Sketcher (12 page)

Pause.
And I just sat there and looked at him and looked down and played with the clambering crawfish and looked up again and sighed and looked away. That old guy looked at me out the wrinkly corner of his eye till he couldn't help himself. I gave him ten seconds more, and by the time I'd gotten to six on the countdown in my head, he rolled his eyes and went on.

“Dammit – awright! But just for your edjufication: the seals are from
grimoires
, son. Ancient spell books. There are seals... symbols that people bury in da earth – and if theah are minerals or riches or oil or gas or wha'eva, then it's s'pose to bring it right up. Seen it maself with ma own two peepers! But most people use good magic for greed. Then they say the Great Spirit turned her back on them. But it's them who give up on their good selves.”

It was sunset almost, and the high tide had snuck up on us and was lop-loppin' against the boat and makin' it unsteady. The autumn breezes tunnelled into my ears, so I missed most of what Pa said after that. Then when we were rowin' back to the house through the trees, a big lazy cloud bank came stretchin' sideways from over the Gulf all the way across to the swamp – and it looked like a giant heap, hundreds of feet high. The sun was right behind it, so it gave it this gold lining at the top that looked like a big ol' mirage of a mountain.

Now, Pa Campbell, he thought I didn't notice, but as he rowed back through the cypresses with the water now higher
up on the trunks, I could hear him whisperin': “Hey Bigfoot – hi Old Sarah.” And I looked around and realized he was talkin' to the damn trees. Well, I wasn't so emotional about trees 'cept for my conference room, so I was snickerin' and playin' with the crawfish, until I looked up and saw that as we came through the trees, the duckweed, that green carpetlooking thing on top of the water in the swamp, it just kinda closed back up and made the surface look so solid you felt you could prob'ly hop out of the boat and run on top of it and jump over those water hyacinths with the purple-and-gold Mardi-Gras-coloured flowers – and walk on water all the way up to that big cloud mountain that wasn't really there. And that's when I told myself that I
really
believed in Pops' dream. And now that I knew the whole back story, it was eye-opening, like wakin' up with conjunctivitis until Moms rescues you with some saline.

To tell the truth, I didn't even care if my pops still believed his vision or if it was somethin' to get Valerie Beaumont into the swamps. I just had the same premonition – and Frico had the power, even though the boy had taken a really bad turn.

Pa Campbell brought the pirogue around to the landin' at the front of our house, and we used a plastic shovel to scoop the crawfish into an ice cooler. It wasn't even crawfish season, so the shells were hard and noisy. I did most of the shovellin', cos suddenly Pa started shiverin' like he was cold. He sat down at the edge of our landin' and then, when I could no longer see his face except for the flickerin' white in his eyes, he said to me like it was a benediction:

“You are also from San Tainos – at least a part of you. Know what that word ‘Taino' means, son? It means ‘good people'. But it also means you got ancestors that was on this side of the world for thousands of years before ol' Columbus came pokin' his sword all over the place. Soon as he came, I believe deep down they knew it was never gonna be the same. You've got ancestors inside of you that saw his face as close
as I'm sittin' 'cross from you. And that means theah's a part of you that should sense it when the wind changes. But you don't pay attention, Skid, so I gotta tell ya. And tell those brothers of yours too. Start askin' your mauda to tell you who the hell y'all are, you heah me? I mean, just the odder day y'all were knee-high to a grasshopper, but y'all grown up now... it's time. Lord knows it's time. You don't know who you are, and it's a shame.”

What he was sayin' was pretty cool and deep and scary, but I was more happy about him agreein' to let me help him with the crawfishin' and such. So I was about to ask him 'bout a salary package when Moms, she heard the talk and came around the side of the house past the new well and water tank. She stepped over the PVC pipe, leant on the rake in her hand and called out to Pa askin' him how I did out on the bayou.

