The Road to Memphis (6 page)

It was then that Papa came home.

He drove the truck up the drive and parked it behind the Ford and got out. Papa was a tall man, lanky, with pecan-brown skin and with a way about him that demanded respect. The boys and I hurried over to greet him. Jeremy, though, backed away, away from the car, and us.

“Well, see you made it home,” Papa said to Stacey.

“Yes, sir, I did,” Stacey returned; then the two hugged in greeting.

With his arm still around Stacey, Papa nodded to Jeremy but did not speak his name. Jeremy nodded back; then, looking like that awkward little boy from years ago, he moved toward the road. “Best I be gettin’ on home now . . . . Ma’s most likely got supper waitin’.”

Stacey went over to him. “Well, we thank you for coming.”

“No matter.” Jeremy pushed his hands into his pants’ pockets, glanced at Papa, and looked again at Stacey. “When—when you going back up to Jackson?”

“Tomorrow sometime.”

“Well, I don’t see ya, safe trip to y’all.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded farewell to the rest of us, took a few steps, and turned. “Stacey, it’s a fine car, all right. Gonna remember that ride.”

Stacey nodded. “I’ll . . . I’ll be remembering it too . . . .”

Jeremy nodded again, glanced at Papa once more, then walked down the drive, hands stuffed in his pockets and bouncing on the soles of his feet. Papa watched him, his eyes disapproving. When Jeremy was gone, walking down the road past the cotton fields and out of our hearing, Papa turned to Stacey. “What was he doing here?” he asked quietly.

Stacey looked after Jeremy and answered just as quietly. “His pa and him ditched their truck on the road just past Great Faith, and we helped get them out. You know how Mr. Simms is. Didn’t show any appreciation. Jeremy just came by to thank us for what we done.”

Papa nodded and said nothing else about Jeremy. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Jeremy; he did. Jeremy always showed him respect. But to Papa’s way of thinking friendships that got too close between black and white could only lead to trouble. Papa always kept his distance with white folks, figuring that was the best way. He didn’t trust getting too close. He had told us he figured that was the best for us too. He had said long ago that he figured when childhood was over and Jeremy was a man, he would change toward us and go his own way. Even though now Jeremy was twenty, a man grown, and remained the same, Papa still was wary. He figured as long as there was breath, a body could change on you.

Christopher-John stepped forward and sliced the silence. “Papa! You not going to say anything ’bout the car?” He knew Papa’s thinking about Jeremy, as did we all.

Papa glanced at him, at Stacey, then stepped closer to the Ford. “Well, now, what’s this here?”

“It’s a ’38 Ford, Papa,” I announced proudly, “and it belongs to Stacey.”

Papa seemed not a bit surprised. His back to Stacey, Christopher-John
and Little Man, he smiled at me and winked, then studied on the car and was silent.

“It’s something, huh, Papa?” asked Little Man, coming along side him.

Papa didn’t answer. Hands in his pockets, he walked slowly around the car, saying nothing.

Stacey looked a bit anxious. He came closer, waiting on Papa’s assessment of the car. But Papa, after rounding the car, just grunted and still said nothing. Stacey looked at the car, then back at Papa. Papa’s good opinion was a mighty precious thing, not only to him, but to all of us. “Papa?” he said finally. “What do you think?”

Papa didn’t crack a smile. “Well, now, I been hearing ’bout a new car all up and down the road. Got stopped three different times by folks braggin’ on it . . . . Seems you been showin’ it off.”

Stacey looked away, his face solemn. “Wasn’t showing off, Papa. Was just taking folks for a ride.”

“You sure ’bout that?”

Stacey looked back at him, “Well, I suppose the truth is I was showing it off . . . a little.”

Papa grunted again and walked once more around the Ford, giving it another close inspection. Stacey, Christopher-John, and Little Man all stood aside, awaiting his decision, but I knew how Papa felt. The wink had told me all. Finally he came back around and joined us. “Well, I’d say folks are right. It is something!” He smiled wide and put his arm around Stacey’s shoulders. “Now, when I’m gonna get me a ride?”

Stacey gave Papa a joyous hug, then tossed him the keys, much as Uncle Hammer always did whenever he came down from Chicago with his new cars. “Right now, Papa!” he said.

“Ah, now, son, look like you just finished cleaning it—”

“Don’t matter! We’ll clean it again—”

“That’s right, Papa!” volunteered Christopher-John, though I, myself, had no intention of chammying down this car one more time. “We don’t mind.”

