The Bottoms (22 page)

It was about two days after our encounter with the Klan that Grandma come to live with us. She drove up in a dusty black Ford with a cracked windshield and a rabbit hung up on the front bumper. She was honking her horn like she wanted a train to move.

Women drove cars back then, but it wasn’t real popular among men folks down in the bottoms, especially if the woman was older, and therefore figured to be more dignified. Driving was considered masculine, like smoking, cussing, chewing, and fighting.

Grandma did a little of all of those. She and my grandfather had been one heck of a couple, and now that he was dead and gone, and Grandma was nearing seventy, I assumed she’d be calmer and older-looking.

But on the day she arrived, and we ran out to see who it was—Toby gimping around the edge of the house to join us—she got out of the car looking the same as always.

She was a little heavy, but really quite pretty for an older woman, tall and strong-looking. Her hair was a mixture of brown and white and she had it up in a tight bun. She wore lace-up brown men’s work shoes with a kind of sack dress that was once green but had faded to gray.

“Hey, there they are,” she said as we came out of the house. “My whole pack of heathens. Oh, my God, is that Tom?”

Tom was peeking out from behind Mother’s dress. She had only seen Grandma when she was little and had not been old
enough to appreciate what a whirlwind the old lady was. “Come here to me,” Grandma said.

“I don’t wanna,” Tom said.

Grandma tossed back her head and bellowed. “Ain’t she just the cutest little rascal.”

Toby was so startled by that laugh, he started barking.

In one smooth action, Grandma reached to the ground, grabbed a dirt clod and tossed it at Toby. Most of the clod came apart before it reached him, but it made him scuttle under the porch, where he continued to bark until Daddy hushed him.

Grandma latched her eye on me now. “You, boy, come here and give me a hug.”

I went. Grandma always overwhelmed me, but there was something about her that made you feel safe and confident. She was strong. She picked me off the ground and set me down so hard on my heels my back teeth shook.

She then proceeded to hug my Dad, actually picking him up as well, then she grabbed at Mama, who feinted and said, “Now calm down, Mama. I ain’t like them boys. I can’t take all that liftin’ up.”

Grandma laughed, grabbed Mama, and gave her a wet kiss on the cheek. Grandma, contrary to the fact she chewed tobacco and smoked and drank coffee all the time, had all her own teeth and they were as white as the ivory on a piano. She said she used a frayed willow branch and baking soda to clean ’em, but I think a lot of it was just natural. I doubt she ever had a cavity. She chewed peppermints all the time for breath freshener and kept chunks of them in a paper bag in her purse.

“Honey,” she said to me, “get that rabbit out of the bumper there. Take it out back and clean it and bring it in and I’ll fix us some dinner.”

She was talking about the noon meal. Lunch was something Yankees in cities ate. We called the late meal supper.

I looked at Daddy, not knowing what to do about that rabbit. He said to Grandma, “June, ain’t that rabbit a little ripe?”

“Aw, hell no. I hit it about two or three miles down the road. Jumped right out in front of me. Probably still warm. You still like my rabbit and dumplin’s don’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Daddy said.

“Good then,” Grandma said. “We got us a free dinner. Now shut up, Jacob. Get the rabbit, honey.”

I got it. Daddy put his arm around me. “Let’s go on out back and skin it,” he said.

Grandma put her arm around Mama’s shoulders. Tom clung to Mama’s dress, lest Grandma get her hands on her, and they all went in the house.

“That, son,” Daddy said, “is a human tornado.”

As we finished up the rabbit, which was really good-tasting, Grandma, who had been talking almost the entire time, even while eating, said, “I love and miss Grandpa, but I’m glad he’s dead.”

“Don’t say that!” Mama said.

“Was he in a lot of pain?” Daddy asked.

“No. No. Thank goodness for that. But he took to singin’ gospel songs. He’d just burst out in one from time to time, and he couldn’t carry a tune in a syrup bucket with a lid on it. It was miserable. And you couldn’t shut him up. I figured it was time for him to go just so I wouldn’t have to listen to that.”

“Mama,” my Mama said. “That’s terrible.”

“Naw, it ain’t. He didn’t have no mind to speak of, and he wouldn’t have wanted to just carry on. He was a smart man before the old age took him. I ever start talkin’ to myself, or heaven forbid sing a goddamn gospel song—”

“Mama, your language.”

“—just go on and shoot me in the head. Pass them biscuits. And, Harry, pass the gravy, and don’t put your thumb in it this time.”

We ate rabbit and sopped up gravy with big fluffy biscuits Grandma had cooked, and they were better than Mama’s. After dinner we were all too weak to go out in the fields and work, and Daddy pronounced, in honor of Grandma’s visit, except for those chores that couldn’t be put off, a day of rest. As for the barbershop, well, when he didn’t show Cecil knew what to do. It was best that way, Daddy trying to work the farm and being a constable and all.

It was a warm November day and cloudy. It and a full belly made me feel sleepy. I went out on the sleeping porch with Tom and we sat in the swing and talked.

“She reminds me of that witch in Hansel and Gretel,” Tom said.

“Naw. She’s all right. You just don’t know her. You give her some time. She’s more fun than Mama and Daddy, and she gets in trouble more than we do.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. When you was little we used to live with her and Grandpa. They moved off though, and Grandpa died.”

“I know that. I went to his funeral too.”

“You don’t remember that, do you?”

“I heard tell I went.”

“I remember it. It was a long ride up there and back.”

“She gonna stay?”

“Probably.”

“That means our room is her room, don’t it?”

“We can lay claim to the sleeping porch, most likely.”

I thought about that. There were a couple advantages. It was cool in the summer, and if you slid over next to the wall under Mama and Daddy’s room, you could hear them talkin’ even better than in our room.

