Stealing home, p.7
Stealing Home, page 7
After the meal, the First Lady of Picksville, Elizabeth Birdiff, will regale us with a brief glimpse into her life as the wife of a public servant.
The cost for this event is twenty-five cents. All proceeds will benefit the tireless work of our mayor and our church to give aid to our town's Tenth Street Mission.
MORRIS
Monday, May 15
I'm glad whatever I pray to God stays right between me and Him.
Saturday at church Bishop Tilley was up at the front, wailin and prayin sayin, Lord how we long for Your Promised Land. Jesus we toil here for a little while as we await our great and glorious eternity.
And everyone around is weepin and swayin. Yes Jesus. Thank You Lord. Cause they're thinkin about heaven and I guess that's fine. But there can't be any harm in wantin just a little bit of that right here in this lifetime.
Like that Mr. Duke has. I gone to see him every day since I met him and haven't ever seen him in the same shirt twice. Every one of them clean and starched and better than what the mayor wears in his own office. Me I don't have but three shirts to my name and when I tried to wear my good shirt over to play ball with Mr. Duke Mama had one of her fits—and she don't even know that's where I was headed.
That's what I was thinkin about in church. Not the Sweet By and By, not Blessed Be the Poor. I was thinkin what a shame it is to waste your only decent shirt sittin on this bench all Saturday afternoon. As much as I love Jesus I don't see the good of dressin up just for Him. Seems to me Jesus would love me in my rags so I can wear my good clothes for my work down here in the world.
And that's what I'm thinkin this mornin when I put on my good church shirt. And it ain't so good—just less stained and torn than my others. Figure if it's good enough for church it's good enough for school. After all it's the same building. But then I start thinkin that I don't have a head for school at all today. I mean with God all knowin He couldn't have intended this day as one for a boy to sit inside. So even though I can hear Teacher ringin the bell I head into town and walk right into Mr. Poplin's Dry Goods. I always like goin to his store because he doesn't get that nervous look like other white folks do whenever a Negro walks into the room. He smiles right at me like I'm a regular customer and asks me what he can do for me this fine morning.
I tell him I want to buy me a new shirt. Ready made with a finished hem. One with stripes like Mr. Duke wears only I don't say anything about Mr. Duke out loud cause I don't want to be gettin above myself.
Mr. Poplin starts hummin and lookin on some of the shelves behind the counter. Then he tells me to wait there while he checks somethin out in the back. Meantime I'm standin in the middle of this store all by myself, no white eyes to keep me honest. Those were the longest and proudest three minutes of my life yet.
When Mr. Poplin comes back he tells me he doesn't have anything that he thinks will fit me which is a lie because I seen some of the shirts he unfolded and held up.
I tell him, Thank you, and start to leave when he says, Wait a minute. Maybe we can try somethin else. Then he brings out a great big book, says it's a Sears catalogue, and we could get me a shirt from there.
I haven't ever had nothin from a catalogue before so I just wait while Mr. Poplin turns a bunch of pages and then calls me closer. Look here, he says, Maybe you see somethin on this page you like.
It's a whole page of pictures of white boys wearin striped shirts. They all look like miniature Mr. Dukes without the moustache, standin with their arms on their hips and their chests puffed out. Like they had some kind of power.
I look at that and figure that's why Mr. Duke is always tellin me to stand up straight like my mama hasn't ever told me to.
Mr. Poplin says all we have to do is get some measurements and then he takes this long tape from a drawer and comes over to my side of the counter. He measures my shoulders and my arms around my chest and my waist, tellin me to remember all the numbers so he can write them down. He gets to standin so close to me I was glad I just had my bath two nights ago cause I don't know that he'd order a brand new shirt for a smelly Negro boy. When we was done he takes out a little notebook and asks me to say all the numbers back to him which I do then he tells me to point out which shirt I want.
Now nobody has ever before asked me to choose anything I've ever owned. Every autumn a group of nice white people come to our church with boxes of clothes and shoes they spread out over all the benches. But that's not the same. Sometimes there's nothin there that fits me and I have to wait until spring when they come back again.