Little Man opened a back door, eager for another ride. “Papa, come on!”

Papa laughed and got in the driver’s seat. Stacey got in the front with Papa, and I was about to get in, too, when Big Ma came down the back porch. “Now, where y’all goin’?” she yelled, hands on her hips. Then she squinted. “David, that you?”

“Yes, ma’am, Mama!” Papa called back. “We’re just gonna take us a ride.”

“Son, don’t y’all leave from here! Supper’s ’bout on!”

“Won’t be but a minute, Mama! My son just done bought himself a car, and I got to take me a ride in it!”

“Well, Cassie, don’t you leave from here! You gotta get this here table set and mix up some corn bread—”

“I’ll be right back, Big Ma!” I yelled, and got into the car. If all the boys were going, I knew I was going too. While Big Ma continued to fuss Papa turned the car around and we rolled down the drive to the road. It was another glorious ride.

When we got back, more than an hour later, Big Ma was still fussing, but that wasn’t unusual. By the time we settled down for supper, she had finally quieted, having vented all her displeasure at having to hold up her supper and about my being no help at all. But then I announced that I was going coon hunting with the boys, and she started up again. My grandmother loved to fuss. “David, y’all jus’ spoils this girl!” she declared, glancing with disapproval down the table to the
other end, where Papa sat at the head. She passed the hot platter of golden-fried chicken down to Stacey, then let Mama, sitting next to Papa, have a condemning look too. “I done told y’all and told y’all time and time again, a hunt ain’t no place for a young lady! This girl, she got no business goin’ huntin’! That’s what menfolks s’pose to do!”

Christopher-John glanced over at her as he helped himself to another slice of corn bread. “But, Big Ma, it wouldn’t hardly be a hunt without Cassie.”

Little Man concurred in that opinion. “Cassie, she always go when she’s here.”

“Go too much, ya ask me!” Big Ma got up and pulled another pan of corn bread from the stove. She slid the bread onto the already near-empty platter, then sat again and went on fussing. “Boys s’pose t’ go huntin’, not girls! Boys got men things t’ be talkin’ ’bout on these hunts, and girls, they jus’ ain’t s’pose t’ have no ear for that kinda thing!”

Papa smiled. “Well, seems like to me, Mama—and you tell me if I’m wrong here—but seems like I remember the time when Papa was away from home and we ain’t had meat for the table and we gone hunting. Now, I recall rightly, it was you gone with me and Hammer down into them woods to hunt us a coon. You recall that, Mama?”

Big Ma got contentious. “Well . . . that was different. Y’all was just little boys and we needed us some meat. Your papa and your brothers Mitchell and Kevin, they was all gone off workin’ ’way from here, lumberin’ up near that Natchez Trace. Somebody had to put meat on this table!”

Papa took a slice of corn bread. “I recall, you were a mighty fine shot too.”

“Yeah, I was,” Big Ma admitted, looking a bit prideful about the thing. Then she frowned at Papa’s teasing. “But that
got nothin’ to do with Cassie here! She always been too much like these boys as it is. Time she started taking on womanly ways.”

“I got womanly ways,” I contended, not too concerned about where this conversation was headed. I heard it every time I wanted to go on a hunt. “I cook and I wash dishes.”

Everybody but Big Ma laughed. “Girl, don’t you get smart with me! You knows what I mean!”

“Don’t worry, Big Ma,” said Stacey. “Up in Jackson, Cassie’s not so bad. Most times she can be a real lady, and you’d be proud. Suppose, though, that’s because she doesn’t have any mules to ride up there.” He grinned over at me. I rolled my eyes at him and went on eating.

Papa smiled at the two of us, then said to Stacey, “Now, Son, what’s this you were sayin’ ’bout a truckin’ job earlier?”

Stacey wiped at his mouth and spoke eagerly. “Looks like we could be getting on at the trucking company pretty soon now, Papa. Moe, Willie, and me, we all went down and talked to a man over there, and he was saying he was expecting to take on a lot of new workers. He said with all the Army camps opening up and all this defense building going on what with that war over in Europe, they’d have to soon have men pulling overtime.”

“I thought you were doing some overtime work at the box factory,” said Mama, looking a bit concerned at this talk of changing jobs.

“Well, yes, ma’am. But the thing is, Mama, I never planned on making a life’s work at the box factory. Trucking pays more money. It’d be a good job, I can get it.”