“Boy's a nachural,” he called back. “Gathered a whole pile for you guys too. And if you don't mind I'd like to borrow his help ag'in come next weekend.”

“As long as you be tellin' him only about fishin', that's all right.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, avoidin' her eyes and gruntin' as he picked up the cooler. He walked past her towards his house. “Matter of fact, I was tellin' him that to read and write and speak good is a spell in itself. I told him to study that grammar and those mathematics and cast a spell on the world that way.”

And I just wished that old man hadn't said a word about all that. Valerie Beaumont is no fool.

Twelve

Backhoe Benet moved out of the swamp in a hurry. That was before Christmas, right after he came there one last time with some guys in one of those new GMC trucks. He went inside his house and came back out with the dried-up sunflowers and threw them out into the yard. Then he took down the curtains himself and dropped them on the floor and just stood there lookin' out over the train tracks and past the sinkhole. He went for Medusa and put her in the passenger seat of the GMC and drove away. The guys took sledgehammers and a tractor and demolished the house, which was wood and glass anyway. A flatbed came and scraped up the junk and they all left with it.

When they were drivin' out, the wind picked up and you could smell dead leaves and damp earth. That winter was bitter cold. How cold? So cold I wore all those acid-wash, denim hand-me-down jackets without feelin' bad about it. How cold? We hardly got snow so far South, but that winter there was a seven-minute snow flurry and we needed serious heatin'. So Tony, he got nerdy and built us a heater out of a wood stove, steel sheets and some bricks Pops left behind. I think Pops helped him by calling through on the CB, but I couldn't be sure. For one thing Valerie Beaumont was turnin' that thing off more regularly. Pops' voice would come over on the frequency. He'd say, “Break, break, Lady T-Rex,” and she'd say, “Oh, gimme a break indeed.” Well, I guess Pops was out of the hospital and was tryin' to follow up on that note he sent to Moms.

Yeah, he sent her a note. See, when Pa Campbell brought that whiskey bottle back to Moms that night, the old fella
didn't even know he was being my pops' little postman. Cos that Pops is real sneaky. He used the rolled-up photo to hide a note that he wrote to Moms. So when she broke that bottle that night and said she was gonna put back her photo where it came from, she found some paper rolled up real neat inside the photo. We all got a hold of it and read it one night while she was sleepin'. And it was a shocker. Her blood pressure went up and the whole place smelt like green tea and garlic for days.

Well, my mother, she read it and bawled. Then she stomped outside in the night with a storm lantern and a shovel and buried the PVC pipe. For seven days we held hands around the table when she prayed for courage. And like I told you, that makes me scared as hell. Moms started goin' and sittin' with Ma and Pa Campbell on their porch for hours. When we watched them, we'd just see them noddin' and pointin' and
gesticulatin', but I couldn't for the life of me make out what those ol' people were sayin'.

Nineteen Eighty-six. Well, the changes were happenin' fast. Pa Campbell gave us a beat-up pirogue and Moms', well, she was learnin' to shoot.

One day I heard her around the back with Pa Campbell churnin' out bullets from the old .270 rifle, and I said, “Yeah, that's my momma.” By spring we were catchin' bass and panfish and crawfish out on the bayou instead of standin' on the banks and wishin' we could. Valerie Beaumont said it was about time we got our feet wet. We didn't mind, even though Tony had to learn to keep quiet out on the water and Doug had to park his dainty white tennis shoes and Frico had to lay down his paintin' sometimes and grab a trap or fishin' pole. I had to learn to stop tryin' to tell all of them what to do like I knew it all just because I went out crawfishin' with Pa Campbell a few times.

Now, us learnin' to live off the land couldn't have come at a better time. Some people in the city were shuttin' down shop and those who worked for them were headin' out to Dallas and Atlanta to find jobs. We came home from school every day and practised our fishin' and packed shrimp and craw-fish. Pa showed us how to scoop silt from the bayou floor and pour it into the garden, at the root of whatever greens he was growin'. Man, that mud stunk to highest heaven.

