"Get out the way,"
Sheriff
Tom
shouts and
bust i n to
the
house.
96 I Albert Fre11ch
Deputy Hill walks quietly through the dirt
yard
and around the back of the house and stands peering into the dark fields, then flicks his flashlight on and slowly waves its beam of
light
across the dark tall grass, then returns to the sheriff.
Sheriff Tom has
come
out of the house and stands on its
sitti n
porch, snarling and cursing the night.
"God
damn it. Damn it. Shit."
"Sheriff,
Sheriff, they can't be far," Deputy Hill shouts ahead as he nears,
"Ah
reckon they
out
in that field, ain't noplace
else
they
could
be,
she
probably lit
out in
that
field."
The
sheriff
becomes silent, then quickl
y
says, "Go
on back and get me Pete Grayson, tell him to
get Chesty
Collier and his boy Butch and
get
them dogs down
here.
Tell them ta
bring
some
night-lights, and that's all, nobody
else."' "You got
it,
Sheriff."
The night had
deepened,
the
hou rs sunk deeper
i nto dark ness, where they
stilled
and
just
laid.
Billy
Lee had fallen asleep, has his head ne
s
tled in
Cinder's
warm
th
as she
holds hi m
close and watches
the night. The
fire's bright glow
had faded into just
a distant gleam of
co
lor
agai nst
the
dark grays and blacks,
exce
pt for
the
ca
ll
s
of
night
bugs,
th
e
sudden
flutter
of
bat
wings,
th
e
squeal of death
in
the
dark,
it
i
s
quiet.
Cinder's eyes are open, full of
t
ears,
slow
tears t hat bubble, then burst
and
run down h
er chee
k
.
Billy is
warm against
her
,
his
slow
breaths
gi ve a gentle rhythm
to h
er
thoughts. She
think
s
of
Otis
,
th ink
s
of maybe
h
e
wi ll
co
m
e
now and tak
e
them
out of
the n ight,
bu t she
do
es
not
look for
hi m, only thinks
of
him.
She
thi nks
of far-off
places
she
ha
s
read about
and seen
i n her pict ure
books. brings
them clo
ser
into her mi ncl, puts herself there.
and
th
e
n the night brings her back.
She
is t ired,
ti red of
all that tim
e
has hrung
,
tired of being what
she
has
never felt,
ti r
e
d
of feelings
s
he
feels
B I L L
y
I 97
but does not understand. She thinks
of
death, not the
death
of a faceless child, but a death of feeling, of being, death
of
color, death of night and day, but mostl
y
the death of time. There was something she read, it was words about a river and how
it
flows home to the sea.
In
her way
she
has never been home.
She sees the lights
swinging
and flashing across the field, but they just seem to be there, maybe been there all the time
,
just swinging and swaying back and forth, not for her or
of
her, just there in the distant dark of her mind. They
are still
there,
they won't go away, and she
cannot
turn
from
them;
she
watches them sway back and forth in the night. She shudders and feels the chill of a
cold
wind, then
stills
herself and
sinks
deeper into her darkness and peers through the thick leaves and branches of
the
bush. The lights
still come.
She turns and looks behind her and into the
swells
of
shifting grays and
blacks, then
tremble
s
and turns back to the lights. Her hand moves quickly but gently, she places her hand over Bill
y's
mouth, then
leans
and whispers in his
ear,
"
Billy, Billy, wak
e
up,
baby."
The
light
s
have sounds now, harsh muffled
shouts
and
yells
that send
their
meanings into the night.
Cinder whispers frantically, "Wake up, Billy, wake up." Billy moans, "Huh
,
huh."
"Wake
up, Billy, wake up," Cinder
whispers
and
shakes
him.
The lights
sway
and flicker back and forth and
come closer.
Billy's eyes open, but close again, he begins to mumble.
"
Mama,
Mama, Ah
cold.
Ah wants ta
go
home."
"Wake up, Billy, wake up. Mama's here,
wake
up,"
Cinder
whispers quickly, then rises qu ietly i n the dark.
Billy
is cold and
shivering,
th
e
darks of the night hav
e
no
98
I
Albert French.
color
as he looks around. His mother's hand pulls
him,
her voice calls, "Come on, Billy."
She pulls him deeper into the bushes and away from the lights. Her own sounds, her quick panting breaths, the
squ ishy
sou nds beneath her feet, the cracking
of
bush branches, are thunderous in her mind. When she cannot see,
she
reaches oul and feels her way, moves thick bushes away, then slithers through the thickets with Billy by the hand. The bushes thin, and they can move faster, until the mud
5ucks
their feet deep into its grip. Cinder keeps goin and whisper ing behind her, "Come on, Billy,
come
on." The sticky mud turns into cold running water that rushes
through
their legs, gets deeper, then swells to Cinder's waist and Billy's
chest.
