Читать книгу A Long Day in November - Ernest J. Gaines - Страница 6

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Somebody is shaking me, but I don’t want get up now because I’m tired and I’m sleepy and I don’t want get up now. It’s warm under the cover here, but it’s cold up there and I don’t want get up now.

“Sonny?” I hear.

But I don’t want get up, because it’s cold up there. The cover is over my head and I’m under the sheet and the blanket and the quilt. It’s warm under here and it’s dark, because my eyes’s shut. I keep my eyes shut because I don’t want get up.

“Sonny?” I hear.

I don’t know who’s calling me, but it must be Mama because I’m home. I don’t know who it is because I’m still asleep, but it must be Mama. She’s shaking me by the foot. She’s holding my ankle through the cover.

“Wake up, honey,” she says.

But I don’t want get up because it’s cold up there and I don’t want get cold. I try to go back to sleep, but she shakes my foot again.

“Hummm?” I say.

“Wake up, honey,” I hear.

“Hummm?” I say.

“I want you get up and wee-wee,” she says.

“I don’t want wee-wee, Mama,” I say.

“Come on,” she says, shaking me. “Come on. Get up for Mama.”

“It’s cold up there,” I say.

“Come on,” she says. “Mama won’t let her baby get cold.”

I pull the sheet and blanket from under my head and push them back over my shoulder. I feel the cold and I try to cover up again, but Mama grabs the cover before I get it over me. Mama is standing ’side the bed and she’s looking down at me, smiling.

The room is dark. The lamp’s on the mantelpiece, but it’s kind of low. I see Mama’s shadow on the wall over by Gran’mon’s picture.

“I’m cold, Mama,” I say.

“Mama go’n wrap his little coat round her baby,” she says.

She goes over and get it off the chair where all my clothes’s at, and I sit up in the bed. Mama brings the coat and put it on me, and she fastens some of the buttons.

“Now,” she says. “See? You warm.”

I gap’ and look at Mama. She hugs me real hard and rubs her face against my face. My mama’s face is warm and soft, and it feels good.

“I want my socks on,” I say. “My feet go’n get cold on the floor.”

Mama leans over and get my shoes from under the bed. She takes out my socks and slip them on my feet. I gap’ and look at Mama pulling my socks up.

“Now,” she says.

I get up, but I can still feel that cold floor. I get on my knees and look under the bed for my pot.

“See it?” Mama says.

“Hanh?”

“See it under there?”

“Hanh?”

“I bet you didn’t bring it in,” she says. “Any time you sound like that, you done forgot it.”

“I left it on the chicken coop,” I say.

“Well, go to the back door,” Mama says. “Hurry up before you get cold.”

I get off my knees and go back there, but it’s too dark and I can’t see. I come back where Mama’s sitting on my bed.

“It’s dark back there, Mama,” I say. “I might trip over something.”

Mama takes a deep breath and gets the lamp off the mantelpiece, and me and her go back in the kitchen. She unlatches the door, and I crack it open and the cold air comes in.

“Hurry,” Mama says.

“All right.”

I can see the fence back of the house and I can see the little pecan tree over by the toilet. I can see the big pecan tree over by the other fence by Miss Viola Brown’s house. Miss Viola Brown must be sleeping because it’s late at night. I bet you nobody else in the quarter’s up now. I bet you I’m the only little boy up. They got plenty stars in the air, but I can’t see the moon. There must be ain’t no moon tonight. That grass is shining—and it must be done rained. That pecan tree’s shadow’s all over the back yard.

I get my tee-tee and I wee-wee. I wee-wee hard, because I don’t want get cold. Mama latches the door when I get through wee-wee-ing.

“I want some water, Mama,” I say.

“Let it out and put it right back in, huh?” Mama says.

She dips up some water and pours it in my cup, and I drink. I don’t drink too much at once, because the water makes my teeth cold. I let my teeth warm up, and I drink some more.