Drawback was, in the winter it was cold as a well digger’s butt. Most likely we’d end up putting our pallets down in the kitchen then.

“Was Grandpa crazy too?”

“Might near. But he was quieter.”

“Well, I guess that’s somethin’,” Tom said. “She talks loud enough to shake dust off the ceilin’.”

Grandma come out on the sleeping porch then. She said, “Anybody for fishin’?”

Daddy had followed her out. He said, “I don’t let them go off fishin’ much. Not these days.”

Grandma looked at him as if he had spoken an obscenity even she was offended to hear. “Why not?”

“We’ve had a few problems of late,” Daddy said. Then, in a nutshell, he told her about the murders. He didn’t mention the Klan’s visit or Mose.

“They’ll be with me, Jacob. I’ll take ’em fishin’.”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Daddy,” Tom said. “I done forgot how to fish.”

“You can’t let somethin’ like that run their lives,” Grandma said. “I brought along my shotgun. I’ll take it with me.”

Daddy had doubts, but he said, “Don’t go off a long ways. There’s some close fishin’ holes.”

“I know where they are,” Grandma said. “Mose showed us all them holes. Is Old Mose still alive?”

“Yes,” Daddy said.

“He still live in that same shack?”

Daddy nodded. “I’d prefer you not go off that far.”

“All right then,” Grandma said. “Can they go?”

“Long as you’re with them. And stay pretty close to the house.”

Grandma put on some overalls. Me and Tom dug some worms and put them in a coffee can, got poles and fishing business together, and with Grandma toting a double-barrel twelve-gauge, we went into the woods, heading for the river.

The woods smelled sour that day, and the way the trees rose up and the sun shone down, it was like being in some kind of cathedral with light coming through stained glass. Dried pine needles crunched under our feet and colored leaves were blowing past us thick as raindrops.

I still felt full and sleepy, but the walk was starting to invigorate me. Grandma walked us down to the river and we picked a spot with a big wash in the bank and gathered up there, put worms on our hooks. We started fishing, and pretty soon, Grandma started talking.

“You remember me, Harry?”

“Yes ma’am. I remember when you moved off. I remember you good. Grandpa too.”

“Well, I’m glad to be back now.”

“I don’t remember you,” Tom said.

Grandma laughed. “I suppose you don’t.”

“I’m sorry about Grandpa,” I said.

“Me too. I couldn’t stay there near his grave though. A grave is just a grave. The man is in my heart. I love my daughter Earlene, but I had to get back to East Texas. They ain’t got no trees up there near Amarillo.”

“No trees?” Tom asked.

“They call some of ’em trees, but they’re more like bushes. And they ain’t got the rivers and the creeks like we got down here. Ain’t got the critters we got. And it’s harder to make you somethin’ to eat. Can’t grow nothin’.”

“Daddy says times are hard here,” I said.

“They’re hard all over. But here ain’t nothin’ like North Texas, and those poor people in Oklahoma and Kansas.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, Harry, they ain’t got the soil we got here to begin with. You can drop a seed in the ground here and it’ll grow … Look there, I got a bite … Damn! Took the worm off my hook. Danged fish are smarter than you think.”

Grandma pulled up the line and Tom put another worm on it.

“It was rough up there in North Texas. One day they had somethin’ growin’. Corn, cotton, peas, and such, then it got dry. Didn’t no rain come and the ground got crusty as a scab. A few clouds floated around to tease us now and then, but they wouldn’t give up water. Finally they quit jokin’ us and just went away altogether. Everything got baked. Corn yellowed on the stalks, ears shriveled up like caterpillars on a hot piece of tin. Taters rotted in the ground, or when they were dug they were like pine knots. Not fit to eat, even if you boiled them from here till next Sunday, put salt and pepper all over ’em, and beat ’em with a hammer. Cotton wouldn’t grow and the peas burned up.

“Dirt got so dry it turned like face powder. Wind come along, all blue norther and wild, picked up the dirt, made a cloud of it, and blew it around. Then there was grit in everything. ’Tween your teeth, in the crack of your butt, twixt your toes, in anything you had to eat and drink. That ole wind worked dirt out from under rocks and sucked all the goodness out of the soil, leavin’ just sand that would run through your fingers like water. Then there were the grasshoppers.”

“We got grasshoppers,” Tom said.

“ ’Course you do. But they ain’t starvin’ to death here, and they ain’t eatin’ everything green or brown that’s got some life in it. They came from all over, them hoppers. They ate what was left growin’. Ate the leaves off the bushes, ate them things they call trees up there. And they was always gettin’ in your hair. It was a mess. Then them dark clouds of dust that hung around got caught up good on the constant wind, and the sky
turned black as preacher sin, ’cept for where the sun bled through like a bloody, seepin’ head. All that dirt blowed away, all the decent topsoil toted off to God knows where. Then all them folks started headin’ out to California for pickin’ jobs. Went out there in old cars and trucks as worn out as the crops and the people in ’em.”

“Pickin’?” I asked.

“Fruit and berries, Harry. Whatever they got grows out there needs pickin’. There’s Okies goin’ by the hundreds out that way. Texans too. I figure they’re just chasin’ that dirt blowed away, like chasin’ a dream. Anyway, they all went west, and I figured I’d go the other way.”

“What about Aunt Earlene?”

Grandma cast her fresh worm out into the water.

“She and her husband was dead-set for California. They done been told it’s the Promise Land, and they believe it. I figured I didn’t want to get that far from Texas. I want to die in Texas. East Texas anyway. Least I’ll be in damp ground and not some dusty hole. I like to think a worm can live in this dirt, and if it and all its friends eat me, then I at least get carried all over East Texas.”