Читать книгу Family Ties - Ernest Hill - Страница 11

I raced out of the shop and climbed into the truck. As I settled on the seat, fumbling for my keys, I could feel Miss Big Siss’s eyes on the side of my face.

“Lawd, child, what’s wrong?” she asked.

I turned and looked at her. Her mouth was agape, and her jittery eyes danced with concern. “It’s my brother,” I said, pulling the key from my pocket and inserting it into the ignition. “He’s in trouble.”

“Trouble!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her turn on her seat and face me. “What kind of trouble?” she asked me.

“He broke out of jail last night.”

“Jail!”

“Yes, ma’am. And now they’re after him.”

“Who’s after him?”

“The police!”

“My God!” she said, then paused. “Maybe you oughtn’t go over there right now. Maybe you ought to wait.”

“No, ma’am,” I said. “I need to find out what’s going on.”

I pulled the truck into gear and stepped on the accelerator. The tires screeched, the truck lurched forward, and Miss Big Siss fell back against the seat. After a moment or two, she raised herself upright, and I knew she was trying to think of something to make me turn back. But I did not; instead, I concentrated on the highway, seeing before me an image of Little Man held up somewhere, hiding from a police force that was closing in on him. I closed my eyes and opened them again. Yes, I had to hurry. I pressed the accelerator and raced toward the old neighborhood. At the railroad tracks, I slowed, then rounded the corner and turned down the street to my mother’s house. When I arrived, I parked the truck on the shoulder and jumped out.

“I’m coming in with you,” Miss Big Siss said.

“No, ma’am,” I said. “Under the circumstances, it would probably be better if you waited in the truck.”

I turned toward the house again. There were two cars and a truck parked in Mama’s yard, and though I did not recognize either of them, I assumed they had something to do with Little Man’s escape. I studied them for a moment, and then I looked at the house. The front door was closed and the curtains were drawn. Yes, they were home, but they were hiding behind locked doors and closed windows. I crossed the yard and climbed up on the porch. Then I raised my fist and pounded on the door. I waited. No one answered. I raised my fist to knock again, but before I could, I heard a woman’s voice calling to me from the other side of the door.

“Who is it?” she whispered.

“It’s me!” I shouted. “D’Ray!”

Suddenly, I heard chains rattling. A moment later, the door swung open; it was Aunt Peggy. She looked at me and her eyes grew wide.

“Sweet Jesus!” she exclaimed, raising her trembling hands to her mouth. “Sweet Jesus in heaven. What are you doing here?”

“I just heard,” I said. My comment seemed to alarm her. I saw her look past me with jittery eyes.

“May I come in?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Hurry.”

She stepped aside and I walked in. Behind me I heard her fumbling with the lock. I turned and looked. She had chained the door shut again. I looked about nervously. The lights were out, and the tiny living room was vacant.

“Where’s Mama?”

“In there,” she whispered, pointing toward the kitchen.

“Is she alone?” I asked.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “Papa and Miss Irene in there too. They’re talking about Curtis.”

“What are they saying?”

“They’re just trying to figure out where he is.”

“Do they have any ideas?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head again. “I’m afraid not.” She paused, and I looked at her and then toward the kitchen.

“Well, I need to talk to them.”

“Come on,” she said. “Follow me.”

We moved deeper into the house, walking down a short hallway before turning into the kitchen. I paused in the doorway and looked. Mama was sitting at the table. Miss Irene was sitting next to her. Grandpa Boot was leaning against the stove. I looked at Mama. I could tell she had been crying.

“Look who’s here,” Aunt Peggy said, announcing my presence. Instantly, all heads turned toward me. Grandpa frowned, then leaped to his feet.

“Well, I’ll just be,” he exclaimed. He hurried across the room and gave me a big hug. “If you ain’t a sight for sore eyes.”

When he released me, I looked at Mama. Her mouth hung open, and she stared at me but did not speak.

“Mama,” I said softly.

