kept his eyes shut, but Doll’s were wide open and staring straight at him.
THIRTEEN
WALKING HOME, hoping not to find his momma there, he passed a church. The parking lot was covered up with pickup trucks and cars. There was even a tractor, a fairly new Oliver, and he wondered which white man it belonged to.
Brother So-and-So’s truck broke down,
he imagined folks would say,
but he cares so much for the Lord that he got his whole family on that tractor and brought ’em down to church. With enemies like him, the Devil don’t have a prayer.
The Devil didn’t have a prayer, not because some redneck drove his tractor to church, but because the Devil didn’t pray. White folks, of course, would never see that. They believed everything had been made in their own image, and since they prayed, it stood to reason the Devil did, too.
The Devil was in each and every one of them, just as sure as he was in old Adolf Hitler, but the white folks didn’t know it. The Devil had been in that glance that passed between him and Doll, in what he would have done to her, and she to him, if John Burns had wandered off. It wasn’t that different, as far as he could see, from what you did when you pointed a gun at another man’s heart and pulled the trigger. Wanting, you willed yourself to take. One day they called it loving, another day rape.
When he stepped onto the porch, the floorboards sighed, and in that pitch he heard absence. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, listening. Must have taken herself off to church.
He stepped inside and, when his eyes adjusted to the darkness, saw her sitting near the woodstove, in her lap the raggedy old black Bible that one of her mistresses had given her. At the sight of it, he knew he ought to have had a lot more fun last night. Because what fun he’d had wasn’t nearly enough to make up for the misery he was about to endure.
“You know where you gone end up?” she said. “A few miles south, down in the state penitentiary. Just like your no-good daddy.”
“You never told me my daddy went to jail.”
“I never told you your daddy went to Hell, neither, but I imagine that where he at now.”
He walked over and laid his guitar down on his cot, then picked up a box of matches and lit the coal-oil lamp standing on the drink crate that served as his bedside table. He sat down and pulled off his shoes. “Since you ain’t never told me who he was, don’t tell me where he’s at.”
For a minute, her face lost all expression. When her cheeks went slack like that, you could see how pretty she must’ve been. Nice caramel-colored skin—not too dark, not so light you had to wonder if she was part white. “Don’t you be telling me what to say or not say about that particular nigger. I say what I want.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Reckon you do what you want, too. I’m proof of that.”
She stood, laid the Bible on the table, walked over and drew back her hand.
“Hit me on the other side,” he said. “I’m still sore on my left cheek from last week.”
“So split the difference,” she said, and slapped him hard across the bridge of his nose.
His eyes stung, and blood began to trickle from one nostril. “I ain’t gone end up down south of anywhere,” he said. “I’m gone end up
north.
And it won’t be no few miles.”
“North?” she said.
“North?”
She laughed. “Chicago, Illinois. Right? Detroit, Michigan. Pie in the Sky, Pennsylvania.” Grinning, she shook her head, reached for his hand and, between her thumb and forefinger, pinched a wad of his skin. “ ’Less you get north of
this,”
she said, “you ain’t going nowhere.”
FOURTEEN
SWEE SPATS A NATTER,” Dan said. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and laid it on the floor because the seat was hard and his hip was about to kill him. “You ever heard tell of that?”
L.C. perched on the drink box, looking down the aisle at the group of sweaty Germans. Since all of the passenger seats had been
THIRTEEN
WALKING HOME, hoping not to find his momma there, he passed a church. The parking lot was covered up with pickup trucks and cars. There was even a tractor, a fairly new Oliver, and he wondered which white man it belonged to.
Brother So-and-So’s truck broke down,
he imagined folks would say,
but he cares so much for the Lord that he got his whole family on that tractor and brought ’em down to church. With enemies like him, the Devil don’t have a prayer.
The Devil didn’t have a prayer, not because some redneck drove his tractor to church, but because the Devil didn’t pray. White folks, of course, would never see that. They believed everything had been made in their own image, and since they prayed, it stood to reason the Devil did, too.
The Devil was in each and every one of them, just as sure as he was in old Adolf Hitler, but the white folks didn’t know it. The Devil had been in that glance that passed between him and Doll, in what he would have done to her, and she to him, if John Burns had wandered off. It wasn’t that different, as far as he could see, from what you did when you pointed a gun at another man’s heart and pulled the trigger. Wanting, you willed yourself to take. One day they called it loving, another day rape.
When he stepped onto the porch, the floorboards sighed, and in that pitch he heard absence. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, listening. Must have taken herself off to church.
He stepped inside and, when his eyes adjusted to the darkness, saw her sitting near the woodstove, in her lap the raggedy old black Bible that one of her mistresses had given her. At the sight of it, he knew he ought to have had a lot more fun last night. Because what fun he’d had wasn’t nearly enough to make up for the misery he was about to endure.
“You know where you gone end up?” she said. “A few miles south, down in the state penitentiary. Just like your no-good daddy.”
“You never told me my daddy went to jail.”
“I never told you your daddy went to Hell, neither, but I imagine that where he at now.”
He walked over and laid his guitar down on his cot, then picked up a box of matches and lit the coal-oil lamp standing on the drink crate that served as his bedside table. He sat down and pulled off his shoes. “Since you ain’t never told me who he was, don’t tell me where he’s at.”
For a minute, her face lost all expression. When her cheeks went slack like that, you could see how pretty she must’ve been. Nice caramel-colored skin—not too dark, not so light you had to wonder if she was part white. “Don’t you be telling me what to say or not say about that particular nigger. I say what I want.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Reckon you do what you want, too. I’m proof of that.”
She stood, laid the Bible on the table, walked over and drew back her hand.
“Hit me on the other side,” he said. “I’m still sore on my left cheek from last week.”
“So split the difference,” she said, and slapped him hard across the bridge of his nose.
His eyes stung, and blood began to trickle from one nostril. “I ain’t gone end up down south of anywhere,” he said. “I’m gone end up
north.
And it won’t be no few miles.”
“North?” she said.
“North?”
She laughed. “Chicago, Illinois. Right? Detroit, Michigan. Pie in the Sky, Pennsylvania.” Grinning, she shook her head, reached for his hand and, between her thumb and forefinger, pinched a wad of his skin. “ ’Less you get north of
this,”
she said, “you ain’t going nowhere.”
FOURTEEN
SWEE SPATS A NATTER,” Dan said. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and laid it on the floor because the seat was hard and his hip was about to kill him. “You ever heard tell of that?”
L.C. perched on the drink box, looking down the aisle at the group of sweaty Germans. Since all of the passenger seats had been