She turns in the water, moves a different way, drags Billy on, but the water gets deeper and
she stops.
"Mama,
Mama."
"Hush, Billy. Hush,
come
on."
Cinder wades on through the dark
rippling waters with
Billy's hand over hers. The mud comes
again,
then
soft grass
they can run through, almost
see
its
green, but
it's
the
thick darkness
ahead
where
she
leads Billy to.
They are
cold, their soggy
clothes
sag from them
as they
curl
deeper into the
dark.
Cinder
slows
and looks back acros
s
the gray running
waters
of the Catfish
, s
he
cannot see
the lights. She
grabs
Billy and pulls him
close
to her, then
sinks down
to th
e
grou nd.
Billy
shakes
in her
arms and she quivers
with him, but
stares
out into the night.
"Mama,
Ah
cold. Ah wants
ta go home.
They's comin
ta
git
us?" Cinder does not answer him, only pulls him closer
and
pushes his face into her breast. Billy becomes quiet but
still
shivers as he falls back into his
sleep.
Cinder's thoughts drift into darkness, but there is
color
in her miml,
colors of suns,
B I L L
y
I 99
of picture books,
of
Katey's
face,
of Otis in the nights. Color of
yesterday,
but none of tomorrow. She knows she has
crossed
the Catfish Creek, knows she must go further until she reaches the railroad tracks, but now
she
must rest.
The full face of darkness is midnight
,
and it hovers over Mississippi.
It
never smiles or laughs
,
shows
its teeth,
only
its frown.
If
it weren't for its
stars and
its moon glowing, no one would
ever
look its way.
The lights
come
again,
Cinder sighs
and
watches
them bounce in the far night. They flicker, then
seem
to disappear, only leaving their
glow,
but now
they appear again and just sway
back
and
forth.
Cinder sighs, a deep
sigh that ends with
a quick
whisper, "Billy,
Billy,
come
on, wake up."
He is heavy in her arms, she tries to
shake
him, but he just
slumps
limply against her.
Coon dogs howl.
"Come on, Billy
,
come on."
Cinder is up now
and
dragging Billy into the bush
es,
h
er
eyes
lik
e
a cat's, piercing into the shadow
forms
before her.
Thick bushes move, but
swing
back at her. Billy moans,
yanks at
her
arm
to
slow.
Cold soggy
logs trip up her
feet, she stumbles.
Big bulging tr
ees
loom lik
e crea
tures
in
th
e
night. Bush thorn
s
bite.
Coon
dogs
howl.
Mud
squishes around
her
feet.
Bushes
are
thinning.
Tall
grass sways in
the
starlight.
Coon dogs howl.
Billy
shouts, "Mama,
Mama."
She
stumbles and falls,
rolls,
and
twist in th
e
mud
.
100
I Albert
French
Can"t fi nd Billy's ha n
Bill y."
Her reach touches him.
Grabs
him.
Drags h i rn
on.
Coon dogs howl.
"Billy,
run."
Shouts and yells near.
Lights bouncing up and down. Coon dogs howl.
"Billy, run, run." Coon dogs howl.
"Marna, Mama, they git
us."
Thorn bushes bite.
"Over
there. See em, Sheriff?" "Run, Billy, come on."
"See
em? Over there, see em?"
Silence.
"They
up in there, hear em? Right in there." Night-lights sway and point into the darkness.
Dark bulgi ng bushes flash gray,
green,
then
go
black again. Coon dogs howl.
Water splashes.
"There
they are,
Sheriff."
Billy slows
and
trembles. Cinder drags him
on.
Lights flash in her darkness.
"Mama,
Mama.''
Coon dogs nip and
sniff
at her
feet.
Lights come into her face.
She grabs Billy.
Hands reach and
sna
t
ch at
h
er.
B I L L Y
I
101
She jerks away.
Her
h
air is grabbed,
y
anked
,
and held. "Ah got her. Sheriff
,
got em."
Cinder pushes Bill
y
awa
y
and s
c
reams,
"
RUN, BILLY
,
RUN, RUN, RUN
,
RUN
,
RUN. .
. ."
Billy onl
y
run
s
ba
c
k to Cind
er a
nd thro
ws
hi
s
arm
s
around her waist.
Deputy Hill yells back over his shoulder
, "
Got em, Sheriff
,
got em over here.
"