The Sittin' Up (11 page)

“Go on home. You ole fool!” Miss Florenza yelled back. Then she turned the radio up louder and danced around on the porch like I reckon Aunt Juanita did at the Cotton Club. Sara disappeared from the window. Uncle Goat did too.

I
t seemed the Low Meadows women never recovered from the pretty woman with the short dress and a pantry filled with liquor. This sittin' up would be no different. Those same women had their mouths poked out now. Just the sight of poor Miss Florenza could start some mess. Now, on the other hand, the menfolk were looking at Miss Florenza like she was a piece of red velvet cake. I think the menfolk tried not to peep, but they just couldn't help themselves. It was something about her that was more beautiful than Miss Marie. I think it had something to do with her sinning ways.

When TJ came in the door to bring a pie that Lessie sent, he looked at Miss Florenza like he was under a spell. Then he followed her to the kitchen while she got the reverend a plate.

“Come on, Bean. Let's go and see what's going on,” Pole said, already headed to the kitchen.

“Can you fix me a plate?” TJ asked Miss Florenza.

“Where's your wife?” Ma asked, rushing in.

“Bessie and Lessie at the funeral home helping Mrs. Gordon fold the obituaries for tomorrow.”

“That's all well and good. Then go pick your wife and sister-in-law up. Surely they need a ride home.” While Ma was giving TJ a tongue-lashing, Miss Florenza took the reverend his plate. He was waiting for her in the dining room. Ma didn't say a word to me and Pole. She just gave us the “go somewhere and sit down” look. Next thing I knew, a loud scream came from the sittin' up room.

“I believe that's Miss Katie Mae,” Pole said.

“Lord, I know I been changed,” she cried out. “The angels in hev'n done changed my name.”

We ran right past Sara, who had not moved from her chair since she walked in the door.

“I bet you a quarter she shouts louder than Miss Moszella,” Pole said with a laugh. She knew good and well she didn't have no quarter. We grabbed us a chair. We wanted to get a good look. Miss Katie Mae was really upset about Mr. Bro. Wiley. When Mr. Bro. Wiley took sick, she would always come by the house and say a prayer with him since she was the deacon's wife and the head steward at our church. She would fix him a plate of her good cooking and listen to the radio with him.

“It's all right, honey. It's all right,” Deacon Ward told his wife. Ralph looked real upset as he watched his mama carrying on.

“Where's the body? I want to see Mr. Bro. Wiley one last time. Where is he?” Miss Katie Mae asked.

“Right here, honey, but you got to open your eyes to see him,” Deacon Ward said.

“This is our last prayer, Mr. Bro. Wiley. This is our last prayer,” Miss Katie Mae said as she and Deacon Ward viewed the body. Ralph looked at Mr. Bro. Wiley too but he showed no emotion. He loved the slave man but Ralph ain't never cried as long as I known him. While they were carrying on, Real Kill arrived. He looked drunk and crazy as a bedbug.

“Hey, Pretty Flo,” Real Kill said to Miss Florenza as she came in to see who was doing all that crying.

“I said,
hey,
Pretty Florenza.”

The woman acted like he wasn't even there.

Papa didn't take too kindly to folk being disrespectful in his house. He didn't drink, so there was no drinking allowed in our house. Ma knew it was 'bout to be a mess if Real Kill didn't hush his mouth.

“Sweet, sweet Florenza . . . I love you, gal,” Real Kill said. Then he wrapped his arms around his skinny body that looked liked Mr. King David's use to look. He danced slowly in the middle of the floor like he was in love.

“Real Kill, this-this is a sittin' up for Mr. Bro. Wiley. You ain't gonna be-be carrying on in my house. You need to-to leave,” Papa said.

“Hush your mouth, man. I ain't going nowhere without Miss Florenza,” Real Kill said.

“All right, Real Kill, I'm warn-warning you-you to get on out of here with-with your-your mess now.”

“I said, hush up, Stanbury, with your
no-no
talking self,” Real Kill said with a big laugh. I couldn't talk back to a grown-up but I didn't particularly like Real Kill making fun of my papa. I had to remember what Mr. Bro. Wiley told me and Pole: “Don't worry about what folk call you. Just worry about what you answer to.”