“I got enough,” I say.

Mama drinks the rest and then me and her go back in the front room.

“Sonny?” she says.

“Hanh?”

“Tomorrow morning when you get up, me and you leaving here, hear?”

“Where we going?” I ask.

“We going to Gran’mon,” Mama says.

“We leaving us house?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says.

“Daddy leaving too?”

“No,” she says. “Just me and you.”

“Daddy don’t want leave?”

“I don’t know what your daddy wants,” Mama says. “But for sure he don’t want me. We leaving, hear?”

“Uh-huh,” I say.

“I’m tired of it,” Mama says.

“Hanh?”

“You won’t understand, honey,” Mama says. “You too young still.”

“I’m getting cold, Mama,” I say.

“All right,” she says. She goes and put the lamp up, and comes back and sit on the bed ’side me. “Let me take your socks off,” she says.

“I can take them off,” I say.

Mama takes my coat off and I take my socks off. I get back in bed and Mama pulls the cover up over me. She leans over and kiss me on the jaw, and then she goes back to her bed. Mama’s bed is over by the window. My bed is by the fireplace. I hear Mama get in the bed. I hear the spring, then I don’t hear nothing because Mama’s quiet. Then I hear Mama crying.

“Mama?” I call.

She don’t answer me.

“Mama?” I call her.

“Go to sleep, baby,” she says.

“You crying?” I ask.

“Go to sleep,” Mama says.

“I don’t want you to cry,” I say.

“Mama’s not crying,” she says.

Then I don’t hear nothing and I lay quiet, but I don’t turn over because my spring’ll make noise and I don’t want make no noise because I want hear if my mama go’n cry again. I don’t hear Mama no more and I feel warm in the bed, and I pull the cover over my head and I feel good. I don’t hear nothing no more and I feel myself going back to sleep.

Billy Joe Martin’s got the tire and he’s rolling it in the road, and I run to the gate to look at him. I want go out in the road, but Mama don’t want me to play out there like Billy Joe Martin and the other children. . . . Lucy’s playing ’side the house. She’s jumping rope with—I don’t know who that is. I go ’side the house and play with Lucy. Lucy beats me jumping rope. The rope keeps on hitting me on the leg. But it don’t hit Lucy on the leg. Lucy jumps too high for it.... Me and Billy Joe Martin shoots marbles and I beat him shooting.... Mama’s sweeping the gallery and knocking the dust out of the broom on the side of the house. Mama keeps on knocking the broom against the wall. Must be got plenty dust in the broom.

Somebody’s beating on the door. Mama, somebody’s beating on the door. Somebody’s beating on the door, Mama.

“Amy, please let me in,” I hear.

Somebody’s beating on the door, Mama. Mama, somebody’s beating on the door.

“Amy, honey; honey, please let me in.”

I push the cover back and I listen. I hear Daddy beating on the door.

“Mama?” I say. “Mama, Daddy’s knocking on the door. He want come in.”

“Go back to sleep, Sonny,” Mama says.

“Daddy’s out there,” I say. “He want come in.”

“Go back to sleep, I told you,” Mama says.

I lay back on my pillow and listen.

“Amy,” Daddy says, “I know you woke. Open the door.”

Mama don’t answer him.

“Amy, honey,” Daddy says. “My sweet dumpling, let me in. It’s freezing out here.”

Mama still won’t answer Daddy.

“Mama?” I say.

“Go back to sleep, Sonny,” she says.

“Mama, Daddy want come in,” I say.

“Let him crawl through the key hole,” Mama says.

It gets quiet after this, and it stays quiet a little while, and then Daddy says, “Sonny?”

“Hanh?”

“Come open the door for your daddy.”

“Mama go’n whip me if I get up,” I say.

“I won’t let her whip you,” Daddy says. “Come and open the door like a good boy.”

