Читать книгу The Bernice L. McFadden Collection - Bernice L. McFadden - Страница 48
ОглавлениеWhen Tass woke on the morning of the 29th, the dream was still fresh in her mind. She lay in bed for a long time staring at the ceiling, wondering what, if anything, the dream meant.
Outside, the morning was steel-colored, windy, and laced with the scent of rain. When she finally decided to climb out of bed, she knew something was wrong because her feet were covered in brown dust.
Tass sat on the edge of the bed scratching her head. It didn’t make sense. She had taken a bath before going to bed. Even if she had skipped that part of her daily routine, Tass rarely walked about on bare feet, and even if she did, the floors inside the house were clean enough to eat off.
It was all very bizarre.
The dream burned in her mind and Tass decided she needed to find out if she was losing her marbles.
Out the front door and down the steps, she marched right to the place where the young man had stood in her dream. The grass was flattened and when she bent over and laid her hand on the space, she found it to be wet.
Across the street Padagonia was sweeping. When she saw Tass her jaw dropped. “What the hell are you doing out here in your nightgown?”
Tass looked up and presented Padagonia with a grin she hadn’t seen since they were girls.
“What you cheesing about?” Padagonia started across the street with the broom in tow. “You okay?” she asked when she and Tass were face to face.
Tass was giddy. “I dreamed that I was talking to a boy who was standing right here.” She stabbed her finger at the spot. “And when I woke up this morning my feet were dirty, because the porch is dirty.” Once again she pointed at the spot on the grass. “The grass is pressed in where he was standing.”
Padagonia stared. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“I had this dream. Well, I thought it was a dream, but—”
Padagonia dropped the broom. “I don’t think you’re feeling well, Tass.” She raised a hand to her friend’s forehead and checked for fever, but Tass was as cool as winter. Still, Padagonia took her back into the house and put her to bed.
Padagonia placed the kettle of water on the stove. She battled with the idea of calling Sonny. She decided that she would wait a day, just to see if Tass was suffering from grief or had truly taken leave of her senses.
When the water reached its boil, Padagonia drained it into a mug and dropped in a tea bag.
In the bedroom, Tass was sitting up, staring out of the window.
“Drink this,” Padagonia said as she eased the mug into her friend’s hand.
Tass held the mug up to her lips and gazed at Pada-gonia through the ropes of steam. “Don’t look so worried,” she said. “I’m fine, really, it was just a dream.”
“Uh-huh,” Padagonia sounded. “Drink.”
Tass took a small sip.
“I’m gonna get my radio,” Padagonia announced. “I’ll be right back.”
Outside, the street was buzzing with activity as people hurriedly loaded their cars with luggage and irreplaceable objects.
Padagonia sauntered over to one of her neighbors and asked, “What’s going on?”
The man had a stack of photo albums in his hand. His eyes rolled over her. “Ain’t you heard?” he said with an air of annoyance. “Hurricane coming.”
Padagonia frowned and looked up at the sky. It was gray, but the early-morning wind had died down to nothing and the birds were still chattering away in the treetops.
“Where you hear that?” she asked as she trailed the man to his car.
“The news!” The man dropped the stack of albums into the trunk of the car and slammed it shut.
“It don’t look like no hurricane headed this-a-way. Maybe some hard rain, but that’s all.”
“I ain’t taking no chances,” he said, and turned his back on Padagonia’s stupefied expression.
Back in Tass’s house, Padagonia placed her six-pack of Pink Champale on the top shelf of the refrigerator. She plugged in the transistor radio and fiddled with the knobs and the antenna, but all she got was static, so she went in to check on Tass.
“How you doing, girl?”
Tass peeked out over the edge of the blanket. “A little sleepy,” she yawned.
“Uh-huh. I’m gonna make us something to eat, okay?”
“Okay.”
In the kitchen, Padagonia opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of Champale, unscrewed the top, and took a swig. It was nowhere near noon, but under the circumstances Padagonia felt that God would forgive her this one little indiscretion.
After her drink, she returned to the refrigerator and surveyed its contents. She decided on eggs, bacon, and grits. After laying the strips of bacon in the pan, Padagonia went to the window and peered out and found that the clouds had turned dark in the little time it took the bacon to crisp.
While Padagonia was in the kitchen removing the bacon from the frying pan, Tass was curled under the blankets, wrapped in slumber, searching for the night boy with the water voice.
This time, when he appeared, the sun was up and she could see him quite clearly. Young, dark, fullbellied, and smiling. From the porch, she raised her hand in greeting and did not suppress the urge to run to him. It took forever—the space between them seemed to stretch for miles—and when she finally reached him, she was fifteen-and-a-quarter years old and the gown she wore was too long and too big for her.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he responded, and extended his hand.
