Keye looked at Jule and Bertha Mae, his white face livid with rage. "I ain't sharin' no woman, I ain't sharin' her with nobody."
Jule felt his muscles snap taut. He looked at the white man, at the veins swelling in his neck. Jule braced himself as Keye walked toward him, the butt of his gun clutched between his fingers. "I'm goin' to teach you a lesson-somethin' you'll remember as long as you live!..."
And Jule did remember, long after he bad fled Alabama after the brutal encounter with Keye. lie remembered it on the neon-lit streets of Harlem, in the soft arms of Louise, in the fevered nights and shallow days of his fast-paced life in New York. And he never forgot Bertha Mae...
Principal Characters
JULE JACKSON
Born and raised on a farm. Trouble between himself and a white man over a girl causes him to leave for New York-and safety.
BERTHA MAE
Circumstance forces her to become mistress to Jule's white boss, although she loves Jule.
JAKE SIMMONS
Owns a Harlem' nightspot. He befriends Jule, gives him a job. Jules lives with Jake until a woman without scruples separates them.
ANNE
Married but unhappy with her husband. Something about Jule attracts her and she "goes" for him.
ZELL INGRAM
Successful artist. He and Jule become fast friends and live together at the "Y." Tries to get Jule back on the right track.
JEFF GORDON
A shady character who Jule finds is the man who has been running around with his girl, to the amusement of everyone, including the girl.
LOUISE
She and Jule meet at a swimming pool. They become "intimate" friends, until Jule discovers her relationship with Jeff.
*CHAPTER ONE*
HE REMEMBERED the days and nights, the changing seasons, and the slow passing of the years. Days flamed out of the east, dew-stained and fresh. Days stood still, season merging into season. The rising sun crept through the cracks between the logs in the cabin where he was born. But the nights were weird things, vivid and real. He remembered the nights.
He'd lie awake on his pallet and watch the flames from firewood flicker against the soot-covered bricks. The flames danced like forked lightning, and he'd watch their eerie patterns with a kind of wonder, his beady-black eyes shining.
"You sleep, Jule?" his ma would say.
"No, Ma."
"You ain't sleep yet, boy?"
"I is tryin' to git to sleep now, Ma."
"Boy, ef you don't git to sleep, I gwine fan yo' tail! You hears me, Jule."
"I hears you, Ma."
He'd close his eyes then, the lids held tight and quivering. Flames beat against his eyeballs and went on dancing, like frisky demons, through his head.
He cut his teeth on a ham hock, and grew out of babyhood on a diet of corn-meal mush and buttermilk. When he was two years old, his ma let him sit between the handle bars of her plow, while she furrowed the earth in long, snake-like rows. And when he was three he walked behind her and dropped seeds into the furrows that she made.
He remembered the fields at planting season. He remembered the late springs when the earth was fallow and green with growing things. The summers were lush and heavy with heat; but with the coming of fall the earth yielded its ripened fruits. The earth was a woman. She conceived and gave birth. She suckled her young at her breast until they were full-grown. Then she relinquished them and slept silently until she was ready to conceive again.
Then the winters came. Winters were bare and fruitless, save for the creeping things that went forth in the night. Then his ma took her dog and ax and went into the woods to hunt possum and coon. Possum meat was' fresh meat. Possum meat kept your belly warm when the wind howled down the chimney.
He went hunting with his ma the first time when he was six. He toted the lantern while his ma carried the ax on her shoulder. His ma said: "Big possums runs up little trees, an' little possums runs up de big ones. Dat's de way possums is!"
He'd climb the big trees with the lantern hooked over his arm, but the smaller trees his ma'd chop down with her ax. He'd pry the possum out of the hollow with a stick, letting the light shine in the creature's eyes. The possum would flop over on his back, grinning at the light, and the boy would catch him by the tail and drop him in a gunny sack.
Possums and coons ... coons and possums! Sometimes, when the catch was good, his ma would gut the possums and salt them down, like pig meat. Salted possum tasted sweet like pig meat, too. Salted possum stuck to your ribs when the winters were cold.
His ma worked the plot of land around the cabin where he was born. Old Alex let her work.the land. "Ollie," he said, "you kin work this patch of ground as long as you want to. It ain't much. But what you makes will be your'n. You kin milk th' cows an' help Caroline around th' kitchen, an' that'll be pay enough fo' th' land."
And that had pleased Ollie and made her feel proud. She'd never had anything she could call her own.
His ma's name was Ollie Miss, and his pa was called Big Jule. The child had never know his pa. Once, his ma said: "You got a paf Son, jes' like evahbody else. Mebbe, some day, you gwine see yo' pa!" And the child's eyes grew big and wistful in his face.
"Wuz my pa a big man, Ma?"
"Yo' pa wuz a big man," his ma said. "Big an' wild like de trees whut grows in de swamp!"
When he was eight years old, little Jule could handle a plow like a man. He furrowed growing cotton and bottom corn. He took a hoe and weeded out the grass where the plow couldn't reach. And when he was ten, he was milking the cows at daylight, while his ma tended the livestock in Alex' lot.
Alex was growing old. He had eighty acres of land, and he and Caroline lived jn the main house called the "yard." Except for the plot Ollie worked, and a smaller plot Alex kept for himself, the farm was divided between sharecroppers: Newt and Bell, Cooper Jackson and his brood, and Dr. Mootry. Dr. Mootry was a little man and his real name was Lucius Kim-bell. But he always called himself "Dr. Mootry" because it made him sound big. On Sundays, when he went to church, he strutted around like a peacock, greeting people and shaking their hands, and announcing in a deep, bass voice: "I is Dr. Mootry, an' I feels poppin' fine!"
Caroline said that Alex had always been a fool like that, taking in every old stray that came along. Only that wasn't the way Caroline put it. The way she put it was: "Alex is po' as Job's ol' turkey hen, livin' from hand to mouth. Half de time he ain't got enough patches to cover his own behind. But every ol' no-gooder whut comes along wid a po' mouth an' a long face, Alex gives him a shack an' a piece of land to plow. An' when dat triflin' no-gooder don't makes nothin' he jes' walk off big as day, leavin' Akx wid a pile o' debts! ... Lord God," Caroline said, "I don't knows whut made me stick wid Alex dese forty years!"
True, Alex was free and easy-going. True, too, he took care of his hands and their needs. He bought them food and clothes and supplies for their crops. At harvFst-time he divided the crops equally and gave them what was theirs. If his share didn't cover the debts, he simply marked off the rest and mortgaged his land again for the coming year. That was Alex.
Caroline knew Alex. She knew his weakness. She knew, too, what made her stick for forty years. Caroline was a woman!...
When the child Jule was eight, Alex took him to Sunday school and taught him to read the Bible. Alex taught him the simple things-things he'd never forget.
"Jule," Alex said, "you is a bright boy. Yo' ma wants you to be somebody. She wants you to know yo' ABC's an' how to write yo' name!"
And so it was. The child Jule went to Sunday school with Alex. He heard about Job and his afflictions, and how the sores made cancers on Job's body. He was told about Joshua and how Joshua fought the battle of Jericho and the walls came tumbling down. He was told about David and Goliath too: how little David killed the Philistine with a stone from his slingshot. Then he heard about the Children of Israel crossing the Red Sea, dry-shod. The waters opened up and stood aside, like two walls, as they passed through.
These were the things Alex taught him: things people had been teaching for a thousand years. And these things the child Jule never forgot. Alex gave him picture cards with the Bible text printed underneath. He taught him to recognize words and write them down. And that's the way Jule began to read and write.
But the story of the Israelites excited the child. "Ma," he said, "kin water stand up straight, like a natch'l man? Kin people walk betwix' it an' don't git drowned or nothin'? "
"Water is water," his ma said. "Water is somethin' what God made!"
"But, Ma, did God make it to stand up straight?"
"God is God," his ma said. "God is, Jesus-an' Jesus can do anythin' He wants to do!"
When Jule was twelve, he had a yardful of possum dogs. Alex gave him a female puppy to romp and play with. But when the puppy was old enough, the boy mated her and trained thl litter to be possum hounds.
Jule ate corn pone for breakfast and corn pone for supper, and hunted possums at night through the fall and winter.
Corn pone tasted greasy and sweet. Corn pone was cooked in a skillet, with embers from hickory wood heaped upon a lead covering. The covering made an oven out of the skillet, baking the corn pone to a golden brown. Corn pone was a mixture of meal and salt and water, with drippings from fat back, fried to a crisp. Drippings added flavor and seasoning, and the boy ate it as a mush, with sorghum poured from the lip of a stone jug. Sorrghum bit with a tang, but grease from fat back was soothing. He ate it and washed it down with a gourd of buttermilk that left his throat cool and fresh. He ate it and thought about honey that came from bees.
*CHAPTER TWO*
Silver trumpets and possum hounds; A white road, a blue moon, A black boy!...
THE boy stepped out of the cabin door with the dogs yelping at his heels. His ma said: "Dogs will take you where you wants to go, Son, an' fetch you back. Dogs is got sense like people-only they ain't gwine do you no harm."
The boy hit the road, picking up his feet in long, rambling strides, his toes digging sand. The air felt cool and the moon shone like day. His dog horn was tied to two shoelaces and flung over his shoulder. The lantern dangled from his wrist, and in his right hand he carried a hickory stick, sharpened to a dagger point. The dogs kept circling around and smelling in the underbrush and coming back to yelp at his heels. The road rushed toward him, white and silent.
The road skirted hills and cotton fields and dipped through thickets and bottom land. Then it flattened out, a ribbon of sand in the moonlight. Cabins and barns stood in open fields, dark and silent now, and fodder stacks looked like scarecrows against the backdrop of night.
The road began to lift, and the boy felt the sweat pop out on his face and trickle down his spine. His throat felt suddenly dry and dusty. His breath was coming fast. He loosed the top about his throat and shifted the lantern to his right hand. The road followed a rail fence through a pine thicket and leveled off at the crest of a hill. Then it dipped again.
He forded the stream above Gabe's pond, the water lapping at his armpits, and the dogs followed him, their sleek heads bobbing in the moonlight. An owl hooted, then fell silent. From somewhere he could hear the faint howl of a treeing dog.
He came up dripping from the stream and paused to squeeze the water from his overalls and top. The dogs shook themselves and licked his face and hands. The air felt clammy and hot. Crickets and pond frogs set up a din about his ears. He mopped his face with the cuff of his sleeve and peered into the night. Tan Yard Hill loomed in the distance.
The boy made his way to the hilltop, his overalls clinging to his flesh. Big Swamp lay sprawled and murmuring at his feet.
The dogs gathered about him, anxious and' trembling, and began to whine. He spoke to them softly and dropped to one knee to lace his shoes against the heavy footing of the swamp. Then he knotted the horn to the lantern and picked up the hickory stick. The dogs stood poised, watching him, their flanks quivering. He made a soft whistling sound through his teeth, and the dogs howled and broke for the swamp.
They talked to-him now, their voices blending in a kind of rhythm. They talked to him in the only language they knew. They talked like possum hounds, deep in the bowels of the swamp, with the hot scent of the prey burning in their nostrils. And the boy listened.
"Spot's in de lead," he told himself simply. "Spot is headin' de pack!" ... He grinned and looked up at the moon, the whites of his eyes glistening. He picked up the lantern and started for the swamp.
The swamp swallowed him, blotting out the rest of the world. It smelled of damp, musty earth and decaying leaves. The air was still. Briars and dense thickets made footing difficult. Once, he tripped over a tree trunk and bogged down to his shoetops. He stood panting and listening, his head cocked to one side. The dogs were still running, their voices ringing like silver trumpets. He lifted his feet from the bog with a soft, sucking sound and shifted to higher ground for surer footing. He skirted a lily pond, ducked through a canebrake, and plunged headlong down the swamp....
His ma could hear the dogs. She said: "Jule done reached Tan Yard Hill now, an' de dogs done started to run." She rolled over in her bed and lay flat on her back. A lump welled up in the pit of her throat. "Jule, Son, dis is de first time you done been in de swamp all by yo'self. De first time I ain't wid you! ... But all you got to do is follow de dogs. Jes' follow dem like I done told you, 'cause they ain't gwine lead you wrong."
On a damp night the sounds came back loud and strong with the drift of the wind, and Ollle could hear the dogs for miles and miles, going down the swamp. But, tonight, the sounds kept coming in spurts and fading away. She held her breath and listened.
The dogs' voices swelled again. "They done reached de canebrake below de hammock yonder, headin' straight for Little Texas!" She sighed and a smile quivered on her lips. "Must be a little coon," she went on softly, " 'cause little coons kin run!"
The sounds grew fainter, died away. Shafts of moonlight streamed through cracks in the roof and made splotches on the floor. OUie stared at the moonlight and her thoughts began to drift. She thought about Big Jule, the night he went away. She remembered it clearly now, the way it was, as though it were only yesterday. And tears flooded her eyes.
It was a dark night, a misty night, and a wind was blowing. Big Jule ate his supper early, then stretched out across the bed. r
Long and loose-jointed he was, his eyes roving restlessly about the room. Ollie watched his eyes. They were like firelight.
"Somethin' de matter, Jule?"
"Nothin' ain't de matter," Jule said.
"But you don't look satisfied, or somethin,' Jule!"
He got up and opened the shutter to the window and stared into the night. He stood there with the wind whipping the mist against his face. Then he closed the shutter and began to dress silently. Ollie watched him, her eyes wide and still. He put on his trousers and two good shirts, with his overalls and top on top. He buttoned the top tight to his throat and turned up the collar. Then he pulled the cap low over one eye and lit a cigarette. He moved toward the door.
"Well, so long, Ollie."
The words hit her like a blow in the pit of her stomach, and her body felt suddenly weak. She struggled to her feet. "But you be comin' back soon, won't you, Jule."
"Kind of hard to say, Ollie."
She stared at him. "You means you don't know if you be comin' back or nothin'? ... You-you ain't gwine away to stay, is you?"
"I feels like travelin' a little bit, Ollie. Jes' feels like walkin' on new ground I ain't nevah walked on befo'. "
"But Jule!" she cried. "Jule-"
She caught him and pinned him against the door, both arms locked about his waist. Big Jule stood there, his jaw lean and hard against the firelight, the cigarette butt dangling from his lips.
"But I-I is gwine have a baby, Jule! I is-is..."
The words died in her throat. She sucked air into her lungs and looked up at his face. His eyes stared down at her. The muscles along his jaw began to twitch.
She dropped her arms and backed away, cold sweat breaking out on her forehead. She stood silent for a moment, spring at nothing at all. Then she said quietly: "It's all right, Jule. I understands. I-I jes' don't means nothin to you no mo'. I means, deep down inside you, I don't" She fell silent again, and her eyes went back to his face. "Like you done said-you jes' wants to walk on some new ground ... new ground you ain't nevah walked on befo'i An' when you wants somethin' new, Jule, ain't nothin' nobody kin do to stop you!"
Big Jule stood there with his hand on the doorknob, his eyes feeling over her face. He just looked at her. Cigarette smoke curled upward from his lips and drifted across the room. He turned the knob slowly and the door swung open.
"I is sorry, Ollie. So long." And that was all he said.
"So long, Jule..." She whispered it.
He stepped into the night and began to whistle. She could hear his whistle going down the road and across the fields. She could hear it far into the night, drifting back to her, like singing. ... Big Jule was gone and he wasn't coming back. Deep down inside of her, Ollie knew that now. And she knew, too, that she would bear his child and call him Little Jule!
"Dat's de way it's got to be," she told herself fiercely, "'cause dat's de way it is! Big Jule is his pa!"
The dogs had treed. Ollie could hear the dogs. They yelped like mad hounds, their voices breaking into long howls. She sat up in bed; dry-eyed and listening, her heart pounding against her ribs. '
The sounds grew louder. They' crept through the cabin stillness and beat against her eardrums in the silence that followed. She was out there with Little Jule and the dogs now. The dogs were leaping against "the tree trunk and falling back, and the boy kept picking up his feet and moving forward.
She said aloud: "Jule, Son, you is got to be careful, 'cause coons is tricky. Coons fight dogs an' cuts they throafs, too. But if you climbs dat tree an' shakes him down, like I done told you, Spot'll grab him befo' he hits de ground. Spot is a old dog, an' ain't no coon kin trick him!"
Ollie dropped back on her pillow, her eyes dimmed with tears. Her body began to tremble. She stared at the moonlight slanting through the cracks in the roof, and she didn't know whether she was listening to the dogs or to a strange whistling that floated in the wind....
Little Jule took off his shoes and walked a foot log that spanned Swamp Creek. He looked up at the trees, tall and silent in the moonlight. Then he hit a trail that led straight across the swamp into hammock country and broke into a run.
The dogs had treed. They squatted beneath a shaggy pine, its twisted branches reaching upward like outstretched arms. The boy moved forward, the blood pounding in his throat. The dogs yelped louder. He spoke to the dogs and placed the lantern on the ground. His breath was coming fast.
' The dogs sobered to a whine. He looked up at the tree and clutched the stick under his armpit. Then he leaped for a branch and swung his body upward, his toes digging into bark. He saw two eyes staring down at him and caught his breath sharply. He inched his way cautiously from limb to limb, then caught another branch and lifted his body higher.
He squatted there in a fork of the tree, panting. He braced himself and crept out on a limb, his toes feeling their way over the bark. Teeth gleamed in the moonlight He took the stick from his armpit and juggled it in his right hand. He lunged forward, skidding on his belly, and the stick found its mark.
Spot leaped into the air, and-a. howl went up from the pack. The boy clung to the branch, high above the ground, and felt the flesh tingle along his spine.
*CHAPTER THREE*
DAY was breaking now, Little Jule tied his loot-a coon and two possums-to the hickory stick with strips of bark peeled from a green sapling. He blew out the lantern, lifted the stick to his shoulder, and headed for his ma's cabin.
Daylight was coming fast. It filtered through the trees and lighted his path across the swamp. He saw squirrels and wild things skipping over leaves in search of their breakfast, and in the distance he could hear the chatter of crows and swamp birds feeding in the marshes along the swamp. He kept picking up his feet, and the dogs tagged leg-weary at his heels.
The boy lengthened his stride, his overalls rolled to his kneecaps. The earth felt cool and damp to his toes. He ripped off his top and tucked it under his arm. The trail grew brighter, and he could see red rays of the sun making splotches in the east. His toes dipped through wet sand and left a trail like a hunter's hound.
At Tan Yard Hill, he could see his ma's cabin: a tiny clay chimney belching a blue smudge against the early morning light. He went down the hill and across Gabe's pond. The sun came up red like a round ball through the piny woods. The boy looked at the sun and grinned. He said aloud: "Ma, I is got a coon! I is got a coon an' two possums! They's fo' you, Ma!" m
He went up the steps to his ma's cabin and dropped his loot on the floor. His ma squatted before the fireplace with fat back sizzling in an open skillet. She looked up at the boy's face, at his overalls rolled wet and dripping to his knees.
"Jule," she said, "ain't yo' toes frostbitten?"
"I is got a coon, Ma," the boy said.
"A coon?" She stood up and a smile quivered on her lips. "I is proud of you, Son." She threw her arms about his shoulders and gripped him. Her nails bit into his flesh. "I is so proud I could cry!"
"But, Ma, I is got a coon," the boy said. "A coon an' two possums! I caught dem de way you done told me I could!"
She looked at his loot lying there on the floor-two possums and a coon. "I knows, Son," she said. "Coon's a coon, but you is my Jule. You is all I is got!"
She went back to her skillet and put corn pone on to fry. Corn pone cooked slow and easy. It browned to a turn and the smell of it made the boy's mouth water.
"Yo' breakfast is ready, Jule. You hongry, ain't you?"
"No, Ma, I ain't hongry."
"You ain't hongry or nothin'? "
"I feels kind of full, Ma. I feels like I ain't gwine nevah he hongry. I done caught us a coon!"
His ma looked at him, a tiny smile creasing her lips. "Yo' breakfast is ready, Jule. You is got to eat somethin'. "
"Yes'm, Ma."
He ate his breakfast: fat back and sorghum, corn pone ind buttermilk. Sorghum tasted sweet. The dogs licked his plate clean and whined for more.
"Ma," the boy said, "kin de dogs hab a possum? They is hongry, Ma!"
"I'll cook dem a possum, Son. I'll cook dem a possum an' two hoecakes too."
Alex was "Uncle" Alex to Jule. His ma said: "Alex is our uncle, Son. He's de only uncle we is got." Alex ground an ax for Jule and fitted it with a hickory handle. He taught the boy to swing an ax from his wrists and to split logs with a wedge. He taught him how to measure a cord of wood with his hands.
Alex cut cordwood and burned charcoal to sell. He had ten acres of timber and each year he cleared a half-acre for the wood and charcoal it would bring. Charcoal was Christmas money. Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson helped cut the timber. Dr. Mootry was a little man. He spat on his hands and stood on a log and listened to the ring of his ax. The sound of his ax was like thunder.
"Son," Dr. Mootry said to Jule, "all you is got to do is watch me. I is a man. When Uncle Alex wants somethin' done, he calls on me. I is Dr. Mootry!"
Alex showed Jule how to split timber fine and crisscross it like kindling wood. Alex taught him how to build kilns for charcoal. He showed him how to build them in rows, like corn shocks, and set fires to burn. Jule tended the kilns.
Cooper Jackson and Dr. Mootry rolled logs to build the kilns and stacked them high as a house. Then they basted them with green pine needles and covered them with dirt.
"Charcoal is charcoal," Alex said. "You is got to burn charcoal underground."
Old Sandy Kennebrew came to look at Alex' charcoal. Old Sandy was eighty and he had burned charcoal for forty years. He stood six feet four inches tall in his bare feet and spat tobacco juice through his teeth. He braided his hair like a girl and dipped snuff like a woman. He tilted his head back to look down his nose at Alex from his enormous height. His bright, pea-like eyes danced.
"Them's de best charcoals I has seen in years, Alex," Old Sandy said.
"Good timber makes good charcoal," Alex said. "Good timber don't means nothin', " Sandy said. "You is got to know how to burn charcoal."
"I knows," Alex said.
Alex set the fires and Little Jule tended them through the night. Little Jule could hear the fires roar. Sometimes the fires burned through the kilns and sent sparks racing wildly against the midnight sky. The boy would yell: "Coal kilns bustin' loose, bustin' loose, bustin' loose!" After that Jule would daub the holes with chunks of timber and pine needles the way Alex said. Then he'd pile on dirt. He'd pile it on thick and pack it down tight, and there would be only a trickle of smoke, like a tiny thread drawn through a needle's eye. Dirt held the fires fast.
In the morning Alex found the boy at the kilns. The kilns simmered quietly. They would burn for. a week and the fires would die out. Then they would cave in and the charcoal would come out rich and black, like burnt cork.
"Yo' ma is waitin' for you, Jule," Alex said.
"But I-likes to watch dem charcoals, Uncle Alex."
"Yo ma is waitin', son. She wants you to eat yo' breakfast an' git some sleep."
"I ain't hongry, Uncle Alex. I ain't sleepy neither!"
"Yo' ma wants you to come home," Alex said.
"Do I hab to go right now?" , "Right now," Alex said.
"But Ma don't minds if I is helpin' you, Uncle Alex. She don't minds if I is tendin' de coal kilns!"
"Yo' ma wants to know how you is, Jule. She wants to sec how you is. You done been away all night."
"Yes'm, Uncle Alex." Jule stood there, his eyes bright with the morning sun. His throat twitched. He looked up at Alex' face. "Kin I come back if Ma says I kin? Kin I come back an' watch de coal kilns?"
January came in frisky and cold. January was hog-killing time. With the first cold snap Alex and Caroline were up before dawn. Caroline built fires around the washpots and brought the water to a boil. Alex lit the lantern and put his ax on his shoulder and headed for the lot. He whistled a tune under his breath. It was a merry tune, a lilting tune, and whistling it made his blood tingle.
Caroline wore a shawl wrapped snugly about her head and face, her eyes peeking through. Caroline turned swiftly, mumbling to herself: "Lord, Jesus,I don't know what gits into Alex. He always wants to kill hogs right when he knows I is got my washin' to do. Always thinkin' 'bout his belly! ... Talkin' 'bout he's got a taste fo' fresh meat, 'cause he kin feel a cold snap comin' on! Lordy, Jesus-"
Caroline broke off. She fetched more water from the well and set more fires to burn. Then, softly: "Alex is jes' an old fooldat's what he is. like all mens. He wants to do dis an' dat, an' he don't figgers a woman is got no rights or nothin'! He gits a taste of fresh meat in his mouth an' right away he wants to kill hogs, an' he figgers evahbody is got to stop an' wait on him! ... Lord hab mercy, Jesus!"
Ollie came into the yard, the whites of her eyes glistening in the early morning dusk.
"Mornin , Miss Ca'line."
"Mornin', Ollie." Caroline looked at her. "Honey, ain't you glad you ain't got no fool husband to git you out of bed dis early in de mornin' to kill hogs?"
Ollie giggled softly. "But I has to git up anyhow, Miss Ca'line. Me an' Jule like a mess of fresh meat, too."
Caroline looked startled. "Well, Jesus, do tell!" Then in a different tone: "Honey, come on an' help me fetch more water an' keep dese fires goin'. Nan an' Mae Jane gwine put up de scaffold an' wash out de tubs when they gits here."
Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson came through the hack gate, blowing on their hands and slapping them against their thighs. Little Dr. Mootry was like a child. He talked big and acted big, too. He bounced around on the balls of his feet, spreading his arms and feeling himself. Then he squatted there by the washpots and watched the fires. His face beamed.
"Dem fires sho' do burns good, don't they, Miss Ca'line?"
"Shut up, fool," Caroline said.
"But they do burns good," Dr. Mootry said, and skeeted a thin stream of tobacco juice against the blazing hickory and listened to it sizzle.
"Ain't I done told you to shut up?" Caroline said. "You jes' like Alex-always ready to show off. Show peoples how important you is! Now shut up, an' take yo' rump on down to dat lot yonder. Alex is waitin'. It's gwine be daylight 'tore we gits started!"
Dr. Mootry was silent. Cooper Jackson said: "He don't means no harm, Miss Ca'line. He jes' wants to show you how smart he is to cut dat hickory, an' what a good fire it makes."
"He should cut off his .behind if he's so smart!" Caroline said shortly, and flounced off toward the well.
Nan and Mae Jane came up the trail from the big road. They walked single-file with Nan in the lead. Caroline could see their headrags bobbing in the half-light of dawn. Nan came into the yard first. She stared at Cooper Jackson and Dr. Mootry. "Ain't Alex up yet, Ca'line?"
"Alex down to de lot yonder," Caroline said. "He waitin' fo' you all to git heah."
"Git heah? He waitin' fo' dem down to de lot yonder, ain't he?"
"They ain't down to de pigpen, is they?" Nan said. "They ain't helpin' Alex or nothin', is they?"
"We was waitin' fo' you, Nan," Cooper Jackson said. "We was waitin' so you'd be de first to git a bellyful of fresh meat. You-likes fresh meat, don't you, Nan?"
Alex met Ollie and Jule coming up the trail. "Mornin', Ollie. ... Mornin', Jule."
"Mornin', Uncle Alex!"
They spoke in unison, their voices ringing quick and loud. Jule ran forward and lifted the lantern from Alex' hand. "Good mornin' fer hog-killin', ain't it, Uncle Alex?"
Alex grunted. The boy matched his stride with Alex and held the lantern high. Ollie went on to the yard.
"Got to find a saplin', " Alex said. "Got to git a crosspiece to hang them hogs wid."
Alex led the way to a slue just below the lot. He picked out a scrub oak. "This'll do," he said.
"Kin I chop it down, Uncle Alex?"
"Chop it near the roots." Alex took the lantern and Jule sank the ax deep.
"Cut it here," Alex said. He marked off a section about three feet long with his thumbnail. "Now cut another piece up to here." Alex took the two pieces and shaped the ends to a point with the blade of the ax. "That's fine, Jule. That's extra-fine!"
Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson were at the pigpen. They had two shoats by their hind quarters, wheeling them out. Dr. Mootry said: "Miss Ca'line is mad, Uncle Alex. She is so mad she kin cry!"
Alex grunted. He stunned the pigs with the butt of the ax and slit their throats. Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson held the hind quarters and dragged them into the yard.
Caroline went into the house and banged the door shut. Nan said: "Ca'line don't like to see no blood. Ca'line is chicken-hearted. She figgers hog-killin' is murder."
"Murder?" Alex looked at Nan. "Hog-killin' is hog-killin'. Hog-killin' means fresh meat."
"I knows dat, Alex," Nan said. "But Ca'line don't-likes to see no blood."
Alex scalded the pigs with water from the wash pots. Nan and Mae Jane and Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson scraped the pigs' hide until it was milk-white.
"I-likes de big guts," Nan said. "Big guts is nice."
"I-likes dem little guts," Dr. Mootry said. "You kin fry dem like chicken meat. Little guts tastes sweet."
"I don't like no little guts," Cooper Jackson said. "Little guts stinks. I-likes de big guts like what Nan says."
"Dem little guts is de best part," Mae Jane said. "You kin stew dem down like a pot of greens. They tastes good wid buttermilk an' corn bread."
Caroline stood in the doorway, her eyes red-rimmed. "If you all bellies don't send you straight to hell, I don't knows what will."
Alex gutted the pigs and Jule watched. Dawn was breaking now. Jule blew out the lantern. The guts dropped into a tub and Alex picked up the ax. He chopped through the ribs and laid the carcass bare.
"I claims de big guts," Nan said.
"You ain't claimin' nothin', " Cooper Jackson said. "Dem big guts belong to me." '--
"Hush yo' fuss," Alex said. "Guts don't matter. Guts is guts. There's plenty for everybody!"
Ollie was busy with the fires. Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson lifted the carcass to the scaffold. Alex cut the hams and the shoulders and the middling meat apart. He trimmed away the fat for lard and the lean for sausage meat. He dropped the fat into a pot.
Caroline and Ollie dried out the fat and strained it through a wet towel, dumping the cracklings in a dishpan. Cracklings made crackling bread. Nan and Mae Jane were up to their elbows in guts.
"I-likes to feel guts," Nan said.
"Me too," Mae Jane said. "Guts is soft."
"I-likes to feel guts," Nan said.
Alex and Jule went to the lot to fetch more pigs. Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson ground sausage meat. Caroline put on coffee to boil and roasted sweet potatoes in the hot ashes. Ollie made a pot of hash with liver and lights and neckbones and seasoned it with cayenne pepper. Hash tasted good with sweet potatoes and hot coffee.
Alex salted the meat and packed it into barrels. "Fresh meat is green," Alex said. "Got to salt fresh meat down an' dry it out."
"I-likes pig meat, Uncle Alex," Jule said. "Pig meat smells nice." He poured the salt with a scoop while Alex worked it into the green meat.
At noon they ate sweet potatoes and hash and drank hot coffee. All except Alex and Jule. Nan said: "I wants mo', Ca'line. Dat hash is good."
Caroline said: "Don't be so greedy, Nan. Alex an' Jule got to eat."
Ollie dished up more hash for Nan and Mae Jane. Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson just ate. Dr. Mootry said: "Fresh meat sho' is fine. Taste jes' like chicken meat."
Alex and Jule sorted out neckbones and spare ribs. Alex made separate piles of liver and lights, jowls and pig tails, kidneys and sweetbreads. He put the feet in a separate pile. Nan licked her lips and watched.
"I wants big guts," Nan said.
"Dere ain't gwine be no big guts," Dr. Mootry teased. "Uncle Alex gwine use de big guts to stuff sausage wid."
"I wants guts;" Nan shouted. "I gwine hab guts. Dem big guts belong to me!"
"Aw shut up, NanJ" Cooper Jackson said. "You ain't gwine git no guts. Dem guts belongs to me."
"Shut up? What you means-shut up? Fool, don't you knows who I is?" Nan glared at Cooper Jackson.
"Greedy gut, little ol' greedy gut!" Cooper Jackson taunted. "Dat's what you is-little greedy gut Nan! You wants meat an' mo' meat. You wants it all jes' fo' you-fo little greedy gut Nan!"
Nan smashed her plate in Cooper Jackson's face and picked up the butcher knife.
Dr. Mootry caught Nan from behind and spun her around. Litde Dr. Mootry had the strength of an ox.
"I'll cut yo' guts out!" Nan cried."
"I'll split you wide-open, Cooper Jackson, jes' like as if you was a hog. I'll split you wide-open an' throw yo' guts in yo' face-dat's what I'll do!" Her bosom heaved. She caught her breath with a sucking sound.
"There ain't gwine be no fightin', " Alex said. Nan looked at Alex and the knife dropped from her fingers.
*CHAPTER FOUR*
SPRING was planting season. Alex bought seeds in the spring, seeds and supplies for his hands. Sugar and flour, snuff and tobacco, fertilizer and plowshares, overalls and homespun. Alex took care of his hands.
Jule went with Alex that spring. Jule knew how to figure. Alex had taught him by firelight after supper. Taught him the simple way.
"Figgers is figgers, Jule," Alex said. "Figgers is natch'l. Figgers don't lie."
"Yes'm, Uncle Alex. But how you counts figgers?"
Alex notched a hickory stick with his pocketknife. "One notch counts five, an' two notches ten. Three notches is fifteen, an' four notches twenty. See how it's done, Jult? Simple arithmetic."
"But s'pose figgers don't come out even? S'pose you is got somethin' left ovah? How you counts dat, Uncle Alex?"
"You make a mark betwix' th' notches, Jule. A mark counts one. If you got chree left over, you make three marks."
"An' you carries all dat in yo' head?" Jule said.
"You carry everythin' in yo' head," Alex said. "If you ain't got n" head, Jule, you can't figger!"
Jule knew now to figure.
Old Cage ran the general store, the only store in Hannon. It was oblong and tightly boarded. It smelled damp and musty, thick with odors of kerosene and, dried fish, cotton goods and molasses, store cheese and fertilizer. A porch spanned the store front, with cases of soft-drink bottles stacked against the wall. There was a window at the rear with a shutter that opened out.
Old Cage had been in Hannon for thirty years.
Jule followed Alex into Cage's store. Old Cage was behind the counter. He grinned at Alex. "Figgered you'd be coming in soon, Alex. Ain't seen you since fall."
"Must be gittin' old," Alex said. "Can't git 'round much no more."
Old Cage chuckled. He knew Alex. "Who ain't gettin' old, Alex? But a man's got to have somebody to talk to, ain't he? A man can't sit here and rot!"
"Didn't figger you'd be lonesome, Mr. Cage," Alex said. "Figgered you'd be checkin' yo' books fo' spring!"
"Horse feathers!" old Cage snorted. "By God, man, I'd talk to a rattlesnake, if a rattlesnake could talk! ... Cotton seeds or garden seeds, Alex?"
"Cotton seeds come first," Alex said. "Cotton is cotton, Mr. Cage!"
"Thousand pounds, Alex? Or do you aim to plant some real cotton?"
"Two thousand," Alex said.
"Fifteen dollars a thousand, Alex. It's a cotton year!" Jule looked at Alex. "Thirty dollars, Uncle Alex?" He whispered it and made six notches on the hickory stick. "Garden seeds, Mr. Cage," Alex said. "Five cents a package, Alex."
"Twenty packs," Alex said. "Dollar, Uncle Alex?" Jule said. "Soybeans, Mr. Cage," Alex said. "Soybeans is high, Alex. Dollar fifty a hundred."
"Two hundred pounds," Alex said. "Three dollars, Uncle Alex?" Jule said. "Corn seeds, Mr. Cage."
"White or yellow, Alex."
"How much?" Alex said.
"Sixty for yellow, forty for white. Hundredweight. Cheap at that, Alex. Best corn seeds in the world."
"Two hundred each," Alex said. "An' I need some fertilizer, Mr. Cage."
"Cottonseed meal or phosphate?"
"A ton each. Phosphate's fo' corn."
"Better take two tons for cotton, Alex. It's a cotton year."
"Ton's enough right now," Alex said.
"All right, all right," old Cage said. "But you'll be sorry, Alex. Better take more for cotton."
"Ton's all I kin spare," Alex said. "All I kin pay fo'. "
"You don't have to pay now, Alex. Carry it on the books."
"Only a ton, Mr. Cage," Alex said.
Old Cage looked at Alex and grinned. "Can't sell you nothing you don't want, can I, Alex? Even after thirty years."
"Only what I can pay fo', " Alex said.
Alex ordered snuff and tobacco, overalls and plowshares, nuts and bolts, and cotton goods. He ordered a hundred pounds of sugar and a barrel of flour, and Jule made notches on the hickory stick.
"Got it all down, Uncle Alex," Jule said.
"You know th' answer?" Alex said.
"Got de answer in my head," Jule said.
Rollo stood in the doorway with his schoolbooks dangling over his shoulder. Rollo was Cage's son. He rode a Shetland pony to school each morning, five miles away, and each evening he helped his father in the store. Rollo was the only white boy in Hannon.
"Rollo?" his father said.
"Yes, Dad."
"Got some figures for you to add up."
"Figures for Alex, Dad."
"Figures for Alex," his father said.
Rollo dropped his books on the floor and walked behind the counter. He looked at Jule. "You Alex' son?" he said.
"Uncle Alex is my uncle," Jule said.
"You like to hunt an' fish?" Rollo said. "You like to hunt possums and coons and shoot rabbits?"
"I-likes huntin', " Jule said. "Huntin' is nice."
"You adding them figures, Rollo?" his father said.
"Adding 'em now, Dad." Rollo grinned at Jule.
Jule's face lit up. "Kin tell you de answer, ef you wants to know." , "What's the answer?" Rollo said.
"Hund'ed forty dollars an' fifty cents." Jule whispered it.
Rollo looked startled. "How do you know the answer?"