I push the cover back and I sit up in the bed and look over at Mama’s bed. Mama’s under the cover and she’s quiet like she’s asleep. I get on the floor and get my socks out of my shoes. I get back in the bed and slip them on, and then I go and unlatch the door for Daddy. Daddy comes in and rubs my head with his hand. His hand is hard and cold.

“Look what I brought you and your mama,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

Daddy takes a paper bag out of his jumper pocket.

“Candy?” I say.

“Uh-huh.”

Daddy opens the bag and I stick my hand in there and take a whole handful. Daddy wraps the bag up again and sticks it in his pocket.

“Get back in that bed, Sonny,” Mama says.

“I’m eating candy,” I say.

“Get back in that bed like I told you,” Mama says.

“Daddy’s up with me,” I say.

“You heard me, boy?”

“You can take your candy with you,” Daddy says. “Get back in the bed.”

He follows me to the bed and tucks the cover under me. I lay in the bed and eat my candy. The candy is hard, and I sound just like Paul eating corn. I bet you little old Paul is some cold out there in that back yard. I hope he ain’t laying in that water like he always do. I bet you he’ll freeze in that water in all this cold. I’m sure glad I ain’t a pig. They ain’t got no mama and no daddy and no house.

I hear the spring when Daddy gets in the bed.

“Honey?” Daddy says.

Mama don’t answer him.

“Honey?” he says.

Mama must be gone back to sleep, because she don’t answer him.

“Honey?” Daddy says.

“Don’t touch me,” Mama says.

“Honey,” Daddy says. Then he starts crying. “Honey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Daddy cries a good little while, and then he stops. I don’t chew on my candy while Daddy’s crying, but when he stops, I chew on another piece.

“Go to sleep, Sonny,” he says.

“I want eat my candy,” I say.

“Hurry then. You got to go to school tomorrow.” I put another piece in my mouth and chew on it. “Honey?” I hear Daddy saying. “Honey, you go’n wake me up to go to work?”

“I do hope you stop bothering me,” Mama says. “Wake me up round four thirty, hear, honey?” Daddy says. “I can cut ’bout six tons tomorrow. Maybe seven.”

Mama don’t say nothing to Daddy, and I feel sleepy again. I finish chewing my last piece of candy and I turn on my side. I feel good because the bed is warm. But I still got my socks on.

“Daddy?” I call.

“Go to sleep,” Daddy says.

“My socks still on,” I say.

“Let them stay on tonight,” Daddy says. “Go to sleep.”

“My feet don’t feel good in socks,” I say.

“Please go to sleep, Sonny,” Daddy says. “I got to get up at four thirty, and it’s hitting close to two now.”

I don’t say nothing, but I don’t like to sleep with my socks on. But I stay quiet. Daddy and Mama don’t say nothing, either, and little bit later I hear Daddy snoring. I feel drowsy myself.

I run around the house in the mud because it done rained, and I feel the mud between my toes. The mud is soft and I like to play in it. I try to get out the mud, but I can’t get out. I’m not stuck in the mud, but I can’t get out. Lucy can’t come over and play in the mud because her mama don’t want her to catch cold.... Billy Joe Martin shows me his dime and puts it back in his pocket. Mama bought me a pretty little red coat and I show it to Lucy. But I don’t let Billy Joe Martin put his hand on it. Lucy can touch it all she wants, but I don’t let Billy Joe Martin put his hand on it.... Me and Lucy get on the horse and ride up and down the road. The horse runs fast, and me and Lucy bounce on the horse and laugh.... Mama and Daddy and Uncle Al and Gran’mon’s sitting by the fire talking. I’m outside shooting marbles, but I hear them. I don’t know what they talking about, but I hear them. I hear them. I hear them. I hear them.

I don’t want wake up, but I’m waking up. Mama and Daddy’s talking. I want go back to sleep, but they talking too loud. I feel my foot in the sock. I don’t like socks on when I’m in the bed. I want go back to sleep, but I can’t. Mama and Daddy talking too much.