Mr. Bro. Wiley must have forgot to tell Papa what he told me because Papa was madder than all get out. His face was twisted with anger as he sized Real Kill up for a whupping.

Right then Uncle Goat walked in the door just as clean as a ten-penny nail. He had on a nice green suit like Reverend Hornbuckle's brown suit. My uncle had no children and no wife, so he spent his money on clothes and women. I was wondering what took him so long till he took his hat off. His hair was usually nappy but now it was as straight as Mr. Thomas's hair. He had gone home and put enough cooking grease in his hair to fry a chicken. Poor Uncle Goat's chest was out with foolish pride of what he thought of himself without anyone telling him. Ma just shook her head at her brother.

But I was glad to see Uncle Goat, because he was good friends with Real Kill. Maybe he could make him shut his mouth.

“Real Kill, you best leave Stanbury be. He ain't playing with you,” Uncle Goat said.

Too late!

Papa took a deep breath like he was gathering enough wind to blow the house down. He didn't even bother to open the screen door that he'd made himself last winter. Papa picked Real Kill up and threw him out the door, over the porch railing, and onto the ground.

Bam!

Down he went!

When Real Kill landed, the screen door was under him like a bed. He opened his eyes and stared straight at the sky. He looked at me and Pole standing on the porch and he glanced at Mr. and Mrs. Creecy, who had parked their car alongside the road and just walked up to the house. Ma was some kind of embarrassed in front of the dignified town folk. Mr. Creecy was dressed fine and he had clearly just left the barbershop with such a nice haircut. Mrs. Creecy had on black from head to toe. It made her gray hair look almost blue against her paper-sack brown skin. The dignified folk weren't used to this kinda carrying on, but Ralph was loving every minute of it. He wasn't so smart, but he was a good boxer. That boy would sit by the radio for hours listening to reruns of Joe Louis's 1938 rematch against fighter Max Schmeling. At that moment, I realized he had dreams too. Ralph wanted to be a prizefighter one day. That night he had a ringside seat.

“Lord, have mercy, Husband!” Ma yelled. She was trying to stop Papa from hurting Real Kill some more. Mr. Jabo lit his pipe. He seemed to be enjoying himself as much as Ralph was. I reckon he'd been wanting to give Real Kill a beating ever since Real Kill told Miss Lottie Pearl to shut up at Mr. King David's funeral.

Uncle Goat wasn't about to help his friend because he didn't want to mess up his clothes and horrible hairdo. He stood on the porch to make sure the slight rain that had started to fall didn't nappy his hair up.

“Jabo, make Stanbury stop before he kill that boy,” Ma yelled, but Mr. Jabo ignored Ma and let Papa have his way with poor Real Kill. Papa rolled Real Kill over and picked him up by the seat of his britches and threw him a little farther in the grass.

“Stop it, Husband!” Ma screamed again, but Papa picked Real Kill up again and threw him some more. Deacon Ward finally pulled Ralph away because he was on the ground like a referee, getting ready to count Real Kill out.

“Stop, stop, stop, ole man!” Real Kill hollered.

“N'all, boy. You need-need-need to be taught some manners.”

“Somebody get this fool,” Real Kill pleaded.

“Get-get off my land, boy,” Papa shouted, “and don't you come back till you learn some manners.” Papa knew good and well that we lived on the Wileys' land, not our own. He gave Real Kill one last lick for the road. Real Kill was too drunk and too beat-up to do anything except run down Low Meadows Lane. After he dashed off, everybody went inside as if nothing happened. Me, Ralph, and Pole stood there to see what the dignified folk would do next, but they were already saying good-bye.

Ma hung her head in shame at the way Papa had carried on. “Mr. Creecy, you and Mrs. Creecy come on in and see Mr. Bro. Wiley.” Mrs. Creecy looked horrified. Mr. Creecy was trying his best not to laugh.

“We best get back to town before the storm comes,” Mrs. Creecy told Ma.

“Don't you want a piece of apple pie?” Ma asked.

