Precious Bones (13 page)

Nolay said to Mama, “Lori, Honey Girl, I’ve known that family my whole life. Seems like every one of those Reems boys grows meaner than the one before. You be careful, Lori. They ain’t stupid. Every one of them is slicker than a slug and twice as nasty. They ain’t never been up to no good and they never will be. I know how you feel about Alvie and them kids, but you stay clear of them Reems brothers.”

It was too bad Nolay was better at giving out advice than he was at taking it.

Little Man was over visiting the next day, when Mama asked if we would walk to the Last Chance to buy her some Lucky Strikes. We had just started down our dirt road when Nolay drove up in the Champion. He had left early in the morning to go fishing with Ironhead.

He stopped and called out to us, “Where y’all goin’?”

“Down to the Last Chance,” Little Man replied.

“We had a dang good fishin’ trip. I brought home some extra fish, and I’m gonna go drop some off for ol’ Blue and Chicken Charlie. If y’all want to wait a few minutes, I’ll give ya a ride.”

Me and Little Man answered at the same time. “Yes, sir!”

“Y’all get in, I just want to go to the house and give this fish to Honey Girl.”

When Nolay returned, he was carrying a small sack with him. “You kids jump in the front seat of the truck. I don’t want to take the Champion out to Charlie’s. It’ll get scratched to pieces.”

Nolay placed the sack in back of the truck and smiled as he told us, “Some of your mama’s abundance that she wants to share with ol’ Charlie.” I slid in the front seat between Nolay and Little Man.

Nolay turned right on the county road and took another right when he got to the railroad tracks. A small, sandy road ran along the side of the tracks. On the left-hand side, between the tracks and the road, sat a one-room church painted bright blue; a white wooden cross stood sentinel on its pointed roof. Past the church was a row of neat whitewashed shanties. The yards didn’t have a sprig of grass; the iron-gray sand was raked smooth and flat in the form of a giant sandbox.

The door and window frames of each shanty were painted a different vibrant color: blue, green, orange, and yellow. Curtains the same color as the frames fluttered in the open windows.

At one end of the sandbox-yard stood an enormous oak tree. Its huge limbs stretched out and reached up into the clear blue sky. A swing hung from one of its gnarled branches; under its protective shade sat a wooden table and an assortment of chairs.

As we pulled into the immaculate little yard, Nolay lightly tooted the truck horn to announce our presence. Like little jack-in-the-boxes, an assortment of faces popped up in windows and open doorways.

From one of the doorways emerged a tall, thin black man. He wore the blue-striped overalls of a railroad worker. His shiny skin stretched so taut over his sharp cheekbones it gave a blue tint to his face. His head was covered in a mass of white cotton-candy hair.

As he approached the truck, he kept his eyes cast downward. “How do, Mista Nolay?” he said in a soft voice.

“Howdy, Blue. I been out fishing and come back with more fish than we can handle. Thought you and the family might like some fresh mullet.”

“Yessah, shore ’preciate it.” He turned toward one of the shanties and called out, “Jackson, come on over here.”

A younger version of the man walked across the yard. Where his left arm should have been, the sleeve of his blue shirt was tucked neatly inside his overalls. Unlike his father, Jackson held his head up and looked straight into Nolay’s face. “How do, Nolay.”

“Howdy, Jackson. Grab that sack of fish in the back of the truck.”

A smile creased Jackson’s face and exposed white teeth. “Shore do thank ya. You can count on us having a fish fry with hush puppies tonight.”

As Nolay turned the truck around and we pulled away, an array of people spilled out of the little shanties and into the yard. As we drove toward Chicken Charlie’s, I asked Nolay, “Why does ol’ Blue call you mister, but Jackson doesn’t?”

“ ’Cause Blue is older and he’s experienced things that Jackson has never had to. An older colored person would never call a white man—or an Indian for that matter—anything other than mister.” Nolay glanced over at me. “Bones, I know you been taught to mind your manners with adults, but if you were to ever call Blue or even Jackson mister or sir, they would be mortified. And I ain’t got an answer for that, either. It’s just the way it is. For now.”