"Figgered it on my hickory stick," Jule said.
"Hickory stick?" Rollo stared at Jule, at the notches on the hickory stick. He looked at the marks between the notches. "You add figures like that?"
"Sure," Jule said. "Uncle Alex done showed me how."
Rollo pursed' his lips and shook his head sadly. He Went on figuring.
"How much, Rollo?" his father called.
"One hundred forty dollars arid fifty cents, Dad." Rollo looked at Jule. "Gee, you were right! It is a hundred forty dollars and-"
"Figgers is figgers," Jule said. "Figgers is natch'l. Dat's what Uncle Alex done said."
Rollo handed the figures" to his father and took Jule to the rear of the store. "I like you," he said. "What's your name?"
"Jule."
"Jule what?"
"Jes' Jule, dat's all."
"Want some candy, Jule?"
"I thanks you fo' some candy," Jule said.
Rollo scooped up a handful of peppermint balls and thrust them into Jule's pocket. "They're for you, Jule, 'cause you know how to figger!" Rollo led the way through the back door out into the yard.
Jule stood beneath two giant oaks, looking at a white house with green shutters. The house stood two stories high, with a back porch screened off.
"That's where me and Dad live," Rollo said. "If you come back sometime, I'll show you the inside. I got a lot of books and things you can look at. You like books, Jule?"
"It's a nice house," Jule said. He stood there with the sunlight glazing his eyes, looking at the screened-off porch. "It's a fine house," he said.
"Follow me," Rollo said. "I want to show you my dogs and horses. You like dogs, Jule?"
"Sure. I-likes dogs."
"Bird dogs and horses, too?"
"Bird dogs?" Jule said. "I ain't nevah seen none of dem, but Uncle Alex is got some mules."
The dog kennel was out back, the harness shed and chicken run beyond. The stalls for the horses were a hundred yards to the rear.
Jule pressed his. face against the wire fence and looked at the dogs. They broke into loud yelps at Rollo's approach. They were huge dogs, spotted and graceful. Jule's face beamed.
"Fine dogs, they is! Kin they hunt possums?"
"Only birds," Rollo said. "Possum dogs are different. The scent ain't the same."
Rollo showed Jule the harness shed and stalls where the horses were kept. The stalls smelled of hay and horses, clean and fresh. He saw the Shetland pony Rollo rode to school each morning. He saw the big horses too. The horses stamped their feet, their eyes big and luminous in their faces.
They quieted down when Rollo spoke to them, and nibbled at his hand. Jule touched the soft coating of their hides and felt their flesh quiver.
"This is a stallion," Rollo said, "and this is a filly. Stallions like to hunt."
"What's a stallion?" Jule said.
Rollo looked at Jule. "Stallion is a 'he' horse and a filly is a girl."
"Oh!" Jule said. He patted the big horse called Red, and the stallion shied away. "I-likes stallions."
"Mustn't touch him," Rollo said. "Stallions are funny. They got to know you."
"He's nice," Jule said.
"You can ride him sometimes, when he gets to know you, Rollo said.
"He's a fine horse," Jule said. "I wish I had a horse like him."
Jule rode back in the wagon with Alex. The wagon was filled with seeds and supplies, cotton goods and overalls, fertilizer and plowshares.
"Do a stallion horse cost much, Uncle Alex?"
"Stallion horse?" Alex looked at Jule. "Stallions cost plenty money, Jule. They is fo' people what's got plenty money!"
Jule was silent.
"Is Rollo an' Mr. Cage got plenty money, Uncle Alex?"
"Mr. Cage is Rollo's pa," Alex said. "Mr. Cage breeds horses so Rollo can have somethin' to ride an' play with. Money don't matter to Mr. Cage."
"I-likes a stallion horse," Jule said. "I wish I could work an' pay fo' one."
Alex planted corn in March and cotton in April. Peas and beans and garden seeds went into the ground in May. Cooper Jackson and Dr. Mootry broke the land. Alex took care of the seeding and Jule ran the fertilizer.
"You got to plant seeds careful," Alex said. "You got to git a good stand from seeds, if you aim to make a crop."
Caroline looked after the garden and Ollie laid out the rows. Knute and Bell tended the hotbed, pulling up slips and bunching them in separate piles. Nan and Mae Jane set out the slips, cabbage and collards, tomatoes and scallions, salad greens and radishes. Alex lived off the land.
Rollo rode his Shetland pony into Alex' yard one Sunday afternoon, looking for Jule. Jule sat on the cabin steps and notched a hickory stick.
"Hi, Jule! Remember me? I came by so you could ride my pony!"
Jule dropped the hickory stick and looked up at Rollo. "Kin I ride him now?"
"Sure," Rollo said.
Jule's face beamed. He stuck his toes into the stirrup and swung his body into the saddle. The pony trotted off, lifting his feet gingerly. Jule braced himself in the saddle, his body jogging up and down. The pony went down the road and across the field and came back to Rollo.
"I-likes yo' pony," Jule said. "He rides nice!"
Rollo smiled. "You can ride him some more if you want to."
"Now?" Jule said. "Now," Rollo said.
Jule ran his fingers along the pony's flank and felt the warmth beneath his hide. "Mebbe he's a little tired right now. Mebbe he wants to rest a while."
"He ain't tired. He-likes you, Jule."
"I wish he was my pony," Jule said.
"He is your pony, Jule."
"Mine fo' real?"
Rollo grinned at Jule. "For real!"
Jule stroked the pony's mane and dropped from the saddle. "Kin I ride him some other time? Kin I ride him when he ain't so tired?"
"Let's go fishing next Saturday," Rollo said, "and you can ride him then. You like fishing, Jule?"
"Fishin' is nice?" Jule said. He patted the pony gently. "He's a fine pony, Mr. Rollo. He's my pony!"
Rollo and Jule went fishing Saturdays through the summer. They fished in a brook below Rollo's house where the water ran deep. They carried bait in a tin can and stuck their poles in the mud along the bank. The poles were, giant reeds and the corks bobbed on the surface of the water. Rollo watched the corks while Jule rode the pony through the woods. When the pony grew tired, Jule rested him a spell. Then he rode back to Rollo.
Rollo brought sardines and soda crackers from his father's store. They ate sardines and crackers for lunch, washed down with spring water. They stretched out on the creek bank and looked up at the sky, vivid and blue above the trees.
Sometimes Rollo took his books along, and when the fish didn't bite, Jule read Rollo's books. Jule read the words aloud, listening to the soft rhythm they made.
"I-likes to read yo' books, Mr. Rollo," Jule said. "You gits books like dese in school?"
"Sure," Rollo said, "but you don't have to call me Mr. Rollo. Just call me Rollo. My dad ain't around or nothing."
"All right, Mr. Rollo," Jule said, and grinned.
They fished through the summer and fall and hunted rabbits and squirrels during the winter. Rollo taught Jule how to shoot.
"You use a shotgun for rabbits," Rollo said, "but for squirrels you need a rifle. Squirrels run up trees fast and sit high in the tree tops."
"I knows," Jule said.
Jule took squirrels home to his ma. Squirrel meat cooked tender and sweet. Squirrel meat was fresh meat.
His ma said: "You-likes Mr. Rollo, Son?"
"I-likes Mr. Rollo fine," Jule said.
"You-likes to go huntin' wid Mr. Rollo?"
"I-likes to hunt-an' fish wid Mr. Rollo," Jule said. "He got dogs an' horses an' he lets me shoot his rifle!"
"Mr. Rollo is somebody," his ma said.
"I wants to be somebody too," Jule said.
"Like Mr. Rollo, Son?-"
"Like Mr. Rollo," Jule said.
*CHAPTER FIVE*
KATE came out to visit Caroline and Alex in June and to see the new preacher. "Preachers is preachers," Kate told herself simply. "You is got to see preachers."
Kate had a fine job. She cooked for "quality" folk in the city during the fall and winter, and spent her vacation with Caroline and Alex. Caroline was Kate's baby sister.
Alex met Kate at the station on a Sunday morning. Kate had two trunks and a bag. Alex put the bag and the trunks in the wagon and helped Kate onto the driver's seat. Kate was a big woman, fleshy and proud. She wore her starched gingham and petticoats with an air. "Jes' wants to show dese fools you don't hab to dress up in no finery to-be somebody!" was the way Kate put it.
Kate settled herself on the driver's seat. "You got a good crop, Alex?"
"Fine crop," Alex said. "Cotton an' corn."
"You got a garden an' sweet potato patch?"
"Garden an' sweet potatoes," Alex said.
"You got pigs an' a cow?"
"Got pigs," Alex said.
"I is got to see," Kate said.
Kate was silent, listening to the cluck of-wagon wheels. She wached the road unfurl as the mules plodded through the
sand, Spots of sweat showed on the mules' rumps and along their flanks. The road was hot and dusty.
"You got new niggers on de place, Alex?"
"Got some new hands," Alex said.
"Sharecroppers ? "
"Sharecroppers," Alex said.
"You always was a fool, Alex."
"People is got to .eat," Alex said.
"You is still a fool," Kate said.
Alex grunted and spoke to the mules.
Caroline rushed toward the wagon as Alex drove, up. "Kate, honey, we's so glad to see you! We's so glad you done come!"
Kate stepped gingerly from the wagon and dropped to the ground. "Hush up, Ca'line! I don't wants none of yo' foolishness!"
"But we is glad to see you, Kate. We's."
"Ain't I done told you to hush up, Ca'line?"
Little Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson wheeled the trunks out the wagon onto the porch, and Jule fetched the bag. Kate stood there with her hands on her hips, taking in all that she saw.
"Is dem de new niggers, Ca'line?"
"They's de new hands," Caroline said.
"Is dem de new niggers?" Kate repeated.
"They's de new niggers," Caroline said.
Kate snorted. She marched through the hallway into the kitchen. She stopped short, her eyes feeling over the kitchen. She looked at the pots and pans. She opened the cupboard and looked in the drawers beneath the cupboard. She walked over to the stove and ran her fingers along the edge of the range.
"You done some cleanin', ain't you, Ca'line?"
"We knowed you was comin', " Caroline said.
"You got 'de kitchen spick an' span. Jes' like white folks' kitchen!"
"We knowed you don't-likes to see no dirt," Caroline said. Kate paused in the doorway, looking out into the yard. "You got a garden, Ca'line?"
"We's got a garden," Caroline said. "We's got a fine garden.. "
"Settin' hens ready to hatch," Caroline said. Beads of sweat popped out on Caroline's forehead and showed on her upper lip. She dabbed at the sweat with the hem of her apron and looked at Kate. "Settin' hens ain't done so well dis summer."
Kate rocked on the balls of her feet and spun around. "Is Alex got pigs fo' all dem niggers to eat?"
"Alex is got pigs," Caroline said.
"Is Alex got a cow givin' milk?"
"Alex is got two cows," Caroline said, "givin' milk an' butter."
"I is got to see," Kate said.
Kate stepped into the yard and walked to the hen house. She counted the setting hens on their nests. She counted the pullets, too, fluttering around getting ready to lay. Then she walked into the garden. She saw rows of cabbage and collards, mustard green and scallions. She saw pole beans running along the garden fence. She went back to the kitchen. "I wants to see Alex, Ca'line."
"Alex done gone to fetch de new preacher," Caroline said.
"Fetch de new preacher?" Kate stared at Caroline. "I is got to see Alex. New preacher don't matter."
"Alex be right back, Kate! He jes' gone to Frances Donner yonder!"
"Is dat heifer still around?" Kate said.
"Now, Kate," Caroline said. "Don't be like dat. Sis' Frances is only tryin' to help. Alex an' me can't keep de preacher all de time."
"Tryin' to help ... my foot," Kate said. "I knows dat heifer. She-likes preachers."
"Now, Kate! Please, Kate!"
"Don't 'please Kate' me," Kate said. "I knows what I is talkin' 'bout. Dat heifer-likes preachers! She-likes preachers an' mo' preachers! ... You hears me, Ca'line?"
"I hears you," Caroline said.
Kate listened to the preacher's sermon during the meeting. His voice was deep with feeling. Sometimes it was sort and cooing. Sometimes it thundered and tugged at Kate's vitals. The preacher was a powerful preacher. Kate watched him shake hands with the elders and sisters. She watched his teeth flash when he smiled at the sisters. The preacher was a gracious preacher.
Kate sat across from the preacher at dinner. The preacher was tall and dignified. He held the fork in his left hand and carried the food to his mouth on the blade of the knife. The preacher ate heartily: fried chicken and greens, garden peas, corn on the cob, buttermilk and hot biscuits. Kate watched the preacher.
"Reverend," Kate said, "is it true like what it says in de
Bible? If you lives right, you goes to heaven? If you don't, you goes to hell?"
"The Bible is philosophy," the preacher said. "The Bible is the word of God."
"But does you goes to hell?" Kate said. "Does you burns in hell-fire an' brimstone?"
The preacher cleared his throat and reached for another biscuit. He split the biscuit in half and buttered it. He considered the biscuit thoughtfully.
"Sister," the preacher said, "hell is a relative term. Hell is where you find it."
"But does you burns in hell?" Kate said. "Dat's what I wants to know!"
"The Bible says," the preacher continued, "Knock and it shall be opened unto you. Seek and ye shall find. The Bible is a philosophy, Sister."
"Philosophy, my foot!" Kate said. "Does you burns in hell, or don't you?"
"You burn in hell," the preacher said, "even as it is written, Sister." He lifted the buttered biscuit to his mouth.
"Dat's what I wants to hear," Kate said. "You is a fine preacher, Reverend! You is a good preacher!"
The preacher sank his teeth into the biscuit. The biscuit tasted tender and sweet. The preacher liked biscuits.
Caroline gave Jule a white apron and jacket. "You is gwine to wait on de new preacher, Jule," Caroline said. She turned swiftly, beaming all over herself. "He's a fine preacher, Jule. He's a wonderful preacher!"
Sister Frances came over to help Caroline and brought Bertha Mae along. Bertha Mae was thirteen, going on fourteen. Bertha Mae fixed the victuals on the plates and Jule carried the food to the table.
"It's nice when a new preacher comes along," Bertha Mae said. "You gits a chance to meet everybody."
"I-likes new preachers too," Jule said. "New preachers is fine."
"Is it time to 'dessert', Jule?" Rertha Mae said.-
Jule picked up a plate. "Pie fo' de preacher. Bread puddin' fo' de others! Dat's what Miss Ca'line done said."
Bertha Mae giggled, her eyes full of mischief. "Preachers always gits pie!"
"Preachers is preachers," Jule said.
Kate got up early that Monday morning. She found the lime outside the smokehouse door. Alex put the lime where Kate could see it. Alex knew Kate.
"Jule," Kate said, "git me a bucket."
Jule fetched a bucket and Kate filled it with lime. "Lordy,"' Kate said, "dis place stinks. We's got to sprinkle some lime!"
Kate sprinkled lime in the chimney corners and around the outhouses. She sprinkled it in the chicken yard and pig-pen. "Lord, God," Kate said, "Ca'line should be 'shamed of herself, lettin' de place smell like dis! Jule," Kate said, "git me some mo' lime!"
"But Uncle Alex an' Miss Ca'line sprinkles lime all de time," Jule said.
Kate stared at Jule. "Boy, don't you knows who I is?
"You is Miss Kate," Jule said.
"Ca'line an' Alex done told you who I is?"
"They says you is Miss Kate," Jule said. "Uncle Alex say you is got to hab yo' way."
"Boy, go git me some mo' lime an' don't give me no back talk, neither!"
"Yes'm, Miss Kate."
Jule fetched another bucket of lime. He stood there looking at Kate.
"Whose boy is you anyhow?" Kate said. "I is Ollie's boy," Jule said. "Ollie's boy? Ollie who?"
"Ollie Miss," Jule said. "We is got a cabin down yonder an' a piece o' land."
"On Alex' place?"
"Yes'm," Jule said. "Got our own farm." Kate's eyes narrowed. "Is yo' ma home."
"Yes'm. She milked de cows dis mornin'. "
"I wants to see yo' ma," Kate said.
Jule led the way to his ma's cabin. The cabin stood in an open field, with cotton rows running up to the doorstep. Kate looked at the cabin, then knocked on the door. Ollie came to the door.
"I is Kate," Kate said. "I comes to see who you is."
"Come in, Miss Kate," Ollie said. "I is glad to hab you."
Kate walked into the cabin. She looked at the two beds, hard against the wall. Then she walked to the fireplace where pots and skillets hung in neat rows. She looked at the floorboards, scrubbed bone-white. The cabin looked clean and washed, lived-in.
"You works fo' Alex?" Kate said.
"I lives on Uncle Alex' place," Ollie said, "ef dat's what you means."
"Does you works on halves wid Alex, gal? Dat's what I means!"
"Uncle Alex done give us a piece o' land," Ollie said, "an' what we makes is our'n."
"You is got yo' own crop, is dat it?" Kate said. "Dat's it," Ollie said.
"I is gwine find out 'bout dis!" Kate said. "Ain't nothin' to find out," Ollie said. "Uncle Alex done let us work de land."
"It is gwine see Alex!" Kate snapped. "You hears me, gal?" Ollie was silent.
Kate followed a trail across the field. The trail was dry, and dust rose in clouds. Her face began to sweat. She skirted the sweet potato patch and pushed through a field of oats, tall and green, with their heads turning brown. She mopped her face and her breath felt tight in her throat. "De idea," she thought, "Alex lettin' a gal like dat work land fo' free! Him what ain't got a pair britches to his name without a patch coverin' his behind! An' Ca'line ain't eben got dat!" Her thoughts raced. "Lord, God! A po' nigger ain't nothin' but a good fool!..."
She cut across the hog wallow and waded through cotton up to her knees. Corn leaves shimmered in the sunlight and lapped at her armpits. Then she saw Alex. She saw Alex and the mule coming toward her through a fog of dust. She waited at the end of the row, hot sand burning through to the soles of her feet. Alex turned the mule and said, "Whoa!"
"Is all dis crop fo' de new niggers, Alex?"
"People is got to eat," Alex said.
"Where's de patch fo' you an' Ca'line?" Kate said.
"Don't start no frettin', " Alex said. "Got plenty fo' everybody."
"You an' Ca'line ain't got no patch, Alex?" Kate saw-"Everybody's got a patch," Alex said. "Hands an' mules too.
"Mules got oats," Kate said. "New niggers got cotton an' corn. Ca'line ain't got nothin'! ... Is dat right, Alex?"
Alex said patiently. "Betah run 'long back to th' house, Kate Bettah tend yo' business an' let me tend mine."
Kate glared at Alex. "I s'pose it ain't none o' my business dat Ollie is workin' land fo' free! I s'pose-"
"Bettah do like I tell you, Kate," Alex said shortly. "Might get sunstroke runnin' 'round loose in th' field." He clucked to the mule.
"Sunstroke, my foot!" Kate shouted. "Is dat Ollie workin' land fo' free, or ain't she? Answer me dat, Alex!"
Alex swung around. "Ollie lives on my place an' works on my place. How I runs my business is my business, an' it ain't none o' your'n. Don't aim to tell you that no more, Kate!"
Frances Donner and the preacher were sitting on Caroline's porch when Kate walked up. Grime covered Kate's face and sweat trickled down her cheeks. She looked at Frances Donner, fanning herself and talking to the preacher.
"Howdy, Sister Kate," Frances Donner said.
"Good afternoon, Sister," the preacher said.
Kate smiled at the preacher-"Howdy do, Reverend!"and marched up the steps into the hallway. She met Caroline coming out the kitchen.
"I is got to see dat heifer, Ca'line," Kate said. "I is got to see her right now!"
"Heifer! What heifer, Kate?"
"Dat Frances Donner heifer!" Kate said. "You knows what heifer!"
"Lordy, Kate," Caroline said, "Sis' Frances don't means no harm! She only tryin' to entertain de preacher whilst he's here! Somebody's got to entertain de preacher, Kate."
"Entertain, my foot!" Kate said. "You send dat heifer in here to me. Ef she ain't in dis kitchen in five minutes, I is comin' out here an' fetch her! You hears me, Ca'line?"
"I hears you," Caroline said.
Kate doused her face in a bucket of water and came up snorting. She turned and saw Frances Donner standing there, smiling sweetly. ;
"You wants to see me, Sister Kate?" Frances Donner said. "I is takin' de reverend to my house fo' dinner. Dis is de reverend's las' night."
"Sit down, Sis' Frances," Kate said. "You ain't takin' de preacher nowhere!"
"Now, Kate, don't y'all start no fussin' or nothin' ovah de preacher!" Caroline pleaded. "He's out on de porch yonder! He kin hear every word y'all say!"
"Shut up, Ca'line!" Kate turned to Frances Donner: "Is you goin' wid de preacher?"
Sister Frances stared at Kate. "Is you talkin' to me?"
"I is talkin' to you," Kate said. "Is you goin' wid de preacher?"
Sister Frances dropped into a chair. "Why, Sister Kate! You is talkin' 'bout our reverend!"
"Don't 'Sister Kate' me!" Kate said. "Is you goin' wid de preacher, or ain't you?"
"But de reverend is our pastor! De reverend is-"
"Our pastor, nothin'! " Kate said. "Is you goin' wid de preacher? Dat's what I wants to know!"
Sweat broke out on Frances Donner's forehead and her lips quivered. She said softly: "I is a Christian, Sister Kate! I is a good Christian! An' I tries to serve our pastor de best way I knows how!"
"Christian!" Kate's face looked like the wrath of God come alive. "You ain't no Christian! You is a heifer! You" is two heifers-dat's what you is! You hears what I says, Frances Donner?"
Frances Donner's eyes blazed. She struggled to her feet. "Mebbe preachers-likes heifers!" She spat the words through her teeth and caught her breath with a hissing sound. "Don't you wish you was a heifer, Sister Kate?"
Kate grabbed Sister Frances and pinned her against the wall. "I ought to shake de livin' daylights out you! You-you low-down, stinkin' hussy! You gwine burn in hell fo' dis jes' as sure as you born!"
Kate whipped the back of her hand across Frances Donner's face, and Caroline screamed.
"Kate! You, Kate!" Alex stood in the doorway, glaring at Kate.
Kate dropped her hands and stood trembling. Her bosom heaved. Frances Donner wept silently, tears spilling over her lids.
"Lord hab mercy, Jesus!" Caroline said. There was a silence.
"Get yo" things together, Kate," Alex said. "Get 'em together now, 'cause you is got to go! Done had enough of yo foolishness!"
"You gwine send Kate back to de city, Alex?" Caroline said-tearfully: "She can't stay wid us no longer?"
"Aint' puttin' up wid no mo' of her hell-raisin', " Alex said.
"Oh, Lordy!" Caroline buried-her face in her hands.
Kate stood there looking at Alex. But she didn't say anything. Just stood there with a tight feeling whipping through, her, like a hot flame. A quiver tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she blew her nose hard and wiped it on the hem of her apron. Then she said: "I is ready to go, Alex. Hab de wagon ready." Her voice broke a little, quavered, and her eyes seemed suddenly still and wet in her face.
Kate walked into her room and closed the door. "God!" she said.
She opened the little trunk first. There were sheets and pillowcases in the little trunk. Sheets and pillowcases for Caroline. Then she opened the big trunk. There were odd coats and trousers, dresses and petticoats, hats and shoes. Things like that. Used things, second-hand things. Things given to Kate by her white folks. White folks said: "Niggers like second-hand things."
Kate picked up a dress and looked at it. It was a gingham dress. "Nice fo' Mae Jane." She placed a pair of shoes beside the dress. Miss Mary gave her the shoes. They were small and neat, too tight for Miss Mary. They hurt her little toe.
Kate laid out a black suit for Alex, with satin trimming around the collar. It was a good suit, double-breasted and big enough through the middle. "Alex needs a new suit. He'll like dis." Kate smiled.
There were petticoats and calico dresses for Nan, shirts and trousers for Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson, shoes and hats for the rest of the hands. She placed them all in neat piles and looked at them. "White folks-likes to give niggers hand-me-downs."
She put a wool dress and stockings in a separate pile for Ollie, and picked up a suit and a pair of shoes. The suit had long pants, just right for a growing boy. "They's fo' Jule," she said. "Jule's a nice boy."-Two pairs of panties were left in the trunk. They were Miss Mary's panties. Miss Mary entertained her men" friends late at night. Kate let them in the side door. "It's all right, Kate," Miss Mary said. "Just friends dropping in." Kate thought: "White folks is heifers too. They think they is smart."
Kate picked up the panties and held them between her fingertips. "Jes' right fo' Frances Donner, dat ol' heifer!"
Kate opened the door and stepped out into the hall. She saw the hands. The hands had come to say good-by to Kate. They stood there in the lamplight, their faces strained and a little sad.
"They ain't lookin' fo' nothin', Kate," Caroline said. "They is ies' sorry to see you go."
"Ain't no need to be sorry," Kate said. "I is leavin' now." She went down the steps and out to the wagon, her head held high. Caroline began to sniffle.
"None o' dat," Kate said. "I ain't gwine hab no cryin' an' carryin'-on."
"I ain't cryin', " Caroline said, and her tears flowed freely.
Alex was waiting at the wagon.
"You ready, Alex?"
"Wagon is hitched," Alex said.
"Tell dem fools to fetch my trunks."
Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson went into the room to fetch the trunks. They saw the things in separate piles on the bed. Each pile had a note pinned to it. A note on one said "Nan" and on another "Caroline." They stared at the notes and then at each other.
"She's a fine woman," Dr. Mootry said.
"She's a good woman," Cooper Jackson said.
They picked up the trunks.
*CHAPTER SIX*
JULE was sixteen. He was a gangling boy, all arms and legs. His ma said: "You done growed up, Jule. You is a big boy now. I is proud of you, Son."
Bertha Mae came over to borrow sugar and flour from Caroline, and brought along eggs and butter from her ma. Her ma lived on Boykin Keye's place, just over the hill from Alex.
"Ma wants some sugar, Miss Ca'line," Bertha Mae said. "Sugar an' flour."
"Yo' ma done sent dose eggs an' butter?" Caroline said.
"Yes'm."
"Yo' ma don't needs to send no eggs an' butter."
"But they is fo' flour an' sugar," Bertha Mae said. "Ma wants to make a pie."
Sugar and flour were luxuries on Boykin Keye's place. Bertha Mae took the sugar in the crook of her arm and Jule picked up the flour.
"I kin walk a piece wid you," Jule said. "Flour an' sugar is heavy."
"But it ain't so heavy, Jule," Bertha Mae said. "I kin carry it."
"I feels like walkin' anyhow," Jule said.
They followed a trail across Alex' hog wallow. The trail led through thickets and bottom land, fallow and green now. Leaves made dappled patterns at their feet.
"Ma's gwine make a pie," Bertha Mae said. "You-likes pie, Jule?" n "I-likes pie."
"Blackberry pie?"
"Any kind o' pie," Jule said. "Pie is pie." Bertha Mae giggled.
The trail dipped in and out along the slue and cut across a stream. They followed the stream and came to an open field. The field was lush and green, heavy with growing things. They waded through grass up to their knees.
"I-likes fields," Bertha Mae said. "I-likes fields when they is green."
They skirted a pine thicket and went through a hollow beyond. The land lay flat and silent along the slue. Jule took her hand and helped her over a log. Her dress caught a snag and Jule freed it. Bertha Mae giggled softly.
"I-likes to walk 'wid you, Jule."
"Walkin' is nice," Jule said.
"Walkin' wid me?"
"Walkin' wid you."
They came to a bean patch and went through a cornfield. Her ma's house came into view. Jule paused. He looked at Bertha
Mae. "Guess I can't go no further. Guess yo' ma don't wants you walkin' wid boys."
He stood there holding her hand. The girl was shy and silent. Her feelings came up tight in her face.
"Thanks, Jule."
He looked at her, at her eyes. Her eyes were soft and vivid. "You got to go now, Bertha Mae."
"Ma is waitin', " Bertha Mae said. "Waitin'? "
"She wants flour an' sugar. 'By, Jule."
" 'By Bertha Mae."
She turned and went toward the house.
"Bertha Mae! Bertha Mae!" Her name rose to his lips. He could feel the words beating around inside him. He wanted to yell: "Come back, Bertha Mae! Don't leave me here!"
He stood silent, watching her. She followed the trail across the field to her ma's cabin. Her body moved with a quick rhythm: her feet, her legs, her arms. Her arms swung free and easy with the motion of her body.
Sundays were holidays. Jule looked forward to Sundays. He took Bertha Mae for a walk after Sunday school. They walked around the frog pond and sat under a sweetgum tree. They talked about things they did during the week. They talked about the preacher and their Sunday school lessons. They talked about trees and birds, and watched the sun grow hot on the fields.' Bertha Mae touched his hand and her fingers quivered. She said: "Nice out, ain't it, Jule?"
There was preaching after Sunday school, and eating after preaching. Sunday nights came in quiet with the dusk. They walked in the twilight before the preaching.
They stood in the shadow beneath the sweetgum and watched the lights go on in the church. Little Dr. Mootry lit the lamps and turned the wicks low. Lamplight flickered, burned slow. The smell of kerosene floated out into the churchyard.
Dusk deepened. Lamps glowed yellow and bright. "Meetin' is gettin' ready to start, Jule."
"I-likes meetin', " Jule said. "Preachin' is nice."
"We don't hab to go in now, do we, Jule?"
"Not now," Jule said. "We kin wait a spell."
They sat in a buggy, watching the lights. Dr. Mootry turned the wicks higher. The dusk blew up cool and the wind played in the treetops. They could hear the singing now.
They dropped from the buggy and Jule looked at her face. Her face came up close.
"I-likes th' wind," Jule said. "I-likes th' way it whistles in th' treetops."
"You hears th' wind, Jule?" She caught his hand. "It's a big wind, Jule."
"We's goin' in church now," Jule said. "Now?" Bertha Mae said. "Now," Jule said.
Jule helped Rollo clean out the stables that fall. They put in fresh pine needles and whitewashed the walls. Rollo's dad said: "You and Jule going hunting, Son? Birds are good shooting now."
"After we get the stables cleaned, Dad," Rollo said. "Horses got to have a clean place."
"Dogs too," Jule said.
Rollo and Jule worked through the days into the nights. They piled up manure and put in beds of clean needles. They cleaned out the dog kennels and put in new troughs.
"Dogs-likes clean troughs," Jule said.
"We got to build a new kennel, Jule," Rollo said. "A kennel for breeding."
They built the new kennel. Days grew short.
"We're going hunting now, Jule," Rollo said. "Hunting for birds. Birds out flying south."
Jule was at Rollo's house before dawn. Day broke, cool, with the sun coming up fast. The horses were saddled, a bag of oats strapped to their rumps. A stallion for Jule, a filly for Rollo.
"Didn't know you'd be up so soon," Rollo said, "I gits up early when we's goin' hunting," Jule said.
Rollo grinned at Jule. "You got sweet potatoes?"
"Ma knows you-likes sweet potatoes. I got corn pone an' fried possum too."
"I got sardines and soda crackers," Rollo said. "I got cheese and canned meat."
"We's gwine eat," Jule said.
Rollo's dad stepped from the rear of the store with a lantern in his hand. "Rollo! Rollo."
"Yes, Dad."
"Jule come yet."
"He's here now, Dad."
"Oh," his dad said. He held the lantern high. He saw Jule standing there in the shadows, his breath forming a vapor against the cool, frosty air.
"Good morning, Jule."
"Mornin', Mr. Cage."
Old Cage sniffed the air. "Good hunting weather, boy."
"I-likes hunting, Mr. Cage."
Old Cage dropped two boxes of shells in Rollo's hand. "Better take these along," he said. "You'll be gone for a couple of days, won't you?" i
"We got enough, Dad," Rollo said. "We won't need any more."
"Better take these, Son. You need shells when you're hunting."
Rollo took the shells and stuffed them in his pockets. He circled each horse, feeling the bundles strapped to their rumps. Jule fetched two canteens of water from the pump and tied them to the saddles. Rollo whistled for the dogs.
"All ready, Jule?" Rollo said.
"Ready, Mr. Rollo," Jule said.
"Have a good time, boys," Mr. Cage said.
They rode through the dawn, their saddles squeaking. Mist rose from the swamp and settled among the trees. The sun dispelled the mist. The dogs trotted ahead, smelling in the underbrush.
"We're hunting for partridges," Rollo said.
"Fo' bird meat, Rollo."
"For bird meat," Rollo said.
They headed for Peter's Mudhole. "We ought to make it by sundown," Rollo said.
They stopped for lunch and drank water from their canteens. Afternoon wore on and the sun dropped behind the trees. The air felt light. Night settled fast.
"Got to find a place to bunk," Rollo said. "Got to get an early start in the morning."
They saw a corn shock in an open field. "Maybe we can bunk here," Rollo said.
"Bunk in a cornfield?" Jule said.
"We got to bunk," Rollo said.
Jule unsaddled the .horses and Rollo started a fire. "We need some water, Jule."
Jule went down an embankment and placed his ear against the ground. He could hear the sound of, running water. Water bubbled fresh at the base of a tree. Jule filled the canteens. They watered the horses and fed them oats and fodder. They fed the dogs possum meat.
Rollo and Jule ate warmed-over possum and sweet potatoes, crackers and cheese,-and drank spring water.
"I feel fine," Rollo said.
"Me too," Jule said.
Rollo fed cartridges into his rifle. He looked up at the stars. The stars seemed close and still. "Night's quiet," Rollo said.
They took off their shoes and shucked their trousers. They stretched out under the corn shock. Fodder leaves pricked like needles.
"This is fun," Rollo said.
"I-likes fun," Jule said
The moon shone bright and they spoke softly under their breath. The field came in close, powder-blue under the moonlight. They could see the shadows. Shadows crept like ghosts across the field.
Jule said: "We gits birds in th' mornin'. "
"We'll get birds," Rollo said. "But we got to sleep now."
They fell silent and watched the moon. Shadows hazed and their eyelids felt heavy. They slept and dreamed about birds.
Morning broke sharp with a tang. The air smelled clean. Jule went to the spring to wash his face and brought back two canteens of water. Rollo had a fire going. They fed the dogs and horses and watered them at the spring. They fried eggs and heated a can of sardines. Sardines and eggs tasted good in the morning.
"We got to move," Rollo said.
"I is ready," Jule said.
They saddled the horses and broke camp. They rode down the trail. The air felt brisk and fine. Frost was on the grass, but the sun was coming up warm. The dogs sniffed in the grass along the trail.
"We're in Peter's Mudhole now," Rollo said. "We're heading for good hunting."
The land sloped and lay flat against the marshes. They could see the water in the distance, still in the sunlight. Swamp birds winged overhead.
Rollo said: "We're in fine country, Jule. You see the birds?"
"I sees the birds," Jule said. "Huntin' country."
The dogs pricked up their ears and raced around in circles. They came back to Rollo and Jule, whining softly.
Jule and Rollo rode down an embankment. They found a spot in the lee of a hill. "We better stop here, Jule," Rollo said.
They unsaddled the horses and tethered them to a tree. Rollo loaded the shotgun and handed Jule the rifle. "We got to separate," Rollo said. "Got to shoot birds on the wing. Hold the dogs 'til I'm out of sight."
Jule squatted there with the dogs ganged around him. He listened to the wind. He saw a squirrel scampering up a tree. He drew a bead on the squirrel and plugged him. The squirrel dropped into his lap. He crouched there waiting for a signal from Rollo.
"Turn 'em loose!" Rollo yelled.
The dogs broke. Jule cut across the marsh and hid in the tall grass. He waited, listening. The air seemed suddenly still.
He could hear the dogs fanning out along the marshes, rustling through the grass. He held his breath Tight in his throat. Rollo's voice came crisp and clear: "Now, boy!"
The birds rose like thunder. Smoke puffed from Rollo's gun. The sky was black with partridges. They swooped low and swung across the marshes, their wings singing. Jule didn't move. He sat there, staring.
Rollo pushed through the grass. "Did you get any, Jule?"
"They was too fast. They went by like lightnin'. All I could do was sit an' listen."
Rollo laughed. "Maybe next time. I bagged a good catch."
The dogs handled the birds easy between their teeth. Jule and Rollo counted the birds. There were fifteen patridges.
"Fine dogs," Jule said.
"Best bird dogs in the world," Rollo said.
They ate bird-meat for supper, fried in grease from fat back. Bird meat and crackers. They went looking for fruit and found crab apples and muscadines. Crab apples were sour. Jule bit one and spat it out.
"You don't like crap apples?" Rollo said.
"Taste like green persimmon."
"They're nice, Jule," Rollo said.
"I-likes muscadines."
The air felt tight and hot. They saw the pond beneath the trees, still and deep. Lilies floated on the surface of the pond. "Let's go swimming, Jule." Jule stripped to his waist. "Water looks cool, Rollo."
They plunged headlong into the pond and came up snorting. They paddled around, dog-fashion. Water felt clean. They ducked in and out of the water and splashed around, yelling. They skeeted water with their hands and ducked each other. They treaded water, breathing hard. They looked at each other and grinned.
"Fine," Rollo said.
"Nice," Jule said.
They dived fast. Rollo came up at the other end of the pond. He yelled: "Hi, Jule!"
"Hi, Rollo!"
They swam toward each other under water, tussled and bobbed to the surfacefor air. They dived again and came up free and clean.
"Enough, Jule?"
' Enough, Rollo!"
They climbed the bank, dripping, and gasped for breath.
"Gosh!" Jule said.
"That was fun," Rollo said.
They flung themselves on the bank and stretched out to dry. The air felt heavy. They dressed in silence. Dusk came in close.
"Got to get back to the horses, Jule."
They found the horses quiet, eating oats. They fed the dogs canned meat and bedded down in pine needles, bone-tired. They slept.
Rollo sat up, rain splattering his face. He looked at his watch The hands pointed straight up. He could see the radium gleam. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled in the distance. He shook Jule.
