Читать книгу Family Ties - Ernest Hill - Страница 12

I stood gaping at the two officers as they entered the house. Yes, I had seen them before. The black one was Sonny, my mother’s old boyfriend. And the white one was Harland Jefferies, the chief of police. I saw the chief look at me and then back at Sonny.

“That’s not him,” he asked Sonny. “Is it?”

“No, Chief,” Sonny said, staring at me. “It’s not.”

“What’s the meaning of this?” Grandpa asked.

The chief did not answer, instead he kept his eyes on me. “Do I know you?” he asked me.

“What’s this all about?” Grandpa asked again.

The chief stared at me, and though he did not answer Grandpa, I understood. They had seen me arrive, and they had assumed I was Little Man. I saw Sonny look at me, then back at the chief.

“I know him, Chief,” Sonny said. “That’s Reid’s older brother. The one they call D’Ray.”

And at that moment, I felt rise in me an anger I thought I had long ago subdued. I had never liked Sonny. He was a mark. I was convinced of that. I heard the chief sigh; then his lips parted and he spoke to me again.

“What are you doing here?”

“He came to visit his mother,” a voice called from behind him.

The chief whirled and looked. It was Miss Big Siss. She had gotten out of the truck and made her way onto the porch.

“And who are you?” he asked, looking her over.

“Sissy,” she said. “Sissy Earl.”

The chief frowned. He did not recognize the name.

“You aren’t from around here,” he said, “are you?”

“No, sir,” she said. “I’m from Lake Providence.”

The chief looked at her and then at me. “You and him related?”

“No, sir,” she said.

“Then how do you know him?”

“My brother took him in a few years ago.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“And who is your brother?”

“Henry,” she said. “Henry Earl.”

Suddenly, the two men gasped.

“Henry Earl was your brother!” Sonny said.

“Yes, sir,” Miss Big Siss said. “We just buried him not more than an hour ago. Then we came here so this boy could see his mother. He hasn’t seen her in years.”

“My condolences,” Sonny said, fumbling with his hat.

“So this boy was with you last night?” the chief pressed.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “This young man was with me.”

The chief frowned. “All night?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Sir?” Miss Big Siss responded, confused by the question.

“Did he stay in the house with you all night?”

“No, sir,” she said. “He stayed in Henry’s house.”

“Alone?” the chief asked her.

“As far as I know,” she said.

“Then you don’t know who he saw,” the chief said. “Do you?”

“I know he was with us,” Miss Big Siss said.

“Us?” the chief asked.

“Yes, sir,” she said, “the family.” She paused again, then explained further. “Henry’s wake was last night, and several of us, including him, sat up the better part of the night talking.”

The chief was done with her. He focused again on me.

“How long have you been in town?” he asked me.

I didn’t answer.

“He just got here,” Miss Big Siss answered for me.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the chief said. “I was talking to him.” He continued to stare at me; I stared back. When I didn’t say anything, he spoke again. “You sure you didn’t get here last night?”

I remained quiet.

“We got here a few minutes ago,” Miss Big Siss said. “We just left the funeral. We didn’t even take time to change clothes.”

Sonny looked at me, then squinted.

“Where’s Curtis?” he snapped.

“You tell me,” I said, “you the law.”

The chief’s face flushed red. He raised an angry finger and pointed it at me. “Did Curtis come to you for help?”

I remained quiet.

The chief turned his attention to Mama. “Mira,” he said. “Enough is enough. Now, I want you to tell me where that boy is. And I want you to tell me right now. You hear?”

“I don’t know where he is,” Mama said.

“Didn’t you see him last night?” the chief asked.

“I saw him,” Mama said.

“And he didn’t tell you anything?”

“No, sir,” she said. “He didn’t.”

“That boy wouldn’t leave here without saying something to you,” the chief said.

“Well, he did,” Mama said.

“I was good to him,” the chief mumbled. “I let him have the run of the place. And this is how he repays me.” He paused. Everyone remained quiet. “He’s trying to embarrass me,” the chief said. “And I’m not going to stand for that, you hear?”