“Honey, you let me oversleep,” Daddy says. “Look here, it’s going on seven o’clock.”

“You ought to been thought about that last night.” Mama says.

“Honey, please,” Daddy says. “Don’t start a fuss right off this morning.”

“Then don’t open your mouth,” Mama says.

“Honey, the car broke down,” Daddy says. “What I was suppose to do, it broke down on me. I just couldn’t walk away and not try to fix it.”

Mama’s quiet.

“Honey,” Daddy says, “don’t be mad with me. Come, give your man a good little kiss so he can get out of here.”

“Go kiss your car,” Mama says.

“Kiss my car?” Daddy says. “That cold car? Honey, you don’t mean that.”

“I mean just that,” she says.

“Honey, I been kissing you every morning since us been married,” Daddy says. “I kiss you and you kiss me—and that’s how I been making it in that world out there. How I’m go’n stop it now?”

“That’s up to you,” Mama says.

“Honey,” Daddy says. “This is Eddie your husband. The one you married. Remember?”

“You married to that car,” Mama says. “Go kiss her. I’m sure she waiting. I ain’t.”

“Honey,” Daddy says, “suppose Sonny hear you talking like that? Didn’t that preacher say we had to set a good sample for him?”

“Then how come you don’t set a good sample for him?” Mama says. “How come you don’t come home sometime and set a good sample for him? How come you can’t leave that car alone long enough to set a good sample for him? You the one need to set a good sample. You the one. I do my best.”

“Honey, I told you before the car broke down on me,” Daddy says. “I was coming home when it broke down. I even had to leave it out on the road. I made it here quick as I could.”

“You can go back quick as you can, for all I care,” Mama says.

“Honey, you don’t mean that,” Daddy says. “I know you don’t mean that. You just saying that because you mad.”

“Just don’t touch me,” Mama says.

“Honey, I got to get out and make some bread for us,” Daddy says.

“Get out if you want,” Mama says. “They got a jailhouse for them who don’t support their family.”

“Honey, please don’t talk about a jail,” Daddy says. “It’s too cold. You don’t know how cold it is in a jailhouse this time of the year.”

Mama’s quiet.

“Honey?” Daddy says.

“I hope you let me go back to sleep,” Mama says. “Please.”

“Honey, don’t go back to sleep on me,” Daddy says. “Honey—”

“I’m getting up,” Mama says. “Damn all this.”

I hear the springs mash down on the bed boards. My head’s under the cover, but I can just see Mama pushing the cover down the bed. Then I hear her walking across the floor and going back in the kitchen.

“Oh, Lord,” Daddy says. “Oh, Lord. The suffering a man got to go through in this world. Sonny?” he says.

“Don’t wake that baby up,” Mama says, from the door.

“I got to have somebody to talk to,” Daddy says. “Sonny?”

“I told you not to wake him up,” Mama says.

“You don’t want talk to me,” Daddy says. “I need somebody to talk to. Sonny?” he says.

“Hanh?”

“See what you did?” Mama says. “You woke him up, and he ain’t going back to sleep.”

Daddy comes across the floor and sits down on the side of the bed. He looks down at me and passes his hand over my face.

“You love your daddy, Sonny?” he says.

“Uh-huh.”

“Please love me,” Daddy says.

I look up at Daddy and he looks at me, and then he just falls down on me and starts crying.

“A man needs somebody to love him,” he says.

“Get love from what you give love,” Mama says, back in the kitchen. “You love your car. Go let it love you back.”

Daddy shakes his face in the cover.

“The suffering a man got to go through in this world,” he says. “Sonny, I hope you never have to go through all this.”

Daddy lays there ’side me a long time. I can hear Mama back in the kitchen. I hear her putting some wood in the stove, and then I hear her lighting the fire. I hear her pouring water in the tea kettle, and I hear when she sets the kettle on the stove.