"It's raining, Jule! Wake up!"
Jule rolled over and looked at Rollo. Lightning streaked across the sky. Jule was on his feet, wide-awake now. "Th' horses, Rollo!"
They skidded down the embankment and raced toward the horses. The horses huddled under a tree, whinnying and pawing the ground.
"Cut 'em loose, Jule! Cut 'em loose!"
Lightning split the tree to its roots, and the horses dropped before their eyes. Horseflesh burned and the smell filled their nostrils.
"God!" Rollo said.
"Lightnin' done struck!" Jule said.
They stood in silence, gripping each other. Rain streamed down their faces. Rain and tears. The dogs howled. It was a weird sound. Jule's flesh crawled. His nails bit into Rollo. He went searching for the dogs, crawling on his hands and knees.
He found the dogs crouched in the lee of a hill, trembling. Their bodies felt cold and wet. "Dogs safe, Rollo."
"Dogs?" Rollo stood there, looking at Jule. "Dogs, Rollo."
The dogs went to Rollo. He patted them gently and they licked his hands and whined.
Rollo stood silent, listening to the rain. The rain fell softly on the leaves.
"God, Jule! Can't we do something?"
The dogs went on licking his hands. He could feel their tongues, caressing and warm. He waited for the sound of Jule's voice. Jule didn't say anything.
"Why don't you answer me, Jule? Can't you hear me?"
"Lightnin' done struck," Jule said.
*CHAPTER SEVEN*
THEY climbed the embankment. Rain and wind grew in violence, the storm whipping through the trees. They tied the saddles together, their bodies braced against the wind. They . buried the saddles under pine needles.
"Got to come back for the saddles, Jule."
They picked up their packs and strapped them to their backs. Guns were running wet. The dogs waited, shivering in the rain.
"Got a long way to go, Jule. Got to walk."
"I knows," Jule said.
They slogged through mud and their packs felt heavy. Rain slackened to a drizzle. The dogs trailed behind, mire dripping from their bellies. The sun rose clean. Morning air was like a tonic ami birds winged overhead. Dampness cleared from the fields and they could see blue in the distance. They walked toward the sun.
Their clothes dried stiff against their flesh and splotches of mud itched their legs. The trail leveled off across the field and rose to higher ground. The sun grew hot. Sweat trickled down their spines. Mud turned to sand and sand to dust. They felt tired and their legs began to ache. "We better stop, Jule. We been walking since midnight."
They rested in the shade of a chinaberry tree and rummaged their packs for food. Jule found a sweet potato and a possum leg. Rollo found sardines and soda crackers. Crackers were soggy.
"Wet crackers an' sardines taste good, Rollo."
"I ain't hungry, Jule." Rollo stared into space.
"Ain't hongry?"
"I feel full. I feel tight."
"You don't wants to eat?"
"I feel like I want to burst!"
Jule was silent. He spat out the sardines and crackers. His mouth felt rough and dry, like sawdust. He found two tins of meat for the dogs and fed them. They ate greedily and lapped water from his canteen.
Jule looked at Rollo. "You better eat somethin'. You ain't et nothin' yet."
Rollo's eyes filled with" tears. "God, Jule, don't you remember what happened?" He stood up. "What will Dad say? What will he think? He counts on me, Jule. He figures I can do anything ... take care of anything! Can't you see what it means to him?"
"But you got to eat, Rollo."
"I can't eat! I just can't!"
Jule caught his arm and gripped it gently. "It wasn't yo' fault. You couldn't help it."
"But what will Dad say, Jule? What can I tell him? ... We lost a stallion and a filly. A young filly, just broken in. He liked her, Jule. He liked the way her eyes looked when he fed her sugar!"
Jule tightened his grip. "He'll understand. He's
got tc understand. Jes' tell him how it was. Tell him th' truth.'
Rollo was silent. Then he said: "Yes,-Jule. You're right. Just tell him the truth ... just tell him . . "
They picked up their packs and headed down the trail, Rollo in the lead. They went through briars and thickets. Briars overlapped the trail. The sun slanted toward the west, hot against their necks. They skirted pastures, swamp-green along the marshes. Cows and horses grazed in the sun. The dogs, raced around and ran ahead, picking up scents. They came back, yelping.
"We got enough food for the dogs, Jule?"
"Got two cans of meat?"
"We got sardines?"
"No sardines."
"Got to get something for the dogs. Birds or something. Dogs got to eat."
"Let's wait 'til sundown," Jule said. "We kin bag some squirrels, or mebbe a possum. Possums prowl at night."
Sundown found them in a cluster of tall poplars. Jule tethered the dogs and held them quiet. Rollo squatted in a hollow facing the wind, rifle cocked. Two squirrels darted out on a limb and scampered down a tree trunk, rustling for nuts. Rifle shots sounded dull against the wind, and the dogs whimpered. Jule watched the tree, his nostrils quivering. Shots came fast. The squirrels raced for the treetops and disappeared between the leaves. Silence filled the hollow.
Rollo stood there with the rifle dangling from his hand. "God, Jule, look at my hands! They're shaking. I can't hold the rifle steady! I can't shoot any more!" He dropped the rifle.
Night closed in and wind sighed in the treetops.
"Mebbe yo' aim was too low, Rollo, what wid th' wind blowin' in yo' face. Mebbe them squirrels was too fast. Squirrels kin run fast."
"But, Jule-I can't go to pieces like this! Goddamn it, I can't!"
Jule picked up the rifle. "It don't matter, Rollo. We'll git meat fo' th' dogs somehow. Let's move."
They inched along the trail, feeling their way through briars and bushes. Their eyes pierced the darkness and trees took shape. They could see openings beneath the trees. The moon broke through the clouds and objects came into view and disappeared. They followed the trail, their eyes picking out specks on the landscape. They passed scrub oaks and stunted pines, a fringe against the night.
"See them trees yonder," Jule said.
"Trees?" Rollo paused. "What trees, Jule?"
"Trees right yonder where th' moon cuts off! Looks like a grove of persimmons. Possums like persimmons. Possums an' coons." They moved closer to the trees. "Them's persimmons all right. Persimmons an' possums!"
Jule crawled forward and squatted on his hands and knees. He could see possums in the moonlight, feeding on persimmons. He counted possums under his breath: "One possum, two possums, three possums..." Possums crept from limb to limb, searching for persimmons.
Dead leaves covered the ground, dry and crisp. Jule heaped the leaves into a pile and struck a match. The fire blazed. Possums wrapped their tails around branches and played dead. Jule moved cautiously, with the instinct of an animal. His tread was soundless. He could feel his toes quiver, searching for new footing.
He climbed the tree and reached for a possum. The possum dropped to the ground and scooted into the night. Jule lunged forward and grabbed the next possum by the tail. He banged the possum's head against the limb.
"Rollo! Rollo!" he yelled. "I got a possum!"
Rollo came running. "Dogs can eat, Jule?"
"Dogs kin eat."
They skinned the possum and roasted it over the fire. They fed. the logs possum legs. "Dogs like possum, Jule."
"Dogs an' us too," Jule said.
They walked all night and into the dawn. Dawn found them at the edge of Peter's Mudhole. They fed the rest of the possum to the dogs and ate berries for their breakfast.
"Got six more miles to go," Rollo said. "Six long miles."
"Den we'll be home," Jule said.
They kept moving. The sun climbed and their feet ached. They took off their shoes and swung them over their backs. The sun beat down and heat shimmered on the road.
"God, I'm thirsty, Jule! I'm thirsty!" Rollo turned up his canteen. It wasdry.
"Here, drink mine,' Jule said.
"But you only got a little water left, Jule."
"I ain't thirsty," Jule said. "Drink."
Rollo looked at Jule. He took a swig from the canteen and handed it back.
"Drink it all, Rollo."
"No, Jule. You got to have some, too, same as me."
"Drink," Jule said.
Rollo walked into the yard. He stood there looking at the house, wtiite and silent in the dusk. The house looked strange and different. His dad came down the steps with a bucket in his hand.
"Rollo!" his dad said.
"Dad!" Rollo ran forward.
"Back so soon, Son? Though you were doing some real hunting!"
"We had to come back, Dad."
"Come back? Why?" Old Cage looked at his son. "It was like this, Dad-" Rollo broke off. "What happened, Son?" his dad said.
Sweat beaded Rollo's forehead. His belly crawled and came up tight. "We lost the horses, Dad. The horses are dead! ... Lightning!"
His father was silent.
"It wasn't his fault," Jule blurted, "He couldn't help, it, Mr. Cage. Lightnin' struck fast. Fast in th' night. Horses dropped dead right befo' our eyes!"
"We tried to save them, Dad," Rollo said.
His father didn't say anything.
"Dad?"
Old Cage choked up. Then: "It's all right, Son. You did your best." He put his arm around Rollo's shoulder, gripped it. "I understand..."
The night was still.
"She was a fine filly, Mr. Cage," Jule said.
"Best filly I ever had, Jule." Old Cage spoke quietly, his voice scarcely above a whisper. He stood silent for a moment, staring at nothing at all. Then he looked at Rollo and Jule. "Guess you boys are hungry. Let's find something to eat."
They walked toward the house.
*CHAPTER EIGHT*
JULE worked for Boykin Keye that winter. He hauled fertilizer and feedstuff and stacked it in the barn. He cut firewood and drove cattle to be dipped. He milked cows and fed chickens and rounded up pigs at night. Pigs ran wild during the winter.
Boykin Keye paid Jule each Saturday night. Paid him the wages he had earned, fifty cents a day. Boykin Keye said: "You're a good nigger. A fine nigger boy. I can use a smart nigger." He gave Jule lard and meal, snuff and tobacco. Things to take home to his ma.
"Thank you," Mr. Keye," Jule said.
"It's all right, boy."
Bertha Mae brought Jule's lunch in a pail: turnip greens, fat back, and corn meal. On Saturdays she brought fried fish and sweet potatoes and pie.
Jule ate the sweet potatoes and started on the pie. Bertha Mae watched him eat. "You-likes pie, don't you, Jule?"
"Pie is nice," Jule said.
Boykin Keye burned off his land for seeding in the spring. Jule cut scrub oaks and sweetgums and piled them at the edge of the field. Fire burned swiftly and Jule beat back the flames with branches. He turned a furrow to keep the fire from spreading.
Boykin Keye rode up on his horse. "That's right. Catch it before it spreads." He slouched in the saddle, lean and hard-looking, his face the color of autumn leaves. "Put it out now, boy." He watched Jule dig up earth and put out the fire. Jule's muscles rippled along his shoulders. Boykin Keye sat there, his head cocked to one side, looking at Jule. He thought: "He's a big buck. A strong buck."
Bertha Mae came across the field. She stopped short and looked at Boykin Keye. "I got Jule some lunch, Mr. Keye."
Boykin Keye looked at her.
Jule took the lunch pail and opened it. Bertha Mae said: "Sorry I is late, Jule. I didn't means to be late."
"It don't matter," Jule said. "Food is still .hot, Jule.' "I-likes hot food."
Boykin Keye spun his horse around. He said to Jule: "Come to the house when you're through. Got some more work for you."
Jule sat there with the pail braced between his knees. He ate with relish. The sun felt hot, and sweat trickled down his face. He bit into the corn pone and grinned at Bertha Mae. "
"Good, Jule?"
"Fine," Jule said. "Only I wants some water. A whole bucket of water."
"Spring's right down yonder, Jule."
They walked toward the spring and Jule looked at her face. Her eyes danced. Water bubbled cool and fresh from the spring. Jule dipped up a hatful and drank deep. "Want some, Bertha Mae?"
Bertha Mae shook her head. Her lips looked cool and fresh, like spring water. Jule looked at her lips and gulped water from his hat. He paused for breath. "Water's nice, Bertha Mae."
Bertha Mae didn't say anything. Just looked at him. He could feel her eyes. Her eyes said: "Look at me, Jule! Can't you see me?" He looked at her and her eyes came up close. Her eyes said: "It's me, Jule ... Bertha Mae!" He could feel the sweat pop out on his forehead. He gulped more water and stared at her eyes. Her eyes said: "Jule! Jule! ... Can't you hear me, Jule?" He stood up and looked at her eyes. Her eyes said: "It's jes' me an' you, Jule! Jes' me an' you! ... Don't you understands, Jule?"
Jule looked away.
He walked her across the slue to her ma's cabin, then went looking for Boykin Keye. Boykin Keye was in the back yard, loosening the saddlestraps. Sweat foamed on the horse's belly.
"Got some mo' work fo' me, Mr. Keye?"
"Take the saddle to the shed." Boykin Keye dropped the saddle to the ground and led the horse to the trough to drink.
Jule came back from the shed. "Wants me to finish cleanin' th' stable, Mr. Keye?"
"Stable?" Boykin Keye stroked the horse's mane. "What stable, boy?"
"I thought you wanted yo' stable cleaned, Mr. Keye."
"No," Boykin Keye said, "I've changed my mind."
"But, Mr. Keye, I thought-"
"Never mind what you thought! Stable can wait!" Boykin
Keye looked at Jule. "Here's your money, boy."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Keye."
Jule looked at the money and thought about his ma. His ma said: "People is people, Son. You is got to take people like they is. People is funny."
Bertha Mae's ma came in from the field. Bertha Mae dished up greens and boiled potatoes, turnips and squash, corn and stewed tomatoes. She poured buttermilk from a stone churn and cut egg bread into squares. She stacked the squares on a plate and placed them before her ma. Her ma ate in silence. Egg bread tasted light and sweet.
"Nice, Ma?"
"Supper's nice, Bertha Mae. You is a good cook, child. A real good cook."
"I-likes to cook fo' you, Ma."
Her ma said: "You looks nice, Bertha Mae. Nice an' clean in yo' cotton dress. That's th' way I-likes you to look."
Bertha Mae kissed her ma lightly on the cheek. "Mo' greens, Ma? ... Mo' corn bread? ... Mo' buttermilk?..."
Her ma picked up another square of bread. "Seen Jule today?"
"Yes'm, I seen Jule."
"So that's how come you is so frisky." Bertha Mae giggled softly. "I-likes Jule, Ma."
"Jule's a nice boy," her ma said. "I knows, Ma."
Bertha Mae was sixteen that spring, round and firm and neat about the waist. She and her ma lived in a two-room shack on Boykin Keye's place. Bertha Mae cleaned the house, cooked the meals, and did the washing and ironing. Things like that. Bertha Mae didn't work in the field. .She went to prayer meeting on Wednesdays and choir practice on Fridays. Singing came natural to Bertha Mae. Her voice was true, like the strings of a harp.
April was seeding time, and her ma was busy in the field. May came in, lush and warm. Birds feathered their nests along the slues and separated into pairs. Spring filled the air. Seeds sprouted from the ground and green things sprung up by their roots and began to grow.
June came in hot and fast. Fields billowed with the heat. Corn grew tall and green, and Bertha Mae walked between corn rows with pails in her hands. She took food to her ma and water to the hands working in the fields. Hands thirsted for water. Their throats felt dry.
Crops were laid by and hands took their ease. Sometimes Bertha Mae went over to Alex' place and Jule walked her home. They walked through the cornfield. Jule liked the cornfields, green in July. They sat on Bertha Mae's doorstep, watching the tassels bobbing and weaving in the sunlight. Corn smelled sweet.
"You-likes to smell corn, Jule?"
"I-likes to smell corn," Jule said.
They went to prayer meeting in the twilight. They walked along the road, white and gleaming in the dusk. They paused in the churchyard, listening to the singing. Singing was low and sweet. Jule looked at Bertha Mae. Her eyes were soft and vivid, deep with feeling.
"Meetin' jes' gettin' started, Jule."
" "But we don't have to go in now," Jule. said. "We could walk fo' a spell."
"Walk where?" '
"Down th' road-'cross th' field-most anywhere!"
"But Ma wants us in church, Jule. She wants to see us in church."
"She won't mind if we takes a little walk. Meetin' ain't started yet. They is jes' singin' befo' prayer meetin'. "
"You-likes to walk, don't you, Jule."
"I-likes to walk," Jule said.
Bertha Mae squeezed his arm and looked at his face. Her teeth flashed white against the moonlight. "Night's nice fo' walkin', ain't it, Jule?"
"Moon's like day," Jule said. "You kin see trees an' cornfields."
They walked down the road, across the field. Corn looked tall and green and the moon rode high. Jule held her hand, cool against his own.
"Hear th' singin'? " Jule said.
"We got to be in church, come preachin', Jule."
"We'll git back befo' preachin' starts."
"Ma'll like that." Bertha Mae giggled. "She wants us in church to hear th' preachin'. "
They walked down a furrow, listening to the singing, and corn leaves stung their faces. Corn leaves cut like a knife. Bertha Mae ducked her head, laughter bubbling in her throat.-
"Let's rest a while, Jule. I feel tired."
"Sure," Jule said. "Let's sit here. Ain't no grass or nothin'. "
They sat on a corn row. Bertha Mae spread her dress carefully, folding the hem over her knees. She smoothed the pleats with the palm of her hand.
"Nice here, ain't it, Jule?"
"Nice," Jule said.
They took off their shoes and dug their toes into the sand. Sand felt cool. Bertha Mae pinched his arm and looked at his face. "Feels good, Jule?"
"Feels fine," Jule said. He rested his body on his elbows and wiggled his toes in the sand. "Sand feels good. You kin feel sand squirt betwix' yo' toes."
"Moon's nice too, Jule. You kin see moonlight betwix' corn leaves. Moon looks nice."
Jule looked at the moon and felt her fingers caress his face. Her fingers felt light and soft, like a feather.
"Quiet, ain't it, Jule? Quiet an' peaceful, like bein' in church. Ain't it, Jule?"
"Quiet like a woodpecker," Jule said.
"Like a woodpecker?" Bertha Mae looked at him.
"You hears singin', don't you?"
Singing floated out from the churchyard. It was a. sweet singing, Bertha Mae was silent, listening to the singing.
"Somethin' funny 'bout singin', " Jule said. "Singin' goes down deep. You kin feel singin'. "
He fell silent. They sat there, side by side, listening. He looked at the girl's face, at the vividness of her eyes, moonlight spilling over them. He stared at her eyes.
"Jule?" Bertha Mae said.
"Don't holler. I ain't deef."
"But I didn't means to holler, Jule. I jes'..."
He reached over and caught her hand, squeezed it. "It don't matter. Nothin' don't matter. Nothin' 'cept you an' me. It's jes' you an' me, Bertha Mae."
A smile quivered on her lips. "I knows, Jule." She brushed her lips against his cheek.
"Kiss me," Jule said. "Kiss me, Bertha Mae!"
She kissed him and the cornfield felt suddenly still and hot.
She kissed him and looked at the corn leaves with the moon breaking through. The moon seemed to race. "You hears singin', Jule?"
"Singin' don't matter," Jule said. "It's what I feels." . "But singin' is nice, Jule."
He turned over and caught her close. His lips sought hers. He kissed her. Singing grew louder, rose to a shout. It was a church singing. Jule looked at the corn, tall and green and liquid in the moonlight.
"Jule?"
Jule was silent. Bertha Mae looked at his face, at the muscles stretched taut and hot along his jaw. His eyes were like embers, smoldering. He slipped his hand through an opening in her dress and found her breast. Her breast felt cool and firm beneath his hand, and her body quivered.
"I hears a singin', Jule. Singin' sounds sweet ... It's a big singin', Jule!"
"It ain't no singin', " Jule said.
"But I feels singin', Jule. I feels it way down deep."
He forced his lips against hers and opened her mouth wide. His arms tightened about her waist. He felt her body come up close. "Singin' is singin', " Jule said. "Singin' is what you feels."
"But, Jule..."
Her dress was rolled tight about her waist and the muscles along her thighs rippled against his body. He could feel her thighs. Her thighs felt hot. Her body stiffened, her nails biting into his flesh. She opened her mouth and gulped for air.
The girl began to crawl. She crawled on her back, digging her heels into the sand. She squirmed over corn rows, inch by inch, her head plowing a furrow through the sand. Her breath was coming fast, hot against his throat. The boy could feel her body slipping. He gripped her and caught her body close. The girl clenched her teeth.
"Don't, Jule! Don't do it no mo'! ... It hurts, Jule. It hurts bad! ... Jes' like-like lightnin' strikin'! "
Tears spilled over his lids and she smothered them against his chest.
Jule was silent. He kissed .her. The moon raced again.
"Kiss me some mo', Jule. Kiss me now! Kiss me wid yo' tongue in my mouth! ... Choke me, Jule! Choke me so I can't holler! ... I don't wants to holler, Jule!"
He kissed her and her teeth bit deep into his flesh. Blood ran hot in his mouth. The girl caught her breath sharply, her pulse hammering in her throat. She began to crawl again, backward over corn rows. Backward through the sand. Sand ground into her flesh. She could feel the sand.
Her head struck a hedgerow. "I can't, Jule! I can't go no further!"
"Bertha Mae? Bertha Mae?" He whispered it. "I can't, Jule! I jes' can't! I-"
He gripped her and pinned her against the hedgerow.
"Hold me close, Jule! Hold me tight!"
She flexed her muscles and sucked air through her teeth. Her breast heaved. Her breast felt full and tight. Her body rose with a quick movement, tight against his body. "Jule!" she gasped. "Oh ... Jule! ... Jule!"
He beat her body against the ground until it was still.
The moon slipped behind a cloud and came out again. Jule watched the moon. A cloud cast its shadow over the cornfield and the moon winged its way across the sky.
Jule's face floated toward her. She could see his face. Her body felt tired and relaxed.
"I hears a singin', Jule. Hears it way off yonder. Singin' sounds sweet."
"Ain't no singin', " Jule said.
"Ain't no singin' in th' churchyard yonder? No singin' or nothin'? "
"Singin' done quit," Jule said.
Bertha Mae was silent. Her breast xose and fell with an even breathing. "Where's we, Jule? Where's we done been."
"Done been to London to see de queen."
"Queen? ... Queen in London, Jule."
"Queen's a queen," Jule said. "Queen's evahwhere."
Bertha Mae sighed. "Nice to be a queen, Jule. Nice to feel like a queen ... I wants to be yo' queen, Jule."
"You is my queen," Jule said. "Only queen I knows!"
Bertha Mae closed her eyes. "I hears a singin', Jule. I hears it way off yonder. It's a big singin'! ... You-likes singin', Jule?"
"Singin' is singin', " Jule said. "Singin' goes down deep."
*CHAPTER NINE*
ALEX and Jule pulled fodder in August and September, tied it in bundles, and stacked it in shocks. Fodder was feedstuff for mules and cattle in the dead of winter.
Alex said: "Looks like an early fall, Jule. Wind is shiftin'. " Jule watched birds circle and float lazily on their wings and settle to earth. "Wind's from the north, Uncle Alex. Frost is comin' soon."
Alex looked at the birds.
Seed cotton hung heavy in boles. Hands picked seed cotton and dug sweet potatoes. Seed cotton stood in mounds, like pyramids, in the dusk. Alex weighed seed cotton by torchlight, and Jule notched the weights on a hickory stick. Alex hauled cotton to gin and used seed money to pay off the hands. Seed money was spending money.
Hands pulled corn and dumped it in cribs. Jule took corn to mill and brought back meal in sacks, peck for peck. Meal was water-ground, fluffy and light.
A cold wind blew out of the north. Frost fell early. Hands cut sorghum and sugar cane and ground it at the mill. Jule stewed sorghum and cane juice into syrup and poured it in demijohn's corked with a corncob stopple.' Hands ate cane syrup for breakfast, sorghum for supper, and put sorghum in coffee for sweetening. Sorghum turned to sugar when the winter was cold.
Alex went into town in December, Cooper Jackson and Dr. Mootry went with Alex. They sat in the bottom of the wagon, their backs braced against the driver's seat.
"I-likes Christmas," Dr. Mootry said. "I-likes to see Santa Claus."
"Ain't no Santa Claus, fool," Cooper Jackson said. "Santa Claus is fo' two-year-olds."
"But I-likes Santa Claus," Dr. Mootry said.
Cooper Jackson looked at Dr. Mootry. "Ain't I done tol' you there ain't no Santa Claus? Ain't I done tol' you-"
"Hush up!" Alex said. "Christmas is Christmas! Christmas is fo' everybody. Christmas is what you feels."
Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson were silent, listening to the cluck of wagon wheels. Dr. Mootry grinned at Cooper Jackson. He spoke softly: "We's gwine see Santa Claus. Uncle Alex is takin' us to see Santa Claus. Santa Claus is nice!"
Alex brought the mules to a halt and dropped to the ground. Dr. Mootry danced on the floor of the wagon. "Is dis where Santa Claus is, Uncle Alex? Is dis where we sees all de toys?"
"Come on, fool!" Cooper Jackson said.
They followed Alex into the general store. Alex bought snuff and tobacco, calico and overalls, toys and fruits, nuts and candy. Alex bought peppermint balls with red stripes spiraling around the middle. Hands looked forward to presents at Christmas.
"I-likes peppermint balls," Dr. Mootry said.
"They ain't fo' you," Cooper Jackson said.
"But peppermint balls is nice," Dr. Mootry said. He picked up a handful and popped one into his mouth. "Peppermint balls tastes good an' sucks good too."
"Hush up," Alex said.
Cooper Jackson and Dr. Mootry fetched packages from the store and stacked them in the wagon. Alex climbed onto the driver's seat and spoke to the mules. The wagon jolted and settled into a rut. Dr. Mootry and Cooper Jackson scrambled into the wagon and sat down hard.
Dr. Mootry beamed. "Uncle Alex is got presents fo' evah-body. Fo' me an' you too, Cooper!"
"Ain't no presents fo' us," Cooper' Jackson said. "Presents is fo' chilluns."
"Uncle Alex is got a present fo' me, 'cause I is Dr. Mootry!"
"You ain't nobody," Cooper Jackson said. "You is jes' Mootry an' I is Jackson! We done had our Christmas!"
"Uncle Alex is got a present fo' me. Uncle Alex always gits me a present. Uncle Alex counts on me."
Cooper Jackson looked at Dr. Mootry. "A fool is a fool, an' you is still a fool!"
The Christmas tree stood in the churchyard. Everybody brought presents and hung them on the Christmas tree. Nan and Mae Jane, Newt and Bell, Caroline and Ollie, and hands from miles around. There were presents from Rollo and his dad and Boykin Keye.
Alex read from the Scriptures and the field hands stood in silence. They wore calico and homespun, overalls and jeans. Here and there a cigarette flared. Except for their breathing there wasn't a sound.-
Alex spoke the words simply: "For unto you is born this day in the city of David aSaviour, which is Christ the Lord. ... And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. ... And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying: 'Glory to God in the highest, "and on earth peace, good will toward men'. "
Alex gave out presents from the Christmas tree, and then there was eating: pies and baked hams, fried chicken and yams, oranges and tangerines, apples and nuts. Everybody ate and drank and laughed. It was Christmas.
Old Sandy Kennebrew stood in the grove beyond the churchyard with demijohns of whisky in the-back of his buggy. Old Sandy wore patent leather shoes, blackened with chimney soot. Whisky was ten cents a shot. Whisky was whisky even at Christmas time.
Bertha Mae showed her presents to her ma. A string of beads from Jule and a locket from Boykin Keye.
"Look, Ma! This is from Jule, an' this from Mr. Keye."
Her ma looked at the beads and the locket, then at Bertha Mae. "They's nice, Bertha Mae." '
There was a knock on the door and Bertha Mae opened it. She stood there smiling. "It's Jule, Ma!"
"Ask Jule to come in," her ma said.
"Got some flour an' sugar from Miss Caroline an' Uncle Alex," Jule said.
"Flour an' sugar? ... That's nice, Jule. Real nice! ... Sit down an' make yo'self at home."
Bertha Mae fetched pie and cake. "It's Christmas, Jule.".
"I ain't hongry," Jule said. "I jes' et."
"Don't you wants cake an' pie? Don't you wants somethin'? " Bertha Mae's ma looked at Jule.
"I comes to see Bertha Mae. Pie an' cake don't matter."
Her ma smiled and stood up. "I got my sewin' to do." She picked up her quilting and went into the kitchen. She closed the door softly.
"I-likes yo' present, Jule," Bertha Mae said. "Yo' present is nice." She clasped the beads about her throat. "-likes them, Jule?"
"Looks nice, Jule said. "Makes you look like a queen." He looked at her.
Boykin Keye rode up on his horse on New Year's Day. Bertha Mae was in the yard feeding chickens. Boykin Keye sat in the saddle, watching her. "Your ma home, Bertha Mae?"
"Yes sir, Mr. Keye."
He looked at her. "Never mind. It don't matter."
"But she's in th' house, Mr. Keye."
"I'll see her tomorrow," Boykin Keye said.
"Don't you wants to see her now, Mr. Keye?"
"You got my present, Bertha Mae?"
"Yes sir, Mr. Keye."
"You like it, Bertha Mae?"
"Yes sir, Mr. Keye."
"I'll be back to see your ma."
Boykin Keye's horse faded into the dust. Bertha Mae looked at the trees and listened to the wind high in the tree-tops and thought about Jule. She went into the house to her ma. "It was Mr. Keye, Ma."
"Mr. Keye?" Her ma looked at her. "What did he want?"
"He wanted to see you, Ma."
"See me? 'Bout what?"
"He didn't say. Said he'd come back later."
"Must be about th' crops," her ma said.
Bertha Mae did cleaning for Boykin Keye in the spring. Boykin Keye rode over and left word with her ma: "Miss Ella wants Bertha Mae. She wants Rer for a week. Tell her to come tomorrow."
It was March. Bertha Mae washed windows and scrubbed floors. She cleaned silver and polished furniture. She washed curtains and quilts. For two days she was up to her elbows in suds. "Soap and water," Miss Ella said. "Soap and water and elbow grease." Bertha Mae scrubbed until her fingers ached. Her hands smelled of lye when she went to sleep.
Boykin Keye said: "Don't work so hard, Bertha Mae. Stop and rest a while. Take it easy."
"It ain't hard, Mr. Keye," Bertha Mae said. "Miss Ella wants th' cleanin' done."
"Cleaning can wait," Boykin Keye said.
"But, Mr. Keye..."
Boykin Keye stood silent.
"I got th' dishes to do, Mr. Keye. Pots an' pans an' ironin'. "
"Pots and pans can wait," Boykin Keye said.
Fields were quiet and alive and spring was in the air. Bertha Mae stood in the twilight waiting for Jule. She watched Jule ,and the mules coming over the hill with the sunlight fading behind them. She said: "I been waitin' fo' you, Jule."
"Work's heavy," Jule said.
She helped Jule with the feeding. She shucked corn and Jule shelled it and fed the mules. She brought swill to the trough and Jule fed the pigs. They watered the catde and broke bundles of fodder.
"We kin milk th' cows when I gits back from th' house," Jule said.
"I'll milk th' cows, Jule. I-likes to milk."
Bertha Mae milked the cows. She picked up the pails and started for the house.
Jule met her coming up the trail. "Pails is too heavy, Bertha Mae. I kin fetch th' pails."
"It's all right, Jule. I don't mind."
"Wait fo' me here," Jule said. He took the pails to the yard and Bertha Mae waited. Jule came back from the yard. Bertha Mae was silent, looking at him.
"Let's go away, Jule. Let's run away I"
"Run away! Run away where?"
"Anywhere."
"Why, Bertha Mae?"
She looked at him. "Do it matter why, Jule?"
"It don't matter," Jule said. "Nothin' don't matter, 'cept you an' me. I love you, Bertha Mae."
"I love you, Jule." '
"But we don't have to run away, Bertha Mae."
She squeezed his hand. "All right, Jule."' The muscles tightened in her throat. "All right, Jule!" She looked at his face.
They walked across the field to her ma's cabin.
Jule watched the child coming across the field in a cloud of dust. The day was hot. The child's face was covered with grime. Particles of dust clung to his eyelids and made a dust mop of his hair. Streams of sweat furrowed his face like a plowed field. Jule turned the mule at the end of the row.
"Bertha Mae done sent me," the child said. "She wants you to meet her when you takes out fo' dinner."
"Meet her where?" Jule said.
"She say you know. She say it's de same place you always meets her."
"All right," Jule said.
"She say it's important," the child said. "She say she gwine be waitin' fo' you."
"All right," Jule said.
The child went back across the field and heat waves shimmered in the dust. Jule unhitched the mule at noon and led her to Alex' lot. He watered her and fed her oats and fodder. Then he headed for his ma's cabin.
"I ain't hongry, Ma," he said. "I got to git somewhere."
"But yo' victuals is ready, Jule. I got a pot of greens cooked wid fat back, de way you-likes."
"I is got to git now," Jule said. "Mebbe I'll eat when I comes back."
"But yo' food is ready, Jule!"
"Just hold it, Ma. I won't be gone long."
He went out the door and hit a trail to Boykin Keye's place. He followed the trail along a slue and went up a steep embankment, clustered with pine saplings. Pine needles spread a carpet over the ground and his toes dug deep into the earth.
Bertha Mae was waiting, her legs jack-knifed under her. Her gingham dress came to her Jtnees, and her bare legs were firm and fleshy where her dress fell short. Jule went to her.
Her eyes came alive and her face looked frightened. "I figgered you wasn't comin', Jule. I figgered-"
She stumbled to her feet and Jule caught her close. He could feel the warmth of her body beneath the cotton garment she wore. Her body quivered. He kissed her and the inside of her mouth felt hot. He kissed her again, long and hard, and felt the bone structure of her body pressed against him.
"Hold me, Jule. Hold me tight! Put yo' hand here-here on my breast! ... Yo' hand feels good on my breast, Jule!"
Pine needles felt cool and fresh. They sat on pine needles, the sun slanting through the trees.
"I is scared, Jule!"
"Scared of what?"
"Just scared ... scared!"
"Ain't nothin' to be scared of Bertha Mae."
"You don't know, Jule! You don't know!" She looked at his face. "I wants to tell you somethin'. Tell it slow an' easy, so you'll understand. I wants you to understand, Jule!"
"Understand what?"
'"Bout Boykin Keye."
"Boykin Keye?" Jule stared at her. "What about Boykin Keye?"
Bertha Mae was silent. "I don't know how to tell you, Jule."
"Tell me what?
Bertha Mae stiffened, her nails biting into his flesh. She could hear the sound of horse's hoofs pounding into sand. She jumped to her feet. Boykin Keye rode up the embankment and dropped from the saddle. "So this is where you meet your nigger!"
Bertha Mae's eyes blazed.
"I ain't sharing no woman with a nigger!" Boykin Keye said. "I ain't sharing you with nobody!"
Jule felt his muscles snap taut. He looked at Boykin Keye; at the veins swelling in his neck. Jule braced himself. Boykin Keye walked toward Jule, the butt of the gun clutched between his fingers. "I'm going to teach you a lesson-something you'll remember as long as you live! ... Git up, boy!"
Bertha Mae grabbed Boykin Keye's arm and he shoved her aside. Jule sprang forward. His knuckles crashed against teeth-and began to bleed. Boykin Keye fell sprawling. He stumbled to his feet and swallowed hard. He lunged at Jule. Jule sank his fist into Boykin Keye's guts, and Boykin Keye-staggered. He flung himself at Jule and caught him about the knees. They tumbled over and over down the embankment. Boykin .Keye pinned Jule to the ground with his knees and dug his fingers into Jule's throat. Jule gasped for breath, the blood pounding in his throat. He brought his knee up hard against the pit of Boykin Keye's stomach and wrenched himself free. He scrambled to his feet, breathing hard. He yanked Boykin Keye from the ground and spun him around. His fist shot out, his knuckles ripped to the bone. Boykin Keye went down slow and easy. Jule looked at his fists. He looked at Boykin Keye's mouth.
Boykin Keye dragged himself to his knees. "Nigger, you ain't going to get away with this! By God, I'm a white man! I'll blow your goddamn brains out if it's the last thing I do! You black bastard!"
Boykin Keye pulled himself up on his horse and rode away. Jule picked the gun out of the dust.
Bertha Mae touched his hand and looked at his face. "I wanted to tell you, Jule-tell you how it is. I wanted you to know."
"It's all right," Jule said. "It don't matter."
"But I didn't want it to be like this, Jule. I wanted you to understand."
The boy looked at her.'
"It was like this, Jule: Mr. Keye wanted me to go with him and nobody else. He wanted me to be just fo' him. But I wouldn't. I couldn't, Jule."
"It's all right," Jule said. "It's all right, Bertha Mae."
"That's what I been tryin' to tell you, Jule. That's why I wanted to run away."
"It don't matter," Jule said. He looked at the gun and dropped it in his pocket.
*CHAPTER TEN*
JULE went to his ma. "I got to git, Ma. I got to git somewhere fast."
"Git where? his ma said. "I got to git, Ma."
"Fo' what, son?"
"I done had a fight wid Mr. Keye."
His ma stood there, her eyes still in her face. "What about, Son?"
He told her about Bertha Mae and Boykin Keye. He told her about the fight and the way it happened. He told her the way it was. "I didn't want to fight him, Ma, but he came at me with a gun. It didn't seem right, Ma, with the gun in his hand."
His ma didn't say anything.
"He kept comin' at me, Ma, and I didn't know what to do. There was nothin' for me to do, Ma."
"I got to find Alex," his ma said. "Stay here."
Ollie took the mule and rode over to Alex'. "It's about Jule, Uncle Alex," Ollie said. "Jule is in trouble."
"Trouble? Trouble about what?"
"He done had a fight wid Boykin Keye."
"Where is Jule?" Alex said.
"Jule's home, Uncle Alex."
"Leave it to me," Alex said.