“Nolay, what happened to Jackson’s arm?

“He lost it in the war.”

“He fought in the same war with you and Mr. Speed?”

“He fought in the same war, but not with us. Colored folks didn’t fight alongside white people. They were sent someplace else.”

“Nolay, did you fight alongside white people?”

Nolay let out a little laugh. “Now, that did become a funny situation. Same as when I went to school. Seeing that I’m a pretty watered-down Indian and really wasn’t living on the reservation, they didn’t know what to do with me. I wasn’t dark-colored enough to go with the blacks, so they just put me in with the whites.”

Little Man asked, “You mean there was colored people in the United States Army? I sure never knew that before.”

“Oh yeah, there were lots of colored people, but they were separated from the whites.”

I squirmed in my seat and said, “Well, that just don’t seem right. If they could fight in the same war, and I reckon for the same reasons, why were they separated?”

Nolay shook his head and said, “You do ask some interesting questions, Bones.”

“And Nolay, I have another question—why are they called colored people? They’re not colored, they’re just different shades of black and brown.”

Nolay looked at me and winked. “You got me on that one too, Bones. I ain’t got a clue. I just know that’s how it is.”

Little Man said, “You just said they’re different shades of black and brown. That’s colored, ain’t it?”

“No, it’s not,” I said. “Colors would be blue or green or something. And I have never seen a blue or green person, and I know you never have either.”

Little Man rolled his eyes. “Bones, where do you come up with some of this stuff? You don’t think it’s right to keep a hog in a pen and kill it for food.”

“If you go out and hunt something that’s been wild all its life and use it for food, that’s something else. But I sure wouldn’t put Pearl in a pen and then eat her.”

“That’s because she’s a pet,” said Little Man. “Nearly every animal you set eyes on becomes a pet. I reckon if it was up to you, all the animals in the world would be pets and us people would eat vegetables and dirt or something like that.”

Nolay laughed and said, “Bones, there’s a lot of things in the world that ain’t quite right. Maybe it will take you young’uns to change things. All I know is the way things are now.”

Out past the Reems place, Nolay began to slow down so he could find the nearly hidden entrance to Chicken Charlie’s. He turned off the county road and said, “Y’all roll up the windows. You know Charlie grows some mighty big skeeters. They can eat us when we’re outside, but we’ll try and keep ’em out of the truck.”

The road wasn’t much more than a tunnel that led through a massive tangle of guava trees. The truck bumped and scratched its way along until we pulled out into a clearing. Rays of sunshine leaked in through the thick guava trees, sending down long gray ropes of light into the little yard.

In the middle of the clearing rested a small ramshackle
house. The front yard was a living carpet of chickens. On the sagging front porch, fat hens nested in boxes, crates, and broken-down chairs. White icicles of chicken manure dripped from the lower branches of the surrounding guava trees.

Parked in front of the house was a rusty pickup truck. Nolay said, “Looks like Charlie has company.”

Little Man leaned in for a closer look. “That looks like Peckerhead Willy’s truck.”

“I think you’re right, Little Man. What’s that ol’ cockroach doing out here?”

The screen door opened and Peckerhead Willy sauntered out. He glared in our direction, walked to his truck, got in, and drove off into the guava-tree tunnel.

Nolay mumbled to himself, “Wonder what that was all about.” He looked in our direction. “Y’all ready to give some blood to Charlie’s skeeters? Little Man, grab that sack in the back from Lori. Let’s go say howdy.”

We stepped out of the truck and were immediately assaulted by the sharp smell of chicken manure and rotten guavas. A black cloud of hungry mosquitoes swarmed toward our face and hands.

The screen door opened and out walked a man so large his body wobbled from side to side. When he saw us, a broad grin split his chubby face. A wave of fat rippled under his chin and down his neck, disappearing inside his faded overalls.

“Howdy, Nolay,” he said. “Whut y’all doin’ over these parts?”

