Absalom's Daughters (6 page)

The Justice boys gunned the car in a circle, kicking up twigs and clods of dirt until the engine backfired deafeningly and stalled. The radio went quiet. The albino boy handed them the bottle, and the boys swigged the stuff down and got out of the car.

“Damn,” said the boy who'd been driving. He kicked the dirty metal rims. “Shoulda drove it into the fire.” He kicked at the edge of the fire. His brother, who was shorter, and who Cassie assumed was younger, gave the car a drunken shove, but it was rooted and didn't budge.

“Let's go,” said the oldest Justice boy.

“You ain't leavin',” said Judith, still in the backseat. “You leavin'?”

“I got some old tires,” said the oldest. “I'll bring 'em down and put 'em on. We'll fill it up with gas, and it'll burn real nice.” He went over to the boy and the dog by the tree and untied the rope.

“You ever seen a car catch fire with tires on it?” said the younger Justice boy to the albino. “Like big torches.” He made motions with his hands, like fire reaching upward. “Then the gasoline goes, and then the whole damn thing,
bang-o!
”

“My parents died in a car wreck,” said the albino boy. “They burned up just like that. You should apologize for making me think about it.”

“Did you see it?” said the younger. “Did the tires catch fire?”

The oldest Justice boy came over with the littlest boy and the dog in tow. “Ain't no body apologizin' to you,” he said. “'Cause you're a fuckin' freak.” He turned unsteadily to Judith. “Why you hangin' round with this fuckin' freak?”

“Shut up,” said Judith. “You got a brother thinks he's dog.”

“You callin' me a freak?” said the oldest boy.

“I'm callin' you a
idjit
,” said Judith. “Go home if you leavin'.”

“You cain't tell us to leave,” said the oldest. “This here's our land.” But he grabbed his younger brother by the arm and led him, the little boy, and the dog into the darkness of the woods, more or less in the direction of Duncan Justice's house.

Judith watched them go, then pushed the albino boy out of the backseat. “Find that New York station.” The albino boy fumbled under the dashboard until the radio came back on, but not the engine. First it was static, and then it was the New York station. Judith climbed out of the backseat and sat on the hood of the car with the bottle of moonshine.

“I used to listen to WINS when I lived in Manhattan,” said the albino boy from the front seat. “I've got records of all their music. We can listen to them tomorrow when you come over.”

“Maybe I ain't comin' tomorrow,” said Judith. The fire was beginning to die, and she waved smoke away from her face.

“You and that nigger girl always come on Wednesday.”

“I might take this here car and just drive myself away.”

The albino boy laughed.

“I been thinkin' a lot lately.” Judith took another drink. “I been thinkin', why should I stay here? If my daddy left for something better, why should I stay?”

The albino boy reached around the windshield, took the bottle from her, and took a swig himself. “I thought you said your dad ran off with a
hoor
.”

“But he got some money somehow. He stayin' in a nice hotel. I don' see why I should stay d'liverin' laundry when something better's out there.”

The albino boy laughed again, like she was making a joke. “Hey,” he said, “is it true that nigger girl's your sister?”

Judith sat up on the car hood. In the bushes, Cassie tucked down deeper into the leaves and thorns.

“Who tol' you that?” said Judith.

“My aunt said your dad is—what's her name again? He's her dad too.”

“Most ever'body in town's related one way or the other,” said Judith. “Some people opens their mouth about it. Others don't.”

The albino boy put his feet up on the dashboard. “My aunt said that nigger girl's grandmother made her mother sleep with a white man. That true?”

“People say all kinda things,” said Judith. “They got nothing better to do with their time.”

The albino boy said in a strange, soft voice, “You ever do that?”

“Run my mouth?”

“No,” said the albino boy, in the same voice as before. “You ever do it with nigger boys?”

Judith took the bottle from him and drank a big mouthful. Then she slid off the hood of the car and stood up straight, as though the alcohol had evaporated right out of her. “I'm goin' home,” she said. She put the bottle down by the dying fire. “It's late and all.”

The albino boy sat up in the car again. The radio faded into static. “Wait,” he said.

Judith walked away through the leaves and sticks and woods and hidden snakes. She threw him a look over her shoulder. “You know your way home? It's just up that hill yonder.”

