Читать книгу Cry Me A River - Ernest Hill - Страница 13

He lay down in the bedroom just beyond the living room. This had been his room when he was a child, but now, it was a spare room, open to anyone who needed a roof over their head or a momentary place to rest their weary bones. Inside the tiny room, there was a bed, a night stand, a space heater, a chair, and a small dresser. The floor, like those throughout the house, was covered with a cheap, light-colored linoleum. The paneled walls were bare save for a large picture of the Last Supper that hung on one wall and an outdated calendar from the local feed and seed store that hung on the other. The only window was the tiny opening cut in the top half of the rear door, and the only other source of light was the single bulb that hung from the center of the ceiling.

Besides the entrance off the main hall, there were two other ways to enter or exit the room. There was a side entrance that led into the adjacent bedroom. That room had been shared by Sarah Ann and René when they were children, but now, the twin beds had been removed and replaced with the queen-size bed that René shared with her husband, Jimmy. There was also a rear exit that led out onto a small side porch. Someone had left the side door open, and from where he lay, he could see outside. There was a large pecan tree just north of the porch and a fig tree just south of the porch. Beyond both trees was a fence, inside of which was a garden, and outside the garden was a road. Directly across the road, he could hear a group of neighborhood boys playing softball in a vacant lot. He started to go out onto the porch and watch, but reconsidered. Mentally, he was drained. He needed rest. He had just closed his eyes when he heard the loud, cracking sound of the bat making contact with the ball. Someone had just gotten a hit, and he could hear the others yelling frantically, encouraging him to run, willing him to score. In his mind, he could see the boy crossing first base, passing second, rounding third, heading home.

Tyrone was listening to the cheering of the excited children when he heard the sound of feet on the front steps followed by the sound of the screen door opening and closing.

“Morning, Miss Hannah,” he heard someone say.

“Morning, Brother Clayton,” his mother responded.

“You looking mighty fine this morning, Miss Sarah,” Mr. Clayton said in a tone that indicated more than a greeting; he was flirting.

“Clayton, I ain’t studin’ you,” Sarah Ann said sternly.

Sarah Ann had just turned fifty, and her mother was in her early seventies. The two women favored each other, only Sarah Ann was short and heavy-set, whereas her mother was tall and thin. Neither of them was dressed fancy. Sarah Ann wore a plain, bland duster that hung just below her knees, and her mother wore a multicolored shift, the length of which must not have been satisfactory, for she had draped an old towel across her lap to cover that which her dress did not. Neither of them was wearing shoes. Sarah Ann did have on a pair of house slippers, but her mother’s feet were bare.

“Pull up a chair, Brother Clayton, and sat down,” Tyrone heard his mother say after a brief silence. “Take a load off your feet.”

“Aw, I ain’t gone stay long,” Mr. Clayton said. “I’m just checking on y’all.”

“We making out all right,” Miss Hannah said.

“Well, thank God for that,” he responded.

Tyrone heard a deep sigh, and he could tell by the series of creaks that Mr. Clayton had sat in the flimsy wooden chair that sat between Sarah and his mother.

“Clayton, what you got in that bucket?” Miss Hannah asked.

“Brought y’all a mess of fish,” he said.

“You fished today?”

“Yes, ma’am. Fished Gasoway this morning.”

“They biting good?”

“Pretty good,” he said. “Caught some real nice perch.”

Tyrone heard the sound of a chair scraping the floor.

“Yeah, Clayton,” he heard his mother say after a brief silence. “They is nice. Real nice. I’m gone get René to fry ‘em soon as she come home from work.”

“Want me to clean ‘em for you?” Clayton asked.

“Naw,” she said. “I’ll get Tyrone to clean ‘em when he git up.”

“He here?” Clayton asked.

“Yeah, he made it in last night,” she said. “He in there lying down.”

“How he look?”

“Done aged some and done put on a little weight,” Miss Hannah said. “Other than that, he look ‘bout the same.”

“He know ‘bout his boy?”

“Told ‘im this morning.”

There was silence, and Tyrone knew Mr. Clayton was turning things over in his mind.

“He take it awright?” he asked.

“Well as can be expected,” Miss Hannah said. “He went to see the lawyer this morning, but I don’t thank he got no satisfaction. Way that old lawyer talk, ain’t too much nobody can do. He say, mo’ than likely, they gone kill that child.”

“Well, Miss Hannah, I suspect he right.”

“What make you say that, Brother Clayton?”

“You know Mike Buehler, don’t you?”

“He the one that own that little catfish house over in Brownsville?”

“Naw, now that’s his brother Dale. Mike the one that own all them grocery stores. He live in Brownsville, but he got stores in Wilmington and Pinesboro, too.”

“Mama, you know ‘im,” Sarah Ann said. “He married Mr. John’s oldest daughter. Miss Annie Lou.”

“He a kind of heavy-set fellow?”

“That’s him,” Mr. Clayton said.

“What he got to do with this?” Miss Hannah asked.

“Old boy that work at the lumber shed told me that gal is kin to ‘im.”

“Sho’ nuff? “

“That’s what he say.”

“Close kin?”

“I don’t thank she supposed to be close kin, but she kin. Now, he told me that Mike Buehler done talked to the mayor, and the mayor done talked to the governor, and the governor done fixed it so that it ain’t no way in this world that Marcus gone git out of this thang alive.”

“I sho’ hate to hear that.”

“Well, I hate to say it,” Clayton said, “but that’s the way it’s being told.”

He said that, and then it was quiet. Tyrone had been lying on his back, but now he rolled onto his side and propped his hand underneath his chin, listening.

“Well, I tell you what I hate,” Sarah Ann said. “I hate to see Tyrone have to go through something like this so soon after getting out the pen. I’m scared it’s gone send him right back to dranking and smoking that old dope.”

“He just gone have to stay on his knees,” Miss Hannah said. “Lawd ain’t gone give ‘im more than he can stand.”

“I know that’s right,” Mr. Clayton said.

“It might be right, but I still hate to see it,” Sarah Ann said emphatically. “It already look like he done just about worried hisself to death.”

“That’s why I made ‘im go lie down,” Miss Hannah said. “I’m gone make ‘im eat, too, soon as he wake up.”

“Well, all y’all can do is look after ‘im.”

“We gone do that.”

“If there is anything I can do, let me know.”

“We’ll do that, Brother Clayton. We sho’ will.”

“Well, I better be gitting on.”

“Ain’t no sense in hurrying.”

“I promised Phoebe I’d clean that fence row for her today.”

“Now, don’t you git out there and git too hot.”

“I won’t.”

“Tell Phoebe I asked about her.”

“I’ll do that.”

“And you tell her, when she see Fred, be sho’ to tell him that that oldest boy of his passed here the other day and ain’t bit mo’ opened his mouth to speak than that tree over yonder.”

“I know he didn’t,” Clayton said, his tone indicating shock.

“Baby was sitting right here when he passed,” Miss Hannah said, then added, “These children today, I just don’t know. Look like they ain’t got no respect for the old folks. None at all.”

“Well, I’m sho’ gone tell her,” Clayton said.

“Good,” Miss Hannah said. “ ‘Cause I know Fred raised him better than that.”

“He gone git on ‘im,” Clayton assured her. “Soon as he find out, he gone git on ‘im. You can count on that.”

“He need to.”

“Well, I’m gone run.”

“You gone take supper with us this evening, ain’t you?”

“Thank you, but I’m gone have to pass.”

“You know you mo’ than welcome.”

“Some other time.”

“I’m gone hold you to that.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know you will.”

Tyrone heard the screen door open and close.

“Brother Clayton.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you, hear.”

“Aw, you welcome.”