. There was a mattress on one bed. The other must have been moved into the master bedroom. The room didn’t smell of piss, but of sweaty little boys. Bob could deal with that. He’d lived with the smell of bodies his whole life.

“You can go in,” Carl said with some apparent reluctance.

Bob placed his bedroll and sack on the floor. “Thank you,” he said.

“It’s done then.” Carl walked away and Bob heard him in another room telling his wife and sons to stay away from the stranger in the house until, “. . . we get to know ‘im.”

Bob sat on the bed with the mattress for a few minutes. An unusual feeling came over him. He was alone. For years there were other people around him. Not always kind, but there was talking and rustling about. There was noise. He listened. He couldn’t hear the river, either.

In a few minutes, he decided to buy some candles and to get another book from the library. He’d make sure he accomplished those two tasks while he looked for work. Walking toward the river from Carl’s house, at Fourth Street, Bob turned left, the river to his right, and headed toward town past mansions belonging to the mill owners. Howard Mill, Kemp Mill, Paulhamous Mill, and farther upriver, Ritter Mill. He had delivered bread to these houses. He knew the staffs, black and white, men and women, working for the men of money and power.