She didn’t answer.

“Mama,” I called to her a second time, and when I did, I saw a tear roll down her face. Then I saw Miss Irene put her arms around her. And I saw Grandpa look at her for a moment and then back at me.

“Where have you been all this time?” he asked me.

“College,” I mumbled.

“College!”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“You mean to tell me you went to college.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, looking past him. “I graduated a few days ago.”

“Graduated!”

“Yes, sir.”

“You fooling!”

“No, sir,” I said.

He grabbed me again, lifting me from the floor.

“You hear that, Mira?” he said, smiling. “This child done made something of hisself. Did you hear that?”

Mama didn’t answer.

“You’re a college man?” Grandpa said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Boy, I’m so proud of you that I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“Me too,” Aunt Peggy said.

“That’s what you come to tell us?” Mama said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was dry—no, cold.

“No, ma’am,” I said.

“Then what is it?”

“Mira!” Aunt Peggy said.

“I just heard about Curtis,” I said, offering an explanation. “I was hoping you could tell me what’s going on.”

“Why?” Mama asked. “What can you do about it?”

“Mira, please,” Aunt Peggy pleaded.

“He was in the parish jail,” Grandpa said. “And he broke out sometime last night. That’s all we know.”

“You have any idea where he might be headed?” I asked.

“We don’t have a clue,” Grandpa said. “Just know that he run off.”

“And I’m glad he did,” Mama said defiantly.

Grandpa whirled and looked at her.

“Well, I am,” she said.

“He’s just making matters worse,” Grandpa said. “That’s all he doing—just making matters worse.”

“He didn’t do what they said,” Mama said. “They lied on him.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter to the law,” Grandpa said.

“I don’t care about the law,” she said. “Just care about my child.”

“You better care,” Grandpa said.

“They ain’t had no business locking him up in the first place,” Mama said. “He ain’t did nothing.”

“How do you know that?” Grandpa asked her.

“’Cause he wouldn’t do nothing like that.”

“Was he still doing drugs?”

“Nah,” Mama said. “And anybody who say he was is lying.”

“Then what was he doing in that white gal’s house?”

“He wasn’t.”

“She say he was.”

“She lying.”

“She said he hit her upside her head. And she said if the other one hadn’t stopped him, she was sure he would have raped her.”

“She lying.”

“Was the nigger who pulled the job lying too?” Grandpa asked. “When they caught him, he said that Little Man was with him too. He even testified against Little Man. Said that Little Man was the one who hit the girl. Didn’t he?”

“I don’t care what he said,” Mama said. “I know my child.”

“Well, somebody hit her,” Grandpa said. “She had a big ole gash on the side of her head.”

“I don’t care,” Mama said for the third time.

“You better care,” Grandpa said again.

“Lord, I wonder where he is right now?” Aunt Peggy asked. She had turned her back toward Mama and was looking at the window.

“Only God knows,” Grandpa said.

“I just hope he’s safe,” she said. And then I saw her look toward the window again. “Maybe he got away.”

“On foot?” Grandpa exclaimed.

“Maybe he wasn’t on foot,” Aunt Peggy said. “Maybe somebody helped him.”

“Somebody like who?” Grandpa asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

Suddenly, everyone turned and looked at me.

“Was it you?” Mama asked me. “Did you help him?”

“Me!”

“Yes,” she shouted. “You!”

“No, ma’am!” I said, stunned.

“Mighty strange you showing up here now,” she said, staring at me with suspicious eyes.

“I haven’t seen anybody,” I said. “I swear.”

“If you know something,” Grandpa said, “you need to tell us.”

“I don’t know a thing,” I said. “I just got here.”

“What are we going to do, Papa?” Aunt Peggy asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Pray,” Mama said. “Pray that he gets away.”

“You think you can find him?” Grandpa asked me.

“Stay out of it,” Mama said to me.

“Mira!” Grandpa yelled.