Daddy raises up and wipes his eyes. He looks at me and shakes his head, then he goes and puts his overalls on.

“It’s a hard life,” he says. “Hard, hard. One day, Sonny—you too young right now—but one day you’ll know what I mean.”

“Can I get up, Daddy?”

“Better ask your mama,” Daddy says.

“Can I get up, Mama?” I call.

Mama don’t answer me.

“Mama?” I call.

“Your pa standing in there,” Mama says. “He the one woke you up.”

“Can I get up, Daddy?”

“Sonny, I got enough troubles right now,” Daddy say.

“I want get up and wee-wee,” I say.

“Get up,” Mama says. “You go’n worry me till I let you get up anyhow.”

I crawl from under the cover and look at my feet. I got just one sock on and I look for the other one under the cover. I find it and slip it on and then I get on the floor. But that floor is still cold. I hurry up and put on my clothes, and I get my shoes and go and sit on the bed to put them on.

Daddy waits till I finish tying up my shoes, and me and him go back in the kitchen. I get in the corner ’side the stove, and Daddy comes over and stands ’side me. The fire is warm and it feels good.

Mama is frying salt meat in the skillet. The skillet’s over one hole and the tea kettle’s over the other one. The water’s boiling, and the tea kettle is whistling. I look at the steam shooting up to the loft.

Mama goes outside and gets my pot. She holds my pot for me and I wee-wee in it. She dumps the wee-wee out the back door and takes my pot to the front.

Daddy pours some water in the wash basin and washes his face, then he washes my face. I shut my eyes tight. I feel Daddy rubbing at my eyes to get them clean. I keep my eyes shut tight so no soap can get in. Daddy opens the back door and pitches the water out on the ground. We go to the table and sit down, and Mama brings the food. She stands there till I get through saying my blessing, then she goes back to stove and warm. Me and Daddy eat.

“You love your daddy?” he says.

“Uh-huh,” I say.

“That’s a good boy,” he says. “Always love your daddy.”

“I love Mama, too. I love her more than I love you.”

“You got a good mama,” Daddy says. “I love her, too. She the only thing keep me going—’cluding you, too.”

I look at Mama standing ’side the stove, warming.

“Why don’t you come to the table and eat with us?” Daddy says.

“I’m not hungry,” Mama says.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Daddy says. “I mean it.”

Mama just looks down at the stove and don’t answer Daddy.

“You got a right to be mad,” Daddy says. “I ain’t nothing but a’ old rotten dog.”

Daddy eats his food and looks at me across the table. I pick up a piece of meat and chew on it. I like the skin because the skin is hard. I keep the skin a long time.

“Well, I better get going,” Daddy says. “Maybe if I work hard, I’ll get me a couple tons.”

Daddy gets up from the table and goes in the front room. He comes back with his jumper and his hat on. Daddy’s hat is gray and it got a hole on the side.

“I’m leaving, honey,” he tells Mama.

Mama don’t answer Daddy.

“Honey, tell me ‘ ’Bye, old dog,’ or something,” Daddy says. “Just don’t stand there.”

Mama still don’t answer him, and Daddy jerks his cane knife out the wall and goes on out. I chew on my meat skin. I like it because it’s hard.

“Hurry up, honey,” Mama says. “We going to Gran’mon.”

Mama goes in the front room and I stay at the table and eat. I finish eating and I go in the front room where Mama is. Mama’s pulling a big bundle of clothes from under the bed.

“What’s that, Mama?” I ask.

“Us clothes,” she says.

“We go’n take us clothes down to Gran’mon?”

“I’m go’n try,” Mama says. “Find your cap and put it on.”

I see my cap hanging on the chair and I put it on and fasten the strap under my chin. Mama fixes my shirt in my pants, and then she goes and puts on her overcoat. Her overcoat is black and her hat is black. She puts on her hat and looks in the looking glass. I can see her face in the glass. Look like she want to cry. She comes from the dresser and looks at the big bundle of clothes on the floor.