“Thank you, but we best be moving on. Besides, the wind seems to be picking up,” Mr. Creecy said. The dignified folks went on about their business.

B
ack in the house, Reverend Hornbuckle and Miss Florenza were sitting with Mr. Bro. Wiley's body like they were the National Guard. The reverend never stopped chewing what had to be his fifth piece of chicken. Wait till Ma see him eating in her living room.

“Folks, it's time for us to pay our last respects to Mr. Bro. Wiley before the storm comes,” Reverend Hornbuckle said, standing up. We all gathered around Mr. Bro. Wiley's casket and held hands. Ma rolled her eyes at the reverend when he put his plate in the chair Mr. Gordon brought over.

“Let us pray,” the reverend said. We lowered our heads.

“Dear Lord, we need you every hour,” Reverend Hornbuckle prayed. Suddenly, a clap of thunder struck with a loud boom. So loud that it hurt my ears. The womenfolk jumped with fear. “Lord, we need you to come by here and bless this sittin' up. Bless the people who have gathered here to honor and praise Mr. Bro. Wiley.”

Pole held my hand tight as the rain began to fall hard and the preacher prayed on.

“Pole, you cutting my blood off. Don't hold so tight.”

“Shh,” Ma said.

'Fore I could breathe another breath, Miss Lottie Pearl, who can't sing a lick, belted out a song.

“
May the work I've done, speak for me. May the work I've done, speak for me.
”

I wondered why folk who can't sing don't know it.

“
When I've done the best I can and my friends don't understand, may the work that I've done, speak for me,
” Ma joined in.

When they finished singing, Reverend Hornbuckle reached in his suit pocket, but came up empty.

“Anybody got a Bible?” he asked.

“Who ever saw a preacher man with no Bible,” Ralph whispered to me. I looked at all the grown folk looking at Reverend Hornbuckle in disbelief.

“Why he don't have a Bible, Papa?” I asked.

“Bean, get-get the Bible,” Papa said like he was mad at me for asking a good question. I knew he couldn't be ashamed of me after the way he had just embarrassed Ma in front of company twenty minutes earlier. Surely not.

I reached in the dresser drawer behind me and gave him Mr. Bro. Wiley's Bible.

Ma had it wrapped in dead folk fabric just like everything that she thought was important.

“‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,'” Rev. Hornbuckle read.

Before he could even finish reading the Twenty-Third Psalm, Miss Lottie Pearl started singing again.

“Oh, Lottie Pearl, we didn't need another song,” Miss Florenza said with a big laugh. Miss Florenza must have lost her mind telling Ma's best friend what to do in our house.

Pole's eyes got big 'cause she knew her mama was about to raise pure cane. Ralph's ears went up like a rabbit's. He was ready for another fight.

“Florenza, you got one more thing to say to me before you in that casket with Mr. Bro. Wiley,” Miss Lottie Pearl told the sinner.

“Ain't nobody scared of you, woman.”

“All right, ladies,” Reverend Hornbuckle finally said. Before the womenfolk could fuss some more, the door flew wide-open and Real Kill came running back inside. He was wet as a duck and out of breath.

“Didn't I tell-tell you to stay out of my house?” Papa yelled.

Real Kill tried to stand up straight, but the liquor was still in him, so he held on to Ralph's shoulder.

“Man, listen to me. You got to listen,” Real Kill pleaded.

“Let him talk, Husband,” Ma said. “Something's got to be wrong.”

“Speak fast, Real Kill. You best-best speak fast,” Papa told him.

“The flood is coming. I just ran into Christian talking to Mr. Creecy. He was headed to his house to get his belongings. Folks in town told him the dam broke in Occoneechee Neck. Them folks headed into town where the land is high. He said that white folk told him the Low Meadows is gonna be underwater 'fore noon tomorrow. Said our dam might break! Mr. Creecy asked Mr. Christian to come and warn y'all 'cause he said I was too drunk. When Mr. Creecy left I promised Christian I would take care of this, so here I am. Here I am, Florenza.”