But this? There was five different shirts and I could have any one I wanted. And it would come special made for me, brand new with all its buttons attached. I have to choose so careful and I run my finger over all the pictures and all the words, tryin to put my face on one of those puffed-up bodies.
Then I see the price—one dollar—and I put my hand back in my pocket. I tell Mr. Poplin that I don't have more than fifty cents to spend on a shirt.
Fifty cents? he says. Well perhaps we'll have to strike up a business proposition.
I decide right then that I like Mr. Poplin even more because he doesn't talk to me any different than he does to anybody else. He says the shirt won't arrive for a few days yet and I can give him fifty cents now and the other fifty cents when it gets here. He says, Surely an enterprising young man like yourself can earn half-a-dollar?
And then I feel a little guilty because here he is trustin me and I have enough money sittin back at my house to buy myself a dozen of these shirts. But I just nod and tell him, Yessir.
Very good, he says, and starts fillin out a little paper after I show him which shirt I want. It's striped and has a pocket and pearl buttons. When he's finished fillin out the paper Mr. Poplin looks up at me and says, Will there be anything else?
I'm laughin inside because nobody's ever said that to me before and I tell him, Yes. Why don't you get me two of them?
When I leave Mr. Poplin's store it's still too early to meet up with Mr. Duke so I decide to start earnin some of the money I'll need for my new clothes. I walk through the little park in the center of town and stop at the bench just outside Mayor Birdiff's window. I was just about to think that it's too early even for the mayor to be at work when I see him walk past his window and I make my little sound—that cough that won't leave my throat.
I don't know how Mayor Birdiff can hear that sound from so far away but he always does—even if his window is closed like it is today. For all I know there's a bunch of real important men in that office with him but it wouldn't matter a bit because as soon as he hears me he comes to the window and looks straight down where I'm standin, hat in hand to show a little respect. He's movin his mouth talkin to whoever's in the office with him and gives me a signal—five fingers then two fingers with a swirlin motion. That means wait five minutes then meet him on the second floor landin of the back staircase.
The first time I ever walked in the back door of the city hall I was scared out of my head. But now nobody ever even gives me a look. At least not in a bad way. The back door leads right into the kitchen and if I'm lucky I'll be there right when Miss Cherine is settin up one of the mayor's snacks.
That happens today and I get a jam sandwich and a glass of cold milk before I even go upstairs and a shortbread cookie to eat while I'm waitin. I'm just finishin that up when the door opens and the mayor comes in, huffin a little bit even though he hasn't had to climb a single step. He has a little flat box wrapped with a red ribbon that he wants me to deliver to Miss LuAnn DeSalvo. And he hands me a nickel.
Do you know where she lives? he asks me and I say, Yes. Corner of Clinton and Tenth Street. But should I go back through the park? Or should I detour back and up Bellington Avenue?
He asks me, What's the difference?
I tell him that Mrs. Birdiff always has Monday brunch with the ladies of the Methodist church on Green Street so he gives me another dime and tells me to take the long way.
I don't even look up much when I'm walkin down Tenth Street, just watch my boots one step after another not too fast not too slow. I never had no dealings with any of the folks who live here but I know plenty of them that work here. And it's happened more than once that one of Mama's friends will holler at me through a side door and tell me I'm in for the whippin of my life when I get home. But nobody sees me today and as soon as I turn the corner of Clinton Avenue I feel more at home. It's not long until the houses start gettin smaller and then they start stackin up on top of each other. Miss LuAnn DeSalvo lives in one of those on the third floor up this little narrow iron staircase. I imagine it's quite a sight watchin that fat old man climb up here late at night.
When I get to Miss LuAnn's door I reach out and knock just three soft ones and step back away from the door. When she opens it I get hit with the smell of her perfume so strong it nearly knocks me off the stairs and I see her wrapped up in this pink feathery thing. Nothin like bein dressed even though it's nearly eleven o'clock in the morning. She's got long dark hair that's fallin all over and her face looks like somethin somebody painted then left out in the rain.