Tass took it and they started down the street.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he said.
Tass gathered the skirt of her gown and began to skip. The boy laughed and joined in. They skipped all the way to Bryant’s grocery store. Tass stopped and the hem of her gown slipped from her hands.
The boy turned to her. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t go in there.”
“Why?”
Tass couldn’t remember why and so she said, “I don’t know, I just know I can’t.”
The boy said, “Okay. Wait here.” And strolled up to the door, pulled it open, and stepped in. He returned carrying two grape ice pops and handed her one.
“For me?” Tass gushed.
“There’s a gobstopper in it.”
“I bet you I can beat you to the middle,” Tass said as she peeled the paper away from the pop.
“No bites, just licks,” the boy declared.
“What’s the prize?”
He glanced down the road and then bashfully back to Tass. “A kiss?”
Tass blushed. “Do I know you?”’
“Yes, you do,” he said, and took her hand again.
“What’s your name?”
“My friends call me Bobo.”
“Bobo?” Tass rolled the name around her mouth. “I think I do remember you,” she said, and took a lick of her ice pop.
Padagonia walked to the front door and pulled it open. She spied a calico streaking down the middle of the street ahead of her litter. The trees were silent—which meant the birds had fled. Other than the cats, there didn’t seem to be a speck of life around.
She began to feel unsettled and unsure. Her eyes rolled up to the sky and then over to her Pacer. Perhaps, she thought as she gently shut the door, we should leave. Just to be safe.
“Tass,” Padagonia called as she made her way to the bedroom. “I’m thinking it might be a good idea to head someplace other than here.”
In the bedroom the curtains were flapping and billowing like sails against the open window.
“What in the world?” Padagonia cried as she reached to close the window. The sky cracked open and rain fell in hard, clear drops.
Tass’s cell phone began to chime. Padagonia looked and saw that it was Sonny calling.
“Tass, wake up, your phone is ringing.”
She was about to walk over to the bed to shake her friend awake when she spotted two young people coming up the road. The girl was dressed in what looked to be a nightgown; the boy wore a pair of cutoff shorts and a T-shirt. They were holding hands, licking ice pops, and strolling as if the day was dry, clear, and bright.
When they reached the lot, Padagonia pushed her head out into the downpour and yelled, “Hey, you two, watch out now, there are snakes in that grass!”
The couple turned around and Padagonia strained to make out their faces. They beckoned with their hands, “Come on, come with us!”
“Go home and get out of this rain!” Padagonia closed the window and went to Tass. “Get up, I think we need to leave.”
Tass did not move. Padagonia pulled back the blanket and gave her shoulder a good, firm shake.
“Tass?”
Before Tass and Emmett skipped off into forever, she had started to form over the Bahamas, a tropical depression— an annoyance at best. Cunning and slick, careful to appear unthreatening, she slipped into Florida without raising an eyebrow. The meteorologist didn’t think enough of her to even give her a pretty name.
In the Gulf of Mexico, she suddenly turned furious. Draped in black clouds, blowing wind, and driving rain, she charged into Louisiana like a bull and fanned her billowing dark skirts over Mississippi.
They named her Katrina, but I looked into the eye of that storm and recognized her for who she really was: Esther the whore, cackling and clapping her hands with glee.
Whether you have embraced this tale as truth or fantasy, I hope you will take something away from having read it. I pray that you will become more sensitive to the world around you, the seen and unseen. As you go about your lives, keep in mind that an evil act can ruin generations, and gestures of love and kindness will survive and thrive forever.
Choose wisely, dearest …
Light,
Money Mississippi
Gratitude …
I am grateful to God, my guides, ancestors, family, and friends.
A special thanks to: Carlo and Quovardis Lawrence and family, who opened their home and hearts for me to climb the steepest part of the mountain which ultimately became this book; Mrs. Anita Abbott, who is mother and friend to me; my sister, Misty McFadden, who encouraged me forward and continued to believe in me when I found it difficult to believe in myself; Terry McMillan—for too many reasons to list; new friends Amy Moore, Alicia McMillan, and Joyce McMillan, who keep me thinking and laughing.
Special thanks to my spiritual siblings: Andrea Knight, Darlene Harden, and Eric Payne, who have loved and supported me over the years; and to my publisher Johnny Temple and the fabulous staff at Akashic Books, who allow me to publish with dignity.
And you readers—I am especially grateful to have you in my life.
Emmett Till—you did not die in vain!
Love there,