Sun slanted toward late afternoon. Jule's breath was coming fast. It felt tight and stuck in his throat. He opened his mouth wide and gulped for air. He went through the back gate and crossed the yard beneath two giant oaks. Shade felt fresh and cool, and the breeze soothed his flesh. Rollo was out back, feeding the dogs. The dogs set up a clamor at Jule's approach.
Rollo looked around. "Hi, Jule!"
Jule pressed his body against the kennel gate to ease the tension of his breathing. He spoke softly: "Kin I see you a minute?"
"Sure," Rollo said. He threw the rest of the bones to the dogs and turned to Jule. "What's eatin' you? You look sick!"
"Jes' wants to see you a minute. Ain't got much time."
"O.K., " Rollo said. He unlatched the gate and closed it behind him. He looked at Jule and his face sobered. "You been running, ain't you? You're almost out of breath!"
"I done run all de way down here," Jule said. "Guess I must of run too fast." He could feel Rollo's eyes on his face, feel their sharp, probing intimacy. Rollo's eyes were friendly eyes. "I is got to see you, Mr. Rollo. Got to see you right away."
"Let's go to the harness shed," Rollo said. "We can talk there."
They faced each other in the coolness of the shed and Jule breathed easier. The smell of saddle leather and horses was like a tonic. Jule spoke slowly at first, then more rapidly. He talked about Bertha Mae, how they met at Sunday school. He told, of that first moonlit night when he and Bertha Mae strolled to the cornfield, and of, the times after that.
"We'd meet after supper," Jule said, "an' sometimes after church. We'd meet like that, 'cause we figgered on bein' married."
"Is she the girl you been going with?" Rollo said. "Yes, sir."
"The girl you're always talking about."
"Yes, sir."
"Well, what's wrong?" Rollo said.
"I is tryin' to tell you," Jule said. "I is tryin' to show you how it is!"
He swallowed hard and was silent. He looked at Rollo's face, at the tiny freckles that flecked his lids and wove a pattern across the bridge of his nose. He looked at Rollo's eyes, china-blue and vivid, at the mop of blonde hair that fell over his eyes. Eyes he had seen a thousand times, without seeing them at all. Jule looked at Rollo as though he were seeing him for the first time. Rollo was a white boy.
"I can't tell you," Jule said.
"Tell me what?"
"I is got to go!"
"Go?" Rollo stared at him. "Go where."
"Me an' Boykin Keye done had a fight. Boykin Keye says it's me or him."
"But why?" Rollo said.
"Boykin Keye is goin' wid Bertha Mae. Bertha Mae is his gal."
"His gal?"
"He tried to beat me. I got his gun." Rollo caught his breath sharply. "You got his gun."
"Got it right here," Jule said. Let s see.
Jule drew-the gun from his pocket and dropped it in Rollo's hand. Rollo broke it. The gun was loaded all around. Copper jackets gleamed and bullet heads peeked through the cylinders.
"You got this from Boykin Keye?"
"Said he'd blow my brains out, if I don't leave Bertha Mae alone."
"Wait here," Rollo said. "Ain't nobody going to bother you. And you ain't going nowhere, neither."
Rollo crossed the yard and walked into his father's store. His father and Alex stood at the counter, talking in low tones. Rollo said: "Can I see you a minute, Dad?"
"See me about what, Son?"
"About Jule."
His father looked at Alex and then at Rollo. "What about Jule?" his father said.
"Him afld Boykin Keye had a fight," Rollo said. He dropped the gun on the counter.
There was a silence.
"You got this from Jule?" his father said.
"He gave it to me," Rollo said. "It's Boykin Keye's."
"Boykin Keye's?"
"Yes, Dad."
His father glanced at Alex and then back at Rollo. "Jule is leaving, Son," his father said.
"Leaving?" Rollo's eyes grew wide in his face. "But Jule ain't done nothing!"
"We-figure it's better if Jule goes away," his father said.
"How come Boykin Keye can't go away?"
"Boykin Keye is a white man, Son."
"But Boykin Keye is wrong, Dad!"
"Boykin Keye is still a white man," his father said.
Rollo stared at his father. He said: "If Boykin Keye is white, Dad, I don't want to be white!"
His father flushed. "Rollo, don't you ever let me hear you say a thing like that again! Not ever! Not as long as you live! Do you hear me!"
"I don't give a damn, Dad! It's the way I feel! Jule ain't done nothing!" Rollo burst into tears.
His father looked at him. "I know how you feel, Son. Jule is your friend and you feel sorry for him. But you don't have to cry. It can't be helped, Son."
"I ain't crying because I feel sorry!" Rollo shouted. "I ain't crying because Jule is going away! I'm crying-because, by God, I'm so goddamn mad!"
Rollo stood there with tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Son!" his father said.
"No, Dad, I won't listen! Goddamn it, I won't! It ain't fair!"
"Yo' pa is right, son," Alex said. "Yo pa knows what he's talkin' about. He's tryin' to do what's best fo' Jule."
"I know all that, Uncle Alex," Rollo said. "I know what Dad means! But, goddamn it, Jule ain't done nothing! Jule is my best friend. We've hunted together, fished together, slept in the same haystack together! Why does he have to leave just because of a lousy, goddamn bastard!"
"You may go, Son," his father said. "You may go now."
Rollo walked to the front of the store and out into the twilight. His eyes burned with the salt of his tears. Twilight was coming fast. He went back to the harness shed through the settling gloom. Jule was waiting.
"You got to go, Jule," Rollo said. "That's the way it is."
"I knows," Jule said.
"Dad's got it all figured out. He figures it's the best thing."
"I knows," Jule said.
Rollo looked at Jule. "You don't care?"
"It don't matter if I cares or not," Jule said. "I is got to go."
Rollo breathed deeply. "You go on home. Your ma'll be looking for you. But ain't nobody going to bother you. No goddamn body this side of hell! You hear me, Jule?"
"I hears you," Jule said. He looked at Rollo. He could see the tears spilling over Rollo's lids. Rollo struggled to blink them away, but the tears kept falling.
Twilight deepened and the moon shone like day. Rollo went into the house and got his rifle. He broke it into two parts, barrel and stock, and wrapped them in burlap. He opened a box of cartridges and fed them into his pocket. He went back to the stable and saddled his horse. He hid the gun under the saddle, just above the horse's rump, and rode the horse around to the front of the store.
"I'm going to say good-by to Jule, Dad."
"Say good-by to Jule? No. You stay here, Son."
"But I want to say good-by, Dad. Jule is the only friend I ever had."
"You can't go, Son."
"I'm going, Dad. I got to go."
"But Jule is just a black boy," his father said. "Jule is just a nigger."
"I wish he was white," Rollo said. "I wish his face was as white as mine!"
His father was silent. "I'm going, Dad."
Moonlight spilled over cotton fields and surrounding thickets. Green fields shimmered under a pale moon. Rollo fished the rifle from beneath the saddle and fitted the parts together. He loaded the gun and laid it across his lap, pinned against the saddled horn with the weight of his body. He felt the gun jiggle as his horse broke into a gallop.
Alex' house squatted in an open field off the main road. Rollo could see the house, dark and silent now, clutching the earth as though frightened by the sudden approach of night. Rollo rode up to the front gate and dropped from the saddle. He tethered his horse to the gate and went forward, the rifle cradled in his arm.
Boykin Keye stepped out of the shadows. "Looking for somebody?" , "I'm looking for Jule," Rollo said.
"Jule ain't here," Boykin Keye said. "Alex ain't here neither." He looked at Rollo". "You Cage's son, ain't you?"
"I'm Cage's son," Rollo said, "and I'm looking for Jule."
"I'm looking for Jule, too," Boykin Keye said, "and when I find him, he's going to be a dead nigger."
"Jule ain't done nothing to you," Rollo said, "and you. ain't going to do nothing to him."
"He's going to be a dead nigger," Boykin Keye said.
"Over my dead body," Rollo said. "Jule is my best friend and ain't nobody going to touch him! You or nobody else!"
"He's still a dead nigger," Boykin Keye said. "Ain't no nigger going to beat me and get away with it!"
Rollo looked at Boykin Keye.
"Better get on home, son," Boykin Keye said.
Rollo swung up on his horse and rode to Jule's cabin. The cabin was dark. Rollo knocked softly and Ollie opened the door.
"Is Jule here?"
Ollie stared into his face. "You lookin' fo' Jule?"
"Jule," Rollo said.
"You is Mr. Rollo, ain't you?"
"I'm Rollo."
"You want Jule?"
"I want Jule."
"I got to take you to Jule."
"Jule ain't here? Rollo said.
"Jule's in th' woods," Ollie said.
"Get Jule's things together," Rollo said.
Ollie looked at Rollo. She went back into the cabin and got Jule's. things. She packed them tight in a bundle. They circled the back of the house and went through a clump of woods. Ollie paused.
"Jule! Jule!" she called.
"Yes, Ma."
"I got yo' clothes," his ma said.
"You got to go, Jule," Rollo said. "You got to go now."
Ollie caught Jule close and they stood silent. "You goin' away, Son. Goin' away fo' a long time. You goin' to walk on new ground."
"I knows, Ma."
"Here's yo' clothes, Son."
Jule took the bundle.
"You got to be somebody, Son. You got to be somebody as
-long as you live. Don't never forget it! You hears me, Jule."
"I hears you, Ma."
He climbed up on the horse behind Rollo. They hit the back road through the woods. They could see the moon, and fields came into view.
"Remember the moon, Jule?" Rollo said. "Remember the time we went hunting?"
"I remembers," Jule said.
They rode without speaking. They could hear dogs in the distance, baying at the moon. "Hear the dogs, Jule."
"I hears th' dogs," Jule said.
"It's like when we were hunting, Jule. like when we were in Peter's Mudhole. Dogs ran around yelping and picking up scents. You could hear the dogs."
"Dogs-likes to hunt," Jule said.
They rode deeper into the night. They could hear pond frogs croaking.
"Can you hear the frogs, Jule."
"I hears th' frogs," Jule said.
"Like when we went swimming, Jule. Remember."
"I remembers," Jule said.
"Swimming was fun," Rollo said. "We ducked each other and played in the water."
"I remembers," Jule said.
"And the times we went fishing?"
"And th' times we went fishin', " Jule said.
The road dropped and settled among swamp bushes. They rode past fields and marshes, piny woods and canebrakes. They saw corn shocks and fodder stacks.
"Remember the time we slept under the fodder stack?" Rollo said.
"I remembers," Jule said. "Sleepin' under a fodder stack was fun."
"You went to the spring for water and we had sardines and eggs for breakfast. I watched you coming up from the spring with the canteens. You looked funny, Jule, coming up the hill.
The dogs kept jumping up and licking your face, and you couldn't push them away. You looked funny, Jule."
Jule smiled. "You looked funny too, Rollo, tryin' to fry them sardines an' eggs. You weren't no cook. You burned th' eggs an' dropped th' sardines an' got 'em full of dirt. But they was good, Rollo."
Rollo saw the railroad. Moonlight shone along the tracks. They could hear the train slacken on the grade. They dropped from the horse and stood near the rails.
"This is it, Jule," Rollo said. "This is it."
"I got to go," Jule said.
Rollo stripped his watch from his wrist and handed it to Jule. "Take it, Jule. I want you to have it."
"Yo' watch."
"My watch."
"But I can't take yo' watch, Rollo."
"You got to take it, Jule. I want you to have it."
Jule looked at the watch. The hands pointed straight up. It was twelve, midnight.
"I'll keep it, Rollo. I'll always keep it."
Jule turned and went toward the tracks. It was quiet for a moment. Rollo watched Jule approach the train. Jule slid beneath the freight car onto the rods. Moonlight shone like day.
Rollo watched the train slip into the night. "God!" he said, "it ain't no fun to be a white boy and alone!" He buried his face in his hands. His horse stood waiting.
*CHAPTER ELEVEN*
RAIN fell steadily now. He could feel the wetness of it soaking through to his bones. His clothes clung to his flesh, and water trickled in rivulets down his spine. He looked at the streets. The wet pavement mirrored the signs that flickered overhead, and the glare of street lights danced in his eyes. He clutched the bundle tight against? his ribs and felt a gnawing emptiness in the pit of his stomach.
He lengthened his stride, his legs swinging to a gaited rhythm. His feet seemed to reach out and eat up the sidewalk the way they would a plowed field. He kept his head down, his chin tucked in close, watching the lights on the pavement. The pavement flashed like plate glass. A door opened and the smell of food filled his nostrils. He tightened his grip on the bundle.
"I feels hongry," he told himself simply. "I got to eat."
He turned into a side street and kept moving. His legs felt heavy and his eyes burned. He paused and looked up at a street light, blurred in the rain. A sign on a lamppost said w. 135TH st., but it didn't mean anything to him. So. he went on picking up his feet, sloshing through the rain. He crossed one street and then another. Rain slackened and he saw trees dimly in the distance. Trees and leaves and branches. Trees in a park. They stood wet and dripping in the glare of street lights. He moved forward and saw benches, beneath the trees. Rain had stopped. He sat on a bench, but he didn't feel anything. Nothing at all.
"I'm tired," he said. "Bone-tired right down to my toes!"
He stared at the lights, queer patterns dancing before his eyes. The lights flickered; grew dim. They seemed to fade and go out slowly, one by one. His body slumped against the wetness of the bench, and he slept.
His eyes snapped open. He sat up and looked around, the sun shining in his face. He tried to figure out where he was and how he got there. He saw tall buildings, high upon a hill, with steeples reaching for the sky. He stared at the buildings and the steeples and the walls about him. He thought about the walls of Babylon, the way it was in the Bible.
He stood up and his feet burned. Then he remembered. He remembered walking until his feet were blistered where the soles had worn bare on his shoes. He remembered walking, but he didn't know why he kept on walking. He remembered the rain in his face and the lights mirrored in the pavement.
He remembered feeling tired and alone, with the pressure of sleep burning his eyes. He remembered feeling hungry, his belly tied into knots.
"I got to eat. I got to eat now."
He picked up his bundle and began to walk. He looked up at apartment houses, with the sunlight glinting on their windows. He looked at people scurrying past him. He looked at their faces. He paused on a street corner and saw a sign in a window. The sign said: dishwasher, meals and $10.00 to start. His stomach crawled and came up tight. He stared at the sign and went inside.
The man behind the counter looked at him. "Want something?"
"Lookin' fo' a job."
"Can you wash dishes?"
"Yes, sir."
The man was silent, watching his face. "You hungry, ain't you?
Jule sat on a stool. He ate hash and hominy and drank a cup of coffee. He looked at the man.
The man said: "You wash dishes before?"
"Yes, sir."
"Got references?"
"I kin wash dishes. Washed dishes fo' Miss Caroline."
"Miss Caroline? Who's Miss Caroline?"
"A lady down home."
"Down home? ... In New York?"
"No, sir. She ain't in New York."
"You ain't got no references in New York?"
"No, sir. I just git here."
"Sorry. No references. No job. Got to have references." He looked at Jule. "It's all right. You can finish your food."
Jule got up slowly, the bundle tucked under his arm. He felt like crying, but he couldn't cry. Tears wouldn't come. He walked out the door and down the street, staring at nothing at all.
Streets were alive with people: Children going to school, their voices ringing quick and loud. Men in overalls, workingmen, going to their jobs. Women with shopping bags hanging on their arms, going to market". A man paused and struck a match. The match flamed yellow against the morning haze, Jule watched him light a cigarette and inhale deeply. He watched the man go by.
Jule kept on walking. He looked at store and shop windows and his throat felt dry and tight. "Got to git me a job! Got to git me a job soon!"
The sun beat hot against his back. People went by in droves, but they didn't say anything. He felt shut off and alone. Sweat beaded his forehead and buildings came out of nowhere and hit the sky. They looked tall and close, jammed together all around him. He felt like climbing to the top of one of those buildings, so he could sit there and look around. Then he'd step from one to another and walk all over New York without putting his feet on the ground. Light and easy, just like walking on air. Just like. ...
Dusk settled quietly. Shadows thickened and street lights cast a feeble glow. People moved like ghosts through the streets. He saw a building with the doors swung wide. He walked through the doors, his thoughts spinning, and stood for a moment, listening. The house was still and his body felt tired. He slipped beneath the staircase and placed the bundle under his head for a pillow. "I got to sleep fast an' git up early in th' mornin'. "
He sighed, settled himself, and thought about home. He slept and dreamed he was back in his ma's cabin.
A hand tugged at his shoulder and he turned over and looked up at a man's face.
"Look, bud," the man said. "This ain't no flophouse!"
Jule raised himself on his elbows and blinked at the man. "I was tired, mister. I had to sleep."
"Get up and git, bud!"
Jule walked into the restaurant. "Need a dishwasher."
"You want a job."
"I needs a job."
"Dishwashing?"
"Dishwashin' or anythin'. It don't matter." "You from down home, ain't you."
"Jes' git here," Jule said. "You ain't got no job or nothing."
"Jes' git here," Jule repeated.
"You got a job. Meals and eight dollars a week."
Jule scrubbed pots and pans. He washed things and dried them off the way he was told. He scrubbed knives and forks and put them on a tray. He mopped floors out front and in the kitchen. That first week, he slept in the kitchen. When he got paid, he found himself a room for two-fifty a week.
The next week, the man said: "Better get yourself some clothes, Jule. This is New York."
He bought a shirt and slacks and a pair of sneakers and put two dollars down on a suit. That was mid-June. By the end of August, he had a suit and a hat and shoes.
On Saturday nights he walked down the avenue,, looking at the people. He looked at their faces, their eyes, and listened to their heavy laughter. The people stood in doorways, on street corners, and clustered around bars and pool parlors, and always their laughter rose in thick swells, like homemade thunder. "They is like peoples I done seen befo'. Peoples I knows."
He walked down the avenue, scanning faces as he passed. He felt like mingling with people and having some fun. He stopped at a dine-and-dance place and watched the couples as they went in. The girls wore long gowns and the men dark jackets. He looked at the girls, at their snapping eyes, and the way they clung to their escorts. He stood there a long time, with a lonely feeling welling up in his throat. He said to himself: "I feels like listening to some music."
He walked down a flight of steps and sat at a table with a linen cover. He ordered ribs and Coca-Cola. He sat there listening to the music and watching the couples dance. The music was hot and loud and the dancing was like nothing he had ever seen before. The girl came to his table. She looked at him and a smile quivered on her lips. "Like to dance?" She said it softly, her eyes locked in his, and Jule took her hand.
They danced easily together, her body pressed against his.
When the music stopped, she looked up at him and her eyes came up close. "I like to dance with you," she said. "It makes me feel so nice. like nothing else don't matter."
Jule stood there looking down at her, trying to think of something to say. But he couldn't think of anything. So he took her back to her table and went to his own. The waiter was standing there with the check in his hand. Jule looked at the check and then at the waiter. "I ain't fixin' to go home or nothin'. "
The waiter grinned easily, looking at Jule's face. "Sorry, pal. Don't mean no harm. Just figured you might want to know what you owe. Might want to pay this little bill now." He paused, then went on knowingly: "Because what you order while dancing with your girl friend you can let her pay for. Gals what work, pal, is always got money!"
Jule opened and shut his hands to ease the tension that kept beating through his body, like a trip hammer. He looked at the waiter. "I don't wants nobody to pay no bill for me."
The waiter said: "Better pay your bill now, pal."
Jake Simmons walked over. "What's the trouble?" , "This is Young Green." The waiter looked at Jake Simmons and grinned. "Young Green don't want to pay his bill."
Jake Simmons looked at Jule. He said: "What's the matter ,bud?"
"Ain't nothin' th' matter," Jule said. "He says I got to pay now, but I ain't ready to go."
"What did you have?" Jake Simmons said. "Coca-Cola and barbecue."
"Know how much that is?" Jake Simmons said.
"Yes, sir. Fifteen cents for barbecue an' five cents for coke."
"Your bill is a dollar fifty," Jake Simmons said. "Dollar for ribs and fifty for coke, and a tip for the waiter. ... Better pay your bill now, bud."
Jule counted out his change: nickels and quarters and dimes. He handed it to Jake Simmons. "That's all I got, a dollar an' a half. Ain't got no more."
Jake Simmons counted the change. "O.K., pal." Jule turned and started for the door. "Hey!" Jake Simmons said. "Have a drink on me."
"Yes sir."
"Wh'at'll you have."
"A coke."
"A coke."
"Yes, sir.':
"I said a drink," Jake Simmons said. "Coke's a drink."
Jake Simmons grinned. "O.K., you can have a coke." He led Jule to the bar. "Scotch and soda and a coke," Jake Simmons said.
Jule drank the coke and Jake Simmons looked at him.
"O.K.
"Yes, sir. Coke's fine."
"No scotch and soda."
"No, sir."
"Don't say 'No sir' and 'Yes sir' when it don't mean nothing," Jake Simmons said. "When you're looking for a tip you say 'Yes, sir' and 'No, sir.' But when you ain't looking for nothing, you just say 'Yes' and 'No,' like everybody else. See what I mean?"
"Yes, sir."
"And don't talk so flat. You ain't in Alabama. You're in New York now. Got to talk fast and talk right, if you want to be somebody. Got to talk fast and think fast in this man's town. New York is New York. ... See what I mean?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where do you work."
"I wash dishes."
"Make about seven or eight dollars a week."
"Eight dollars an' meals."
"Like your job."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll give you a better job. like to work for me."
"Yes, sir."
"Here's my address. Come by the house tomorrow."
Jule went to his room. It was a small room, tight against an air shaft. He pulled on the light that dangled from the ceiling. He looked about the room. It felt close. Smells came up from the air shaft. He looked at the little bureau across from his bed, with a mirror on top. He saw the green walls reflected in the mirror. It was a nice room. He looked at i the ceiling, chalk-white, where the light dropped through. Tomorrow was Sunday. He could sleep late tomorrow. Then he'd get up and go to Jake Simmons. Jake Simmons was a nice man. Jake Simmons was going to give him a job. A good job. Jake Simmons said: "You can work for me." He lay there on his pillow, looking at the shadows on the wall. His thoughts began to race. He pulled out the light and the room was dark. Silence seemed to creep through the room.
Jake Simmons came to the door in his bathrobe and pajamas. "Oh, it's you," he said. "Yes, Mr. Simmons. It's me."
"Come in, pal, and rest yourself. I was just getting up." He disappeared down the hall.
Jule sat down. It was a cool place, with a high ceiling and windows. He looked at the walls and the rug. His feet sank into the rug. The rug was soft and deep. He thought: "This is nice. I wish I had a place like this."
Jake Simmons came back into the room. He lit a cigarette. "Cigarette?"
"No, thank you, Mr. Simmons."
"Drink?"
Jule shook his head. Jake Simmons poured himself a drink. He dumped it easy with one gulp, neat. He poured himself another. "Wonder where's Maisie?" He spoke the words under his breath.
A key turned in the lock and a girl stood in the doorway. She was brown and slim and neat, with a fur piece draped about her shoulders.
Jake Simmons stared at her. "Where you been?"
"Just out. I thought you was sleeping, Jake."
"Sleeping, hell! You know I wasn't sleeping!" He grabbed her wrist. "Ain't I told you to stay here and answer that
'door? Ain't I told you that."
"But, Jake..."
He smacked her and the girl spun around. "I ain't done nothing, Jake! I was just out catching some air."
He smacked her again and the girl went to her knees. He pulled her to her feet and whipped the back of his hand across her face. Welts rose on her cheek. She whimpered.
"I'll take you out when you need air. You suppose to be here when I want you. Understand that?"
"Yes, Jake. I understand."
Jule's stomach crawled and he wanted to vomit. He sat there staring at Jake and the girl. The girl straightened her dress and smoothed her hair in place. She looked at Jule.
"Didn't know you was expecting company, Jake."
"He ain't no company," Jake said. "He's a down-home boy."
"Pig meat, huh, Jake?"
"Play it straight, Maise. Play it straight. ... See what I mean?
"I ain't going to do nothing, Jake." She looked at Jule. "Glad to know you, Mister--? "
"Never mind who he is," Jake Simmons said. "Fix my bath."
She smiled at Jule. "Hope to see you again sometime, when Mr. Simmons can act more like a gentleman." She flashed a fleeting glance at Jake and went down the hall.
Jake stood with the glass in his hand, a five-letter word forming on his lips. But he didn't say it.
They stopped at a bar on a side street first. Jake said: "You got to get the hang of this town. You got to know how to meet people and do things. Know how to put on a front. You got to put on a front, pal, if you want to get somewhere."
The bartender reached for Jake's hand and pumped it. "Whatcha know, Jake?"
"Don't know nothing," Jake Simmons said.
"You doin' all right?" v
"Don't do bad," Jake said.
"How's tricks an' things?"
"Same as always," Jake said. "You know me, pal."
The bartender grinned at Jake. "What'll it be, Jake."
"A short beer."
"An' your friend?"
"A short beer." Jake took a gulp from his glass.
"I don't-likes beer," Jule said. "It taste bitter."
"Drink it," Jake said. "You in Harlem now."
They finished the beer and Jake ordered another round. Jule put a dollar on the bar. The bartender handed him his change and Jule dropped a quarter in the bartender's hand. "That's fo' you," he said.
The bartender looked at Jake and grinned. He looked at Jule. "Thanks, pal. Have a little drink on me."
"Sure," Jake said.
"I'd rather have a coke," Jule said.
"Give him a beer," Jake said....
They walked down the avenue to another bar. "We'll stop here," Jake said.
They went down a flight of stairs. Cigarette smoke filled the room and Jule felt his eyes burn. They walked through the haze, Jake Simmons leading the way. A juke box played soulfully. They stood at the far end of the bar, watching the couples dance. The manager walked over to Jake. "Mr. Simmons, I believe!"
"Mr. Simmons is right," Jake said.
"It's good to see you, Jake. What'll you have?"
"A short beer. I ain t drinking. It's too early to drink."
"With my compliments, Mr. Simmons," the manager said. "For you and your friend."
Jule looked at the girl sitting at the bar, sipping a beer. Her nails were pointed and polished. He looked at her face. Her eyes were soft and dark, the lids held low. Her lips were full and red and he could see the prints they left on the glass.
Jule looked at Jake. "She's pretty, ain't she?"
"She ain't for you, bud. She's out of your class."
"But I didn't mean nothin', " Jule said. "I jes' said she was pretty."
"I know," Jake said, "but she ain't for you. You need a working gal, a gal that scrubs floors and sleeps in. A gal that comes out once a week, on Thursdays. You got to have support, bud! A gal like her don't mean you no good. She ain't giving nothing away. You got to give her something."
They stopped in two other places, and then another. The barmaid said: 'What'll it be, Jake?"
"Two short beers."
The girl drew the beers and set them on the bar. "Who's your friend, Jake?"
"A pal of mine," Jake said.
"Don't you want me to meet him?"
"He's a friend of mine," Jake said. "A friend. ... Understand?"
"I get it," the girl said. "He's a friend. He ain't public property or nothing yet. He's papa's boy!" She showed her teeth in a broad grin.
Jake drained his glass. A man walked up and slapped him on the back. "Jak'e, you old bastard you! Where you been? I been looking for you!"
"Been around," Jake said.
"How you doing?"
"O.K., " Jake said. "Cooking on the front burner. How, you doing?"
"I need a little drink, Jake."
"Have a little drink," Jake said. "You got money, ain't you?"
"I'm on my uppers, Jake. You can see I'm on my uppers."
Jake looked at the man. He looked at the draped trousers and the sport coat. He looked at the plaid shirt, with the collar buttoned down, and the maroon tie. He looked at the patent leather shoes and the pancake hat.
Jake said: "You should buy me a scotch and soda. I'll take it double, bud!"
"O.K., Jake. You win. You always win. Anything you want, Jake." He pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and placed a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. "And the same goes for your friend, Jake."
"He takes a coke," Jake said.
"A coke? Don't he drink, or nothing?"
"Just a coke," Jake said. "He's a down-home boy."
"O.K., Jake. I dig you."
Jake gulped fast and patted the man on the shoulder. "Be seeing you, pal."
"O.K., Jake. Pick me up some time. I always want to see you, Jake."
"Dig you later," Jake said. He caught Jule by the arm and walked through the door.
Jake lit a cigarette. "See how it's done."
"I sees," Jule said.
"Well, do it the way I do it. Don't be no chump for nobody. Buy what you want and pay for what you get. If you don't want to buy nothing, don't buy it. If you don't want to pay for nothing, don't pay it. It's you or the next guy. Don't be no fool. ... See what I mean?"
"I sees," Jule said.
*CHAPTER TWELVE*
TIGHTS were dim in Jake's place and waiters were setting up the tables. Jake took Jule into the kitchen. He said: "All you got to do is pick up the trays and takes the dishes to the dishwasher. Stack the china and glasses and silver separate, like this." Jake picked up cups and saucers and stacked them. "See what I mean."
"Yes, Mr. Simmons."
Jule worked nights from six to four and slept until noon. Then he had breakfast. Sometimes he went to a show. On Sundays he got up early and went to church. Sunday afternoons he went to see Jake and Maisie. Maisie was nice to Jule.
"Let Jule come and live with us, Jake," Maisie said.
"Sure," Jake said. "Give him the back room."
Maisie said: "I like Jule. He's a nice boy."
"Remember," Jake said. "No monkey business!"
Anger flared in Maisie's face. "Goddamn you, Jake Simmons! Do I have to be a slut all the time?"
Jake picked up his hat and turned toward the door. "You heard me, didn't you? No monkey business." The door banged shut.
Maisie stood there glaring at the door. r
"Take it easy, Maisie."
Maisie turned and looked at Anne. Anne sat with her legs crossed at the knees, a cigarette dangling from her lips.
"I'm fed-up, Anne. That man's so suspicious he wouldn't give his grandma ten seconds to die, if he could help it! ... Jake! Jake! Jake! ... Goddamn Jake Simmons!" Maisie sat down hard and spread her legs.
"Maybe he's got reasons," Anne said.
"He ain't got no reasons!"
"Maybe he figures he's got reasons."
"It's the boy, Anne. Jake figures I'm on the make. He figures I'm looking for pig meat."
"Well, ain't you? At your age, you should be. Pig meat is pig meat."
Maisie laughed. "You know, Anne, most of the time that goddamn chump is right."
"Maybe he ain't no chump."
"All men are chumps," Maisie said.
Anne grinned. "Even so, he could be right. There ain't no man you wouldn't go to bed with, and you know it."
"Are you trying to call me a slut?"
"Why should I call you a slut? I do the same thing myself. Especially if it's worth my while."
"But he ain't got no right to complain, Anne-after all I done for him. Didn't I get him a job when he first came to New York? Didn't I put him on his feet and show him the ropes? Didn't I hustle and save every penny I could rake and scrape to put him in business? It was me that got him. the best spot in Harlem. It was me that made him some-tody! ... Jake Simmons? Whothe hell is Jake Simmons?
... Goddamn it, Anne, he ain't got no right to say nothing! If it wasn't for me, he'd still be slinging hash!"
"So now he's in high society," Anne said. "He's a big shot."
"Sure, he's big shot," Maisie said. "He's a little god, walking the streets of Harlem! ... He knows all the best people: doctors, lawyers, social workers and preachers, pimps and high society gals. But who introduced him? ... Me-Maisie! ... The gal who knows every slut in town!"
"Including the good Dr. and Mrs. Clay?"
"That's where I was a fool, Anne. That's where I played it wrong. Introducing him to that slut!"
"Maybe she could say the same thing about you."
Maisie looked at Anne. "You're a bitch, Anne. A little society bitch."
Thanks," Anne said. "That's nice coming from you."
"Don't thank me," Maisie said. "I ain't doing you no favors."
Anne smiled. "That's what I like about you, Maisie. You're a bitch, but you make everybody treat you like a lady. like a refined bitch."
"And why not?" Maisie said. "It pays off, don't it? ... Ain't no need for me and you to kid each other."
Dishes piled up thick and fast. Jule stacked the trays on the dish wagon and pushed them into the kitchen. The kitchen steamed. Jule felt the sweat on his brow. Sweat trickled into his eyes and down his cheeks. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, and the salt burned. He mopped his face with his sleeve and looked up at the dishwasher.
"Can't you git them dishes in here no faster?"
"They's comin' up," Jule said. He went back for another load. Sweat blinded his eyes. His palms felt sticky and wet.-He piled cups and saucers, plates and glasses, china and silver. Separate, like Jake said. Jule stacked them in a pyramid and rolled them back into the kitchen.
The dishwasher said: "You got to be fast if you wants to keep your job."
"Dishes is comin', " Jule said.
"Well, let 'em come! We got to have dishes!"
Jule was up to his elbows in dishes. His arms ached. He could feel his muscles quiver. He looked at the dishwasher. "I got more dishes."
"Shoot 'em, boy. Shoot 'em to me now!..."
The waiters kept coming with their trays. Jule looked at their faces. Their faces looked taut and strained. He kept picking up saucers and dishes. Music beat against his eardrums, and his temples throbbed. His eyes blurred. ... Waiters came toward him, weaving between tables. They brushed past him, trays balanced on their palms. He looked at their eyes, at the set smiles, stiff on their lips.
"Shoot me them dishes, boy!"
Jule stacked dishes, sweat dripping from his face.
Music rose to a crescendo and lights blazed. Music stopped. The show was over. Couples shuffled toward the door, their arms locked about each other. They trickled out into the streets, their voices heavy with laughter.
"Hey, now! Take it easy."
"Take it easy yo'self."
"Got to take it easy, man. That's the stuff you got to watch!
"Stuff you got to watch is right, pal!"
They bumped into each other going up the stairs, beating out a rhythm with their feet. They lurched and stumbled, their eyes glazed.
"Got yo' gal?" '
"I got my gal! You got your'n?"
"Better hold her tight, pal! 'Cause some stud'll come along an' wash you away!"
"I is th' stud, bud! Don't worry 'bout me!"
Waiters stripped the tables clean and folded the linen in neat piles. Jake was at the cash register, totaling receipts. The waiters ganged around Jake. He checked their tabs and figured what each one owed. Pay minus tabs was what they took home.
"O.K., boys," Jake said. "Wait for me in the locker room."
"O.K., Jake. We'll be waitin'. "
They found a pair of dice and began horsing around. They rolled the dice from one to another, watching the spots as they came up. Dice registered five and nine, deuce and trey, seven and eleven. They waited for Jake.
Jake walked into the locker room with a fistful of bills. "Don't horse dice. Shoot for something! Don't like to see nobody horse dice!"
Waiters iooked up at Jake. They kept wheeling the dice, watching the spots. "Give us some dough."
"Here's your dough," Jake said. "Money? Money for us."
"Money," Jake said.
A waiter grinned. "I always needs money!"
Jake paid the waiters. "Five for you. Ten for you. And six for you. ... You? ... You don't get nothing! You owe me money!"
"But, Jake, I got to have something to gamble with."
"Whatcha want."
"Gimme five."
Jake gave him five, and the dice rolled. Jake squatted on his haunches, watching the dice gallop. He twisted dollar bills around his fingers.
"Shoot a dollar, Jake."
"Roll," Jake said. "You're faded."
The dice rolled. They came up boxcars, six and six.
"Still your shot," Jake said.
"Ain't got no more money, Jake."
"Git out the game. Let somebody shoot what's got money. Real money."
Another waiter dropped to his knees. "Fade me, Jake! Fade me now! I shoots five."
"You're faded," Jake said. "Bet two dollars he wins, Jake."
"You're covered;" Jake said. "Another dollar he wins, Jake."
"Your dollar's good, too," Jake said. "Let's sweeten it, Jake. Bet five more I wins."
"Your five's a bet," Jake said.
"Hold them dice!" A waiter held up his hand. "Let's get down, boys. Let's get down hard. Let's get down with all we's got. Jake's got us covered! ... Let's wash him away and go home!
Dollar bills dropped to the floor. Dollar bills and silver. Jake chewed the end of his cigar. He stacked the money, bills and silver separate, and let it lay.
"Anybody else going to ride this train!" Jake said. "Throw it from you. Down it and get from around it! You're faded!"
"Can I get into the gape, Mr. Simmons?" Jule said.
Jake looked at Jule. "You, too?"
"Stay out of it, bud," a waiter said. "This ain't no game for you. This is big time. You just a bus boy. Save your change for rent and eats. You got to sleep and eat next week. Meat and bread don't grow on trees!"
"But I got-three dollars," Jule said. "I wants to get in it."
"Your money's good," Jake said. "You're in."
The waiter rattled the dice, blowing on his hands. He cradled the dice in his palm, listening to the rhythm. He spoke softly to the dice. "Baby, don't fail me. Don't fail me now. Papa's got five and five!"
"Roll," Jake said.
The waiter massaged the dice between his palms. His palms felt wet and slick. "Comin' out now! Comin' out with a natural!"
"Throw a natural, boy! Throw a natural if you drop dead tryin'! "
The dice clattered on the floor. Waiters watched, their eyes strained. Dice spun around and halted, settled easy. ... Frog eyes! ... Jake raked in the money. He smoothed out the bills and folded them in his hand. He counted the silver and dropped it in his pocket. s
One by one, the waiters stood up. "Goddamn! He could've made a natural an' he come up craps!"
Jule stood there staring at the dice. He looked at the spots, one on each cube. He didn't say anything.
"Let's blow," Jake said.
"But, Jake, we can't go home like this!"
"You lost, didn't you?"
"But we got to have something to take home!"
Jake yawned and stretched. He gave them two dollars apiece and made note in his little black book. "Come in sober. Sunday night is coming up." He looked at Jule. "Let's cut out. I'm beat to my socks."
Jake lit a fresh cigar. The night was cool. They walked through the dawn along 138th Street. Jake said to Jule: "Stay out of crap games. All 'crap games. You can't win! ... See what I mean?..."
"Yes, Mr. Simmons."
"Here's your three dollars. Buy yourself a coke."