He looked at Mama. She remained quiet.

“Mira,” Sonny said pleadingly. “You’re not helping him.”

“I told you all I know,” she snapped.

“You know where he is,” the chief said. “I know you do.”

“No, sir,” she said. “I don’t.”

“What happened last night?” Sonny asked.

“I cooked him some food and brought it to him in the jail. Just like I always do,” she said. “That’s all.”

“Just like I always let you,” the chief said.

“How was he acting?” Sonny asked her.

“Like he always acted,” she told him.

The chief didn’t like her answer; he frowned again, displaying angry eyes. “And how was that?” he asked.

“Like he didn’t have a care in the world,” she said.

“Are you sure he didn’t say anything?” Sonny said.

“He didn’t say a word. He just ate his food.”

“What time did you leave?” the chief asked.

“About twelve-thirty,” she said. “Just like always.”

The chief grabbed her shoulders with both hands. “Did you help that boy escape?” he snapped.

“No,” she shouted, pulling away. “But I’m glad he’s gone.”

“Mira!” Sonny said.

“Well, I am,” she said. “He ain’t done nothing. He ain’t done nothing at all. And you know it.”

The chief paused, fuming. “Alright,” he said. “Be glad. But when you see that boy, you tell him something for me. You tell him to run. And you tell him to run hard—and you tell him I said he better not slip up, because when he do, I’m gonna be there, and when I catch up to him, I’m gonna blow a hole in him big as Texas.” He whirled and looked at Sonny. “Let’s go,” he said.

He stormed out of the house and Sonny followed him. When Mama was sure they were gone, she fell on the sofa and sobbed. I closed the door, then eased next to her. Inside my head, I heard Miss Big Siss’s words again: family is everything, and right now she and Little Man are the only family you got.

“Mama,” I said. “I know you don’t want to talk to me, but we need to put our differences aside for now because this is trouble. This is big trouble.”

She didn’t answer.

“Mama,” I said. “You need to talk to me.”

She still didn’t answer.

“I can’t help Little Man if I don’t know what’s going on.”

I paused. Again, still no answer.

“Mama,” I said pleadingly. “You need to tell me what you know.”

A moment passed and she began to speak. “He told me to cook him a big meal.” She paused and shook her head. “He said he needed some food that would stick to his ribs. He said he was going to run.”

“He told you that?” Grandpa said.

“I told him not to,” she said. “I told him that he was going to make matters worse. But he wouldn’t listen. He said he didn’t have any choice. He said he had been cleaning the chief’s office, and while he was in there, he saw some papers on the chief’s desk. He said they were getting ready to send him to Angola and that he wasn’t going to go to no Angola.”

She paused and began sobbing again.

“What else did he say?” I asked her.

“That’s all.”

“Did he tell you where he was going?”

“No,” she said. “He didn’t tell me where he was going, and he didn’t tell me how he was going to get there. Just ate his food like he didn’t have a worry in the world.”

“None of this makes sense,” I said, looking around. “Why would the chief leave papers on his desk when he knew that Little Man cleaned his office? And why would he give Little Man so much freedom?”

I turned toward Mama again. She was sitting with her hands folded across her lap. Her body was taut, and she was gently rocking back and forth.

“Why would the police allow you to visit like that?” I asked her.

“Sonny fixed it that way.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked him to.”

“No,” I said. “There’s more to it than that.”

“Little Man gave Sonny his word,” she explained. “He told Sonny that he would behave. And Sonny believed him.”

I paused again, thinking. “When did they allow you to see him?”

“Whenever I wanted,” she said.

“They gave you access to the jail whenever you wanted it?”

“Sometimes I would go to the jail,” she said. “And sometimes Sonny would bring him here.”

“What!” I said. “Are you telling me that the chief allowed Sonny to bring Little Man home?”

“Yes,” she said.

“When?” I asked, still not believing what I was hearing.

“They would usually get here around midnight, and the three of us would watch TV and talk.”

“How long would he stay?”

“An hour or two, then Sonny would take him back.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said.

“He did it for me,” she said.