“Find your pot,” she says.

I get my pot from under the bed.

“Come on,” Mama says.

She drags the big bundle of clothes out on the gallery and I shut the door. Mama squats down and puts the bundle on her head, and then she stands up and me and her go down the steps. Soon’s I get out in the road I can feel the wind. It’s strong and it’s blowing in my face. My face is cold and one of my hands is cold.

It’s red over there back of the trees. Mr. Guerin’s house is over there. I see Mr. Guerin’s big old dog. He must be don’t see me and Mama because he ain’t barking at us.

“Don’t linger back too far,” Mama says.

I run and catch up with Mama. Me and Mama’s the only two people walking in the road now.

I look up and I see the tree in Gran’mon’s yard. We go little farther and I see the house. I run up ahead of Mama and hold the gate open for her. After she goes in, I let the gate slam.

Spot starts barking soon’s he sees me. He runs down the steps at me and I let him smell my pot. Spot follows me and Mama back to the house.

“Gran’mon?” I call.

“Who that out there?” Gran’mon asks.

“Me,” I say.

“What you doing out there in all that cold for, boy?” Gran’mon says. I hear Gran’mon coming to the door fussing. She opens the door and looks at me and Mama.

“What you doing here with all that?” she asks.

“I’m leaving him, Mama,” Mama says.

“Eddie?” Gran’mon says. “What he done you now?”

“I’m just tired of it,” Mama says.

“Come in here out that cold,” Gran’mon says. “Walking out there in all that weather . . .”

We go inside and Mama drops the big bundle of clothes on the floor. I go to the fire and warm my hands. Mama and Gran’mon come to the fire and Mama stands at the other end of the fireplace and warms her hands.

“Now what that no good nigger done done?” Gran’mon asks.

“Mama, I’m just tired of Eddie running up and down the road in that car,” Mama says.

“He beat you?” Gran’mon asks.

“No, he didn’t beat me,” Mama says. “Mama, Eddie didn’t get home till after two this morning. Messing around with that old car somewhere out on the road all night.”

“I told you,” Gran’mon says. “I told you when that nigger got that car that was go’n happen. I told you. No—you wouldn’t listen. I told you. Put a fool in a car and he becomes a bigger fool. Where that yellow thing at now?”

“God telling,” Mama says. “He left with his cane knife.”

“I warned you ’bout that nigger,” Gran’mon says. “Even’fore you married him. I sung at you and sung at you. I said, ‘Amy, that nigger ain’t no good. A yellow nigger with a gap like that’tween his front teeth ain’t no good.’ But you wouldn’t listen.”

“Can me and Sonny stay here?” Mama asks.

“Where else can y’all go?” Gran’mon says. “I’m your mon, ain’t I? You think I can put you out in the cold like he did?”

“He didn’t put me out, Mama, I left,” Mama says.

“You finally getting some sense in your head,” Gran’mon says. “You ought to been left that nigger years ago.”

Uncle Al comes in the front room and looks at the bundle of clothes on the floor. Uncle Al’s got on his overalls and got just one strap hooked. The other strap’s hanging down his back.

“Fix that thing on you,” Gran’mon says. “You not in a stable.”

Uncle Al fixes his clothes and looks at me and Mama at the fire.

“Y’all had a round?” he asks Mama.

“Eddie and that car again,” Mama says.

“That’s all they want these days,” Gran’mon says. “Cars. Why don’t they marry them cars? No. When they got their troubles, they come running to the womenfolks. When they ain’t got no troubles and when their pockets full of money, they run jump in the car. I told you that when you was working to help him get that car.”

Uncle Al stands ’side me at the fireplace, and I lean against him and look at the steam coming out a piece of wood. Lord knows I get tired of Gran’mon fussing all the time.

“Y’all moving in with us?” Uncle Al asks.

“For a few days,” Mama says. “Then I’ll try to find another place somewhere in the quarter.”