Jule wrote a letter to his ma. The letter said: "I'm in New York, ma. I got a job. It's nice here, ma. I wish you could see the tall buildings. Buildings are tall, ma, and New York is nice. But it ain't like down home." He put three one-dollar bills in the envelope and wrote a postscript: "I thought you might need something, ma."
He sealed the envelope and addressed it:
Ollie Miss
Care of Uncle Alex
Route I, Box 2
Hannon, Alabama
He walked to the corner and mailed the letter. He stood for a moment, looking up at the stars. Then he went back to the house.
*CHAPTER THIRTEEN*
MAISIE went into the kitchen where Anne was cooling champagne. She watched Anne wrap the bottles in towels and pack them in ice. Champagne frosted in buckets. Maisie went to the Frigidaire and looked at the salads and hors d'oeuvres. She picked up a cube of cheese and stuck it in her mouth. She tasted the shrimp salad, the chicken salad, the lobster salad, and smacked her lips. She banged the Frigidaire shut. She uncorked a bottle and poured herself a drink.
"God, gal, what a layout! We've got something here! Ain't we?"
"You telling me?" Anne said.
Maisie went into the bedroom and swung the French doors wide. She looked at the living room, stripped bare, card tables set up for bridge and poker. The tables were tight against the walls, with room for dancing. She placed pencils and pads on each table and straightened the chairs. The caterer moved from table to bar, from bar to table, mixing punch and arranging the buffet. Maisie walked over to the bar and tasted the punch.
"A little more gin, Sam. A little more wine. Make it strong! Let 'em get high fast!"
"Yes, Mrs. Simmons," the caterer said. He poured more gin, more wine.
Maisie turned the lights low. She looked at the linen on the buffet, the vases of flowers, the soft lights, the splash of color. Maisie smiled. This was her opening party of the season. Everything had to be right.
Maisie went into the alcove. The trio was tuning up, running scales. "Better have a little drink, boys. Music is got to be hot."
"Yes, Mrs. Simmons."
"Tell Sam I said make it scotch and soda."
"Yes, Mrs. Simmons!"
"Tell Sam I said use good scotch.'
"Yes, Mrs. Simmons!"
Maisie went back into the kitchen. She dropped into a chair and lit a cigarette. She looked at Anne. "Damn it, Anne, I wish them niggers would come!"
"Take it easy," Anne said. "You know damn well ain't no-body, coming before midnight. This is a dirty party. This is quality stuff."
"Quality?" Maisie said. "It ought to be! Ain't I done sweat my brains out fixing for it?"
Anne poured a drink. "Relax, gal. Nobody who is anybody comes to a party before midnight. Maybe in other places, but not in Harlem."
Maisie received her guests with a cool handclasp. "Dr. and Mrs. Taylor! It's so nice of you to come!"
"We wouldn't think of missing your party," Mrs. Taylor said.
Maisie showed her teeth and greeted Lawyer and Mrs. Slaughter. "Attorney and Mrs. Slaughter! How happy I am to see you!"
"So sweet of you to ask us, Mrs. Simmons."
"So sweet of you to come."
Guests arrived in couples, in threes, in droves. Artists and writers and singers and the night club crowd from the bowels of Harlem. Society gals from Sugar Hill and college boys. Maisie looked at the gals. Their eyes were dark and vivid, and the color of their skin was suntan. The gals flooded in.
Maisie showed the women to the powder room, and the men went to the bar for a slug of straight whisky The men crowded around the bar, laughing and joking, drinking scotch and soda. They slapped each other on the back. The women sipped cocktails and the men joined their wives. Society gals and college boys danced.
Maisie took out stacks of chips for poker. Doctors and college boys gathered around. They took seats at a table and started a poker game. Doctors played for peanuts, college boys for money. College boys were college boys. Doctors' wives played bridge and smoked cigarettes. Society gals sat around and drank cocktails and got high.
Maisie went back to the kitchen for Anne. "Your crowd is in, Anne. Your crowd from Sugar Hill!"
"Feed 'em gin," Anne said. "Feed 'em gin and wine and let 'em get high quick."
"Like you," Anne said. "They like to play with lawyers and doctors. Especially if the doctors have M.D.'s. They like to have their ashes hauled scientifically."
"They ain't got no ashes to haul," Maisie said. "All they got is cans."
"Could be," Anne said. "But every time they see a doctor they run a hot box."
"Hot box? ... Hot box on what."
"On their cans," Anne said.
"Are you kidding? Them gals are so cold you could feed 'em ice cubes and they wouldn't know the difference!"
"Let's feed 'em ice cubes," Anne said.
Maisie laughed. "Come on, Anne. Let's get out the kitchen." She looked at Anne. "You know, sometimes you give me the creeps. You make me wonder if I'm normal!"
The trio played the latest Duke Ellington. Played it with feeling. Doctors' wives danced with college boys, and doctors with society gals. The music throbbed. Maisie watched her guests. A bald-headed doctor locked his arms around a society gal and his hands slid down where they didn't belong. His fingers were soft and fat, like sausages. A lawyer's wife rocked to the rhythm with a college boy.
Musicians and pimps came late. Smart boys from the turf. Personality boys, smooth boys, coming in on the cuff. They said: "How do you do, Mrs. Simmons! ... I'm charmed to meet you, Mrs. Simmons! ... What a lovely party, Mrs. Simmons!..."
Maisie looked at the boys. She said: "Be yourself. Take it easy." She signaled the caterer. "Give 'em a drink, Sam."
Musicians sat in with the trio and beat out some light Count Basie. Pimps took over from the college boys and laid some heavy jive. Pimps were pimps. The music jumped. Couples swayed, their laughter rising.
Maisie circled the room, watching her guests. She looked at-their plates, their glasses. She whispered to the caterer: "Bring on more food, more drinks. Fill up their glasses!"
Guests settled in cliques. Artists and lawyers, doctors and writers, society gals and pimps, musicians and professional wives. A tan gal danced around solo-fashion, a glass cupped between her fingers. Everybody watched. They watched her face, her eyes, her lips. Her legs were neat, suntan.
"I like that gal!" an artist said.
"I like all gals," a pimp said.
"That gal's got bitch in her," the artist said.
"If she ain't got no bitch in her, she ain't nowhere!" the pimp said.
The girl went on spinning, around and around, her eyes shuttered like half-moons in eclipse. She swallowed her drink and lifted her dress to her knees. The glass crashed to the floor. She went on spinning ... spinning ... spinning....
The artist caught her arms and she brushed him aside. He caught her about the waist and pulled her to him. The girl twisted away and went on dancing. She lifted her dress higher. Her thighs glistened. She ripped her dress over her head and flung it to the floor. She ripped her slip to shreds. Her slip hung in tatters. She tore them from her and stood stripped, her body pulsing.
The bald-headed doctor snatched off his coat and wrapped it around the girl. She twisted and squirmed like a snake, wrapping the jacket tight about her. A woman jumped to her feet, her eyes blazing. She swung the doctor around. "What's your story? What's she to you?"
"She's stripped!" the doctor said. "She's naked!"
"Let her be stripped! Let her be naked! What's it to you? Is she your woman?"
"Don't be a fool!" the doctor said.
"A fool?" She picked up a bottle and cracked it over his skull. "I may be a fool, but I'm still your wife!"
The doctor grabbed her wrist. His palm smacked against her cheek and he flung her across the room. She crashed into a table. "You bastard! You lousy, stinking bastard!" She lunged toward him, clawing. Her nails raked his face. Flesh curled beneath her fingernails and she sank them deeper. Blood oozed from his face, like chopped-up beef. He pinned her arms behind her, and she sank her teeth into his lip.
Blood gushed. He hit her with his""fist and she sank to the floor.
Lawyer Slaughter spun the doctor around. "Don't hit no woman! I don't like to see nobody hit a woman!"
"Goddamn it, she's my wife," the doctor said. "She's my wife and I support her! I'll hit her and kick her and stomp her any goddamn time I please. I'll kick her behind all over hell if I feel like it and there ain't no bastard can stop me. You and nobody else!"
"Don't you call me no bastard!" the lawyer said. "You lousy son of a bitch!"
"Who you calling a son of a bitch?"
"You! You bald-headed bastard! I'll beat your goddamn brains out!"
The doctor brought his fist up hard and the lawyer staggered. They grappled, clutching at each other's throats, puffing hard. The doctor broke away and picked up a chair. "Goddamn it! I'll break every bone in your body! I'll kill you!" He threw the chair at the lawyer. The lawyer ducked and the chair crashed into a mirror.
Maisie grabbed the doctor's arm. "Goddamn you, Dr. Clay, cut it out! This is my party! You ain't going to break up my party!"
"Damn the party!" The doctor charged the lawyer.
College boys barged in and pimps hugged the wall. Society gals screamed. College boys grabbed the doctor and musicians grabbed the lawyer. They held them apart. "Take it easy, Doctor! ... Control yourself, Attorney! ... We want to have a little fun! ... Don't break up the party!..."
Dr. Clay and Lawyer Slaughter wrenched free. Then they clinched and fell into a huddle on the floor. They rolled over and over, gripping each other. Maisie dropped between them and brought her knee up sharp against their chins. She yanked them apart. "Get up, goddamn you, and get out! All of you get out. This ain't no barrel house!"
Dr. Clay and Lawyer Slaughter stood up. They looked at each other sheepishly.
Maisie dropped her hands on her hips. "I mean get out! Every goddamn one of you! Get out now!"
Jake and Jule walked into the living room and looked around. Jake said: "What the hell happened here."
"We had a party," Anne said.
"I know that," Jake said. "But what happened? The mirror, the chairs, the bottles! ... What the hell went on here?"
"We had a nice party," Anne said. "A refined party. Mrs. Clay cracked the good doctor's skull and the good doctor got into a fight with Attorney Slaughter, and Maisie told all the bastards to get the hell out. That's all."
"Jesus!" Jake said. "But where's Maisie?"
"In the bedroom," Anne said. "Having herself a fit."
Jake went into the bedroom.
Anne looked at Jule. "Let's straighten up the place, Jule. Maisie's out. Beat to her socks."
"Sure," Jule said.
They picked up the broken glass and straightened the chairs. They emptied the ash trays and took out the bottles. Anne stacked the dishes and took them to the sink. Jule swept the floor and went into the kitchen where Anne was.
Anne poured herself a drink. "Have one, Jule?"
"No, thanks," Jule said.
"It's champagne, Jule. It bubbles like Coca-Cola."
"No, thanks," Jule said.
Anne looked at Jule. She looked at his eyes, at the color of his skin, like milk chocolate. She looked at the spread of his shoulders, where the muscles rippled beneath his shirt, the flatness of his waist, his thighs, his hips. Jule stood there, young and clean. Fresh-looking.
Anne poured herself another drink. "Sure you won't have one, Jule?"
Jule shook his head. He stared at her.
Anne turned to the sink. She washed glasses and silver, cups and saucers and plates, and placed them on the drain. Jule dried the dishes and put them away and hung the towels on the rack. Anne watched him. She watched the rhythm of his body.
"Pour me a drink, Jule." She looked up at him, her eyes liquid in her face.
"Sure," Jule said. "Scotch or champagne."
"Anything you want me to have," Anne said. Jule looked at her. "But I don't know what you want."
"Make it scotch," Anne said.
Jule poured a slug of scotch and Anne sipped it. She sipped it down to the last swallow and lifted the glass to his lips. "Drink it, Jule. It's the last swallow. Between you and me, like a toast. Do you mind, Jule?"
She gripped him about the waist with her free hand and pulled him to her. She pressed the glass against his mouth. She watched his throat gulp and tightened her arm about him, her fingers digging into his ribs. She dropped the glass and locked both arms around him.
"f like you, Jule. I want you! ... I got to have you, Jule!..."
She woke up and felt the sweat dripping from his body. She turned over and caressed the boy and ran her fingers through his hair. His hair felt soft and curly. She felt the muscles along his thighs, hard and smooth. She sighed. "Thanks, Jule. That was nice."
"It don't matter," Jule said.
"That's right. It don't matter," Anne said. "But it was nice."
Jule didn't say anything. He just looked at Anne, at the sleekness of her body. He watched her crawl out of bed and stand there in the glare of street lights from the window. She dressed silently.
"Don't say nothing to Maisie," Anne said.
"I won't," Jule said. "It don't matter."
"Maisie wouldn't like it if she knew."
"I know," Jule said.
She looked at him. "So long, Jule."
She went out the door and closed it softly. She tiptoed down the hallway, and Jule could hear the lock click as she went out the front door.
Sweat beaded his face. He mopped his face with the sheet. "It don't mean nothin', " he told himself. "It don't matter." He rolled over and lay flat on his stomach. "Just like dipping water from a spring when you're thirsty. You just dip it up and drink. When you're thirsty you got to drink."
He turned over and lay there in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling.
*CHAPTER FOURTEEN*
ANNE came by the next day at noon. She looked scrubbed and fresh and alive. She pressed the bell and stood there prancing on her toes, humming softly to herself. Maisie opened the door in her nightgown, her eyes heavy with sleep. Maisie rubbed her eyes and looked Anne up and down, front and rear: at the ropes of hair coiled neatly on top of her head, at the jersey and wool skirt, snug about her hips and breast. The seams on Anne's panties showed through her skirt.
"You ain't got no slip on?" Maisie said. "No girdle or nothing? Just your skirt and drawers?"
Anne reached down and lifted the hem of her skirt and peeked under. "Guess I forgot." She giggled and walked over to the radio and snapped it on. She did the boogie, watching the rhythm of her feet.
"What's the matter with you, gal?" Maisie said. "Don't you know this is November?"
Anne flashed Maisie a roguish grin. "It's nice out."
"Are you crazy?"
"I ain't crazy."
"Running around in the middle of November with just your skirt and drawers on!" Maisie snorted.
"It's like summertime," Anne said. She went on toddling to the music.
"Summertime? You're nuts!" Maisie went to the bar and poured herself a drink. She looked at Anne. "Better have a drink, gal, before your freeze your behind off."
"Don't want no drink," Anne said. "I feel good like I am.
Maisie shook her head. "God! What a gal!" She went into the kitchen and got ice and came back into the living room, watching Anne. "Who was that slut that started the fight last night?"
"Slut? ... What slut."
"The slut that broke up the party!"
"Don't ask me," Anne said. "I was in the kitchen cooling champagne."
"She was one of your crowd," Maisie said. "One of your crowd from Sugar Hill!"
Anne did the Lindy, snake-hips and rhumba, all rolled into one. She moved with the ease and grace of a cat. Maisie stood with the glass frosting in her hand. She stared at Anne.
"Look, gal," Maisie said. "I'm thirty-six and you're thirty-five. Right?"
"Right," Anne said. She went on dancing.
"When you're under twenty-six, you're a chippy," Maisie said. "When you're at twenty-six, you're a bitch. You're at your peak. If you don't make it then, you don't make it. Now you ain't no chippy, and you ain't twenty-six! Right?"
"Right."
"Well, goddamn it, will you please tell me what the hell is eating you?"
"Ain't nothing eating me," Anne said. "I just feel good."
"Feel good? About what?"
Anne grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know!"
Maisie took a swig from the glass and rolled it around in her mouth. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were in love."
"Me in love?" Anne said. "I'm a married lady."
"Are you kidding?" Maisie said.
Jake came out the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his middle. "Jule up yet?"
"Ain't heard him moving around," Maisie said.
Jake looked at Anne. "Knock on his door, Anne. See if he's up. Got to get over to the club. New show going on tonight."
"Me knock on his door?" Anne said.
"Sure," Jake said. "Get him up." He went into the bedroom.
Anne went down the hallway and paused in front of Jule's door. She stood for a moment listening, her pulse hammering in her throat. She gripped the doorknob and turned it gently. The door cracked and her breath came up tight. She rapped softly. "You up, Jule?"
"Getting up now," Jule said.
"Jake is waiting, Jule."
"Be out in a minute," Jule said.
She pulled the door shut and released the knob. Her lips felt dry. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and went into the kitchen and poured herself a drink, slopping it over. Her fingers trembled. Her whole body trembled. She gulped the whisky straight and poured herself another. "God," she said, "what's the matter with me?"
She went into the living room and walked over to the window. She stood there looking out, drumming her fingers against the window sill.
"Is Jule up?" Maisie said.
"He's up." Anne said.
"Is he dressed?"
"Getting dressed now." Anne walked over to the radio and snapped it off. She lit a cigarette. She went to the bar and poured herself a drink and gulped it fast.
Maisie stared at her. "Thought you didn't want no drink."
"I don't want no drink," Anne said. She went back to the window. She snuffed the cigarette and lit another. Maisie watched her.
Jule came into the living room, pulling on his jacket. "Ready, Mr. Simmons!" He looked at Maisie, then at Anne. "Good morning," Jule said.
"Good morning, Jule," Maisie said.
Anne didn't say anything.
Jake came out the bedroom. "Let's go, Jule. We're late. Be, seeing you, Maisie. So long, Anne." The door slammed shut.
Maisie looked at the door, then at Anne. "So that's it," Maisie said. "It's pig meat!"
Anne didn't move. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't hand me that crap," Maisie said, "I ain't no fool!"
Anne swung around. "All right, so it's pig meat! So what?"
"Well, I'll be damned!" Maisie stared at Anne. "I was the one supposed to be looking for pig meat! I was the one Jake had to worry about! Not you! ... Remember? ... Goddamn it, Anne, I thought you had better sense!"
"I don't give a damn," Anne said.
"You don't give a damn! Are you out of your mind?"
"That's the way I feel," Anne said.
"But what about Fred?"
"What about him?" Anne said.
"What about him? He's your husband! ... He's your meal ticket!"
"I still don't give a damn!" Anne said.
"Don't talk like a fool, Anne," Maisie said. "You ain't just starting out. You're thirty-five!"
"Yes, I'm thirty-five," Anne said. "I'm thirty-five and I'm in love, and it ain't my husband neither!"
"But, Anne..."
"I'm in love and nothing else don't matter."
"But, Anne..."
Anne walked over to Maisie. "Did you ever feel like screaming? Did you ever feel like you wanted to shout? Did you ever feel like-like you was in heaven? ... Well, I did! Last night!"
"Last night?" Maisie said.
"Last night," Anne said. "On a one-night stand!"
"Good God!" Maisie said. She took Anne by the arm. "Sit down, Anne. Calm yourself. You're talking out of your head." She poured whisky in a glass. "Here, drink this."
"I don't need no whisky," Anne said. "I know what I'm saying. I know how I feel!"
"Goddamn it, I'm going to straighten you out!" Maisie . .forced the glass between Anne's lips. Anne swallowed hard and pushed the glass away. She sat silent, looking down at her hands, A quiver ran through her body.
"Feel better?" Maisie said.
"Feel all right," Anne said.
Maisie lit two cigarettes and handed one to Anne. Anne took a drag and inhaled deeply. She spread her legs and leaned back in her chair, smoke spilling through her nostrils.
"You going to listen to me, Anne. You going to listen to reason!"
"Reason?" Anne said. "Why should I listen to reason?"
"Look, Anne. Jule's a nice kid-a young kid. But he ain't for you. He can't give you nothing."
"He can give me what I want," Anne said.
"Give you a nice home, a car, a fur coat, a piece of jewelry now and then? The hell he can! He's just a bus boy! Fred is your meal ticket and don't forget it. He brings you every goddamn nickel he can rake and scrape. The man slaves for you, Anne. What more do you want?"
"I want to be loved," Anne said. "Loved . . , loved! I want to wake up screaming! Don't you know what that means when you're thirty-five? Don't you know, Maisie?"
"Goddamn you!" Maisie said. "Goddamn your soul to hell!"
"He can still give me what I want," Anne said.
Maisie poured herself a double scotch and downed it in one gulp. She stood for a long time, looking at Anne. Maisie said: "It's no good, Anne. It won't do. Jesus Christ! Ain't you got a speck of brain nowhere in your head?" . Anne went to the bar and poured three fingers of scotch in a water glass. She dropped ice and a twist of lemon peel. She filled the glass with charged water and stirred slowly. She went on stirring as though the drink didn't matter at all. "You want me to give him up. Is that it?" She spoke without looking at Maisie.
"She wants to know if she should give him up! She wants to know if that's what I want! ... Ain't that rich? Goddamn! ... Look, Anne," Maisie said, "what did he do to you?"
"What did he do to me?" Anne looked at Maisie. "What every woman wants and dreams about! What you want from Jake. What I wanted from Fred, but never got!"
"So you're going to be difficult," Maisie said. "You've just got to play the fool!"
"No," Anne said. "I ain't playing the fool."
"Sit down, Anne," Maisie said. "Let's reason this thing out."
"Skip it," Anne said. She poured whisky, level to the brim. "You know what I'm going to do, Maisie? I'm going to get drunk! Stinking, sloppy-drunk! I'm going to get high, just as high as a kite! I'm going to pitch me a bitch! ... If I can't have what I want, I'll take what I can get! Understand?"
A key turned in the lock and Jule stood in the doorway. "Mrs. Simmons, Jake wants..." He stopped short. He looked at Maisie and then at Anne.
There was a silence.
"Sorry," Jule said. "Didn't mean to butt in."
Maisie looked at Jule. "What is it, Jule?" Jule stood there, looking at Anne. "It's all right, Jule," Maisie said. "What do you want?"
"Mr. Simmons wants vases for flowers," Jule said. "Vases for flowers?" Maisie said.
"Vases for flowers," Jule said. "New show going on tonight."
"Oh! Oh! That's right," Maisie said. "Vases for flowers! ... How many does he want, Jule?"
"Two or three," Jule said. "Many as you got."
"Sure," Maisie said. She took a vase from the piano, another from the mantle, and went into the kitchen.
Anne walked over to Jule and straightened his tie. She buttoned the collar of his shirt and smoothed the lapel on his jacket. She stood there, fingering his tie. "You ought to buy yourself a suit, Jule."
"A suit?" Jule said. "What kind of suit?"
"A nice suit, Jule. A tailor-made suit, like the boys wear in Harlem."
"I'll buy a suit," Jule said.
"I want you to have a nice suit," Anne said. "A suit that makes you look nice."
"I'll buy a suit," Jule said. "When?" Anne said. "Next payday."
"Next payday? No. Buy a suit now! I'll take you to a tailor. You need a tailor-made suit, Jule."
"Can't buy no tailor-made suit," Jule said. "I ain't got that much money."
"I'll buy it for you," Anne said. She stood on her toes and kissed Jule on the cheek. "I like you, Jule. I like you a lot. You hear me, Jule?"
Maisie came in from the kitchen, carrying vases stuffed with newspaper. She placed them on a table and wrapped them carefully. She looked at Jule. "Vases are ready, Jule."
"I got to go," Jule said. "Mr. Simmons is waiting."
"Want a drink Jule?" Anne said. "Want a coke?"
"Coke is nice," Jule said, "but I got to go." He picked up the vases and turned to the door. The door slammed shut behind him.
Maisie looked at Anne. Anne looked at Maisie.
"Say it," Anne said. "Say it and get it over with! Go ahead and say it! I know what you're thinking. I can feel it. I can taste it! ... Go on, say it!"
"Ain't nothing to say," Maisie said.
"So you see how it is," Anne said.
"I see how it is," Maisie said.
"That's the way it's got to be," Anne said. "That's the way it's got to be, and you or nobody else can't change it. Jule is my Jule!"
The night was quiet. Jule sat on the stoop, waiting for Jake. He looked up at the moon. He clasped his hands together, and his palms felt wet. He squeezed his hands and his knuckles came up tight. He clasped his hands and unclasped them, lacing his fingers together. He sat there, waiting for Jake.
Jake walked up the stoop at dawn. The sun was coming up red in the east. "Thought you was in bed, Jule."
"I was waiting for you, Mr. Simmons."
"Waiting for me? ... What for?"
"I got to move," Jule said.
"Move? Move where? What are you talking about."
"I got to git somewhere."
"Git somewhere?" Jake stared at Jule. "You said anything to Maisie about this?"
"Ain't said nothing to nobody," Jule said.
"Come on in the house," Jake said.
Jake walked through the living room. "Maisie!"
"I'm in the kitchen, Jake."
"What's this about Jule moving?" Jake said.
"Moving?" Maisie looked at Jake. "He ain't said nothing to me about moving!"
"But he says he's got to move," Jake said.
"What kind of damn nonsense is this?" Maisie said. She turned and saw Jule standing in the doorway". "You moving? Don't you like it here?"
"I figgered I ought to move," Jule said.
Maisie was silent, looking at his face. "So you figgered you ought to move, huh? You figgered you ought to go! ... You ain't going no place, and don't you forget it! You're staying right here! Understand?"
Jule looked at Maisie. "I understand," he said. He went to his room.
"Why did he want to move?" Jake said.
"Maybe he's restless," Maisie said. "Maybe he wants to be to himself. Maybe he wants to meet some girls his own age."
"Why don't you give him a party?" Jake said. "Why don't you invite some chippy gals in so he'll feel at home?"
"I'll do it, Jake," Maisie said. She pecked him on the cheek. "You hungry, Jake?" . "I feel like eating," Jake said.
"What you want?" Maisie said. "I got string beans and side meat, corn bread and buttermilk. You want chicken, or you want steak?"
"Steak's good enough for me," Jake said.
Jule went to night school in February. He went to the "Y" school, like Maisie said. Maisie said: "You got to amount to something, Jule. You got to be somebody."
The man at the desk said: "Are you a member?"
"No, sir," Jule said. "I ain't no member."
"You want to join the 'Y'? "
"I want to learn something," Jule said. "Learn a trade." Jule paid his fee and bought books.
The-man said: "Classes are Tuesday and Thursday." He handed Jule his membership card. "You can come for games and dancing and swimming, too. Friday night is coed night. Your girl can come in free on Friday night."
"It don't matter," Jule said. "I ain't got no girl."
Jule went to school two nights a week. On Wednesday and Friday he went swimming. The pool was nice. It was like Peter's Mudhole. Only it didn't have any mud he could stick his toes in. The water felt clean. Jule liked the feel of water.
The girl sat on the edge of the pool and watched Jule. He swam under water and came up for air. He sucked air into his lungs and dived again. He came up on his back, floating. He flipped-over and stroked water. He reached with his arms, and his legs cut like scissors. He swam to the edge of the pool and lifted himself and sat beside the girl.
The girl said: "Where did you learn to swim like that?"
"In a mudhole," Jule said.
"You swim easy," the girl said.
"Got it from my ma," Jule said.
"She taught you?" the girl said.
"She showed me how to paddle like a dog. Paddle and keep my head above water. My ma said you either sink or swim, and I had to swim."
The girl laughed. "Paddle like a dog? That's funny. I never thought of that." She looked at Jule. "I wish I could swim like you."
"It's easy," Jule said. "You can swim like me."
"But I don't know how," the girl said.
"I'll show you," Jule said.
Jule slid into the water and the girl followed.
"You'll have to hold me up," the girl said.
"I'll hold you up," Jule said. He slipped his arm beneath her waist.
"Do I have to kick" the girl said.
"Kick and hold your legs straight. Kick and paddle with your hands."
"I'm kicking," the girl said.
She kicked her way across the pool, Jule bracing his hand against her stomach. She reached the other side, panting. "That was easy. Let's try it agin."
"Sure," Jule said. "All you got to do is kick and paddle."
"Paddle like a dog" the girl said.
"Like a dog," Jule said. The girl laughed. They went back across the pool. They sat on the edge of the pool, their legs dangling in the water.
"That was fun," the girl said. "How do you dive?"
"You hold your breath and hit the water clean," Jule said. "Like this." He hit the water and came up on an arc. "See how it's done?" he yelled. "Hold your nose the first time."
The girl caught her nose and plunged headlong into the water. She came up squealing. Jule swam to meet her. He caught her arm and towed her to the side. The girl giggled. "Diving is fun."
"Sure," Jule said. "Diving is fun." He looked at the girl. "Are you tired?"
"I ain't tired," the girl said. "Let's dive some more."
"You better rest," Jule said.
They sat there with the water dripping from their bodies. They looked at each other and grinned. "What's your name?" the girl said. "Jule," Jule said. "What's yours?"
"Louise," the girl said, "but everybody calls me Lou."
"You're nice, Lou," Jule said.
"You're nice, too," the girl said.
"Let's take another dip," Jule said.
"I'm tired," the girl said. "You're too fast, Jule."
"O.K., " Jule said. "Let's get dressed."
Jule took the key from "his ankle and went to the locker room. He took a shower and dressed, pulling on his sweat shirt and slacks. He came outside and waited for the girl. She took a long time. She came out with her hair braided, wrapped about her head.-
"Did I take long, Jule?"
"It's all right," Jule said. "I don't mind waiting."
They went down the stairway and the girl caught his hand. The air felt cool against their skins. They swung along hand in hand, looking up at the stars.
"I feel good," the girl said.
"Me, too," Jule said. "Let's stop and have a soda."
"Soda would be nice," the girl said.
They stopped at a soda fountain. The gill ordered chocolate. Jule ordered vanilla.
"Gee! This tastes good!" the girl said.
They sipped their sodas and looked up at the lights. Lights blinded their eyes. The girl sucked her soda through a straw and looked at Jule. "That was good, Jule."
"Want another soda?" Jule said.
"No, thanks, Jule. I've had enough." She looked at the clock on the wall. The hands pointed to eleven. "Gee, it's late! I got to get home!"
"Can I walk you home?" Jule said.
"Of course, Jule," the girl said.
They walked up Seventh Avenue and turned into a side street. They paused in front of an apartment house. The girl turned to Jule. "This is where I live, Jule. Come by and see me some time. I-know Mother would like to meet you."
"Can I take you to a show?" Jule said.
"Yes, Jule. Any time you want to. I'm home all day."
"I'll get up early tomorrow," Jule said. "Maybe we can catch an early-bird show."
"That'll be fine," the girl said. "I'll be waiting for you, Jule." She touched his hand and went running up the stairs.
Jule" watched her. He watched the hem of her skirt whipping the back of her knees. He turned and walked to the corner. "She's nice," he told himself. "She's nice!"
*CHAPTER FIFTEEN*
JULE came in at eight-thirty in the evening, his books tucked under his arm. The place was quiet. He walked past the bandstand and dance floor, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. He went through the swinging door and down a flight of stairs to the locker room. He dropped his books in his locker and put on a white jacket. He went into the kitchen and picked up a plate.
The chef looked at Jule and grinned. "What you eating, schoolboy?"
"What you got?" Jule said.
"Got roast beef, baked ham, and chicken."
"I'll take ham," Jule said. "Ham and greens and mashed potatoes."
"Anything you say, schoolboy. Ham and greens coming up." Waiters came in one by one, pulling on their jackets. "What's cooking, chef."
"Chicken."
"Chicken and dumplings."
"Chicken," the chef said. "Well, dish it up."
The chef filled their plates and they slid into chairs around Jule. A waiter got up and fetched hot sauce, vinegar and ketchup. Waiters passed seasoning back and forth. They looked at Jule and grinned at each other. "Whatcha eating schoolboy?"
"Ham and greens," Jule said.
"Is that what teacher done told you to eat?"
Jule looked at the waiters and went on eating.
Waiters began to chant: "Mary had a little lamb, a little lamb, a little lamb. Mary had a little lamb, his fleece was white as snow! ... And everywhere Mary went, Mary went, Mary went. Everywhere Mary went, the lamb was sure to go!" The waiters guffawed.
"How you doing, schoolboy?"..."You take teacher an apple today? Teacher-likes apples!"..."How much is two and two, schoolboy?"..."Teacher, can I be excused? I got to go, teacher!"..."Oh, teacher! Teacher!"
Jule handed his plate to the dishwasher and turned to the chef. "Thanks, chef. Food's nice."
Waiters dropped their forks and ganged around Jule. They harmonized, their voices blending on a high note:
"School days, school days, Dear old golden-rule days. Readin' an writin an 'rithmetic ... Beat me, Daddy, with a hickory stick!"
They slapped their thighs and roared with laughter. Jule looked at the waiters. The waiters said: "We got an educated waiter!"..."A smart waiter!"..."A schoolboy waiter!" They grinned and nudged each other.
"An educated fool!" a waiter said.
"An educated fool is right!" another waiter said.
"Cut it out," the chef said. "Let him alone!"
"We ain't doin' nothin', " the waiters said.
Jule stood there, looking at the waiters. "It's all right," he said. "It don't matter. It don't mean nothing."
Waiters looked at Jule. They fell silent.
"Don't play with schoolboys," the chef said. "Don't play! If you don't know what you're doing, ask somebody!"
Jule brushed past the waiters and went into the dinning room where the orchestra was tuning up. He walked over to Jake. "I'm ready, Mr. Simmons."
"O.K., " Jake said. "Here's your station. Wait on these three tables and give the customers what they want. If you have any trouble, come to me."
"Yes, Mr. Simmons."
"Tips,you make belong to you," Jake said. "Yes, Mr. Simmons."
"You're on your own," Jake said. "Understand."
"I understand."
"Good luck," Jake said. "Thanks, Mr. Simmons."
Couples came in and sat at Jule's tables and ordered scotch and soda. Couples from Broadway and Harlem. Couples from the Bronx and Queens. Couples out looking for fun.
A blonde girl said: "When does the next show go on, waiter?"
"In a few minutes," Jule said. "Soon as they finish dancing. Won't you have something in the meantime? Barbecue, or something? Barbecue is nice."
"Hot stuff?" the blonde girl said. "We like hot stuff!" She looked at the others and giggled. "Don't we?"
"Sure," the others said. "Bring us barbecue and hot stuff!"
"Barbecue coming up," Jule said. He fetched barbecue and hot sauce. "Something else?"
"This is fine, waiter. We'll have more drinks when the show goes on."
"Yes, sir," Jule said.
The blonde girl looked at her escort and grinned. "This is fun! This is Harlem."
"Right," her escort said.
"I'm having a good time," the blonde girl said. "You all having a good time?"
"Sure," the others said. "We're having a swell time!"
Her escort picked up a rib and polished it off. "I like Harlem," her escort said. "People are natural in Harlem."
Couples crowded in. Lights dimmed. The show went on.
"Waiter, scotch and soda!"
"Yes, sir."
"Zombie, waiter!"
"Yes, sir."
"Whisky sour!"
"Yes, sir."
Sweat dripped from Jule's face. He loaded drinks on his tray and took them to the tables. He went back to the bar for more drinks.
"Waiter!"..."Waiter!"..."Waiter!"
Jule's head began to spin. He wheeled and saw Jake watching him.
"Take it easy," Jake said. "Yes, Mr. Simmons."
Jule took it easy. Couples stamped their feet and stood on tabletops and clapped their hands. They crowded around the bandstand and danced in the aisles. Couples rocked to the rhythm and their voices shrieked. They whistled and screamed, their feet beating out a rhythm to the music. ... The show went on, but nobody watched the show.
Jule stood with the tray balanced on his palm. He looked at the couples, at their faces, at their eyes. White faces, brown faces, black faces. Their eyes brimmed with excitement.
Couples sat down at their tables and scraped their chairs into place. "That was wonderful!"..."That was swell!"..."Did you ever see anything like it before?"..."Boy, what a show!"
"I like niggers," the blonde girl said. "I like niggers when they're dancing. "Niggers are so natural."
"Pipe down!" her escort said. "We're in Harlem!"
"Pipe down for what?" the blonde girl said. "Niggers are niggers, even in Harlem."
"Are you nuts? You want to start a riot or something?"
"Riot about what?" the blonde girl said. "Ain't going to be no riot."
Jule placed drinks on the tables. Couples sipped their drinks and ordered another round.
"Fill 'em up, waiter, brim to the top! Fill 'em up."
"Yes, sir."
"More gin, waiter! Make 'em strong."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Whisky, waiter! Whisky! ... Understand? ... We want to get high and be somebody."
"Yes, sir."
Jule brought whisky. Whisky in highballs, whisky in cocktails, whisky straight. Couples drank whisky. Whisky and gin.
The blonde girl looked at Jule. "I like gin, waiter. It makes me feel so good! ... You like gin, too, waiter?"
"Shut up, you fool!" her escort said. "Don't you know where you are? Don't you have any sense at all?"
"I don't give a damn!" the blonde girl said. "I do as I please!" She turned to Jule. "You from down home, ain't you, boy? From down my part the country, ain't you?" Her teeth gleamed white in her face. "You from down yonder where white folks and niggers understand each other! Where niggers..." , Her escort caught her wrist. "Goddamn you! Will you shut up?"
The blonde girl looked at her escort. "I can talk to a nigger if I want to! It's a free country, ain't it? I used to play with niggers when I was little."
"Well, you ain't little and you ain't going to play! Now, goddamn you, shut up!" Her escort got to his feet. "Come on, let's go!"
"All right, let's go," the blonde girl said. "But it's still a free country!"
Jule placed the checks face down on the tables. Bills dropped on the tables. Singles and fives and tens. Jule looked at the bills and picked them up. He folded the bills and put them in his pocket.
"We had a good time, waiter! A swell time! ... We like to come to Harlem!"
"Thanks," Jule said. "We like to have you."
Waiters flopped into chairs and counted their money. "God, what a night!" They counted their money over and over, feeling the bills. They looked at Jule and grinned. "How you doing, schoolboy?" They went on counting their money, watching Jule.
"Doing all right," Jule said.
"Make any money, schoolboy?"
"Couple of dollars."
Waiters grinned and looked at each other. "Schoolboy made a couple of dollars! Schoolboy's got money! Got so much money he don't know how to count it!" Waiters burst out laughing and walked over to Jake, counting their money. "What we owe, Jake?"
Jake looked at the waiters. "You got your checks, pigure it out for yourself."
Waiters looked at their checks and figured. "Jesus', I ain't ordered no three scotch and sodas, Jake! I just ordered beers!"..."Did I order that much food, Jake? Goddamn, I didn't know I was doing that much business!" . . "But, Jake, I can't owe that much! That leaves me flat, Jake!"