She says, Hello Morris baby, and grabs me.
Next thing I know I got a face full of soft feathers. I don't want to hurt her feelings so I don't push away even though I can't hardly breathe. And in just a minute she gives me one more little squeeze then lets me go and asks if I brought her a present.
Yes m'am, I say and hand her the little box. She hugs that box every bit as close as she did me then tells me to wait right here before she closes the door. I pull my hat down low over my eyes while I'm waitin just in case somebody were to walk by but nobody did. And after a few minutes Miss LuAnn is back with a little piece of paper. Now you take this right back to Mayor Birdiff, she says. And you tell him to give you a shiny new penny.
Yes m'am, I say again and I tip my hat a little. Anything else?
She hugs me real close again and makes me promise to come back and see her when I think I'm man enough. Well I don't know if I'll ever be man enough for Miss LuAnn DeSalvo but I promise anyway then walk real careful down the stairs.
I keep hold tight of the note until I'm halfway up Tenth Street when I think I'd better put it in my pocket just in case somebody stops me and wants to read it. But then I don't want it to wrinkle up so I just slip it up my sleeve. It's not sealed up or anything—probably because that lady don't think I can read— and I know I shouldn't look at it. But I figure it's my hide on the line if the wrong person reads it so I think I deserve to know what it says.
As soon as I get to the edge of the park I open it up. I don't read more than the first two lines before I learn two things. Miss LuAnn DeSalvo is not a nice lady and she spells worse than I do. I reach down into my pocket and find a little piece of string then I roll up the note real tight and tie the string around it.
When I get back to my bench outside Mayor Birdiff's window it's not long at all before he sees me and gives me the same signal to meet him. By now everybody's workin on gettin lunch ready in the kitchen and Miss Cherine says I can have a chicken leg on the way out.
Now that chicken smells good and I already done enough this mornin that my mama would say's gonna send me to hell but that chicken smells so good. Still a mama's a mama so I say, No thank you Miss Cherine.
Her eyes get real big and she takes a step back. She says, You sayin no to my chicken? Boy I know grown men to cry over this chicken.
I'm bout to cry myself but I just tell her that my mama says we ain't supposed to eat meat.
Then she scrunches up her lips and says, Hmm. You one of them Adventist people?
I say, Yes m'am.
Well, she says. You know it's Jesus who saved your soul?
And I say, Yes m'am.
Then she asks me if I got the Holy Spirit livin in me, and I say, Yes m'am. Cause I know that to be true. Then she bends real close and says, Boy don't you think the Holy Spirit of the livin God is stronger than one little old piece of chicken?
And it makes me think. I might of made a promise to Mama but I never made such a one to God so I say, Thank you m'am. I'd be glad to have it, and head upstairs where Mayor Birdiff's waitin.
Soon as I show up he asks, Do you have anything for me? He's rubbin his hands together like he's the one who's gonna get the chicken.
Yessir, I say and hand over the little note.
Then he asks me, Did she say anything? But I don't say nothin about the shiny penny mostly because I don't work for that kind of cheap. Instead I say that she says he should read this as soon as possible but it turns out I didn't even have to tell that lie because he's already tearing off the string.
Right there I pray to Jesus to forgive me for knowin exactly what he's readin. The mayor's face turns bright red and he starts to sweat a little before he rolls the note up tight and puts it in his own pocket. When he brings his hand out again he has a whole quarter in it that he holds out to me.
I slip it into my pocket quick before he realizes what he done and say, Thank you sir. Will there be anything else? And he says, Yes. Cherine's frying chicken for lunch. Make sure she gives you a piece on your way out.
Not only does Miss Cherine give me a piece of chicken, she gives me a whole sack lunch with chicken, cornbread, fried okra, and a little peach tart. Now I know why Mayor Birdiff is as fat as he is. And even though I'm hungry I decide to save it in case this is one of those nights when Mama don't make it home for supper.