“We got plenty room here,” Uncle Al says. “This old man here can sleep with me.”

Uncle Al gets a little stick out of the corner and hands it to me so I can light it for him. I hold it to the fire till it’s lit, and I hand it back to Uncle Al. Uncle Al turns the pipe upside down in his mouth and holds the fire to it. When the pipe’s good and lit, Uncle Al gives me the little stick and I throw it back in the fire.

“Y’all ate anything?” Gran’mon asks.

“Sonny ate,” Mama says. “I’m not hungry.”

“I reckon you go’n start looking for work now?” Gran’mon says.

“There’s plenty cane to cut,” Mama says. “I’ll get me a cane knife and go out tomorrow morning.”

“Out in all that cold?” Gran’mon says.

“They got plenty women cutting cane,” Mama says. “I don’t mind. I done it before.”

“You used to be such a pretty little thing, Amy,” Gran’mon says. “Long silky curls. Prettiest little face on this whole plantation. You could’ve married somebody worth something. But, no, you had to go throw yourself away to that yellow nigger who don’t care for nobody, ’cluding himself.”

“I loved Eddie,” Mama says.

“Poot,” Gran’mon says.

“He wasn’t like this when we married,” Mama says.

“Every nigger from Bayonne like this now, then, and forever,” Gran’mon says.

“Not then,” Mama says. “He was the sweetest person—”

“And you fell for him?” Gran’mon says.

“He changed after he got that car,” Mama says. “He changed overnight.”

“Well, you learned your lesson,” Gran’mon says. “We all get teached something no matter how old we get. ‘Live and learn,’what they say.”

“Eddie’s all right,” Uncle Al says. “He—”

“You keep out of this, Albert,” Gran’mon says. “It don’t concern you.”

Uncle Al don’t say no more, and I can feel his hand on my shoulder. I like Uncle Al because he’s good, and he never talk bad about Daddy. But Gran’mon’s always talking bad about Daddy.

“Freddie’s still there,” Gran’mon says.

“Mama, please,” Mama says.

“Why not?” Gran’mon says. “He always loved you.”

“Not in front of him,” Mama says.

Mama leaves the fireplace and goes to the bundle of clothes. I can hear her untying the bundle.

“Ain’t it ’bout time you was leaving for school?” Uncle Al asks.

“I don’t want go,” I say. “It’s too cold.”

“It’s never too cold for school,” Mama says. “Warm up good and let Uncle Al button your coat for you.”

I get closer to the fire and I feel the fire hot on my pants. I turn around and warm my back. I turn again, and Uncle Al leans over and buttons my coat. Uncle Al’s pipe almost gets in my face, and it don’t smell good.

“Now,” Uncle Al says. “You all ready to go. You want take a potato with you?”

“Uh-huh.”

Uncle Al leans over and gets me a potato out of the ashes. He knocks all the ashes off and puts the potato in my pocket.

“Wait,” Mama says. “Mama, don’t you have a little paper bag?”

Gran’mon looks on the mantelpiece and gets a paper bag. There’s something in the bag, and she takes it out and hands the bag to Mama. Mama puts the potato in the bag and puts it in my pocket. Then she goes and gets my book and tucks it under my arm.

“Now you ready,” she says. “And remember, when you get out for dinner, come back here. Don’t you forget and go up home now. You hear, Sonny?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come on,” Uncle Al says. “I’ll open the gate for you.”

“ ’Bye, Mama,” I say.

“Be a good boy,” Mama says. “Eat your potato at recess. Don’t eat it in class now.”

Me and Uncle Al go out on the gallery. The sun is shining but it’s still cold out there. Spot follows me and Uncle Al down the walk. Uncle Al opens the gate for me and I go out in the road, I hate to leave Uncle Al and Spot. And I hate to leave Mama—and I hate to leave the fire. But I got to, because they want me to learn.

“See you at twelve,” Uncle Al says.