"They're your checks," Jake said. "You did the waiting."
Waiters looked at each other. They shrugged their shoulders and put money on the bar. Jake rang up the money and canceled their checks. Waiters counted their change. Jule came over to Jake. Waiters grinned. "Schoolboy didn't do bad, Jake. Schoolboy's got money. Couple of dollars, Jake." They watched Jule and riffled their money. .
Jake looked at Jule. "How you make out?"
"All right," Jule said. "Got fifteen dollars tips."
"Not bad," Jake said.
Waiters looked at Jule. "Are you kiddin', schoolboy? You got fifteen dollars tips."
"Fifteen dollars," Jule said.
Waiters stared at each other. "You dig that? Fifteen dollars tips! And he's just a schoolboy! ... Goddamn! Let's go to school!"
Jake grinned at Jule. "Like being a waiter."
"Like it fine," Jule said.
"Keep it up," Jake said. "Keep it up and you'll get somewhere."
"Yes, Mr. Simmons."
Jule put money in the post office every week. Put in what he didn't need. Some weeks it was five and some weeks ten. And some weeks fifteen. He put it in the way he got it and let it lay, except what he sent home to his ma. At the end of the season he had a hundred dollars in the bank.
Summer months were tight. Tips didn't amount to much. Jule worked harder. He got an extra job running an elevator from noon until six. What he made wasn't much, but he put it in the bank. He bought a new suit in September. A suit like what Anne said. A .tailor-made suit that made him look nice.
Anne looked at the suit. The suit was blue with pin stripes, simply cut and neat. She looked at the way the suit fitted him. She looked at the white shirt, the figured tie. She fingered the lapel of his jacket.
"I wanted to buy you a suit, Jule."
"Saved enough money to buy my own suit," Jule said.
"But I wanted to buy a suit for you, Jule."
"Figgered it was better to buy it myself," Jule said. "And pay for it myself."
"But I wanted to buy you a suit, Jule. As a present from me.
"It's a present from you," Jule said. "You told me where to buy it."
"But I wanted to pay for it with my money, Jule I wanted to give you a suit. I wanted you to have something from me, something I bought and paid for. Something to make you look nice, just for me. Don't you understand, Jule?"
"I understand," Jule said.
Anne watched his face. She watched his eyes, vivid and deep. "I want to go home, Jule. Go home and be alone with you! ... Take me home, Jule."
Jule went to see Lou on Sunday afternoon. He walked up two flights of stairs and knocked on the door. Lou opened the door. "Hello, Jule!"
"Thought I'd drop by," Jule said. "I wanted to see you."
"Come in, Jule. Thought you forgot me."
"I ain't forgot you," Jule said. He followed her into the living room and sat on the sofa.
Lou said: "I like your suit, Jule. It looks nice."
"Just bought it yesterday," Jule said.
"Makes you look nice, Jule. like a playboy."
"Glad you like it," Jule said.
Lou smiled at him. "Want a cool drink, Jule? Want a i coke, or something?"
"Coke would be nice," Jule said.
"I'll get you a coke, Jule. Be back in a minute." She smiled at him over her shoulder and went into the kitchen.
Jule looked at the room. The room was neat and clean. Curtains hung crisp at the windows. The floor was scrubbed bone-white, like his ma's. Jule looked at the floor.
Lou came back with a tray. "Cookies and cokes, Jule." She placed the tray on a table. "All right, Jule?"
"Fine," Jule said. He took a cookie and crunched it between his teeth. He picked up a coke.
"Like the cookies, Jule?"
"Like 'em fine," Jule said.
"I made them," Lou said.
Lou's pa came into the living room. He looked at Jule. "Sorry, Lou, didn't know you had company."
"This is Jule, Pa. The boy I was telling you about. Remember, Pa?"
"Oh," her pa said. "The swimming boy. The one that taught you how to paddle like a dog."
"Yes, Pa. He's the one."
"Glad to meet you, son," her pa said. "Glad to meet you," Jule said. Her pa turned to Lou. "Where's Ma."
"She went to a movie, Pa. She went to a picture."
"Oh," her pa said. "A picture."
"A moving picture, Pa. A show."
"Oh," her pa said. He looked at Jule. "Enjoy yourself, son." He went into the bedroom.
Lou said: "Let's go out, Jule. Let's have some fun."
Jule looked at her and grinned. "All right, Lou."
They went to a movie. The picture was simple and sweet, with snatches of moonlight, beaches and prairies, cotton fields and rolling hills. A picture about people at play. A picture about people in love. They sat there, holding hands.
Jule stood up. "Like it?"
"It was nice," Lou said. She sighed.
They walked up the avenue and sat on a bench, facing the river. They could see lights across the river, winking like stars in the distance. Wind blew up cool. He felt her stir beside him, warm and close. They looked up at the stars. The stars flickered on and off, like June bugs in the dusk. Jule turned and looked at her face. Her face was like a mirror, reflecting the tightness of his own. He kissed her and her mouth felt soft and warm.
Jule took her home at midnight. "Let's go on a boat ride."
"When, Jule?"
"Any time you say. Maybe next Wednesday."
"All right, Jule," Lou said. "Next Wednesday."
*CHAPTER SIXTEEN*
LOU did her nails. She filed them to a point and buffed them off. She pushed the cuticles back and scrubbed her hands with soap and water. Her nails came out clean. She dried them on a towel and lacquered them down to the tips. She held her hands up to the mirror and looked at them. The lacquer dried a deep red.
"Find a job yet, Lou?"
"I'm looking for a job, Ma."
"You got to have a job, Lou."
"I know, Ma."
Lou went into her bedroom. She put on silk step-ins, fringed with lace, and a satin slip. She pancaked her cheeks and throat and made up her mouth. She pouted her lips and looked into the mirror. She penciled her eyebrows and mascaraed her lashes. Her lashes stood in place, curving upward. She pulled her lashes between her fingertips and spread them apart. She rolled on her stockings and smoothed the seams straight against her calves. She looked in the mirror at her legs.
She . .went to the closet and picked out a dress. A blue dress with polka dots. She slipped it over her head and fitted it around her hips. She shook herself and the dress fell into place. She looked over her shoulder and turned slowly before the mirror. She went back to the closet and picked up pumps. She eased them on and eased them off. Pumps felt tight. She sprinkled powder into the pumps and they went on easy.
She daubed perfume behind her ears and smeared it under her chin. She opened a drawer and took out white gloves and a handkerchief. She pulled on the gloves and picked up her bag. She went into the kitchen and looked at her ma.
"Going out, Ma."
"Going out where?"
"To get a job, Ma." She pecked her ma on the cheek. "Wish me luck, Ma?"
"Wish you luck, Lou."
Lou went out the door and down the stairs. She stood on the stoop and looked up and down the street. The street was alive with people. She walked to the corner and turned into the avenue, her heels clicking against the pavement.
A man caught her arm and turned her around. "Don't I know you?" He looked at her.
"Know me?" Lou said. Her lids fluttered, opened wide.
The man watched her. "You're Lou, ain't you?"
"Lou? What Lou?"
"Lou Davis."
She looked him up and down. She looked at his suit, at the drape of his trousers, at the gray suede shoes. "Yes, I'm Lou Davis. Who're you?"
"I thought you was Lou." The man grinned. "Don't you remember me? I'm Jeff ... Jeff."
"Jeff? Jeff who?"
"Just Jeff," the man said. "You remember Jeff."
"Oh Jeff! ... Sure, I remember you! You're Jeff! Where you been, you idiot? I been looking for you!" She threw her arms around his neck and smothered her cheek against his cheek.
"Been to the cleaners," Jeff said. "Been to the cleaners and back. Where you been?"
"Been around," Lou said. "Only I ain't seen you."
Jeff grinned. "You're solid, gal ... solid!"
"How's Belle?" Lou said.
"Belle?"
"Your wife."
"Oh, her. She cut out."
"Oh," Lou said. "That's too bad. I liked Belle. She was so sweet and innocent. So lady-like."
He looked at her. "Let's go somewhere and have a drink."
"Drink?" Lou said. "Scotch or beer."
"Scotch," Jeff said. "What did you think."
"I like scotch," Lou said.
Lou came in at suppertime. Her ma dished up food. Hot dishes, steaming dishes, string beans and carrots. She dished up mashed potatoes and ladled a bowl of gravy. She took hot biscuits from the oven and placed a platter of meat balls on the table.
Lou said: "Ma, guess who I saw today."
"Who?" her ma said.
"Jeff, Ma! Jeff ... Don't you remember Jeff? We went to a show, downtown. It was a swell show! He's coming by to see you,. Ma."
"See me?" her ma said.
"Yes, Ma. Tomorrow."
Her ma said: "You food's ready, Lou. Sit down."
"Yes, Ma." Lou sat down.
Her pa came in the door. He dropped his lunch box on the sideboard and hung his hat on the back of a chair. Her pa said: "Find a job, yet, Lou?"
Lou served her plate with string beans and carrots. She helped herself to a meat ball. She spread butter on her bread and dipped gravy from the bowl. She sopped her bread in the gravy and lifted the bread to her mouth. "No, Pa."
Her pa sat down at the table. "You ain't found nothing you want to do?" '
She forked her carrots and beans and meat and stuffed them in her mouth. She chewed her food slowly and swallowed it. "No, Pa."
"Lou went to a show this afternoon," her ma said. "A show?" her "pa said. He looked at Lou. "Thought you was out looking for a job."
"What kind of job?" Lou said, and went on eating. "What kind of job? Any kind of job! You got to have a job, Lou!"
Lou dropped her fork. She looked at her pa. She said: "I suppose you want me to work for poor white trash, scrub floors, wash windows, bust suds. Well, I ain't going to do it. I ain't working for no poor white trash. I been to college, an eastern college, a ladies' school. I ain't scrubbing no floors and busting no suds for nobody! Not me!"
Her ma said: "Don't talk like that, Lou."
Her pa didn't say anything. He got up from the table.
Lou went on eating. "Got any more beans, Ma? Any more meat?"
Her ma brought beans and meat. Lou scraped the bowl clean and piled food on her plate. Her ma stood silent, watching her.
Lou said: "I'll get a job. Don't worry about that. But I ain't going to bust no suds and scrub no floors. Not for nobody. You hear what I say, Ma?"
"I hear you, Lou. But you shouldn't be short with your pa."
"Damn Pa," Lou said. "He can like it or lump it. Any way he feels about it." She pushed her chair back and stood up. "Get some crabs for dinner tomorrow, Ma. Make some crab gumbo with rice. I feel like eating crabs." She picked her teeth.
"I'll try, Lou. Crabs ain't so plentiful now."
"I want crabs," Lou said.
Jule took Lou on a boat ride to Bear Mountain. They went on a Wednesday when the crowd was light. They took their bathing suits and carried things in a bag for lunch. Things they could roast over a fire and eat in the open. They danced on the boat and promenaded around the deck. The boat docked.
They walked over to the zoo and watched the bears, playing in the water.
"Bears look cute," Lou said.
"They look like bears," Jule said.
"But they're cute, Jule. Baby bears, Jule."
"They're bears," Jule said.
They swam and sat on the edge of the pool. They stretched out on their backs and dried in the sun. Sun felt hot. Lou said: "Let's go rowing, Jule. Rowing in a boat. I want to go rowing in a boat on the lake."
"It's too hot," Jule said. "Let's swim some more."
"But I want to row, Jule. I want to row in a boat."
They went rowing on the lake, with the sun hot against their necks. They dipped their oars in unison, sunlight dancing on the water. They circled the lake and pulled into a cove. Overhanging branches cast dappled patterns on the water. They rested their oars and listened to the water lapping the sides of the boat.
"I like this," Lou said. "It makes me feel good. like I was at a country club or something."
"Me, too," Jule said. He flung one leg over the side of the boat and dipped his toes into the water. The boat rocked.
"I'm hungry, Jule. Let's beach the boat and eat."
"All right," Jule said.
They beached the boat and Jule built a fire. They roasted wieners over hot coals and ate wieners with mustard, washed down with lemonade. They broiled steak sandwiches and toasted rolls. They ate steak sandwiches with pickles and potato salad.
Jule stretched out flat on his back. "I'm full, Lou."
"But we ain't toasted the marshmallows yet," Lou said. "I want toasted marshmallows."
"I'm tight," Jule said. "I can't eat no more."
"But we got to have marshmallows, Jule."
Lou forked marshmallows on a stick and held them over the toals, turning the stick slowly. Jule ate one and Lou ate the rest. She licked her fingers. Jule locked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
"I'm still hungry, Jule."
"Drink some lemonade," Jule said. "That'll fill you up."
"But I don't want lemonade, Jule. I want some more meat."
"Ain't got no more meat," Jule said.
Lou drank lemonade and watched Jule over the rim of the glass. "Let's go for a hike, Jule."
"I'm tired, Lou."
"But I want to have some fun, Jule. I want to hike."
They went hiking through the woods and Lou led the way. The followed a trail up the mountainside, green things caressing their faces. Green growing things, leaves and branches. Lou ran ahead and Jule followed. They stood on a rock and looked down at the lake. They watched boats on the lake.
"Water's nice," Lou said.
"Water's always nice," Jule said. "Water backs up and runs out clean." He felt his arms sting. He scratched his arms. "What's the matter, Jule."
"My arms itch," Jule said. "Your arms itch?"
"Yes," Jule said. "They feel funny."
Lou looked at his arms. "They're red, Jule. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe you rowed too hard."
"Maybe," Jule said. "Ain't never rowed before."
"Oh," Lou said. She looked at Jule. "I'm sorry, Jule. It's all my fault!"
"It's all right," Jule said.
"We better go back," Lou said. She kissed him on the cheek. "Feel better, Jule?" Jule grinned. "Feel fine."
They went back to the cove and paddled to the boathouse. Jule paid the fee. They stood on the dock and watched the boat scuddle in. Music floated over the water and they could see couples dancing on the deck. The boat shuddered to a stop. They went up the gangplank, screams and catcalls ringing in their ears. They circled the lower deck, watching the couples.
Lou squeezed his arm. "This is swell, ain't it, Jule?"
"Nice," Jule said.
They swung along the deck, looking up at the lights. They saw couples in shadows, couples along the walls, couples looking at moonlight. Lou giggled and looked up at Jule. She felt a tug on her arm and wheeled around. She stared into a girl's face. "Why, Janet Arnold!"
"Hello, Lou," Janet said. "Haven't seen you since we left college!"
"Janet Arnold!" Lou said. "Am I glad to see you!" They hugged each other. Lou backed away. She looked at Janet, at the straw-colored hair, the cool gray eyes. "You haven't changed a bit, Janet!"
"And neither have you, Lou." Janet grinned. She said: "I want you to meet my boy friend. Lou, this is Bob. Bob, this is Lou." a
"It's good to know you, Lou." Bob said. "I've heard a lot about you."
Lou caught Jule's hand. "And this is my boy friend, Jule."
"Glad to know you, Jule," Janet said.
"How are you, Jule?" Bob shook his hand.
"Glad to meet you both," Jule said. He looked at Bob, then at Janet. Jule thought: "A white girl and a white boy!"
"You boys will have to excuse us," Janet said. "Lou and I got things to talk about. Old times when we were in college. Don't we, Lou?" They went off, arm in arm, chattering.
Bob looked at Jule and grinned. He shook his head. "Looks like we're on our own, Jule."
"I don't mind," Jule said.
They leaned against the rail and watched the backwash from the boat.
"Nice fishing weather," Bob said. "Ever go fishing?"
"Sure," Jule said. He looked at Bob and thought about Rollo. Bob looked like Rollo: the same friendly smile, the same freckled nose. "Used to go fishing in a mudhole. Used to go hunting, too. .
Bob looked at Jule. "Now you're talking my language! I'd rather hunt than eat. Ever hunt quail, Jule."
"Quail and possums, too," Jule said. "With pointers and English setters."
"With bird dogs," Jule said. Bob laughed. "That's all I got, Jule-bird dogs."
"You got bird dogs?"
"A kennel full," Bob said. "Say, why don't we go hunting some time? Dad's got a lodge up in the mountains."
"Sure," Jule said. "Only I ain't got no guns or nothing."
"Don't worry about guns," Bob said. "Dad's got plenty of guns. When can you come out?"
"I'm off a week in November," Jule said.
"November? Swell!" Bob said. He took a pencil from his jacket pocket and scribbled on the back of a card. "Here's my address. Write me any time you want to and let me know when you're coming. Boy, I can hardly wait!"
"I'll let you know," Jule said.
"It's a "promise?" Bob said.
"It's a promise," Jule said.
"Shake," Bob said. They shook. Bob leaned on the rail, puffing his cigarette. "What line of business you in, Jule."
"I'm a waiter," Jule said. "In a cabaret."
"Like it?"
"It's O.K., " Jule said. "Until I get something better. I want to learn a trade."
"Got the right idea," Bob said. "Everybody ought to have a trade. Something you can count on. Something with a future."
"I know," Jule said.
Janet and Lou came up behind them. Janet said: "How you boys doing?" Spray matted her hair against her cheeks.
"Fine," Bob said. "We're old friends now. We're going quail-hunting."
"Quail-hunting?" Janet said. "That oughtto be fun."
"It is fun," Jule said.
Lou looked at Bob and Jule. "Let's dance," Lou said.
The boat docked. Lou and Jule went down the gangplank, sandwiched between couples. Couples crowded down the gangplank, giggling. Jule glanced at his watch. "It's late, Lou. Can't take you home. Got to go to work."
"That's O.K., " Lou said. "I can go home alone, I don't mind going by myself."
"Will I see you tomorrow, Lou?"
"See you tomorrow, Jule."
Lou hit the subway and went down two flights of stairs. She came up at 135th Street and turned a corner. She turned another corner and paused. She looked up and down the avenue. She watched people going and coming. She turned and went back down the avenue and went into an apartment house. She pressed a bell. A man opened the door.
"Is Aunt Bess home, Uncle John?"
"Come in, Lou," her uncle-said. "Ain't seen you in a long time."
Lou smiled at him. "Aunt Bess ain't home, Uncle John?"
"She went to a club meeting. She ought to be back soon. Come in and sit down, Lou."
"All right," Lou said. "But only for a minute. I wanted to talk to you, anyhow, Uncle John." She sat down, and crossed her legs. "I wanted to talk to you alone." She smiled at her uncle.
"About what?" her uncle said.
Lou toyed with her handkerchief. "I want to ask you something, Uncle John. Can I ask you something, Uncle John?"
"Go ahead," her uncle said. "Ask me anything you want to."
She looked at him and dropped her lashes. "I need a little change, Uncle John. I want to buy a present for Ma."
"A present for your ma? That's nice," her uncle said. "How much you need?"
"About five dollars, if you can spare it."
"Sure," her uncle said. He took out his wallet. "Here's ten. Buy your ma a nice present."
Lou giggled and stood up. "Thanks, Uncle John. This will buy Ma a nice present.' She walked toward the door. "Tell Aunt Bess I was here, Uncle John. Tell her I'll come by to see her tomorrow. Tomorrow afternoon."
"I'll tell her," her uncle said.
Lou walked home. She went up two flights of stairs and opened the door. The house was dark. She pulled off her shoes and tiptoed down the hallway. She went into her bedroom and tucked the ten dollars under her pillow. She slipped off her dress and stepped out of her panties. She peeled off her stockings and went into the bathroom and put her panties and stockings in the basin to soak. She turned on the faucet and ran water into the tub. She shook bath salts into the tub and watched the crystals dissolve.
She went to the basin and whipped up a lather and squeezed suds through her stockings and panties. She squeezed suds until her stockings and panties were clean. She rinsed them in lukewarm water and hung them up to dry. She looked at her panties. She stepped into the bathtub and soaped herself, massaging the lather into her skin. Lather felt soothing. She slid beneath the water and let her body soak. Water lapped against her body. She stood up and dried herself, rubbing her flesh until her blood ran hot. Her flesh tingled. She dusted her body with powder and smoothed it over her skin. She went down the hallway to her bedroom.
She slipped between the sheets and stretched. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. She looked at the tip of her cigarette, flame-red in the darkness. She said softly: "It ain't Christmas and it ain't Easter, and Ma's birthday is passed. Ma don't need no present." She snuffed the cigarette and lay there in the darkness. "I need new step-ins. I got to have new step-ins. Black step-ins, with lace." She lay there, grinning to herself. "I like black step-ins. Black step-ins look nice."
*CHAPTER SEVENTEEN*
JULE'S arms swelled. They came up tight with pimples. Tight like balloons, ready to burst. He spread his arms on the bed and looked at them. He turned his arms and looked at the pimples. His arms itched. He scratched his arms. He called Maisie.
Maisie came into the room. She looked at his arms. "You got poison ivy, Jule! Where you been."
"In the bushes."
"Bushes where."
"Bear Mountain."
"When you go to Bear Mountain."
"Yesterday."
"With who."
"With a girl."
"Stay out of bushes," Maisie said. "You should know better."
"Know better now," Jule said.
Maisie went to Jake's closet and rummaged through, his things. "Damn! Where'd Jake put them hunting shells?" She felt in a box and came up with a handful of shells. She went into the kitchen. She cut two shells in half and sifted gunpowder into a bowl. She opened the Frigidaire and took out a pitcher of cream. She mixed gunpowder and cream into a paste. She went back to Jule and spread paste on his arms. She spread it thick with her fingers, smearing it over his arms. She patted his arms gently, and let the paste dry. "Hold your arms straight, Jule. It's got to draw. Poison ivy has to dry out."
"But it itches," Jule said.
"Let it itch," Maisie said. "It's got to itch."
Anne came by the next day. She saf on the edge of the bed and looked at Jule. She touched his hand. "How did you get it, Jule?"
"Hiking."
"Hiking?" Anne said. "Hiking alone."
"Hiking with a girl," Jule said.
"Oh," Anne said. "Hiking with a girl." She looked at him. Maisie came into the room. "There's a girl here to see you, Jule."
"A girl?" Jule said.
"She says her name is Lou."
"Tell her to come in," Jule said.
Anne sat up and spread her legs on the side of the bed. She smoothed the sheet under Jule's chin. "Having a lot of company, ain't you, Jule?"
"Ain't no company," Jule said.
Maisie stood in the doorway. "Here's Lou, Jule."
Lou walked over to the bed. She leaned over and kissed him. "How you feel, Jule? I didn't know your arms were that bad." She stood up and looked at Anne. "Maybe I shouldn't have taken him in the woods."
"In the woods?" Anne said.
"We went hiking in the woods," Lou said.
Anne looked at her and smiled. "Maybe we should know each other."
"Maybe we should," Lou said. "I'm Lou."
"And I'm Anne."
"Glad to know you, Anne," Lou said. She offered her hand. Anne lit a cigarette and looked at her. "Glad to know you, Lou."
Jule said: "Nice to see you, Lou. Glad you came .by." He looked at Maisie. "My arms itch."
"I'll get the paste," Maisie said. She went into the bathroom.
Anne creased her dress between her legs and crossed her knees. She looked at Lou, "Have a seat, Lou."
Lou looked at Jule. "I'll see you when I can see you alone, Jule. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Fine," Jule said. "See you tomorrow, Lou."
"I'll show you to the door," Anne said.
"Don't bother," Lou said. "I can find my way."
"You might get confused," Anne said. "I'll show you." She got up and followed Lou down the hall.
Maisie came back with a tray. She took a jar off the tray and placed a towel on the bed. Jule held out his arms. Maisie mopped his arms, spreading the paste. Anne walked over to the bed and took the jar from Maisie's hand. She said: "I'll finish, Maisie."
Maisie looked at Anne. "All right by me, gal." She went out the door and closed it.
Anne smoothed paste on Jule's arms. "How does it feel, Jule?"
"Feels better," Jule said.
"Maybe I better put more paste on," Anne said. She spread more paste. Jule lay with his arms on the towel. Paste dried tight on his flesh. Anne looked at him and smiled. "Want something to eat, Jule?"
"Ain't hungry," Jule said.
"Better eat anyway," Anne said. "I'll fix you something." She went into the kitchen and brought back soup in a bowl and crackers on a plate. She placed the bowl on the edge of the bed. "I'll feed you, Jule." She dipped soup from the edge of the bowl and fed him crackers. She wiped his mouth with a napkin and fed him soup.
"All right, Jule."
"All right," Jule said.
Anne fed him more soup and put the empty bowl on the table. She looked at him. "Your girl friend, Jule."
"Ain't goi no girl friend," Jule said.
"Nice little schoolgirl," Anne said. "Nice little chippy gal." She stroked Jule's cheek with her hand. "You in love with her, Jule?" .
"I ain't in love," Jule said. "I ain't in love with nobody."
Anne reached over and caughr him about the neck. She pulled him to her. Her lips felt hot against his mouth. "You like that, don't you, Jule? You like that from me. Don't you, Jule?"
Jule pulled away, wrenched free. Anne said: "I keep myself just for you, Jule." Jule looked at her. He didn't say anything. "You can have me, Jule. Any time you want me. You know that, don't you, Jule."
"I know," Jule said.
Jake came in at four-thirty and went into the kitchen. Jule could hear him fumbling around. A pot clattered to the floor. Jake swore softly. Jule got up and went into the kitchen. "What's the matter, Mr. Simmons?"
"Didn't mean to wake you up, Jule."
"I wasn't asleep," Jule said.
"Wish Maisie would put things where I can find 'em," Jake said. "I'm starved." He cut a slab of cake. He got milk out of the Frigidaire and poured a glass-full. He ate cake and drank milk. "This will hold me. I got work to do."
Jule followed him into the living room. Jake sat down at the desk and began to figure. He sat there, mumbling to himself. He went over columns of figures and scratched them out. He started all over again. He dropped the pencil. "Goddamn! This is one hell of a mess!"
Jule walked over to the desk. "What's wrong, Mr. Simmons?"
Jake looked at Jule. "What's wrong? My books are all screwed-up!"
Jule looked at the books. "Can I help you, Mr. Simmons."
"Can you keep books?"
"I can figure." Jule said.
"Well, figure this out," Jake said. "Straighten "out this mess."
Jule said: "Write down what I tell you. I can't write on account of my arms."
Jake wrote down figures the way Jule said. Jule tallied figures, multiplied and divided, added and subtracted. Figures came out right. Jule gave Jake the results. Jake looked at the figures.
"Goddamn! How in hell did you do that?"
"In my head," Jule said.
Jake stared at him. "In your head?"
Jule grinned. "Yes, Mr. Simmons. In my head, like Uncle Alex showed me. Uncle Alex says if you ain't got no head, you can't figure."
"Goddamn," Jake said. "Boy, you all right!" He dug into his pocket and drew out a roll of bills. He peeled off two singles. "Here's two dollars. When I need some figuring done, I'll call on you. You can make some extra change figuring for me, Jule."
"Figuring for you, Mr. Simmons?"
"Figuring for me," Jake said. He leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. "Goddamn!..." He grinned at Jule. "Have a cigar, Jule!"
"No, thanks, Mr. Simmons. I don't smoke."
"That's right. I forgot. You don't smoke." Jake stood up and patted Jule on the shoulder. "Let's go in the kitchen and have a coke. You want a coke, Jule?"
"Coke would be nice," Jule said.
Jake put in a circular bar and redecorated the place: new murals, new lights, new drapes. He bought new jackets for the waiters. Jackets harmonized with the drapes. Bottles stood on shelves in rows. Mirrors reflected bottles. Pinch bottles, frosted bottles. Whisky and rum and gin.
Jake gave Jule the best station in the house, hard against the bandstand. Jake said: "This is your station, Jule. Long as you work here. Good tips. Understand, Jule?"
"Thanks, Mr. Simmons," Jule said.
A waiter said: "Schoolboy's lapping up the cream. Jake done give him the best spot in the house."
"Pay it no mind," another waiter said. "He's just Young Green. A schoolboy waiter. He don't mean nothing!"
"Young Green is right," another waiter said. "He ain't nowhere!"
Lou walked up to the bar. She looked at the bartender. "I want to see Jule."
' The bartender winked at the waiters. "You mean Mr. Jackson, the headwaiter?"
"What headwaiter?" Lou said.
"Mr. Jackson is the headwaiter, ma'am," the bartender said. "I ain't looking for no headwaiter," Lou said. "I'm looking for Jule."
"I'll get you Mr. Jackson," the bartender said. "Mr. Jule Jackson! ... Waiter, get Mr. Jackson for the lady!"
Lou sat down and Jule came over to the table. "Hello, Lou."
"Hello," Lou said. "You the headwaiter? You Mr. Jackson?"
"That's my name," Jule said. "Jule Jackson. But I ain't no headwaiter."
"Jule Jackson? Funny. I never knew your last name." Lou looked at him. "But they said you was the headwaiter, Jule."
"I ain't the headwaiter," Jule said. "I'm just.a waiter."
"Oh," Lou said. "But the bartender said you was the head-waiter!"
"It don't matter," Jule said. "What you want to see me about?"
Lou smiled at him. "Nothing special. Just wanted to see you. Ain't seen you since you had poison ivy. Since I was up to your room. ... Remember, Jule?"
"I remember," Jule said. "You want to see the new show? You want a drink?"
"No, Jule." Lou studied his face. "Was that your girl friend, Jule?"
"What girl friend?" Jule said.
"The one that sat on your bed. The one that showed me the door-gave me the ass's rush."
"You mean Anne?"
"You know who I mean," Lou said. "Is she your girl friend?"
"Anne is nice," Jule said.
"But is she your girl friend?" Lou said.
"She's a married lady," Jule said.
Jule bought a car in October. He jacked it up and put wheels on it. He played with the motor and put new gadgets on the dashboard. He ran the car around the block and listened to the motor. The motor sounded sweet. He parked the car in front of Jake's place while he worked, and in front of the house while he slept. The car was fun for Jule.
Jule came out of the cabaret at dawn. He looked at the car. The car looked new, polished a bright black'. He opened the door and looked inside. The seats looked new. He felt the seats with his fingertips. Seats felt like new carpet.
"This ain't my car," Jule told himself. "Where's my car?" He touched the seats again, feeling the fiber.
"It's your car, Jule. like it?"
Jule turned and saw Anne. "But I ain't put no new covers on the seats. I ain't polished the car or nothing. This ain't my car."
"I put on the covers," Anne said. "And I got a boy to polish the car. Did you see the heater and radio? Snap the radio on, Jule. See how yeu like it."
Jule snapped on the radio. He played with the dials the way a child would play with a toy. He turned the dials and the radio came up clear. He snapped the radio off. He sat for a moment and looked around the car, at the heater, the radio, the covers on the seats. He looked at Anne.
Anne opened the car door and stepped inside. She banged the door shut and settled beside Jule. She smiled at him. "Like it, Jule?"
"It's all right," Jule said.
"I did it for you, Jule. I wanted your car to look nice. Nice for you and me."
"I know," Jule said. "Don't you like it, Jule."
"I wanted to fix it up myself," Jule said.
"You don't like what I did to the car? You don't like the radio, the slip covers?"
"I wanted to do it myself," Jule said. He looked at her face. He watched tears well up and spill over her lids. He looked at the lines under her eyes, like the scratchings of crow's feet. Her eyes were red-rimmed.
"All right," Anne said. "I'll take out the radio and heater. I'll take off the covers on the seats and rub the shine off the hood. Is that what you want me to do, Jule?
"I don't want you to do nothing," Jule said. "I'll fix up the car myself. Do it my own way."
"Oh!" Anne said. "I see what you mean! You want the car to play around with! Play around with your chippy gal! Is that it, Jule?"
"What chippy gal?" Jule said.
"Your chippy gal," Anne said. "The little schoolgirl gal! The one that came by the house! The one that took you hiking in the woods!" . , "I ain't got no chippy gal," Jule said.
"You don't want me to say nothing about your chippy gal? You want me to leave you alone? Is that right, Jule?"
"That's right," Jule said. "I want you to leave me alone. You got a husband."
"But I ain't going to leave you alone," Anne said. "I love you, Jule. I got to love you!" She caught him about the neck and squeezed him tight. Her teeth bit into his flesh. "I'll leave my home for you, leave my husband, leave any goddamn thing or anybody! But I won't leave you alone! ... That's the way it is, Jule. You belong to me. You can like it or lump it! Anyway you choose! ... Understand, Jule?"
Jule gripped the wheel and his knuckles came up tight. Blood showed red beneath his nails. Jule said: "I'll drive you home."
"You don't have to drive me home," Anne said. "I can walk! I'll get out now!" She unlatched the door and stepped out of the car. She turned and looked at Jule. "So long, Jule. Pick me up sometime, when you don't have anything else to do. ... I love you, Jule!"
Jule stepped on the starter and the motor came alive. He turned a corner and another corner, as though he didn't know where he was going. He stepped on the brake hard, and the motor choked. He looked up at a house. He stared at the house, at the number-317-on the .door. It was Lou's house.
Jule got out of the car and looked up at the house. He circled the car and crossed the street. He stood there with his arms tight across his chest, looking up at the windows. Windows looked gray in the dawn. He stood there for a long time, staring up at Lou's house.
He walked back to the car and stepped on the starter. He drove the car home and parked in front of Jake's house. He walked up the steps and stuck his key in the lock.
Maisie said: "Where you been, Jule?"
"Out catching some air."
"Car all right?"
"Car's fine," Jule said.
"How's your new girl friend?"
"I ain't seen her," Jule said.
"How's Anne?"
"She's all right."
Maisie looked at Jule. "You hungry?"
"I want to sleep," Jule said.
"Go ahead and-sleep," Maisie said. "Your breakfast will be ready when you wake up."
"I got to sleep," Jule said.
*CHAPTER EIGHTEEN*
JULE hit the road in November. He turned off the parkway into the river road and listened to the motor purr. The road dipped in and out along the Hudson and the air felt brisk and fine. Wind blew out of the east." He could feel the wind, light against his face. The road began to lift. He saw farmhouses sprawled along the countryside, hilltops brown in she November sun. Leaves spilled from branches and fluttered to the ground. He looked at the leaves, rust-red in the sunlight. He watched the road race toward him.
The girl stirred in her sleep. Her body slumped. He felt her body warm against his body. He looked at her, then at the road. He watched the white line twisting up the mountainside. The car reached the crest of the hill and the road dropped. The white line curved and he touched the brake. The car shuddered. He felt it zigzag going down the hill. The car skidded on leaves and he released the brake. The car straightened. and coasted down the hill. He looked at the girl again.
He drove into a sleepy town. Lights blinked in the dusk. He parked in front of a hot-dog stand. He got out and ordered two hot dogs with mustard. Hot dogs and coffee. He shook the girl and she sat up straight. He handed her a hot dog and a cup of coffee.
"Coffee, Jule?"
"Coffee and hot dogs," Jule said. "With mustard." The girl ate the hot dog and drank coffee. She looked at Jule. "I want another hot dog, Jule."
"Wide-awake now, ain't you."
"I want two more hot dogs, Jule."
"All right, Lou."
Jule fetched two more hot dogs and coffee. He stepped into the car. The road looked dark now. He snapped on the headlights as raindrops spattered the windshield. He drove against the wind and the rain. The car crawled. Rain fell steadily and Jule snapped on the windshield wiper. Rain cascaded off the windshield.and seeped through the doors.
"I'm cold, Jule."
"There's a blanket under the seat. Wrap it around you."
Lou pulled out the blanket. She drew her knees up tight and tucked the blanket around her. She snuggled in the seat. Jule watched the road. Rain came in sheets and beat against the windshield.
"We on the right road, Jule?"
"This is the road," Jule said. "The road Rob told me to take."
Lou was silent, watching the rain in the headlights. She twisted around in the, seat. "I hope Janet'd be there. I want to see Janet. Janet is nice. She was swell to me in college."
"Bob's nice, too," Jule said. "He-likes to hunt."
"You been hunting before, Jule?"
"Sure," Jule said.
"Got hunting clothes?"
"Ain't got nothing," Jule said. "Bob said I don't need nothing."
"But you got to be dressed right, Jule. You ought to have hunting clothes."
"Clothes don't matter," Jule said.
Wind and rain came in gusts and water lapped the running boards. The car lurched through puddles and hit the pavement clean. Jule could hear the tires sing, gripping the pavement. The road climbed and the motor sputtered. Jule pulled out the choke and gave it gas. The car fought its way to the hilltop. The motor coughed.
. The car rolled downhill and Jule geared it in second. The car hit a puddle. Water gushed through the floor board and spiraled upward like a geyser. Spray blinded Jule. The car. swerved and skidded into an embankment. Water floated up to the seat, lapping at their thighs. Lou jerked her feet out of the water and crouched on the seat. "I'm drenched, Jule! I'm wet! Soaking-wet!"
Jule stepped out of the car, water swirling around his knees. He braced his shoulder against the body of the car and pushed. He pushed the car forward, inch by inch, and cleared the puddle. He got into the car and stepped on the starter. The motor was silent. He hit the starter again. The motor didn't turn. Jule got out and rain whipped his face. He felt for the hood, his fingers dripping wet. He yanked at the hood and flung it open. Rain washed his face and spilled into his eyes. He clamped the hood shut. He stood for a moment and stared at the car.
"What's the matter, Jule?"
"Motor's dead."
"Can't you fix it?"
"Motor's wet and dead."
Jule opened the door and stepped inside. Rain squalls lashed the windshield. Wind kept rising. He squeezed his hands and water dripped from his fingertips. He stared at the rain.
Lou pulled off her shoes and peeled off her stockings. She wrapped the blanket around her feet. She felt the hem of her dress wet against her thighs. She peeled off her dress and hung it over the seat. She squirmed into the blanket and pulled it around her shoulders. She lit a cigarette.
"Ain't nothing you can do, Jule?"
"Nothing," Jule said.
"Nothing at all?"