We were so busy with the sittin' up nobody checked the river to see how high it was. But we knew if Mr. Creecy had sent word for us to get out of the Low Meadows it was time to go. Mr. Christian didn't care much for the colored folk, so I wondered if he would have told Real Kill to warn us if it were not for Mr. Creecy.

“Y'all know that river gets mad when it rains. It might run us out of here this time,” Real Kill said.

“Shut up, Real Kill. You know good and well Christian don't talk to no colored folk,” Miss Florenza said, laughing.

“Oh, sugar. I came back for you and you talking ugly to me. Why, baby? Why? Why you so mean to Real Kill?” he said as he tried to stand his tall lean body up straight. He tipped his hat on his narrow head, which was shaped just like Big Shot Bob's pea head.

Papa moved in between Real Kill and Miss Florenza. He put his hand on Real Kill's chest. Some of that liquor must have worn off because he looked down at Papa's hand and said, “Get your hands off me, Stanbury.”

Ma gave Papa the Evil Eye that said don't beat on Real Kill no more. “Both of you, stop it. Children, get some ice for Real Kill's eye. Pole, fix him a plate. We need to finish the sittin' up and get out of these Low Meadows,” Ma said. Real Kill's eye had grown twice the size it was before Papa punched him in it.

Ralph was following us and jabbing his fists in the air like he was ready for another fight. Pole wrapped the ice in the dead folk fabric that Ma had cut for a dish cloth and held it to Real Kill's head.

“I'll hold it. You fix Real Kill a plate,” Ralph said. He would do anything to be near the action.

“Boy, I'm going to be a doctor. Why do I have to fix his plate?” Pole fussed.

I peeked out the window while Real Kill got his nursing and ate. I had never seen so much rain in my whole life. I believed that Ole River was sad that Mr. Bro. Wiley was dead and gone. It was time to get out of the Low Meadows for sure. The chickens had started to run about and the cows were trying to break the fence. Mule Bennett was banging on the barn door.

“Look at all that water. We need to get out of here,” I said.

“I told you that ten minutes ago,” Real Kill said. Ralph dropped the ice as he and Pole joined me at the window.

“Get your folks,” Ralph told me, but he didn't have to say a word. I was already halfway to the sittin' up room.

Papa stood in the doorway.

“Come quick. The water rising,” I whispered to him. Some of the menfolk saw Papa and Mr. Jabo leave the room. They followed, joining us in the kitchen. The womenfolk kept on praising the Lord along with Reverend Hornbuckle and a few men that stayed behind.

“Look, Papa. Look at the chickens and the cows. They moving up to high places 'cause they scared of the water. What we gonna do? What in the world we gonna do?” Pole cried.

“It's gonna be all right, baby, don't you worry,” Mr. Jabo assured Pole.

“See, I told you it was time to go,” Real Kill said, biting into another chicken leg.

“Stop eating my food, man. Y'all come with-with me,” Papa said. “We got to save them animals and get these folk out of here.”

Soon as Papa and the other menfolk went outside, me, Pole, and Ralph went right back to the window. Mr. Jabo and Uncle Goat measured the water with a stick.

“Come on, Jabo, we-we got to get them cows and Mule Bennett up to Stony Hill before they all drown,” Papa said.

“I'm going with you,” Uncle Goat told my papa.

Mr. Jabo and the men didn't say another word. They listened to my papa like folk in the Low Meadows always do. They knew my papa was a good man and smart too, even if he only had a second-grade education. They trusted him.

“I'll go to my store. We might need extra food,” said Mr. Luther. He owned the only store in the Low Meadows. After the white man Mr. Coley closed his store we didn't have a place to shop for a whole year. Mr. Coley got tired fooling with us colored folk and left without saying a word. He was always mad with Ma and Miss Lottie Pearl because he didn't want coloreds touching stuff in the store unless they were gonna buy it. Ma was a peaceful woman but she would go in that store and try on hats just to let Mr. Coley know that what he was doing was wrong.

“Why is he back here in the Low Meadows with us colored folk if the store ain't for us?” Ma had told Papa.

“Gal, I'm gonna put the law on you if you put on one more hat,” Mr. Coley once told Ma.