“Wait!” he said, leaning out of the car.

Judith stopped by the bush where Cassie was hiding. Instead of turning back, she leaned down and said, as though she'd known Cassie was there the whole time, “I din't tell him
none
of those damn things.”

The two of them walked through the trees and out onto the macadam road. The moon was up higher, a thumbnail curve in the eastern sky.

Cassie watched her own feet move in her hard-soled shoes. “Why'd you tell him you might not be there tomorrow?”

“Cause I ain't.”

“You gone walk to Virginia?”

“No,” said Judith. “I'm gonna take that piece of junk back there and leave 'fore they set it on fire. I'm goin' to Virginia to get my due, and then I'm goin' to New York City to become a reddio star. I ain't goin' 'lone neither.”

The black macadam gleamed dully under the moon as they walked. Judith came over closer to Cassie. “What you gonna do in Heron-Neck?” she said. “The laundry? You gonna do what your granny wants for the rest of your life?”

Cassie was on the watch for headlights or any sign of motion from the dark woods behind them. She walked more quickly. Judith followed her.

“People get rich in New York City,” said Judith.

“We ain't never gone get rich,” said Cassie. “All I know is how to do laundry, an' all you know is how to deliver it. And Virginia ain't nowhere near New York City.”

“Virginia where we gonna get our nest egg,” said Judith. “We gonna find my daddy—
our
daddy—and we gonna demand our share of what he got. Whatever he's owed is owed to us too.”

“You outta your mind.”

Judith drew herself up, tall in her worn-out shoes. “I understan' if you feel that way. Ain't no original thinking goin' on round here near as I kin tell. You stay here and find a husband—or whatever you end up with—an' have youself a passel of young'uns. As your life goes by, you can think of me.”

Cassie scuffed at the road. “How long you think you'll be gone?”

“Years likely. When I return, I'll be in a big car with a driver. An' a maid. No, two maids. And a lil ol' lap dog.”

 

CHAPTER
THREE

The next morning, the February weather had turned cool enough for heavier coats. At the estate sale, sparse clouds passed overhead, leaving the Tawney plantation in patches of winter sun, which didn't actually warm anyone. Most of the county turned out for the sale, not just the folks in Heron-Neck. Farmers and their bundled-up wives mixed with oily-shirted mechanics and sharecroppers alike. The gaunt and the fat showed up to see what the Tawneys would throw out.

“Miz Tabitha's prices were reasonable,” said Lil Ma, a woolen shawl around her shoulders, “but it'd be nice to pick up a few new plates now that she's gone.”

“We're here for just one thing.” Grandmother stepped to one side to avoid a puddle. “That wringer's going to cost enough.”

“I wish you'd talk to Mrs. Tawney about the wringer,” said Lil Ma. “You're better at talking to her than I am. You'll get a better price.”

“You'll do what needs to be done,” said Grandmother. “You need to learn to stand up for yourself. I won't be around forever.”

Cassie followed Grandmother and Lil Ma, wearing the brown wool coat she'd outgrown two years ago at fourteen. But it was warmer than the one she usually wore, which was still a little damp from yesterday's laundry delivery. She pushed her hands into the too-small pockets, not wanting to get in the middle of this argument. Lil Ma was afraid of old Mrs. Tawney, who would surely be in charge of the selling of the wringer. Every time Lil Ma took Cassie to Tawney's Store, she kept her eyes down and acted ashamed when old Mrs. Tawney was there instead of Miz Tabitha. When Grandmother went along, she looked old Mrs. Tawney straight in the face and had no problem with the dealing that had to be done to get a new pot or a set of towels or even clothespins. Lil Ma hung back. Cassie knew Grandmother didn't like the way Lil Ma behaved, but it was the first time she'd heard her Grandmother say,
I won't be around forever
. It was like a threat, but in some ways a relief to the imagination.

Cassie let herself trail farther and farther behind, looking for Judith in the crowd. The Tawneys' old barn was down the hill from the crippled-looking house. The house was surrounded by bare oak trees and a variety of run-down sheds. Miz Tabitha had the store on the first floor, leaving the second and third floors to the aged relations who lived with her. Cassie knew from being brought around to the back of the place once a week for most of her life that no one young had lived there in a long time. The winter weeds, old rusted cars, and a tilting, three-wheeled tractor in the front yard told the story of years of neglect.