"Nothing."
Lou took a drag on the cigarette. She looked at Jule's face. "You mean we're stranded."
"Wet and stranded," Jule said.. "Maybe somebody'll come along and give us a lift."
"Maybe," Jule said.
Lou sucked on her cigarette and watched the tip flame. She took another drag and inhaled deeply. Rain beat against the windows and trickled down the panes. Lou shivered and pulled the blanket tighter.
"Turn on the heater, Jule."
"Can't," Jule said. "Motor's dead."
Lou huddled in the seat, staring out at the rain. "Radio won't play neither?"
Jule shook his head. "Motor's dead." He rolled his trousers to his kneecaps and took off his shoes. He wiggled his toes.
"You cold, Jule?" i "I ain't cold," Jule said.
Rain fell in torrents and wind rocked the car. Rain drummed on the roof. Jule peered into the darkness, watching the road.
Lou looked at him. "I'm scared, Jule."
"Scared of what? Ain't nothing to be scared of." He looked at her.
"I'm scared and cold, Jule."
He slipped his arm about her waist. Lou caught his hand. "You are cold, Jule. Your hand's like ice. You're freezing!" She sat up and eased part of the blanket around him. She curled up beside him and pulled the blanket close.
"Feel better, Jule?"
"Feel fine."
Lou rested her head on his shoulder. "I ain't scared now, Jule." She buried her face on his chest. She could hear the pounding of his heart. She slipped her hand beneath his shirt and felt his ribs. Her hand slid along his ribs around to the small of his back. Her fingers caressed his flesh. She looked up at him and pressed her cheek against his face. He eased down in his seat. She came up close and gripped him. Her lips felt hot against his lips. Rain sounded dull on the roof. She could hear the rain. She listened to the drumming of the rain. Rain pounded against the roof.
Wind died. Rain fell softly against the windshield. Lou was silent, listening to the rain. She lit a cigarette. The cigarette went out and Jule struck a match. The match flared against the darkness. Jule looked at Lou, at her face. Her face looked soft in the match light. Soft and strange, Jule lit the cigarette and Lou inhaled. He took the cigarette from her fingers and held it, staring at the glow. The cigarette smoldered. Lou reached over and took another drag. Juie snuffed the cigarette.
"Rain done stopped," Jule said.
"I know," Lou said.
Jule got out of the car. He siphoned gas from the tank and poured it in the carburetor. He stepped inside and hit the starter. The motor spun, but it didn't catch. Jule reached under the seat and took out the crank. He pulled out the choke. He went to the front, of the car and cranked. He yelled: "Step on the starter, Lou!"
Jule cranked. The car vibrated, but the motor was still. He went back to the tank and siphoned more gas. He took out the spark plugs and washed them with gas. He screwed the spark plugs in place. He cranked the car again and the motor roared. Jule slid into the seat, breathing hard. He sat for a moment, listening to the motor. He fed the motor gas and breathed easy. He snapped on the heater.
Lou sneezed and Jule looked at her. "Better take you home."
"Take me home," Lou said.
They dried their clothes on the heater and hit the road. They stopped at an inn on the roadside and ordered ham and eggs. Lou ate ham and eggs and toast and coffee. She ordered more ham and eggs. Lou said: "I like ham and eggs."
"I like coffee," Jule said.
Lou ate ham and eggs and Jule sipped coffee.
"Got enough, Lou?"
"I got enough."
"Let's go."
Dawn broke as they rolled down the Hudson. Mist clung to the water and floated over the countryside. Mist settled on the windshield, like particles of dust. Buildings towered in the distance.
"I want to see you later, Jule."
"You can see me later," Jule said.
"I'm coming to your room, Jule."
"You can come to my room,' Jule said.
"I'm coming to your room this afternoon, Jule, At five o'clock this afternoon."
"At five o'clock," Jule said.
"I want to see you alone, Jule. I want to be with you alone, with no company around. Nobody sitting on the side of your bed. Understand, Jule? '
"I'll be alone,"' Jule said.
Jule drove her home. He parked the car in front of Jake's place and lifted the hood. He went to work on the motor. "I got to write Bob."
Anne came by to see Maisie. She sat on the side of the bed and looked at Maisie.
Maisie said: "What's eating you, gal."
"Nothing," Anne said. "You look sick."
"I ain't sick," Anne said. "I'm going to have a baby."
"You what!"
"I'm going to have a baby,' Anne said.
"Does Fred know about this?' "No."
"It's Fred's baby, ain't it."
"No."
Maisie looked at Anne. "Well, whose baby is it."
"Jule's," Anne said. "Jule's! ... Good God!"
"It's all right," Anne said. "I'm going to have it."
"You're going to have it?" Maisie looked at Anne. "And put it on Fred?"
"Fred wants a baby," Anne said.
"Are you out of your mind? Are you crazy?"
"That's the way it's got to be," Anne said. "I'm going to have this baby." , "Jesus Christ!" Maisie got up. "But what will Fred think?"
"It don't matter," Anne said.
Maisie stared at her. "What the hell am I supposed to do with you? What the hell can I do?"
"You ain't supposed to do nothing," Anne said.
"You going to tell Jule?"
"No," Anne said. "I ain't going to tell Jule."
"Well, what the hell are you going to do?"
"I'm going away," Anne said. "Going to Chicago. Fred wants to live in Chicago."
"Jesus Christ" Maisie said.
"Fred-likes Chicago."
"Jesus Christ!"
Anne picked up her bag and gloves. She looked at Maisie. "I'll drop you a line when I get to Chicago. Tell you how I'm doing."
Maisie didn't say anything.-
Anne said: "I can't have Jule, but I can have his baby."
*CHAPTER NINETEEN*
JULE moved in December. Maisie found a one-room kitchenette for Jule, with a private entrance right off the street. A room with a fireplace and lights on the walls. Jule looked at the room. The walls looked washed and clean. He looked at the floor. The floor looked clean too. Jule liked the room.
Maisie picked out furniture for Jule. She said: "You want a studio couch, or a bed?"
"I want a bed," Jule said. "A bed so I can stretch out." Maisie picked out a bed and mattress. "You want a kitchen set or dinette?"
"It don't matter," Jule said.
Maisie picked out a dinette and looked at curtains. "You want ruffled curtains or tailored curtains?"
"Curtains don't matter," Jule said. "You do the picking. You know what I need."
Maisie picked out kitchenware and linoleum, end tables and chairs, lamps and a chest of drawers. She picked out pillowcases and sheets, towels and tablecloths, a blanket and a spread. Things Jule would need. Things he could pay for.
Maisie arranged the furniture. She hung curtains at the windows and made up the bed. She polished furniture and waxed linoleum. She washed dishes, pots and pans. She stacked dishes in the cupboard and put away pots and pans. She looked at the room. The room looked neat.
Maisie said: "This is nice, Jule."
"Just what I wanted," Jule said.
"It's all right," Maisie said. "You ought to have a place of your own. A place to entertain your friends. A place where you can be alone."
"I figgered it would be better like this," Jule said.
"It's all right, Jule. Just right for a young boy. No fuss, no bother, no nothing. You can fix your own meals and eat when you want to. Do as you please."
"I like fixing my own meals," Jule said.
Maisie bought flour and sugar, milk and butter, bacon and eggs, bread and cheese. Things like that. She bought coffee and lard, salt and pepper and ketchup. She stacked them in the cupboard and icebox.
"This ought to hold you for a while."
"It'll hold me," Jule said.
"If you run out of food, you can always eat with me and Jake."
"I know," Jule said. "I like your cooking. I like your ham and greens."
Maisie grinned and looked at Jule. "You're just like Jake. All you want is ham and greens. Ham and greens and corn bread. Ham and greens and pot likker. Ham and greens and yams. Ham and greens-ham and greens-ham and greens! ... You just a down-home boy! ... Why don't you grow up, Jule? You're in New York now!"
"I like ham and greens," Jule said. "Ham and greens and buttermilk. Ham and greens is nice."
"Come over to the house for dinner," Maisie said. "We're having ham and greens!"
Lou came by on a Saturday afternoon. She looked at the room. She looked at the bed and curtains. "I don't like the bed," Lou said. "I want a studio couch. I want something you can sleep on at night and Gover up in the daytime. A bed don't look nice, Jule. Not in the daytime."
"Bed's a bed," Jule said.
"But it don't look nice, Jule. It looks like a bedroom. You can't entertain friends in a bedroom. I want a studio couch."
Jule looked at her. "You want a studio couch?"
"I want a studio couch. A nice studio couch. Send the bed back. I'll pick out a couch myself." Lou walked over to the window. "You didn't get drapes?"
"I got curtains," Jule said. "Maisie said I don't need no drapes."
"Maisie?" Lou looked "at him. "What's Maisie got to do with it? I'm fixing the place the way I want it. I want drapes and a studio couch."
Lou sent the bed back and bought a box spring on legs with a mattress. She bought a spread and drapes to match. She bought cushions and hassocks. She piled cushions on the couch and looked at the linoleum. She sent the linoleum back and ordered a rug. A rug with fur on it, like a cat. A rug you could walk on and not hear a footfall. Lou looked at the rug and smiled. "That's what I want."
Lou handed Jule the bill. "Here's the bill, Jule. It didn't cost much. Ten per cent down and four dollars a week."
Jule looked at the bill. The bill said: $340.15. He looked at Lou. "Three hundred forty dollars and fifteen cents!" He began to figure. He counted the days, the weeks, the months. "Three hundred forty dollars and fifteen cents! ... You know how much that is, Lou?"
Lou walked over and slipped her arms about his neck. She raised her lashes and smiled at him. "I wanted you to be comfortable, Jule."
"But how can I pay for all this?"
"I'll help you, Jule. I can make some money, too. I know how to make money." She toyed with his lapel. "I want to help you, Jule."
"I'll pay for it myself," Jule said. He dropped his hat on the table and hung up his coat. "You hungry?"
"I'm starved," Lou said. '
"Let's fix something to eat."
"I'll fix something," Lou said. "Bacon and eggs and coffee. We can eat on the card table."
"All right," Jule said.
Lou set the table. She spread a tablecloth and placed napkins beside the plates. She broiled bacon and scrambled eggs and made a pot of coffee. She toasted bread and buttered it. She poured cream into a pitcher and placed it on the table. She served Jule's plate and poured a cup of coffee. She put sugar and cream in the coffee and stirred it.
"Food's ready, Jule."
Jule sat down at the table. He looked at the food, at the tablecloth, at the napkins. "This is nice, Lou."
"I want things to be nice for you, Jule." She reached over and touched his hand. "I had two sets of keys made, Jule. One for you and one for me, so I can come by and fix your meals and keep the place clean. Is that all right, Jule?"
"It's all right," Jule said. He sipped his coffee.
"Tell me when you go to work and when you come home, so I can have your meals hot."
"I'll tell you," Jule said.
"I want to know," Lou said. "Put you on a schedule, so you eat when you should and get enough sleep. I want to look after you, Jule."
"I understand," Jule said. "It's just you and me, Jule. Lou and Jule. like it that way, Jule?"
"I like it," Jule said.
They finished eating and washed dishes. Lou said: "Let's go out, Jule. I feel like celebrating!" They went to a movie and Jule took her home.
"See you tomorrow, Lou?"
"See you tomorrow," Lou said. "Tomorrow afternoon and every afternoon. Understand, Jule?"
"Tomorrow afternoon," Jule said. Jule went to work.
Jeff's place was crowded with bartenders and waiters, musicians and entertainers, and the after-hour crowd from the downtown night spots. People crowded in at four in the morning with membership cards.
The doorman said: "Members only. Show your cards."
They showed their cards. Artists and writers and the nightclub set, chorus girls and society girls, and girls just looking around. They showed their cards and went in.
Waiters came in from Jake's place. Jeff stood at the other end of the bar and held out his hand. "Give the boys a drink."
Lou sat on a stool with a scotch and soda in her hand. "Hold it, Lou," Jeff said. "Drink with the boys."
"Hello, Lou," the waiters said. "Let's drink," Lou said.
Jeff patted Lou on the shoulder and looked at the waiters. "Have another round, boys." Waiters ganged around Lou and ordered drinks.
The bartender said: "Better take it easy, Lou."
"You take it easy," Lou said. "I'm doing all right."
A waiter from Jake's said: "How's Jule?"
Lou looked at the waiter, "Jule's fine."
"You're a big shot, ain't you, Lou?" another waiter said.
"I'm doing all right," Lou said. "Have another drink." She turned to Jeff. "Better take me home, Jeff."
"It'll take you home," Jeff said.
Lou stood up and sagged against the bar. "You got to hold me up, Jeff."
"I'll hold you up," Jeff said.
"I'm high, Jeff."
"I know," Jeff said.
"I feel good, Jeff. Good and high."
"I'll take you home," Jeff said.
"But I don't want to go home."
"I'll take you home," Jeff said. She leaned against his arm. He caught her about the waist and walked her to the door. "I'm drunk, Jeff. Drunk as a fool."
"I know," Jeff said.
Her body slumped and Jeff held her tight.
"You got to sober me up, Jeff. I can't go home like this."
"I'll sober, you ,up," Jeff said. He carried her up the stairs.
"You won't hurt me, will you, Jeff!"
"I'll sober you up."
"Jeff said.
"Sober me up," Lou said. "Sober me up so I can go home. I want to go home sober, Jeff."
"You'll go home sober," Jeff said.
"I want to be sober, Jeff. Good and sober. Make me sober, Jeff!"
, Lou woke Jule up at three in the afternoon. "Get up, Jule. You going to sleep all day?"
"What time is it?" Jule said.
"Time to get up," Lou said. "You got to go to work. I'll fix you something to eat."
Jule went to the bathroom. Lou listened to the shower running. She yawned and snapped the light under the coffee. She put bread in the oven to toast. The bread burned to a deep-brown. She slapped bacon into a pan and listened to it sizzle. She cracked two eggs in a bowl and beat them with a fork. She poured the eggs into the pan with the bacon. She held the pan lightly in her hand and flipped the eggs over. She slid the bacon and eggs on a plate. She took the toast out of the oven and poured coffee.
Jule came out of the bathroom and slipped into his robe. He sat down at the table and looked at Lou. "You look tired, Lou."
"I had to stay up all night with Ma," Lou said. "Ma wasn't feeling so good, but she's all right now." She looked at Jule. "You didn't think I could fix breakfast so quick, did you Jule?"
"You're a good cook, Lou."
"I like to cook," Lou said. "Cook for you, Jule." She smiled at him. "You like turnip greens, Jule? Turnip greens and fat back?"
"I like turnip greens," Jule said.
"I'll fix you some turnip greens," Lou said.
Jule got up from the table and dressed. Lou washed the dishes.
Jule said: "I'm going by the garage and pick up the car. Want to come?"
"You run along, Jule. I'll clean up the place" and go back to Ma. She might need me."
Jule put on his lumber jacket and turned toward the door.
Lou said: "You ought to have a phone, Jule."
"A phone?" Jule said.
"So I can call you up," Lou said.
"Can I pay for a phone?"
"You can pay for a phone," Lou said. "I'm taking care of the money."
"O.K.," Jule said. "Get a phone. It'll all right with me."
"I'll get a phone," Lou said.
She closed the door and turned and looked at the room. She walked over to the couch. She pulled up the blanket and spread and smoothed the pillows in place. She hung up Jule's pajamas and robe and kicked his slippers under the couch. She looked at the room again. "I can clean up tomorrow. Clean up any time. Jule won't know the difference." She put on her hat and coat and went out the door. She went home.
Lou pushed her key in the lock and eased the door open. She stood for a moment, listening. "You home, Ma."
"I'm home," her ma said. "Ma, guess what happened."
"What?" her ma said.
"Jule got sick, Ma. Sick as a dog. I had to take care of him, Ma."
"Jule got sick?"
"It was something he ate, Ma. Me and Jake had to take him home. I had to stay with him all night, Ma."
"Oh," her ma said. "How's Jule now?"
"He feels better, Ma. Jake's still with him."
Her ma said: "Better get some sleep, Lou."
"I'll get some sleep," Lou said. "I need some sleep. I'm tired, Ma. Wake me up early. Early in the morning. Got to go by and see how Jule is."
"I'll wake you up," her ma said.
Jule walked into Jake's. Waiters stood at the bar, drinking scotch and soda. Waiters looked at each other and grinned. They looked at Jeff. "Here comes schoolboy," the waiters said.
Jeff looked around. A waiter said: "Jeff, meet schoolboy. Mr. Gordon, Mr. Jackson. Mr. Jule Jackson; Mr. Schoolboy Jackson! ... Schoolboy, meet Mr. Gordon!"
"Glad to know you, Mr. Gordon."
"Glad to know you," Jeff said. "Have a drink?"
"I don't drink," Jule said.
"He's just a schoolboy," a waiter said. "He only drinks cokes."
"Oh," Jeff said. "He only drinks cokes." He looked at Jule. "Have a coke, Jule?"
"I'll have a coke," Jule said. j
Waiters grinned. "Can we have another drink, Jeff?"
"Have all you want," Jeff said. "I'm paying the bill. Have another coke, Jule?"
"No, thanks," Jule said. "I've had enough. Got to get dressed."
"O.K., " Jeff said. "See you, pal."
Jule went to his locker. Jeff watched him going down the stairs. Jeff drained his glass.
A waiter said: "That's Lou's boy friend."
"I know," Jeff said.
"Young Green," another waiter said.
"I know," Jeff said.
"A chump," a waiter said. "Grade A chump. He don't know nothing! Young Mr. Green, right out the cotton fields!"
"Have another drink, boys," Jeff said. "Have another drink on me."
"O.K., Jeff" They had another drink, and two more drinks. Jeff put a ten-dollar bill on the bar. "Got to cut out now." He grinned at the waiters. "Take it easy, Jeff."
"I'll take it easy," Jeff said. "Got to take it easy."
*CHAPTER TWENTY*
TOU hung wreaths at the windows and decorated the Chris-' mas tree. She tied balls on the Christmas tree and strung tinsel and lights on the branches. She placed a star on top of the tree. She wrapped packages and tied them with red ribbon. She pasted seals on packages and hung them on the tree. She turned on the lights and watched them flicker on and off, vivid against green branches. She said: "I like Christmas."
Lou snapped on the radio. The radio played: "Silent night ... Holy night ... All is calm ... all is bright-" Lou hummed softly. She cracked eggs in a bowl and separated the yolk from the white. She mixed the yolk with whisky and sugar and poured in milk. She beat the white to a froth and spooned it over the bowl. She spiced it with nutmeg and poured a glass-full. She sipped it and smacked her lips. "Tastes good. Jule will like this."
Lou put the eggnog in the icebox and covered it with a napkin. "Got to let it set a while." She sliced chicken, and toasted bread. She spread mayonnaise on toast and made sandwiches. She covered the sandwiches and put them on the card table. She speared olives on toothpicks and cut cheese into cubes. She forked up pickles and placed them in a dish. She cut up peppers and lettuce and made a green salad. She put the salad in the icebox. She cut herself a wedge of fruitcake and sat down to wait for Jule.
Jule came in at four in the morning with packages under his arm. He looked at the tree. "Tree's nice, Lou." He walked over to the tree and dropped his packages on the floor. He took off his jacket and swung it on the back of a chair.
Lou said: "Glad you like it, Jule."
"Like it fine," Jule said. "I wanted you to get a tree. Makes it look like Christmas."
"I know," Lou said. "I wanted it to look like Christmas." She smiled at him. "I got a surprise for you, Jule."
"Surprise?" Jule said.
"In the icebox," Lou said. "Something you'll like."
"Ham and greens?'
"No, Jule. No ham and greens. Something special."
"What is it?" Jule said.
"I'll show you." Lou caught his hand and led him to the icebox. She opened the door. "See, Jule?" She took out the eggnog and salad.
"What is it, Lou?"
"Eggnog," Lou said. "Eggnog?"
"Eggnog and salad. I made it just for you, Jule." Lou placed the eggnog and salad on the table. She uncovered the tray. "See, Jule? I got chicken sandwiches and fruitcake, pickles and olives, nuts and cheese."
Jule picked up a sandwich and bit into it, "Don't eat the sandwich yet, Jule. I want you to taste the eggnog-"
Jule took another bite. "Sandwich tastes good."
"Put the sandwich down, Jule. Don't be a pig! Taste the eggnog first." She poured eggnog in a glass and handed it to Jule.
Jule took another bite from the sandwich. "O.K., Lou." He sipped eggnog and looked at Lou. "Tastes good. I like it. Tastes sweet."
"J knew you'd like it," Lou said. She filled his glass. "Drink some more, Jule. This is Christmas. I'll get another glass."
They drank eggnog and ate sandwiches and cake. Lou fed Jule a pickle and olive and a cube of cheese.
"Cheese is nice," Jule said. "I want some more eggnog."
"Sure," Lou said. "You can have some more." They drank eggnog and danced to the radio. Jule felt warm inside and Lou felt a little high. She went back to the bowl. She poured eggnog in her glass and gulped it. "Have some more, Jule?"
"I'll have some more," Jule said. "Eggnog makes me feel good."
"Drink all you want, Jule. There's plenty left in the bowl." Lights on the tree looked rosy. Jule walked over and tied a package on the tree.
Lou said: "Is that for me, Jule."
"It's for you," Jule said.
Lou's eyes sparkled. "Let's open our presents now, Jule. It's our first Christmas together, Jule. Our first Christmas alone. Let's make it a nice Christmas."
"O.K., " Jule said. He picked up a package and handed it to Lou. "This is for you."
Lou tore open the package. Her eyes grew wide in her face. "Oh, Jule, this is nice! Just what I wanted! An Angora sweater! How did you guess?" She draped the sweater over her breast and looked at Jule. "Like it, Jule?"
"Looks nice," Jule said.
"Open one of your presents, Jule."
Jule pulled a package off the tree and opened it. Tie and handkerchief to match. Blue and maroon. "Nice, Lou. Goes with my suit."
"I hoped you'd like it," Lou said. She looked at the tree.
Jule picked up another package. "This is for you, too."
"Another present, Jule? Another present for me?"
"Another present for you," Jule said.
The package was small and neat. Lou broke the seal and looked at the vial, liquid against velvet. "Perfume! ... Perfume! ... Oh, Jule!" She daubed perfume at the base of her throat and smeared it under her ear lobes. She brushed her cheek against his cheek. "Smells good, don't it, Jule?"
"You got another package on the tree, Lou."
"Another present, Jule?" Lou dropped to her knees and clasped her hands, looking up at the tree, "Not another present, Jule!"
Jule cut the package from the tree and handed it to Lou. She peeled off the wrappings and lifted the lid. She gasped and jumped to her feet. She caught Jule around the neck and kissed, him. "You shouldn't have done it, Jule! You shouldn't have done it! You shouldn't have spent so much money on me!"
"I wanted you to have something nice," Jule said.
"It is nice, Jule." Lou lifted the bag from the box. "An alligator bag! ... I've always wanted an alligator bag!" She looked at Jule. "You're sweet, Jule! You've given me everything I wanted."
"I want you to be happy," Jule said.
"I am happy, Jule. So happy I could cry."
"You don't have to cry," Jule said.
Lou snuggled against him and slid his arms about her waist. She pressed her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. "Let's dance, Jule. Let's dance to the music. Listen to the music, Jule!"
They danced and Jule held her tight. Music played softly. Jule looked at the tree. Lights blinked on and off, spinning around and around, blue and red and green. Jule focused his eyes on the lights. His eyes felt heavy.
"I can't dance no more, Lou."
"Tired, Jule?"
"I'm tired," Jule said. "I want to sleep."
"Go to sleep," Lou said. "Go to sleep and rest."
Jule stretched out on the couch and Lou unbuttoned his shirt and loosed his belt. She took off his shoes and covered him with a blanket. Jule slept. Lou lit a cigarette and looked at Jule. She watched the rise and fall of his breathing. He turned over and snored. Lou snuffed the cigarette. She tiptoed to the closet and put on her hat and coat.
Wind felt cold. Lou buttoned her coat tight under her chin and headed down the avenue. She looked at the doorman standing on the stoop.
"Hello, Lou. Looking for Jeff?"
"Sure," Lou said. "It's Christmas, ain't it? I want to wish him Merry Christmas."
The doorman grinned. "Bar's jammed, but you'll find him around."
"I'll find him," Lou said.
She elbowed her way through the crowd and found Jeff at the bar. "Hello, Jeff! Merry Christmas!"
Jeff looked at her. "Where you been, gal? I been waiting for you."
Lou pouted her lips. "Don't scold me, Jeff. This is Christmas! I got here soon as I could. You know I wouldn't keep you waiting."
"All right, Lou." Jeff grinned at her. He went behind the bar and picked up a small box. He snapped the lid open. "Look at that, Lou."
Lou caught her breath. "Oh, Jeff!" She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "It's beautiful, Jeff!" She looked at the diamond glinting under the lights. She turned the ring slowly between her fingers, watching the diamond gleam.
"The real thing," Jeff said.
"I know," Lou said. "I know."
"Got it hot," Jeff said. "Got it for a song. From a friend of mine."
"It's beautiful, Jeff."
"Staying?" Jeff said. Lou shook her head. "You ain't staying with me?"
"I can't, Jeff. Got to go back to Ma. You know how Ma is, Jeff."
"I want to see you, Lou."
"You can see me," Lou said. "Any time you want to."
"I want to see you this afternoon," Jeff said. "You can see me this afternoon," Lou said. "See you this afternoon," Jeff said.
Lou went back to Jule's place and fitted her key in the lock. She turned the" key gently and pushed open the door. Daylight filtered through the windows. Lou walked over to the couch, her footsteps cushioned on the rug. Jule breathed hard and fast. Lou slipped off her shoes and eased under the blanket beside Jule. She lit a cigarette and watched daylight creep into the room. She puffed the cigarette and lay silent, looking at the dawn. She stretched and snuffed the cigarette. She smiled to herself. She said:. "I like Christmas."
Lou woke up and looked at icicles, frozen against the windows. Jule turned over and opened his eyes. He looked at Lou. She kissed him on the cheek.
"You better go home to your ma, Lou. Your ma'll be waiting."
"Ma don't matter now, Jule. Nothing don't matter but you and me."
"You got to go home, Lou."
"It's Christmas Day, Jule. I want to be with you." She stretched and slipped on her shoes. "I'm hungry, Jule. Let's eat and go somewhere. Let's have some fun."
They walked through the park. The snow was ankle-deep. They pelted each other with snowballs and scrambled through snowdrifts. Lou bounced snowballs off Jule's head and Jule washed her face with snow. They dropped on a bench, panting. They looked at each other and grinned. . "I'm tired," Lou said. "Let's catch a bus and ride."
They took a bus downtown and went to a show. They saw a picture and Christmas pageant on the stage. They walked up Broadway, arm hi arm, snow crunching under their feet. They stopped in an arcade and drank sodas, with snow frosting on the windows. They looked at the windows and ordered hamburgers with mustard.
"This is fun," Lou said.
"I like it," Jule said.
"I like it, too," Lou said.
"Let's walk," Jule said.
Lou paused at a stand. "Wait a minute, Jule. I want to buy a paper. A Boston paper. I got to take a paper home to Ma."
"All right," Jule said. "I'll wait."
Lou bought a paper. They rode uptown on the subway. Lou gathered her presents and looked at Jule. "I got to go home, Jule. Got to go home to Ma."
"Want me to go with you?"
"No," Lou said. "You don't have to go with me. I can .go home alone."
"I'll go with you," Jule said. "Your ma wants to know where you been."
"You don't have to, Jule. I'll be all right."
"But I want to go with you, Lou."
"No," Lou said. "I'll go alone." Jule looked at her. "Will I see you later."
"Later," Lou said. "Before you go to work."
Lou opened the door. Her ma said: "That you, Lou?"
"It's me, Ma."
"Where you been, Lou."
"To Boston, Ma."
"Boston?"
"Yes, Ma. With Janet."
"Janet Arnold? Your college friend?"
"Yes, Ma. She had to pick up her sister. For the holidays, Ma. She didn't want to drive that far alone, so I went with her. It was fun, Ma." Lou handed her ma a paper. "Here's a Boston paper, Ma. Though you'd like to read it."
"Thanks, Lou."
Her pa came into the kitchen. "Dinner ready, Ma?"
"Lou went to Boston," her ma said.
"Boston?"
"She's got a Boston paper."
"Boston paper?" her pa said. "A Boston paper," her ma said. "Oh," her pa said. "A Boston paper."
"A paper from Boston," her ma said.
"Ain't never seen a Boston paper," her pa said. He picked up the paper.
Lou went into her room and dropped her presents on the bed. She came out with two packages under her arm. "This is for you, Ma. This is for you, Pa."
Her pa opened his package. "Cigars!" her pa said. "Thanks, Lou!"
Her ma opened her package and looked at the gown. A gown with lace on it. Lace and ribbons. Her ma giggled. "This is nice, Lou!"
"I thought you'd like it," Lou said.
"Look, Pa," her ma said. "Ain't it pretty?"
"What is it?" her pa said.
"A gown," her ma said. "A gown with frills on it. Frills, Pa."
"Oh," her pa said. "Frills."
"Like it, Pa?" Lou said.
"Ain't got no sleeves," her pa said.
"Don't need no sleeves," Lou said. "It's a nightgown, Pa."
"Ought to have sleeves," her pa said.
Her ma said: "Dinner's ready."
"I'm hungry," Lou said. She went into the bathroom and washed her hands. She came back into the kitchen. Her pa said: "Here's your present, Lou. Hope you'll like it." He handed her a package.
"Thanks, Pa." Lou said.
"It's from me and Ma."
"I know, Pa. Thanks." Lou placed the package on the sideboard.
"Ain't you going to open it?" her pa said.
"Not now. Pa. I'll open it later."
"But don't you want to see what it is?"
"Later, Pa. I'm hungry. Let's eat."
"All right," her pa said.
They ate Christmas dinner.
Her ma said: "Did you see the note?"
"Note?" Lou said. "What note?"
"Note from Mr. Gordon."
"Mr. Gordon?" Lou looked at her ma.
"Jeff Gordon, Lou. He dropped by this afternoon. Said he wanted to wish you Merry Christmas. He couldn't wait, so he left a note."
Lou dropped her fork. "Where's the note?"
"On your dresser," her ma said. "Too bad you weren't home."
Lou got up from the table.
"Don't you want no dessert?" her pa said.
"I got enough," Lou said. She went into her bedroom and picked up the note. The note said: "I want to see you, Lou. I was by your house but you wasn't home. Don't hand me no crap, Lou. I don't want no crap. Be by my place at ten. Jeff."
"Damn!" Lou said.
She. pulled on her coat and picked up her hat and bag. She put the note in her bag. She paused at the kitchen door. "Going out for a while, Ma. Be back soon."
Jule rang Lou's bell. Her pa opened the door. "Merry Christmas, Jule. Glad to see you. Come in."
"Merry Christmas," Jule said. "I came to see Lou."
"Lou ain't in," her pa said. "But she ought to be back soon."
"Can't stay long," Jule said. "Got to go to work.
"She'll be back soon," her pa said. "She's got to sleep. She just got back from Boston."
"Lust got back from Boston?" Jule said.
"She drove to Boston with her college friend." Her pa picked up the paper. "Ever see a Boston paper. Kile? Lou brought one home to her ma." He handed Jule the paper. "Ain't like New York papers, is it, Jule.:"
Jule looked at the paper, "No," he said. "It ain't."
"Want some eggnog, Jule? Christmas eggnog? Ma just made some."
"No, thanks," Jule said. "Got to go to work."
"Eggnog taste sweet," her pa said. "Eggnog is nice."
"I know," Jule said, "but I got to go to work."
"Oh," her pa said. "Got to go to work." He followed Jule to the door. "Come back again, Jule. Come back soon. I'll tell Lou you was by."
Jule walked down the avenue. His throat felt dry. He stopped at a beer garden and ordered a coke. It was a nice place, a quiet place, with booths and side lights polled against the walls. He sipped his coke and looked at the lights. A girl's laughter rose, shrill and loud, and Jule turned around. A couple sat in a booth at the far end of the bar. Jule could see the man's face. It was Jeff Gordon's face. Jule finished his coke and paid the bartender. The girl's laughter rose again. Jule looked at Jeff Gordon's teeth, white against his lips. He looked at Jeff Gordon. He walked toward the door, the girl's laughter ringing in his ears.
Jule went down the street, kicking at, the snow. He watched the snow, glistening under street lights. He thought about what Lou's pa said. " ... Just got back from Boston ... brought home a Boston paper...." He thought about the paper from Boston. He walked into Jake's place.
"Get your duds on, bud," Jake said. "This is Christmas night! Things are jumping!"
"Be ready in a minute, Mr. Simmons. Soon as I change my clothes."
"O.K., " Jake said. "Let's go! We got to make it now! Things are popping!"
Jule went to his locker and took off his coat. He came back to Jake, buttoning up his jacket. "Ready, Mr. Simmons."
"O.K., boy." Jake picked up a tray. "Get out there and get going. Customers are waiting!" He looked at his watch. "Goddamn! What a night!"
The place jumped. Waiters squeezed back and forth from tables to bar. Couples yelled: "Merry Christmas! ... Merry Christmas! ... Merry Christmas!" Music grew louder. "Merry Christmas, everybody!" Cigarette smoke settled like a fog, soup-thick. Faces came up sharp and blotted out again.
Jule sat in the kitchen and massaged his feet. Chef took off his cap and mopped his forehead. The kitchen was quiet. "Hungry, Jule?" Chef said. "Want a sandwich? Got some ham left-Virginia ham."
"Ain't hungry," Jule said. "My feet burn." He went on massaging his feet.
"Thought you might want a sandwich, or something," Chef said. He tooked off his apron. "Thought you might want to eat or have a cup of coffee. Sit and talk a while."
"Talk?" Jule said. "Talk about what?"
Chef hung up his apron and looked at Jule. "Rest your dogs, son. Got something to tell you. Something you ought to know."
Jule looked at Chef. "Tell me' something I ought to know."
"Something you got to know," Chef said. "O.K., " Jule said. "Go ahead and tell me."
Jule walked into his room at four in the morning and snapped on the light. Lou lay sprawled on the couch, her legs dangling. Jule looked at Lou, at her face. Her lips looked wet and fresh. He shook her. "Wake up, Lou."
Lou opened her eyes, yawned and rolled over. "Hello, Jule.
What time is it? I been waiting for you." She smiled at him. "Four o'clock," Jule said.
"Four o'clock?" Lou said. "Four o'clock in the morning?"
"Four o'clock," Jule said.
"I got to get up. Got to go home to Ma."
"I saw Jeff Gordon," Jule said.
"Jeff Gordon? Who's Jeff Gordon?"
"A friend of yours," Jule said.
"A friend of mine?" Lou said. She looked at him.
"A friend of yours," Jule said.
"I don't know no Jeff Gordon."
"You don't know Jeff Gordon?"
"Never heard of him."
"You know him," Jule said.
Lou stared at him. "What do you mean, I know him."
"You know him," Jule said. "You were with him last night."
"You trying to be funny?" Lou said.
"I ain't trying to be funny," Jule said. "You were with him."
Lou's eyes were still in her face. "You must be nuts."
"You were at his place," Jule said. "Up on the hill."
"Up on the hill?"
"Sugar Hill," Jule said, "and you were with him Christmas Eve." He. stood there looking at Lou, his knuckles tight in his fist.
Lou eased up on her elbows, one foot touching the floor. She slipped her feet into her mules, her skirt wrapped around her thighs, like whipcord. She stood up and peeled off her skirt and blouse. She peeled off her slip and brassiere. She let her panties slip from her waist and fall in a heap about her feet. She stepped out of her panties and stood naked from her head to her heels. Naked and pulsing. She moved toward Jule, her hipbones protruding like two knobs. She reached up and slid her arms about his neck. She pressed her body close. "Take me, Jule. Take me the way you always take me. Take me now!"
Jule caught her wrists and flung her aside. He sat on the edge of the bed and cupped his chin in his hands. Lou followed him. There was neither shame, nor hurt in her eyes. Only boldness. She sat down beside him.
"You don't want me, Jule? You don't want to touch me-feel me?"
"I'm through," Jule said.
Lou gripped him. She kissed him and put her tongue in his mouth. Her teeth bit deep into his flesh. Jule winced. She caught his body tight against her body and rolled over on her back. "I want you, Jule. I want you now. I got to have you, Jule. You feel good to me!"
Jule wrenched free and stared at her. "I'm through, Lou! Understand? I'm through!" He stood up.
Lou's nostrils quivered. Her face turned a muddy color and her .eyes blazed at him. "O.K., Mr. Man! This round is yours! But mine is coming up!" She spat the words through her teeth. "One thing's certain, Mr. Man! Jeff can pull up my dress any time he wants to. But you damn sure can't! Not any more, Mr. Man!"
Jule looked at her. The muscles in his throat throbbed.
"I'll be a bitch whenever I please, wherever I please, and with whom I please. And there ain't a goddamn thing you can do about it! How good is that, Mr. Man?"
Blood pounded in his temples. He watched her body reel backward, slow-motion, like in a movie. Her body collided against the base of the wall where it met the floor. For an instant, Jule stood there, trembling. He felt his muscles jump. Toothmarks showed on his knuckles. He looked at his knuckles. He wondered if he had hit her.
Lou rolled over on her back and was still, her nostrils dilating. Blood oozed from her lips and nostrils. Jule looked at her. His stomach crawled and came up tight in a knot. "A bitch! A goddamn bitch! A lousy bitch!" He saw it in the slurred lines of her lips, in the slit of her eyes, in the flare of her nostrils. He knew her for what she was: a slut that had been to finishing school, with the finishing part left out.