I still have some time before I meet up with Mr. Duke so I make my usual rounds seein if there's any telegrams or anything else to deliver but it's a slow Monday morning and I'm out of luck. So I head over early to the Voyant's house and stand at the gate. It's not long before Mr. Duke himself is on the front porch. He says, Ah young Morris. I have somethin for you.
Now so far this has turned out to be a million dollar day and I can't even think of anything that would make it better. Then Mr. Duke comes down off that front porch and he's smilin bigger than a quarter moon. Come back here, he says, and I open the gate and follow him to the backyard. Then he says, Here you are, and hands me a brand new glove. I hold it up to my face and smell it deep. It's sweeter than Miss LuAnn DeSalvo's perfume and at that minute I want it more than Miss Cherine's fried chicken.
Now, Mr. Duke says, since I don't have to worry about breakin any fingers catchin what you throw, let's see just what you can really do.
NED
Ned brought the wagon to a stop at the storehouse entrance behind the store. Not much to unload today—a dozen sacks of chicken feed and half-a-dozen grain. If he tarried long enough, taking the sacks one by one, he could justify calling it a day. Not that he had anything much else to do. He'd finished updating the account books by noon and had read the morning newspaper while eating one of Marlene's wax paper–wrapped sandwiches at the train station.
He often did that on Mondays, hoping Ellie Jane would one day come out and join him. After all, they would have crossed each other's path at some point on the busy, errand-filled Saturday, and she'd sat just one aisle over and two pews up in church the day before. Maybe momentum would be on his side, and on a warm spring afternoon like this she would bring her little lunch bucket out of the booth and sit beside him on one of the benches on the platform.
Of course, he never invited her to join him, but he did sit in full view, slowly unwrapping his sandwich and opening a bottle of ginger ale. Then, when her eyes happened to catch his from the other side of the booth's glass window, he'd lift up his bottle (or sandwich, depending which was in his hand) in a friendly salute.
Care to join me?
She might return the salute with her own little cracker or piece of fruit, but without fail, every Monday—like this one—Ned was left alone on the bench. And there he would pray. Lord, just let her look at me. Just once, let her see me, and I'll do the rest.
Now he tasted Marlene's cheese-and-olive sandwich as he tugged open the wagon's tailgate and tossed the first sack of chicken feed over his shoulder. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the storeroom's darkness, so he stood perfectly still and waited for shelves and supplies to take solid form in the afternoon gray.
He dropped the sack at his feet and rearranged the shelves to make room for the new inventory, but when he bent to pick the sack up again, it was gone. Confused, he turned around to see young Morris, who held the sack out in two open arms.
There was, as always, that bit of shock at finding himself not alone. Just after his deafness set in, Ned started nearly every social encounter with a gasp and a jump, often scaring his visitor as much as he himself had been. Through the years he'd trained himself to stop that little jolt of surprise right at the tip of his throat, where it burned now like a funny little unspoken scream as he lifted a shaky hand in greeting.
Hey, Morris.
Morris nodded and handed up the feed sack.
Ned took it and shelved it before turning back to the boy. What do you want?
The boy said something, but his words were lost in the room's shadows. Ned leaned forward and Morris repeated his message, accompanied by an illustration of his two hands wrapped around an invisible stick, twisting his torso in a halfhearted swing.
I need a baseball bat.
Ned didn't answer right away. Instead, he headed back to the wagon, assuming that Morris followed, and when the two were back in the sunlight, he faced Morris head-on and asked, “Why do you need a bat?”
It's for Duke, Morris said, bringing his hand up to his lip to draw an invisible, perfectly groomed moustache.
Ned broke into a huge smile and let out a hoot. “Really?”
Morris nodded and crooked his finger. C'mon, I'll take you.
But there was work to do first. Ned piled sack after sack of chicken feed on Morris's outstretched arms, until the boy nearly staggered under the load, and pointed him toward the storeroom. Then he hauled two of the larger sacks of grain to the edge of the tailgate, squatted down, and positioned both on his shoulder. He stood, steadying himself under the weight, and strode inside, dumping them on the first available space.