The auctioneers had set out every last thing from the store behind the house on the kind of long tables used for church picnics. Lil Ma had taken Cassie to flea markets before, but none of them were as big as this. This was an
estate
sale, and to see the amount of stuff on the tables was to wonder how Miz Tabitha had fit it all inside the house.

There were Pyrex dishes, cookbooks, bolts of fabric, hats, clothes, tinned tobacco, cups and saucers, cereal, bags of flour and coffee beans. Washtubs, irons, ironing boards, various hardware like hammers and saws, everything anyone might need except for maybe milk and anything else that could spoil. To Cassie it looked like the riches of the world.

She lagged farther behind Grandmother and Lil Ma until she couldn't really see them anymore in the crowd. She knew where they were going. The wringer was at the old house. She would be yelled at for wandering away, but she needed to find Judith. Judith was here somewhere.

At a table covered with costume jewelry, Judith was circling for the best view of the fake pearl earrings and shiny necklaces. Three women with red-and-white striped ribbons pinned to their bosoms strode around the table, guarding it. Miz Armenia Sutter was one of them.

“Gal,” Miz Sutter said to Cassie, “when your momma gone to have my weddin' dress clean?”

“We working on it, ma'am,” said Cassie

“You tell your momma I be by this afternoon to git it, y'heah?”

“Yessum, I tell her.”

Miz Sutter fixed her eyes on Judith. “You too near to them necklaces, Judith Forrest! You ain't got the money to buy ennythin' heah. You keep your hands in your pockets and
scoot
.”

Judith put her hands in the pockets of her patched red coat and sauntered off. Cassie trailed after her down the grassy incline, where the rest of the tables were arranged in uneven rows.

“I just finished packin' up the car,” said Judith. “Got a bit of smoke ham, a bag of cornmeal, an' some aigs.”

Cassie tried to picture Judith driving off in the junk car, heading for her future. It was surprisingly easy, considering she had never seen Judith do much but pull a wagon. At seventeen, though, maybe it was time for Judith to stop pulling wagons, time to move on. This made her think about the question Judith had asked her the night before—
you gonna do what your granny wants for the rest of your life?
The answers made her feel bad in her stomach.

“Them boys put on the tires?” said Cassie.

“Not yet, but they filled it up with gas. Fact is, I need to get out of town 'fore them idjits remember to come down tonight and set fire to it.” Judith pulled her red coat tighter around her skinny frame. “Now look. Here's the reddios.”

Some of the radios were brand-new, still in boxes. Others were clearly secondhand, with their prices written on bits of tape wrapped around the plugs. Judith examined these while women with ribbons pinned to their bosoms watched her without bothering to hide their suspicions. None of the new radios were less than three dollars, and Cassie moved away, down the table until she and Judith came to a clump of older-model radios with chewed-looking cords. The cheapest was two dollars.

“What you gone do with a radio?” said Cassie.

“Lissen to it when I git to my ho-tel room in Virginia,” said Judith. “Sometimes I get tarred of my own singin'.” Judith put a hand in her pocket and pulled out a dirty, folded bill so that the women guarding the table could see it. It was a single dollar. She must have saved her laundry nickels for a month. “Now if you had a dollar, we could go in on one o' these reddios.”

“I ain't got a dollar,” said Cassie, which was true.

“Well,” said Judith, “these look a bit junky. If I was gonna buy one, I'd get me a brand-new model.” She looked back at the ladies and put her chin up, as though the whole county was watching. “Come on an' let's look at the guns.”

Cassie followed her through the thick of the crowd, which was white folks closer to the barn, where the auction would be later that afternoon, and colored farther away. Cassie knew Grandmother and Lil Ma were over by the house negotiating for the wringer and would be looking for her. She tried to see through to where the wringer might be on the porch of the crumbling old house, but there were too many people in the way. She stuck with Judith as Judith pushed past old women and little children, until she got to the table with the guns. Most of the people there were men. Judith shoved right in, turned, practically under some farmer's armpit, and waved Cassie toward her.