She sat up, holding her head in her hands. She staggered to her feet and leaned her body against the wall. She slumped against the doorjamb. She raised her lids, watching Jule, a twisted smile on her lips. "My round is still coming up, Mr. Man! You ain't through with me. You only think you're through. You'll come crawling hack!"
Jule walked through the doors of a grill and sat down on a stool. His head seemed to spin. He shook his head. He stood up and started for the door.
The barmaid said: "What'll you have, mister?"
Jule looked at the barmaid.
"Beer or scotch?"
"Whisky," Jule said. He dropped on the stool and rested his face in his hands.
The barmaid put a glass on the bar and poured whisky. Jule gulped whisky and ordered another. The barmaid poured more whisky. Jule downed it and pushed the glass toward her.
"Fill it up."
The barmaid filled his glass. He ordered another, and another. The barmaid looked at him, drinking in the hard lines of his face. It was a young face. Young and tight and sober-looking. A face grown old, even when it was young. A face that had seen things. The barmaid said: "Had a fight with your gal?"
"I want a drink," Jule said.
The barmaid gave him a long look, and filled his glass with whisky. Jule sat there, holding the glass.
The room was close, heavy with the perfume of Lou, thick with the smell of Lou. Jule's nostrils quivered and his stomach turned. He walked across the room and opened the window wide. Air rushed in. Air smelled sweet. Jule filled his lungs with air. He could still smell Lou.
He looked at her robe flung across the couch, her mules kicked under a chair, her gown dangling over the chair. He looked at the gown, sheer and fringed with lace. He picked up the gown and crushed it between his fingers. The gown smelled of Lou. He flung it across the room. His throat felt tight and he loosed his collar. He walked back to the window. His head kept spinning, going around and around.
"Lou Lou! Lou! ... All I can see is Lou! All I can smell is Lou! All I can taste is Lou!" His head went on spinning. "Lou! Lou! Lou! ... Lou Davis! ... Goddamn Lou Davis!" He buried his face in his hands. "I got to git somewhere!" He looked around the room: at the couch, at the drapes, at the rug. "I got to git somewhere! Git somewhere fast" He went out the door and slammed it shut behind him.
He climbed into the car and stepped on the starter. The motor roared. The motor sounded sweet. He turned into the river road and thought about Bob. Bob was like Rollo. Bob liked to hunt. Bob was nice. "I got to see Bob," he told himself. "Got to talk to Bob."
He drove up the river road, twisting in and out along the Hudson. He thought about Lou. He thought about that other time, when Lou was with him. Now he-was alone. Free and alone. He remembered the wind and the rain, whipping against the car. He remembered Lou's eyes. His thoughts began to race ... He caught his breath sharply and clenched his teeth. "Goddamn her!" he whispered. "Goddamn her" He drove into the night.
*CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE*
JULE fetched reams of paper to the presses. He watched presses feed paper in and lift paper out. Sheets came out black and white. Jule looked at the sheets. He could smell paper and ink. Paper smelled clean. Ink smelled clean, too. Jule liked the smell of paper and ink. Jule said: "I want to be a printer."
"You can be a printer," the pressman said. "Stick around a while. We'll show you how to print."
"I'll stick around," Jule said. "I want to print."
Jule swept floors and kept the shop clean. He ran errands and washed down presses. He washed ink from type with benzene. He looked at the type and touched it with his fingers. Type felt clean, neat and clean. Jule liked the feel of type. He lifted type forms and placed them in racks. "I'm going to be a printer," Jule said. "I'm going to print."
Jule turned on the shower. He felt water beat against his body like needles. Water felt good. He lathered soap over his body and rinsed himself. He whipped soap into a lather and rubbed it into his scalp. He massaged his scalp. Water cascaded down his face and suds trickled into his eyes. Jule groped for a towel, reaching. He turned, feeling for a towel.
Zell Ingram stepped from the shower next to Jule. He looked at Jule and pulled a towel from the rack. "Here's a towel," Zell Ingram said. "Dry yourself."
"Thanks," Jule said. He dried himself and wiped suds from his eyes. He looked at Zell. "Towel feels good, feels rough and good. Towel dries clean."
"I know," Zell Ingram said.
Jule slipped on his robe and flung the towel over his shoulder. He picked up his facecloth and soap and fell into step with Zell. They walked down the hall. "I like a shower," Jule said. "A cold shower. It feels good."
"Cold shower?" Zell Ingram said.
"Cold shower," Jule said.
"I like showers hot," Zell Ingram said. "Good and hot." He looked at Jule. "Want a drink? Got some rye."
"O.K., " Jule said. "I'll have a drink."
Zell Ingram unlocked his door. "Come on in. Make yourself at home."
Jule followed Zell into the room. Sunlight flooded the room. Jule looked at the yellow walls, the green drapes. "Room's nice" Jule said. "It's bigger than mine."
"Five fifty," Zell Ingram said. "YMCA special."
Jule laughed. "Mine's four-fifty. Thought that was the 'Y' special."
"You kidding?" Zell Ingram said. He poured whisky into glasses and handed one to Jule. "Straight."
"Straight," Jule said. They drank it neat. Zell Ingram said: "You just move in."
"Gals are bitches," Zell Ingram said. "Let's have another drink." They had another drink. "I like you," Zell Ingram said. "You're all right. You're a nice guy."
"You're a nice guy, too," Jule said.
"Work in the city?' Zell Ingram said.
"In a print shop," Jule said.
"A print shop? Doing what?"
"Washing off type, washing off presses. Things like that."
"Sounds like hard work to me," Zell Ingram said. He poured another drink. "I'm a painter myself."
"A painter?" Jule said. "Painting houses."
"Painting pictures," Zell Ingram said. "Gals and things."
"Oh," Jule said. "An artist."
"A paint-slinger," Zell Ingram said. "Commercial stuff. For magazines."
"For magazines?"
"For magazines," Zell Ingram said. "It pays off and-I like to eat."
"You must be good," Jule said. "I'd like to see what you do."
Zell Ingram picked up a magazine and flipped pages. He handed the magazine to Jule. "This is what I do. Illustrations."
Jule looked at the magazine. "You draw nice."
"Thanks," Zell Ingram said. "What's your name."
"Jule."
"I'm Zell. Shake, Jule."
"Shake," Jule said.
"Have another slug?" Zell said.
"Had enough," Jule said.
Zell poured himself another drink and relaxed, leaning on his elbows. He looked at Jule. "What did she do to you."
"Who."
"Your gal."
"Nothing," Jule said. "Nothing."
"Nothing," Jule said.
"I had a gal, too, and she didn't do nothing. Not much!" Zell finished his drink. "Let's get dressed and shoot a game of pool."
"O.K., " Jule said. "Let's shoot a game of pool. Meet you downstairs."
"In half an hour," Zell said. "Soon as I get dressed. We'll shoot a game and have dinner."
"In half an hour," Jule said.
They met in the lobby. Zell led the way into the billiard room and took a cue from the rack. He hefted the cue in his hand and put it back. He picked up another cue and balanced it. It felt right, light and easy. Zell said: "Let's make it two out of three. Loser pays for the games, but the dinners are on me. O.K., Jule?"
"O.K., " Jule said. "What are we playing?"
"Bank the eight ball in the side pocket twice."
Jule paid for the games and Zell bought the dinners. "You're good!" Jule said. "You're tops!"
Zell grinned. "You can be tops, too, if you want to." He reached for a toothpick. "Know what you want to do and do it. That's all ... Want another piece of pie, Jule?"
"Thanks," Jule said. "I'll have another piece of pie."
The spring rush started in March. The shop was busy with orders. Easter orders. Presses hummed. Bob walked into the shop, looking for Jule. He found him by the roller rack, oiling rollers. He watched Jule grease the rollers, smoothing oil with his fingers. Jule went on smoothing oil, turning the rollers. Rollers looked slick, greasy and slick. Jule stood up, his fingers sticky with oil. He turned and saw Bob.
"Hello, Jule," Bob said. He gripped Jule's hand. "Hello," Jule said. "Ain't seen you for a couple of weeks."
"Been on the road," Bob said. "How you making out."
"Making out fine," Jule said. "Like working here now?" Bob said. "Like it fine," Jule said. He grinned at Bob and wiped his hands on a rag. "Print shop is nice."
"Still want to be a printer."
"I want to print," Jule said.
"Come to the office at lunchtime," Bob said. "Want to talk to you."
"I'll come to the office," Jule said.
"I'll be waiting," Bob said. He went back to the office.
Jule watched Bob. He watched him cross the pressroom and go into the composing room. He thought about the time he drove up to see Bob. He'd told Bob how it was, the way it happened, what Lou had done, and how he felt. He told it the way it was.
"Don't let it get you," Bob said. "Forget her."
"I can't go back to Jake's," Jule said. "I can't!"
"You don't have to go back," Bob said.
Jule looked at Bob.
"Stay here with me a while," Bob said, "and we'll go hunting."
"Hunting?" Jule said. "Hunting," Bob said. "With bird dogs."
"I got to get back," Jule said. "I got to find a job."
"I'll get you a job," Bob said. "Stay a week, a month, long as you want to. Let's go hunting, Jule." They went hunting....
Jule went to the office at lunchtime. Bob sat on the edge of the desk, talking to his dad. He looked up. "Sit down, Jule. Been talking to Dad about you."
"About me?" Jule said. He looked at Bob and his dad. Bob looked like his dad.
"I told Dad you want to be an apprentice, Jule. I told him you want to learn how to set type."
"That's right," Jule said.
Bob swung around and looked at his dad. "How about it, Dad?"
"We can't do it, Bob," his dad said. "We can't. You know that."
"Why not?" Bob said. "We can't, Bob."
"Why not?" Bob said.
Mr. Benson stood up and looked at Bob, then at Jule. He said: "How much you make now, Jule."
"Twenty-five a week," Jule said. "Isn't that better than twenty-one a week."
"Yes, sir," Jule said.
"That's all an apprentice gets," Mr. Benson said. "But he wants to be an apprentice, Dad. He wants to be a printer."
His dad shook his head. "You're wrong, Bob. You're wrong as hell!"
"I'm not wrong, Dad. If Jule wants to be an apprentice, why can't he be an apprentice? If he wants to set type, why can't he set type?"
Mr. Benson walked over to the window and stared out. He turned and looked at Bob. "You want to handle it?"
"I'll handle it," Bob said.
"All right," his dad said. "Handle it." He looked at Jule. "Wish you luck, young man. If Bob can't handle it, nobody can.
"Thanks, Mr. Benson."
Bob grinned at Jule. "Come on, Jule. Let's go to lunch. I'm hungry."
Old Douglas looked at Bob and chewed on the end of his cigar. He spat into the spittoon. Old Douglas watched Bob, watched his face, his eyes. Old Douglas said: "Something wrong at the shop?"
"No," Bob said. "Nothing's wrong."
Old Douglas swung around in his chair. He looked at Bob. "What's on your mind?"
"Got a boy who wants to be an apprentice," Bob said. "A boy?" Old Douglas said.
"A boy," Bob said.
"Got a lot of boys who want to be apprentices," Old Douglas said.
"But this boy is good," Bob said. "We want him to have his card."
"We can give you an apprentice if you want an apprentice," Old Douglas said. "Got plenty of apprentices."
"But we want this boy," Bob said. "Why?" Old Douglas said.
"He's a good worker," Bob said. "Got plenty of sense. He wants to be a printer and we want him to have his chance."
"Going to close the shop?" Old Douglas said. He looked at Bob.
"We'll close the shop," Bob said. "We want him to have his card."
"Must be a nice boy," Old Douglas said. "Send him in. Let's have a look at him."
"I'll send him in," Bob said. "Tomorrow afternoon."
Bob went back to the shop. He told his dad what Old Douglas said. Bob said: "We got to close the shop, Dad."
"Close the shop for what?"
"So Jule can get his card," Bob said.
His dad looked at him. "Are you crazy? Close the shop on account of a black boy?"
"He's going to have his card," Bob said.
"Now, look, Bob," his dad said. "I know you like Jule. I know you like him a lot. But this is going too far. We can't close the shop. We want to do what we want to do, run things the way we want to. To hell with the union."
"We're closing the shop," Bob said. "Jule is getting his card."
His dad looked at him and shook his head. "Just like your ma." He grinned at Bob. "All right, Son. You win. Anything you say. If you want to close the shop, we'll close the shop. If you want to make it strictly union, we'll make it strictly union. Run it the way you want to, Son. It's your shop."
"Thanks, Dad. You're swell!"
Bob went into the pressroom. "Jule! Jule! Got something to tell you!" They went into the locker room. Bob said: "It's in
*CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO*
JULE went up a flight of steps. He saw a brass plaque, set in stone. The plaque said: Typographical Union No. 6. Jule looked at the plaque. "This is the place," he told himself. He opened the door and went inside. He looked at a girl through a cage. "I want to see Mr. Douglas."
The girl raised her eyebrows. "Mr. Douglas? What about."
"About a card," Jule said. "An apprentice card. Mr. Benson sent me."
The girl looked at Jule. "Is Mr. Douglas expecting you."
"He's expecting me."
"Just a moment," the girl said. "I'll see if Mr. Douglas is in." The girl came back and motioned to Jule. "This way, please. Mr. Douglas wants to see you."
Jule stood in the doorway, looking at Old Douglas. Old the bag, Jule. You're going to get your card. I talked to Douglas this afternoon. All you have to do is go clown tomorrow and pick up your card."
Jule caught his breath sharply and gripped Bob. "I'm going to get my card?"
"You're going to get your card," Bob said. "You're going to be an apprentice!"
"An apprentice," Jule said. He stared at Bob. "I'm going to be a printer! I'm going to set type!"
"You're going to set type," Bob said. He grinned at Jule. "Like it, Jule?"
"Like it fine," Jule said. "I got to tell Zell!"
"Tell Zell," Bob said. "It's in the bag!"
Douglas swung around in his chair and looked at Jule. He frowned. "You want to see me?"
"Yes, sir," Jule said. "I'm from Benson Press. Mr. Benson sent me."
"Mr. Benson?" Old Douglas said.
"Mr. Bob Benson," Jule said. "He sent me to pick up my card."
Old Douglas stared at Jule. "Your card? What card."
"My apprentice card," Jule said.
Old Douglas turned sideways in his chair, looked at Jule. "Ain't no card here for you."
"But Mr. Benson told me I was to pick up my card this afternoon. He said I was to see Mr. Douglas. You're Mr. Douglas, aren't you?"
Old Douglas settled in his chair, watching Jule's face. "You say you're from Benson Press?"
"Yes, sir."
"Bob Benson is your boss."
"Yes, sir."
"And you're the boy he Wants to have an apprentice card."
"Yes, sir."
Old Douglas swung around in his chair. His knees fitted easily under the desk. He sat for a moment, staring at the wall. Then he turned back to Jule. "So you want to be a printer."
"Yes, sir," Jule said.
"Ever work in a print shop before?"
"No, sir," Jule said. "Only at Mr. Benson's."
"What you do up at Benson's?"
"Wash presses. Wash type. Run errands. Things like that."
"How much schooling you had."
"I'm in the eighth grade," Jule said.
Old Douglas swung his chair around again and stared at the opposite wall. He drummed on the desk with his fingers. He smiled at Jule. "Tell you what I'll do," Old Douglas said. "Suppose you make out an application and leave it with me. Maybe we can do something for you later on. Understand?"
"But Mr. Benson said I was to pick up my card today," Jule said. "He told me you'd have it for me."
Old Douglas stood up. "Look, son, you trying to tell me what to do?"
"No, sir," Jule said, "but I thought I was to pick up my card."
"You want to be a printer?" Old Douglas said. "Yes, sir."
"Then let me handle this. Handle it my way. You fill out this application and go on back to your job. Understand?"
Jule looked at Old Douglas. He picked up the application.
"You don't need to read it," Old Douglas said. "Just fill it out.
Jule didn't say anything. He filled out the application and signed his name. "When do I get my card, Mr. Douglas?"
"Hard to tell," Old Douglas said. "Takes a little time. Maybe a week, maybe longer."
"I'll be back," Jule said. "I'll be back for my card, Mr. Douglas."
Old Douglas looked at Jule.
Jule went out the door and down the steps and into the street. Sixteenth Street looketl empty. Jule felt empty. Hollow inside. He looked at his hands. His hands trembled.
Old Douglas came to the shop the next afternoon, looking for Bob. Old Douglas walked into the office.
Bob said: "So you wouldn't give Jule his card."
Old Douglas' face grew red. His eyes glinted like diamonds. "Why didn't you tell me he was a nigger?"
"What difference does that make?" Bob said. "Big Six doesn't discriminate."
"We got to know who's coming into the union," Old Douglas said.
"Is that important?" Bob said.
"Sure it's important," Old Douglas said. "We got to know."
"Know what?"
Old Douglas glared at Bob. "I'm closing the shop! Closing this shop!"
"Oh what grounds?" Bob said.
"So you won't get any new ideas in your head," Old Douglas said. "Ain't nobody going to make a fool out of me!"
"Are you the union?" Bob said. "Or do you merely represent the union?"
Old Douglas gripped the back of a chair. His face was crimson. "I'll pull every goddamn man out of this shop! I'll close this place tighter than hell! You won't be able to hire a union printer this side of hell! ... Now, are you going to do it your way, or are you going to do it my way?"
"I'm doing it my way," Bob said. "The way it should be done."
"All right," Old Douglas said. "Do it. your way and be damned! ... I'm closing the shop now! Right now! There ain't going to be no more monkey business. When you want an apprentice, you come to me. Understand that?"
"Close the shop," Bob said. "But when you close it, Jule is going to have his card. We have a contract with Typographical Union No. 6. For five years, Mr. Douglas. Just the way we work now. Do you understand, Mr. Douglas? You can close the shop now, and Jule gets his card. Or you .can close it five years from now, and he still gets his card. Is that clear, Mr. Douglas?"
Old Douglas rocked on his heels. "I ain't taking no orders from you. I ain't taking no nigger apprentice, either. Not if I don't want to!"
"You can take him or leave him," Bob said. "It's up to you, Mr. Douglas. But we still have a contract with Typographical Union."
Old Douglas spun around in his tracks. "Where's your father?"
"He's out," Bob said. t
"I want to see your father," Old Douglas said.
"It won't make any difference," Bob said.
"Goddamn you!" Old Douglas said. "You young fool! Don't you know you're dealing with Big Six?"
"That's just what I know," Bob said. "I'm dealing with Big Six, and not with you." Bob stood up. "Jule will be back for his card. Give him his card, Mr. Douglas."
"All right," Old Douglas said. "I'll give him his card. But there won't be another goddamn apprentice coming into this shop unless I say so!"
Bob smiled at him. "We always wanted a closed shop, Mr. Douglas."
"Goddamn you!" Old Douglas said. He wheeled and walked out of the office.
Jule watched compositors set type. He watched their fingers pick up type and drop it into composing sticks. Their fingers moved swiftly, picking up a letter here and a letter there. The sound was like music. Jule listened to the type clicking, metal against metal. Hand-set type. Jule watched the compositors. He watched their fingers, sure and easy. He liked to watch their-fingers, picking up type. Their fingers moved like lightning.
Compositors filled composing sticks. They lifted type out of the sticks and placed it on galleys. They went back to the case and set more type. They filled their sticks again and placed type on galleys. They filled the galleys with type and tied the type together with string. String held type in place. Compositors took galleys to proof presses and boys ran off proofs. Jule looked at the proofs. He looked at the words march down the paper, black on white. Boys took galleys from proofpresses, and type back to banks. They took proofs into the proofroom. Proofs came back with corrections. Compositors untied type and made corrections. Boy's ran off proofs again. Proofs again. Proofs came back clean. Compositors went back to the foreman for another job.
Jule said: "I'm going to set type."
Jule went back to Sixteenth Street. He found Old Douglas at his desk. Jule said: "I came back for my card, Mr. Douglas."
"Come in, young man," Old Douglas said, "Glad to see you." He motioned Jule to a chair. Jule sat down, facing him across the desk. Old Douglas said: "I was up to see your boss. They think a lot of you up there."
"Thanks," Jule said. "But I came to get my card."
"Been looking over your application," Old Douglas said:
"Got it right here." He swung around in his chair and fished in a drawer. He came up with Jule's application. "Here it is. See?" Old Douglas looked at Jule.
"But when do I get my card?" Jule said.
Old Douglas lifted himself out of the chair.-"Let's go into the back office."
Jule followed Old Douglas through a doorway. They walked down an aisle, between rows of ledgers. Old Douglas paused at the far end of the room. He picked out a ledger and flung it on the counter. He opened the ledger and thumbed through the pages. It was a big book, big like the Bible, only bigger. Jule looked at the ledger.
Old Douglas handed Jule a pen. "Sign your name here."
"Here?" Jule said.
"Here," Old Douglas said. He pointed with his finger. "On this line."
Jule signed his name. "But when do I get my card, Mr. Douglas?"
"Just follow me," Old Douglas said. They went back to the ' front office. Old Douglas opened a drawer and took out a card. He handed it to Jule. "Here's your card. Your apprentice card. You're a union man now."
Jule looked at the card and his fingers trembled. He held the card close so he could see it. The card said: Apprentice Card, Typographical Union No. 6. Jule looked at Old Douglas. "Thanks, Mr. Douglas!"
Old Douglas grinned at Jule. "I told you to leave it to me. Now you got your card."
Jule held out his hand and Old Douglas took it. "Thanks again, Mr. Douglas. Thanks a lot!"
"It's all right," Old Douglas said. "If you have any trouble, just come to me. You're in the union now, a member of Big Six. One of my boys! Know what that means?"
"I know," Jule said. "I'm going to be a printer."
"You'll be a printer," Old Douglas said.
Jule hit the subway, walking on air. People jammed around him, crushed him into the subway. He felt like stepping up on their shoulders and walking from head to head. Uptown, downtown, all around town. .Stepping lightly. He felt like a feather, floating. He crawled out of the subway at 135th Street and climbed up into the air. He breathed deeply. He walked through the street, listening to his heels clicking. He went up the steps and into the "Y." He stood in the elevator, looking up at the lights. Lights blinded his eyes. The elevator was like a breeze, whisking him to the sixth floor. He walked down the hallway, his feet cushioned on air, his blood singing. He hit Zell's door with his knuckles. "Zell! Zell! Zell Ingram!"
Zell opened the door. "What's eating you?"
"Got my card," Jule said. "I'm going to be a printer!"
"Your card?" Zell said.
"Apprentice card," Jule said. "Going to learn how to print. Going to set type!"
"Jesus!" Zell said. "Come in, boy! Tell me about it!"
Jule told Zell about it, the way it was. "Got my card this afternoon. I'm an apprentice, Zell! An apprentice printer!"
Zell looked at the card. "Now you're stepping it up. You're getting somewhere. You got to step it up."
"I know," Jule said.
"You got to do it now, Jule. If you don't, ain't nobody going to do it for you. You got to lift yourself by your own bootstraps."
Jule looked at Zell. "I know what you mean. I'll do my damnedest."
"Now you're talking," Zell said. "We got to celebrate. Got to paint the town. O.K., Jule."
"O.K., " Jule said.
"Let's start in the Village and work back to Harlem," Zell said. "Let's raise some quiet hell! We don't have to get up in the morning. Tomorrow's Saturday."
"Sure," Jule said. "Only one thing, Zell-"
"Only what?" Zell said.
"No gals."
"No gals?"
"No gals," Jule said.
Zell grinned. "O.K. by me, pal. No gals."
"Let's celebrate," Jule said. "I feel good!"
They ate dinner in 'Chinatown. They had soup with Chinese vegetables. Vegetables looked green, fresh and green. Unnaturally green, floating in hot liquid. Jule spooned soup to his mouth. Soup tasted good. They ordered lobster, Chinese-style, and topped it off with ice cream and tea. They took a subway to the Village and walked across Washington square, looking at pictures and things. Pictures on easels, strung along the sidewalk.
They walked along the street. "Look, Jule. Water colors. Pastels."
"Nice," Jule said.
Zell pointed to a picture. "What's that, Jule."
"Looks like a man grinding an ax."
Zell laughed. "It ain't a man grinding an ax. It's a woman searching for her soul."
"Her soul?" Jule said. "Her soul."
"What does a soul look like?"
"Like a soul," Zell said. He grinned at Jule. "It ain't in the picture."
"Oh," Jule said. "Let's walk," Zell said.
They turned into another street and walked down a flight of steps. They went into Pete's place. They sat on stools and ordered beer. They drank beer from steins and ate pretzels. They watched William S. Hart and Theda Bara, Flora Finch and Rudolph Valentino, flickering on the screen. Silent pictures. Old pictures. Nickelodeon stuff. Pete liked old pictures.
They had another beer and listened to the banging of the piano upstairs.
"Let's move," Zell said.
"O.K., " Jule said.
They walked into another place with sawdust on the floor and oilcloth on the tables. Oilcloth looked greasy. The waiter swished a rag over the oilcloth and took their orders. They ordered spaghetti with meat sauce and wine. Zell uncorked the bottle. They ate spaghetti and drank red wine.
They went uptown to Fifty-second Street and listened to a girl sing "Loch Lomond" against a backdrop of strings. Her voice was husky and low. "You'll take the high road and I'll take the low road, and I'll be in Scotland afore ye..." They drank orange blossom cocktails and listened to the singing.
Lights flared. A girl got up from a table and walked toward
them. Zell said: "Here comes Miss Bitch, pretty Miss Bitch, going somewhere to be had!"
The girl paused at their table and smiled. "Hello, Jule."
"Hello," Jule, said.
"Ain't seen you'in a long time," the girl said. "Where you been?"
"Been around," Jule said.
"Want you to meet a friend of mine," the girl said. "A special friend."
"O.K., "' Jule said". "I'll meet your friend."
The girl went back to her table. Zell looked after the girl, then at Jule. "You know her?"
"I know her," Jule said.
"Who is she?"
"Lou. Lou Davis. My old gal." Zell stared at Jule. "Your old gal."
"My old gal."
"Jesus!" Zell said.
Lou came back to the table. "I want you to meet Dr. Jackson. Dr. J. Ridley Jackson, Ph.D., from Harvard. He's an adviser on inter-racial affairs. Dr. Jackson, meet Mr. Jule Jackson."
"Charmed," the doctor said.
"Glad to know you," Jule said.
Lou looked at Zell. "I don't believe I know your friend, Jule."
"Mr. Ingram," Jule said. "Mr. Zell Ingram."
"You mean Zell Ingram the artist?" Lou said.
"The artist," Jule said. "Miss Davis, Mr. Ingram."
Lou fluttered her lashes. "I'm so glad to know you, Mr. Ingram. Or shall I call you Zell?" She turned to her escort. "Dr. Jackson, Mr. Ingram."
"We know each other," the doctor said. "Hello, Zell."
"Hello, Jackson," Zell-said. "How's business?"
The doctor adjusted his pince-nez and smiled at Zell. "Promising," the doctor said. "Promising."
Lou said: "Why don't you come by some time, Jule? Mother's been asking about you."
Dr. Jackson cleared his throat. "Shall we go now, dear?"
Lou watched Jule's face, her eyes feeling over his face. "See you some time, Jule." She caught the doctor's arm and moved away.
Zell looked at Jule. "I didn't know, Jule. I didn't know she was your gal."
"It's all right, Zell." Jule smiled. "It don't matter now. It don't matter at all. She don't mean nothing to me. Not any more."
"It's over?" Zell said.
"It's over," Jule said.
Zell watched the doctor squeeze past tables. "The fat bastard! An adviser on race relations. That's a joke!" Jule looked at Zell. "A joke?"
"A joke," Zell said. "He sells race relations, the way a woman sells her body. For what he can get out of it. That's the way he makes his living. Help you? ... The hell he will! The only guy he's worrying about is J. Ridley Jackson." ' "Is he the guy you went to see when you were just starting out? The guy who was supposed to help you?"
"He's the guy," Zell said. "Dr. J. Ridley Jackson. Sure. See Dr. Jackson and he'll give you a boost. See Dr. Jackson and leave your name. Come back later. Maybe he can do something for you, later. Later. Always later." Zell looked at Jule. "You got to do it yourself, bud. Don't depend on his kind." Zell picked up his drink.
Jule said: "I see what you mean."
Zell watched Lou and the doctor. "A bull bitch and a bitch bitch. Ain't that something?" He downed his drink. "Let's get out of here and catch some air."
They stopped at the Record Man's on 135th Street, and had pig's feet and potato salad. Pig's feet tasted good with potato salad. They listened to blues on a juke box. Zell went out for whisky and brought back two bottles. They drank whisky straight, with water chasers. Jule looked at the place, at the tables. The tables were bare, pinewood on rickety legs. He looked up at the lights. Light filtered through tin cans, punched with nail holes.
The Record Man said: "Chili beans or spare ribs?" He looked at Zell. "Got chitterlings, too."
"We want to drink whisky," Zell said. "O.K., " the Record Man said. "Let's drink whisky!" Zell put another bottle on the table. "Bring out some water glasses." The Record Man brought out water glasses. Couples came in and ordered chili beans and chitterlings. The Record Man served his customers and went back to Zell and Jule. The Record Man said: "Everybody comes in just when you don't want to see 'em. I want to sit down and drink some whisky."
"Get rid of 'em," Zell said. "Let's drink some whisky."
"I'll get rid of em," the Record Man said. Couples finished eating. The Record Man closed the door behind them and locked it. He looked at Jule and Zell. "Now let's do some serious drinking"
Zell and Jule walked into the "Y" at dawn, floating. Zell said: "I feel good!"
"I feel good, too," Jule said.
"I'm high as a kite and happy as a lark."
"Me, too," Jule said.
"I could eat ten steaks in a row, with the whole steer thrown in!"
"Me, too," Jule said. They looked at each other and grinned. They rode up to the sixth floor and walked down the hall.
Jule stuck his key in the lock and opened the door. He saw the envelope, yellow and black. He picked it up and broke the seal. He pulled out the telegram and read: your mother is dead, come home at once. ... uncle Alex. Jule looked at the telegram, and read it again. He stood rooted in his tracks. He handed it to Zell.
"Jesus!" Zell said. "What you going to do?"
"I'm going home," Jule said. "I got to go."
"Need any money?' Zell said.
"I got money," Jule said.
"I'll pack your bag," Zell said. "You take a shower."
Zell packed Jule's bag. Jule took a shower and dressed, and Zell went with him to the train. Zell said: "I packed a suit and two shirts. If you need anything else, Jule, let me know."
"I'll let you know," Jule said.
Zell followed Jule through the gate to the lower level. Zell said: "When will you be back?"
"Soon as I can," Jule said. "I don't know."
"Maybe in a week?" Zell said. "Maybe," Jule said. "Soon as I can."
Zell watched the train pull out of the station. He watched the cars roll. Zell said: "A down-home boy, a country boy. A boy with guts!" Zell turned and walked up the stairs. "That boy is going to get somewhere. He's going to be somebody!"
*CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE*
JULE got off the train with his bag. He looked at the station, tight against the railroad tracks. He looked at the sign over the station. The sign said: Hannon, Ala. He looked at the station again, faded in the sun, at the red scales peeling from the boards. He walked down the road.
He saw fields and plots of land, pine trees green along the countryside, snags chalk-white in new ground. He saw rail fences, wire fences, sagging on the roadside. He saw Cage's house, with the shutters hanging, the old Moe place, broken-down and in ruins. He quickened his steps, sweat breaking out under his collar. The road unfurled in the late afternoon sun. He kept fixing things in his mind, the way they used to be, years ago. But they weren't the same any more. Everything looked strange and different, changed. Everything looked small. Tight and small.
He saw Gabe's pond in the distance, and the pond was dried-up. He saw the swamp, fringed with green. He saw the land, dead and brown, washed-out. He walked through the countryside, thinking about things the way they used to be. The road was dusty and his breath was coming fast. The sun dropped behind a pine thicket and shadows crept in close. He went over a hilltop. He could see Alex' house, squatting by the roadside. He looked at Alex' house. Now he could feel where he was going. He went past Alex' house and saw his ma's cabin. The cabin looked small.
He saw women sitting around his ma's doorstep, waiting. He saw field hands, talking in low tones. Lamplight spilled through the doorway at dusk. It was vivid like sunlight. He walked up the steps and dropped his bag. Silence was heavy. Caroline said: "That you, Jule?" Jule didn't say anything. He went inside. He looked at the beds, hard against the wall, at the pots and pans, gleaming over the fireplace. He looked at the floor, scrubbed bone-white. The room came in close, squeezed him. He looked at his ma.
Jule didn't say anything. He stood there looking at his ma, at her face, at her hands. Her hands looked wrinkled and work-worn.
Caroline said: "We did the best we could, Jule."
"I know," Jule said. Everything welled up inside him. His throat felt full. He walked back to the door and out into the yard. He stood silent, remembering. He remembered the things his ma told him. He remembered the things his ma said. His ma said: "You got to be somebody, Jule. You got to amount to something. You got to git somewhere!"
Air felt cool. Air felt soothing. Jule circled the yard and came back to the house. He saw Alex standing in the doorway. He looked at Alex.
Alex said: "She wanted to see you, Jule. She wanted to tell you something."
"Tell me something?"
-"Tell you something," Alex said. Alex coughed and looked at the moonlight beating down on the fields. "Tell it in her own words. She wanted you to be somebody, Jule."
"I know," Jule said. "I know, Uncle Alex." He looked at Alex, at the beard on his chin, the lines in his face, the stoop of his shoulders. He looked at his body, shrunken arid small. Alex was old, gray and old. Jule could see Alex, old and gray in the moonlight.
Jule circled the yard again. Field hands said: "We're sorry, Jule. Your ma was a fine woman." Jule looked at the hands. He saw Cooper Jackson, Newt and Bell, and Dr. Mootry. He saw other hands, too. Cooper Jackson's oldest boy, Clint, and Mae Jane's Bud. Boys he used to play with. Boys grown up to men. Boys he used to know. The women said: "Your ma was a good woman, Jule. A Christian woman." Jule looked at the women. He saw Mae Jane and Nan.
Nan said: "You should have come home sooner, boy. Your ma was living to see you. Now she's dead."
"Hush, Nan!" Caroline said. "That ain't no way to talk!"
Jule stood silent, looking at Nan, thinking about his ma. He circled the yard again.
A car drove into the yard and a man got out. The man came into the yard. Jule looked at the man. It was Rollo. Rollo said: "Hello, Jule. Heard you were back."
"Got back today," Jule said.
"Glad you're back," Rollo said. "Glad to see you." He gripped Jule's hand. "I'm sorry, Jule."
Jule looked at Rollo, at the spread of his shoulders, the line of his jaw. Rollo was a man, a full-grown man. Jule said:-"How's your dad?"
"Dad's dead," Rollo said.
Jule looked at Rollo. "I'm sorry," Jule said. "I didn't know."
They walked across the fields toward the slue. Fields were quiet. They went through the woods and looked' at the slue. Running water sounded like music. They walked along the edge of the slue, with the moonlight breaking through. Jule could hear pond frogs croaking. He could hear dogs baying in the distance. He listened to the dogs and thought about Spot. Spot was a good dog, a fine dog, a hunting dog. Spot knew how to catch possums. Possums and coons. His ma had said: "All you got to do is follow dem dogs, 'cause they won't lead you wrong. Just follow dem, Son, and use your mother-wit."
They skirted pine thickets and followed a trail.
"This is where you picked me up when I had to go away," Jule said.
"I know," Rollo said.
"Where Ma found me," Jule said.
"I know," Rollo said. They walked along in silence. "Going back, Jule? Going back to New York."
"Got to go back," Jule said. "Alex is getting old," Rollo said. "I got to go back," Jule said. "He needs you, Jule."
"I got to go back," Jule said. "Got something to do." Rollo looked at Jule. Rollo fell silent. They walked back to the house. "I'll be over tomorrow for the services," Rollo said. "I'll drive you to the train."
"At eleven o'clock," Jule said.
"Eleven o'clock," Rollo said.
"See you tomorrow," Jule said.
Jule followed Rollo to the car. Rollo looked at Jule. Rollo said: "You're right, Jule. You should go back. There's nothing here. Your ma wanted you to be somebody. You got to be somebody, Jule."
"I know," Jule said.
Rollo got into the car. "See you tomorrow, Jule." He drove away.
Jule walked toward the cabin. He could hear singing. He listened to the singing, floating out from the cabin, low and sweet. He stood in the yard, looking at the cabin, his ma's cabin. The cabin where he was born. He looked out over the fields, and his throat ached. He tried to swallow, but he couldn't swallow. The swelling in his throat kept getting tighter. He turned and saw Bertha Mae standing there. He looked at Bertha Mae, at her eyes, veiled in shadows. Bertha Mae said: "I hoped you'd come back, Jule."
Jule looked at Bertha Mae, at her face, young and tight. He could see her lips, red in the moonlight, her lower lip fleshy and full. He looked at her lips.
Bertha Mae said: "You going back, Jule? Back to New York?"
"Going back tomorrow," Jule said. "Tomorrow?" Bertha Mae said. "Tomorrow," Jule said. "After the services."
"You can't stay a while?" Bertha Mae said. "You don't want to stay?"
Jule shook his head. "Got to go back. Got something to do. Something I got to do."
"Going to write me, Jule? Write me and tell me how you're doing? I want to hear from you, Jule."
Jule looked at Bertha Mae.
"Write me a card, Jule. I want to know how you are." She stood for a moment, her lips quivering.
"You're going with me," Jule said. "I'm taking you with me. Be ready in the morning."
Bertha Mae's eyes grew big in her face. She looked at Jule, her eyes liquid in the moonlight. Her eyes came up close, vivid and close.' "I'll be ready, Jule! I'll be ready in the morning!"
Jule caught her hand and they walked toward his ma's cabin. They could hear singing, rising on the wind. Singing sounded sweet.