“I mean it,” she said, looking at me. “Stay out of it.”

“Maybe I can help,” I said.

“You just stay out of it.”

“But, Mama.”

“But, Mama, nothing,” she said. “This is all your fault.”

“Mira!” Grandpa shouted again.

“Well, it is,” Mama said.

“No,” Aunt Peggy said, shaking her head. “You can’t blame him for this.”

“I can,” she said. “And I do.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do mean it,” she said.

“I didn’t have anything to do with this,” I said. “I haven’t been here in years.”

“You had everything to do with it.”

“No, I didn’t,” I said.

“Mira, why are you saying this?” Aunt Peggy asked her. But Mama didn’t answer her. Instead, she spoke to me.

“You couldn’t rest,” she said. “You couldn’t rest until you got him in the streets. Well, now the streets got him and ain’t nothing you or nobody can do about it.”

“This ain’t his fault,” Aunt Peggy said again.

“Then whose fault is it?” Mama asked.

“It’s nobody’s fault.”

“You took him to that place,” she said to me. “Didn’t you?”

“What place?” I asked, confused.

“That juke joint.”

“What juke joint?”

“Kojak’s Place.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Aunt Peggy said.

“It has everything to do with it,” Mama said.

“No,” Aunt Peggy said. “It doesn’t.”

“You exposed him to all those hoodlums,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

“Mira!” Grandpa said. “Now, that’s enough.”

“And you got him hooked on that old dope,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“Don’t lie to me,” Mama snapped.

“Mira!” Grandpa shouted. “This is not helping anything.”

“You and World didn’t care about nobody but yourself,” she said. “But Little Man was different. He could have been somebody. If you would have just left him alone, he could have been somebody. But, no, you wouldn’t let him. You had to turn him into another you.”

“Back then I was just trying to help him,” I said, feeling the need to defend myself. “But that don’t have anything to do with this.”

“Help him!” she shouted.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Help him be a man.”

“He didn’t need your kind of help.”

“I did what I knew to do,” I said.

“This is not helping anything,” Grandpa said again.

“Why did you come back here?” Mama snapped.

“Mira,” Grandpa said. “Now, that’s enough.”

“That’s alright, Grandpa,” I said, staring at her. “She’s right. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come back here.” I turned to leave.

Grandpa stopped me. “Hold on,” he said.

“No,” I said. “I’m leaving.”

“Let him go,” Mama said.

“No,” Grandpa said. “Ain’t nobody going nowhere.”

“I know where I’m not wanted,” I said sullenly.

“Please!” Aunt Peggy said.

“Let him stay,” Mama said. “I’ll leave.” She rose from the table and hurried out into the hallway. Miss Irene dashed after her.

“Mira!” Miss Irene called after her. “Mira!”

“Leave me be,” I heard Mama say.

“Mira, you need to calm down before you make yourself sick.”

“I’m already sick,” Mama said. “My child is out there somewhere, and I don’t know if he’s dead or alive.”

“Come on,” Miss Irene said. “Sit down on the sofa and rest.”

I heard them walking across the floor, and then I heard the springs on the old sofa creak, and I knew they had gone into the living room.

“Don’t pay her no mind,” Grandpa said to me. “She’s just worried about that child, that’s all.” He paused and looked at me. I remained quiet.

“What time is it anyway?” Aunt Peggy asked.

“Almost five,” Grandpa said, looking at his watch. “Why?”

“It’ll be dark in a few hours,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

“Tell me about it,” Grandpa said.

Outside, I heard the sound of a car door opening and closing. Then I heard footsteps hurrying across the porch. A moment later, someone knocked on the door. We went into the living room. Mama was sitting on the sofa, crying. Miss Irene was sitting next to her, trying to console her. Aunt Peggy paused, then cautiously made her way to the door.

“Who is it?” she whispered.

“The police!”

Aunt Peggy slowly pulled the door open. I saw two police officers standing in the doorway, staring at me.