“Go ahead. And when you do, we gonna stop buying in your store and walk to Rich Square to get what we need from Mr. Taylor.” After Ma said that, Miss Lottie Pearl grabbed an orange out the basket on the counter. She mashed that orange so hard that the juice squirted out. A little bit hit Mr. Coley right in the eye. That was the last straw for Mr. Coley. On Saturday, Miss Lottie Pearl was mashing oranges; come Monday morning, folk were walking six miles for a jug of milk. That's right. Mr. Coley closed his store while we were at church without saying one word. He did leave a note nailed on the front door.

CLOSED TO NIGGERS!

CLOSED PERIOD!

NOW MASH THAT ORANGE!

 

Mama and Miss Lottie Pearl was so happy they had told Mr. Coley off that they bragged for weeks. Papa and Mr. Jabo were not amused.

“You-you both could have been shot for trespassing!” Papa shouted.

“And we couldn't have done nothing about it!” Mr. Jabo added. I don't believe Mr. Coley had one intention of calling the law or shooting the womenfolk. He was sick of us and we were sick of him.

Sometimes colored folks just get tired, I reckon. Too tired to be scared.

It took a year, but Mr. Luther went around to all the colored in the Low Meadows each month until he had gathered enough money to buy the store. Folk gave him money they had been saving all their lives. Mr. Luther and Papa paid Mr. Coley a visit to discuss buying the store. Mr. Coley must have thought about that orange juice in his eye because he asked for Mr. Luther's mule too. Poor Papa and Mr. Luther had to walk all the way home. Papa's leg was swollen and hurting. Mr. Luther was sad that his mule was gone, but we were happy to have a store in the Low Meadows again.

Papa and the Low Meadows men would do anything for us. Saving our lives from the storm was no different.

• • •

“Come on with me, Real Kill. You can help me gather the food,” Mr. Luther said.

I didn't want to think hard of Real Kill but I bet he was hoping to get a little drink of liquor while he was at the store.

“Y'all be careful,” Papa warned.

I guess he had forgiven Real Kill for talking bad to him. I reckon Real Kill had also forgiven Papa for beating the stuffing out of him.

Mr. Bro. Wiley used to tell us that hating and not forgiving folk will get you to hell quicker than any sickness. “Forgive those who treat you wrong. Your load in life will be lighter,” the old slave told me.

“Deacon Ward, don't get too close, but you need to check the river. See how high it is. We gonna have to finish the sittin' up and leave here soon,” Papa said.

“I'm going with my daddy,” Ralph said and ran outside. Deacon Ward didn't send him back. My papa was right when he said Ralph became a man the day Deacon Ward let him stop going to school.

Then Papa came over to the window.

“Bean, I want you to go in the sittin' up room and tell your ma what's going on out here. Don't scare her. Tell her that the water is getting high and we can't wait till morning to leave. Tell Wife and Lottie Pearl to gather all the food they can. Tell the rest of the menfolk they need to get their boats ready.” Then they all walked away.

Me and Pole went back to the sittin' up to tell the womenfolk that the flood was almost in the Low Meadows.

Mama looked in my eyes the way she did the night Mr. Bro. Wiley went to heaven.

“Where is Husband?” she asked.

I took Ma by her soft, fat hand and led her to the kitchen. Darkness had started to fall, so I pulled the curtain back and held the lantern to the window. Ma's face changed when she saw how high the water had risen.

“Lord, have mercy, Jesus. Help me if you please! Look at all that water.” She turned to me. “Where did you say Husband went?”

“Papa, Mr. Stanbury, and Goat gone to get the cows moved up to Stony Hill,” Pole answered.

“Real Kill and Mr. Luther gone to save the food in the store, while Deacon Ward and Ralph went to see how high the river is. Papa left me in charge,” I said, 'cause that's how I felt at that very minute.

“You doing good, Bean. You doing real good,” Ma said.

“Mr. Stanbury said for us to tell you and the other grown folk to get ready to leave here,” Pole said. “He said to tell the menfolk to get their boats ready and for you and my ma to gather up food.”