“Just got in from a few days fishin’. Brought in a big catch, too much for us to eat. Thought you might like some fresh
mullet.” Nolay placed some fish wrapped in newspaper in one of the old chairs alongside a clucking hen. “And of course Lori canned up too much stuff again, so she sent a few things. Just put that sack over there, Little Man.”

Charlie rubbed a puffy hand over the top of his balding head. His pale blue eyes wandered in our direction. Inside that huge body lived the mind of a child. “Well, I sure do thank ya, Nolay. Miz Bones, Little Man, how y’all doin? I ain’t seen y’all in a heap a Sundays.”

“Just fine, Mr. Charlie,” I said. “It’s been a busy summer. I can’t believe it’s almost over.”

“Now, if y’all want some guavas, you just go pick as many as you want. Nolay, you wait right here, I’m goin’ in the back and get you a sack a dried chicken ma-newer; I know how Miz Lori loves her garden. You wait right here.”

Charlie wobbled around the back of the house; his huge, flat bare feet padded softly in the dirt. When he returned, he had a croker sack in one hand and a little basket woven out of dried guava branches in the other. He handed Nolay the croker sack. “This here ma-newer is already dried, so Miz Lori can put it right in the ground.” He handed the little basket to me. “Now, I know you got your own aigs, but these here are special. Every one of ’em has a double yolk. I got a special hen only lays double-yolk aigs.”

I said, “Thank you, Mr. Charlie. I know we’ll enjoy them.”

“Miz Bones, you still got that big ol’ rooster of yourns? It’s been a while since I was last out to your house, but I won’t never forget what a beautiful fella he was. I shore would like to have one of his babies, if ever you could let go of one.”

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Charlie,” I said. “There’s a hen sittin’ on a nest right now, and if one of the biddies is a rooster, I’ll make sure you get it.”

Nolay picked up the croker sack and said, “Sorry we cain’t stay longer, Charlie. I gotta get down to the Last Chance and get in a few supplies. Just wanted to stop by and say howdy.”

A huge grin filled Charlie’s face. “Well, I sure am proud you did. Y’all come back again.”

As Nolay walked away, he turned and said, “Charlie, ol’ Peckerhead come out and visit you very often?”

The smile disappeared. Charlie lowered his head and said, “Naw, just sometimes.”

“Everything all right, Charlie?”

“Oh yeah, everything is fine.”

“Okay then, we’ll be seein’ ya. You need anything, you let me know, okay?”

“I’ll do that, Nolay.”

Little Man and I sat in the truck and scratched the welts on our arms and face. “Do you think Mr. Charlie is happy living like he does?” I asked Nolay.

“Well, I cain’t say if Charlie is happy or not, but I would think that he is content. He has everything he needs: his chickens, his house, and half the dang skeeters in the state of Florida. I reckon happiness is what you make it. I’ve known Charlie pert near my entire live, and I ain’t never heard him complain.” Nolay pulled up to the Last Chance and handed me a dime. “You two get a moon pie or something.”

As we dashed inside the store, I waved to Mr. Speed sitting on his bench. “We’ll be right back,” I called out to him.

I heard Nolay say howdy to Mr. Speed before he walked inside the store.

We bought our moon pies, came back outside, and sat down on the steps next to Mr. Speed’s bench. Little Man took a bite and said, “Howdy, Mr. Speed. I can’t believe it’s almost the end of summer. We’ll be starting back to school soon.”

I said, “Me and Little Man are going to the movies this Saturday. It’s a double feature; one is a war movie, but I’m sure it will be good, because it has John Wayne in it.”

Mr. Speed tilted his head to one side and said, “During the war, America made a bomb, called the a-to-mic. Dropped it on Japan. Two times, two times. It melted people, like Popsicles in the sun. Yes, sir, like Popsicles in the sun.”

“Mr. Speed,” I said, “we did that? We dropped a bomb that melted people?”

“Yes, sir, like Popsicles in the sun.”

“That don’t sound like a nice thing to do.”

Little Man shook his head and said, “Good Lord, Bones, it was during the war. What you think people do during a war, come out shakin’ hands?”

“Well, of course I know it was a war, but it still don’t seem like a nice thing to do. I mean, melt people with a bomb?”