Mama slowly nodded. “Well, anytime you can improve yourself, you need to do that, but I think you need to think
about the fact you’ve been at the box factory for over two years now and you’ve had steady work. Also, you need to keep in mind you just bought yourself a car. Maybe now isn’t the best time to quit the box factory.”

“Can’t be a better time, Mama. All kind of jobs are opening up and all kind of factories for defense. Now, you know the white folks, they get first crack at all those defense jobs, but they’re leaving some good jobs to take those on. That means we get a chance at some of the jobs they’re leaving. Some good jobs, too, and I figure to get myself one. Course, I don’t figure to quit the box factory until I actually get hired on at the trucking company. Could get hired next week. Could be a couple months yet, but I can wait.”

Papa nodded his approval. “Leastways that’s something good coming out of this war talk.”

“Maybe,” said Mama. “But I still don’t like this talk of sending our boys to fight.”

Stacey shrugged off the possibility. “We aren’t going anyplace, not yet, anyways, Mama. It’s just talk.”

Big Ma grunted disparagingly. “It was just talk, too, when your Uncle Mitchell and your Uncle Kevin gone off to fight some twenty odd years back and got theyselves killed, and your Uncle Hammer, he gone off and got hisself all shot up in the leg.”

Stacey reached for more chicken. “Well, it’s not going to be that way with me. I’m going to have myself a good job soon. I’m not planning on anything spoiling that.”

“I hope nothing does,” said Mama. “I don’t want my boys in a war.”

“I wouldn’t mind going to fight,” said Little Man. “Seem mighty adventuresome to me.”

“Not to me,” said Christopher-John. “Things adventuresome enough right here. ’Sides, I wouldn’t want to be pointing a gun at anybody.”

“Would if I had to,” said Little Man.

“Now, boy, you hush!” ordered Big Ma. “You ain’t going to fight no war! Ain’t none of y’all boys goin’!”

Stacey laughed. “Just make sure you let President Roosevelt know that, Big Ma.”

Big Ma grunted. “Maybe I’ll do jus’ that!” she said. Then she laughed. We all did.

We were still laughing when there was a knock at the back door. It was Sissy and Harris Mitchum. “Have some supper with us,” Mama said as Christopher-John and Little Man got chairs for them.

“No, thank ya, Miz Logan,” said Sissy, sitting down. “We just come back from takin’ some cookin’ up to Reverend Gabson’s place, and we headed home. Just thought we’d stop by and holler at y’all.”

“Reverend Gabson?” said Stacey. Reverend Charles Gabson was the pastor of Great Faith Church, and he had been ailing for some weeks now. “He still not up yet?”

Big Ma shook her head. “Fact to business, he doing right poorly. I been up to they place trying to help out most everyday this week myself. Like for you to run by and see him while’s you here, Stacey. He always askin’ ’bout you.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll sure do that. I’ll go on by there tomorrow after church.”

“Harris,” I said, “what time you and Clarence going hunting?”

Sissy took it upon herself to reply. “Why you askin’, Cassie? You not going, are you?”

“I was figuring on it.”

“Well, you gonna figure yourself right out of a boyfriend pretty soon here, Cassie, goin’ huntin’ all the time.”

I turned on Sissy. “Well, that don’t make me no nevermind!” Mama cast me a reproving look, not because of my pronouncement, but because I had totally fractured my speaking. Mama, being a teacher, had been hard on the boys and me—especially me—these last few years about speaking correctly. She said if we were going to be educated people, we needed to speak that way. “As I said, it doesn’t make any difference to me,” I corrected, as Christopher-John and Little Man grinned at me knowingly. Mama nodded, satisfied, and I turned back to Harris. “Harris, what you say? What time?”

“Well, I got no mind for huntin’ myself,” Sissy went on, not giving Harris a chance to respond.

“Leastways, somebody actin’ like a lady ’round here!” said Big Ma, heartily approving of Sissy’s attitude. “I been tryin’ t’ tell this girl she got no business goin’ huntin’!”

“I was talking to Harris,” I muttered.

Big Ma laid a fierce glance of suffering on me, then said to Sissy and Harris: “Y’all not gonna have any of our supper, least have some of my blackberry cobbler. There’s plenty.”

“No, ma’am, thank ya, Miz Caroline,” said Sissy. “We don’t care for anything.”

“What ’bout you, Harris? I know how you loves my blackberry cobbler.”

Harris looked at Sissy as if expecting her to answer for this, too, since she took it upon herself to do so much of his talking for him. When she didn’t say anything, he looked back at Big Ma and kind of halfway smiled. “Yes’m, Miz Caroline, I surely do.”