Sweet Song (4 page)

Big Leon led, Bess and Martha behind him, then Leon. Martha wouldn’t look at Bess.

The family cemetery stood atop a small hill overlooking the north field. Leon had been there before, trimming the weeds next to Freddy’s gravestone. He had fixed the fence surrounding it several times.

The path the help took to the cemetery meandered along the woods. Stone fences rose inside the tree line, sometimes separating property, sometimes as a place to put rocks collected from the fields.

Leon had walked the path many times, but never in such a long row of people. And most everyone had his head down. Big Leon held his high, but Leon sensed false pride in it.

Leon looked around, taking in the scent of the blossoming trees and sprouting oat fields. He let the air shift around him, cool in the shade of woods, then warm as the procession turned the corner around a field and stepped, one-by-one, into the sunny hillside. Being spring, the creek ran deep and loud. From the side hill near the cemetery, patches of running water showed through where the swampy areas lay in the valley not far off. The creek flooded every year making new tributaries through the lowland area.

Leon became the flowing water, hearing it louder and louder in his ears. He became the spring scent on the wind, the odor thickening inside his lungs. Stepping blank-faced and steady behind a long row of blacks, he became the woods and the field, the shadow and light of himself building in contrasts his eyes were unaccustomed to.

Soon a hawk-call broke his meditation. He stood on the ridge overlooking the valley, spring-brown creekwater throwing itself Southeast, completely unaware of the dead body poised over the dark cavern of a grave high on the hill.

Leon stopped in the back of the crowd. He watched the grass, its green tips rising toward the sun.

A preacher read from the Bible. Near the edge of the crowd, Hank and Earl poked at each other. Hillary came around to
reprimand them. Light glistened from her eyes as she turned in the morning sun.

Leon was surprised to see her so emotional about her mother’s death. She seldom had a kind word to say about Mona. She told Leon once that she thought her mother had given up.

Her dress was clean and fit tightly to her skin, a Sunday dress she had outgrown awhile ago.

Mr. Carpenter kept silent, staring down at the pine box all the while the preacher talked.

Hillary made her way toward Leon. “Hi,” she said, standing next to him.

Martha glared at Leon.

“You should be with your pa,” he whispered.

“He needs to be alone.”

“I reckon.”

Martha shook her head at the two of them. A cautionary reprimand.

Hillary leaned into Leon and spoke into his ear. She smelled clean and good. “Meet me at the creek flat,” she said. “After.”

They had met at what they called the creek flat on many occasions. That’s where Leon had learned to read in the late evening, near sunset, in the summers. Usually they met at the creek flat for half an hour or so. It was his favorite place to read, the sound of water in the background, an occasional birdcall.

The creek ran high and the flat—a stony and gravelly area near a bend in the flow—was smaller than during the summer months. Only one creek flat developed close enough to their homes, much of the rest of the creek banks were either deep drop-offs or swampy, depending on where the creek cut through the land. The mud and swamp areas were shallow with broken branches of the creek meandering, making a wide sweep into the valley. Little islands of green, frog-filled areas rose and sank each year as spring flooding of the valley altered the creek’s flow toward the Susquahanna River.

Leon clenched his jaw without answering. To meet at the creek flat during the day would be a treat. He knew work would carry on later in the day, but by the time everyone slowly made their way
back to their shacks, he and Hillary could meet, read, and he could run back home, hardly missed.

Martha glanced back, disapproval shadowing her face. Leon knew that Hillary shouldn’t be so bold as to talk with him in front of everyone. He figured that everyone knew or thought they knew about him and Hillary. Leon had heard things said. He had heard different folks questioning his new speech, the ‘proper language’ they called it. He even tried to speak one way when people were listening and totally different when Hillary and he were alone together.

Leon recognized very well what language was proper and what wasn’t, and it occurred to him that the difference usually meant saying the whole sound of a word instead of clipping it off at the end. That and sometimes the order in which the words came from your mouth made all the difference. He had learned, from Hillary’s continual scolding, to dislike the way most people spoke, including Hank and Earl who had no regard for learning.

Excited about the possibility of reading something new at the creek flat, and in bright daylight, Leon could hardly wait for the funeral to end.

His wish came true, as there wasn’t much to say about Mona. As suspected, everyone walked away even slower than they had arrived. Idle time was not unheard of, but it was cherished.

At the nearest edge of the woods, Leon took off running downhill toward the creek. He heard Martha grunt some words out, but they weren’t recognizable. The sound itself was piercing and sharp-edged even though the words were unclear. Still, he knew what she was trying to say. No one else made a sound, and Leon didn’t look back to see whether anyone had moved to stop him.

He stopped at a slope that fell off and into a deep, swift creek-flow. A maple tree had fallen over and bent to the movement and power of the water. He looked into the deep green and saw the torn carcass of a deer hanging loosely, caught in a tangle of bark-stripped branches. It had been there since the prior winter. No acrid smell of rot lifted from the remains. Most of the meat and bone were gone. Only strips of skin and parts of limbs hung onto the tree, a final but futile attempt at life.

Leon made his way up creek to where the land flattened out and the creek made its turn, cutting into the opposite bank and leaving bare the creek flat.

The rumble of water rushed into his ears, a steady background blocking out the whistling of wind through the trees. The creek galloped toward the river, and the river slipped past towns and cities.

Leon had an urge to jump into the creek and float with it until he hit the river, then float with that until a friendly town sprouted up. He’d stop there and work hard, so he could buy books and read.