“Why would the chief agree to that?”

“This is a small town,” she said. “And them white folks can do whatever they want. I didn’t ask why. I just accepted it.”

“Something about this ain’t right,” I said.

“Right and wrong ain’t got nothing to do with this,” she said.

“I don’t trust the chief,” I said. “And I sure don’t trust that Sonny. I never did, and I never will.”

“Sonny’s a good man,” Mama said, becoming defensive.

“I don’t trust him,” I said again.

“He’s been good to me,” she said. “And he’s been good to Little Man. Through it all, he’s been good to us.”

I shifted my feet and listened to the faint sound of cars passing on the street. My nerves were taut. Why was I having this conversation? None of this mattered now. I was beyond the world of Sonny, and I was beyond the world of men like the chief. My eyes fell again upon my mother; I could see her broad shoulders shuddering as she sobbed heavily. I moved next to her and eased onto the sofa.

I collected myself, then spoke again. “Little Man is on drugs,” I said. “Ain’t he?”

“No,” she said between sobs. “He was at one time, before he went into rehab and before he joined the church.”

“You think he had a relapse?”

“No,” she said. “He’s been clean for years.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” she said. “When all of this happened, he was a drug counselor at the church. He had come to hate drugs.”

“If that’s the case,” I said, “why would he break into someone’s house?”

“He didn’t,” she snapped.

“Wasn’t he convicted for breaking and entering?” I asked.

“And for burglary,” Grandpa said.

“And assault,” Aunt Peggy added.

“But he didn’t do it,” Mama insisted.

I paused and looked at her. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open. “How much time did they give him?” I asked.

“Twenty-five to life,” she said.

“What!” I shouted.

Suddenly, she fell facedown on the sofa, sobbing.

“It’s gonna be alright, Sister Reid,” Miss Irene said. “It’s gonna be alright.”

I wanted to console her, too, but at that moment, there was something in me that resented her. She had not grieved for me when I was sent away. She had simply turned her back and declared me dead. I turned toward the window, seeing heavy, gray clouds gathering from the west. It would rain again, but neither the wind, nor the strong currents of water could wash away that which was before me. I cautioned myself to be calm and not give in to the wave of hot rage rapidly rising within me. Suddenly, things were as they had always been. Inside of me I felt an overbearing need to protect the naive little brother who did not have the ability to protect himself. And then I heard the voice again telling me to forget about Mama and concentrate on him, for you are your brother’s keeper.

“Where do you think he might have gone?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“He must’ve told you something.”

“No,” she said. “He didn’t.”

“Did he have any money?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Did he have anybody who might have helped him get out of town?”

“Nobody that I can think of.”

“Who did he hang out with before he went to jail?”

“Nobody,” she said. “He mainly kept to himself.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“No,” she said, “at least not to my knowledge.”

There was silence.

“Think you can find him?” Grandpa asked me.

“I’ll find him,” I said.

“No!” Mama protested. “I don’t want him found.”

“You heard the chief,” I said. “If they catch him, they’ll kill him.”

“And if he goes to prison, he’ll die.”

“Doing time won’t kill him,” I said. “But the chief will.”

She stopped sobbing and her eyes became stern. “He ain’t like his daddy,” she said. “And he ain’t like you. He can’t do time.”

“He can if he has to.”

She started to say something else and I interrupted her. “Did you say he was active in the church?”

“Yes,” she said. “Why?”

I paused. Peaches had spoken about the church. Perhaps she knew him, or perhaps she knew someone who knew him. And if she did, maybe they knew where he was. Yes, I had to speak to her, and I had to speak to her right now.

“I got to go,” I said.

“Go where?” Mama wanted to know.

“To see somebody,” I told her.

“Stay out of it,” she yelled. “You hear me? Stay out of it.”

I didn’t answer.

“I mean it,” she yelled again. “Stay out of it.”

I went through the door. Miss Big Siss followed me. I drove her home and then I called Peaches. She agreed to meet me in Lake Providence, at the little sandwich shop on the lake. I changed clothes, then headed to the sandwich shop.