He watched as drops leaped up, somersaulted, and landed back in the stream only farther down, closer to the river. He picked up a stone and pitched it into the water. He picked up another and threw it at a tree on the opposite bank, hitting it squarely.

“Hey,” Hillary shouted over the roar of the creek.

Leon went to her. “You got something to read?”

“Not this time. I thought we’d talk a little.”

“You upset about your mama?”

“A little.”

“She was crazy.”

“That’s Pa’s fault. Pa and your ma.”

“My Ma’s crazy too. Worse than ever. She scaring me.” He shut up, wanting not to think of Bess.

“She scares you,” Hillary corrected.

“She scares me,” Leon said.

Hillary turned away. “Can we sit in the grass?”

Leon followed her up the bank and over to where the sun reached a clearing and a soft patch of fresh grass lifted up.

Hillary leaned into Leon. He stiffened.

“What’s wrong.”

“We’re not supposed to touch.”

“I need comforting. Besides, you’re my half brother. It’s okay.”

“I’m nothin’ but a farmhand. And a Negro one, to boot. I got too much of my mama in me to be called a half-brother to anyone.”

“Your nose ain’t even flat.”

“Don’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“We still shouldn’t be touching this much.”

“This isn’t touching,” she said while leaning into him farther. “I know what touching is.”

“How do you know?” Leon focused on his words.

“Jacob.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s a man I see sometimes from across the valley.”

“A man?”

“He’s twenty.”

“You best be careful.”

“Better. You had
better
be careful,” she said.

“You’d better be.”

“Don’t act like that. I do things you wouldn’t know.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“Like real touching.”

“I don’t want to know,” Leon repeated.

“Like this.” Hillary brushed her hand over Leon’s leg.

Something in his mind exploded. He pushed her away. “What you doin’?”

“Don’t shove me like that. I was showing you what you don’t know.”

“I tell you, I don’t want to know.” Memories rushed into Leon’s thoughts. Things he didn’t want to remember like guilt, pain, and hatred. As always his stomach ached. He didn’t know from where his feelings originated.

“I want to know,” she said.

“No ma’am.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Don’t be angry. I’m just scared.” Those were his only words.

She sat up and unbuttoned her dress, then pulled it open. Her breasts were white as a new snow. They were thick too, as thick as her body allowed.

Leon tried to look away but couldn’t.

“If you don’t, I’ll say you did.”

“No,” Leon said.

“I’m grieving and need comforting.”

“Not by me,” he said. “Please Miss Hillary. Go see your Jacob. Go on.”

“I’ll tell Pa you did it.”

“No. Why you doin’ this to me. We supposed to be friends.”

“We are friends, that’s why. No one has to know.” She pulled at the rope around his waist and then pulled her dress over her head.

Leon’s body weakened. He tried not to do it, but his body and Hillary’s didn’t listen.

It was quick and she started to cry afterwards. “I’m sorry Leon. I’m so sorry. I’m crazy like my ma and pa. I’m crazy and pulled you into it.”

“Don’t be crazy,” he said. “Please, don’t be crazy. We’ll never do that again. Go see your Jacob.” He held her as she hit her fist against her thigh. He pulled her tight to his chest and rocked her. His eyes were open wide. He remembered Edna’s words. He was evil. And his evilness affected everyone around him. Hillary was next in line.

“You got to go,” he said. “You got to be quiet.”

She stood naked before him, bending to get her clothes. The smell of them rose with her and came putrid to Leon’s nose. A tart and sweet smell together that didn’t fit into the world quite right. Her heavy breasts hung down as she bent over and his bare penis rose again.

Hillary noticed and said, “That’s pretty.” Then she burst into tears. “What did I make you do?”

Thankful that she took the blame, Leon also feared who she might confide in. Her vulnerability could turn on them both.

“You’re my brother,” she said.

“I’m all nigger. Really, I feel it inside.”

She shook her head.

“No ma’am, Miss Hillary, no, I’m not your bother. Don’t think it. Please, say you know different.”

She put on her clothes and hugged him. “I won’t tell. I know I sinned, but it’d be a bigger sin if I told.”

“They’d lynch me,” Leon said as though they both didn’t already know it.

“It’s a burden I’ll carry now.”

Leon pulled his pants on. He calmed. “I got to go home.”

“Me too,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s my sinning mind. It’s the sinning I was born into. My pa did it and now I did. I think Hank did it too, with a shack girl.” Hillary touched Leon’s shoulder and reassured him one last time that she’d keep quiet.

When she was out of view, Leon ran along the creek, back into the woods, and all the way home.

S
weat dripped from Leon as he approached the shack. He slowed to catch his breath, then entered. No one was there except Martha. She accused and judged him. He knew the look.

“I’d a thought that white blood a made you smart, but you got nigger brains inside your white head.”

“You right. You right.”

“Don’t use that poor-boy talk no more. Not to me. It like you talkin’ down and I ain’t less than.”

“I’m sorry, Martha.”

She took her time moving across the room. “I don’t have no idea what you sorry for, boy, but I know guilt when I sees it.”

“I done nothing.”

She pierced his words with an outstretched finger.

“I didn’t do anything,” Leon corrected.

“You lie.”

“Martha.”

“Don’t keep lyin’ to me. Just don’t say nothin’. Just go help your pappy. And pray to the Lord.”

Leon left the shack and searched for Big Leon. He ran into Tunny, who told him that Big Leon headed out to check the north field for varmints.