“Aww. Smell dat? Dat right theah is rich nutrishun for dose greens right theah! You know, I heard the Mayans or dose Aztecs I think, yeah, they use to do dat. Pour the swamp floor or river bed on all dat corn and cassava. They had to grow things fas', cos... they had people to feed!”

One day in the middle of our enterprisin' and history lesson, Belly rode into L-Island and just up and said he'd be leavin' after summer to continue middle school in Atlanta. Tall Horse sent for him – God knows I don't know my uncle-in-law's real name – and there was no time for debatin': it was just time to move. It was a weird time, cos almost on cue
here comes Marlon the Fading Child Star with the same story. He was leavin' for some place in New York called Rochester, cos he would be closer to big auditions and more opportunities for TV commercials. Well, Frico took a break from paintin' critters and he sketched a design for a costume that Marlon could do his auditions in, and Marlon's grandma, she got to sewin' it for him, even though his grades didn't budge upwards. Now, even though it wasn't a magic suit or nothin' (Frico drew it with his right hand), I was a little surprised at how easy it was for
other people
to get this guy to draw stuff – so I just felt mad that week.

I was mad at my pops too. That letter only showed that Alrick Beaumont was a coward who couldn't come into the swamps and man up and tell Moms to her face about the whole thing. Even though, with her new shooting skills, maybe he really shouldn't. Apart from that, that letter mentioned nothin' about all them seals he buried in the earth – hundreds prob'ly. Then again, maybe she knew, and that's why we were holdin' hands around the table all the time. Now, I'll tell you who wasn't a coward: Frico Beaumont. One school mornin', he was brushin' his teeth, and since I was thinkin' about the suit he just up and drew for ol' Marls, I just stepped into the bathroom and stood behind him and glared at the guy in the mirror.

“I got somethin' for you to do for
me
, Frico.”

That freckle-face boy just looked at me in the mirror all blank and started brushing his tongue and letting all the toothpaste suds fall out – all the time he knows he's disgustin'. He told me to hold his nasty toothbrush while he cupped both hands to rinse his mouth cos the tank was runnin' low again. I repeated myself.

“Said I got somethin' for you to do for me, Frico.”

Rinse. Gargle. Spit.

“And what you can do for me is put my toothbrush down and get the hell out. You gonna watch me floss too?”

He snapped a thread off his T-shirt and wrapped it around his fingers. I tried to sound reasonable.

“Look, we ain't had words about Broadway and Squash, but we need to.”

“Go ahead, have words. This should be interesting.”

“I know you did it.”

“You
think
I did it. You imagine that I do lots of things. You should be careful with that. That's why momma took you to see that shrink lady.”

“That lady doctor is none of y'all business. And by the way that was not because of anything I was thinkin'. It was because your friend Suzy Wilson got me into trouble and all that. I used to
think
things those days. These days, I
know
.”

“Uh-huh, you know? Why? Cos these days you are the Prophet Beaumont? I thought the only thing you believed in was money.”

“Sure I believe in money, like Doug does. I believe in
you
too.” That sounded crappy as soon as I said it. He stuck his finger into his mouth and made that fake-vomit sound that girls do when they think you're a creep – well, at least that's what Marlon told me.

“Look, we got things to do, and instead of usin' those powers, you're just markin' time around here.”

“Don't know what you're talkin' about. You're mistaken.”

“I'm talkin' about the earthquake and the sinkhole and all the stories I heard about you since I was born.”

He wasn't lookin' at me any more. He pulled on both ends of the flossin' thread. Something flicked off and stuck to the mirror.

I realized this boy wasn't budgin'. So I got real menacin' and husky in my voice, like they do on those interrogations that come halfway through every cop show.

“I'll tell you what will be a mistake, Fricozoid. Not doin' what I say when I say it. Cos I got the drop on you, y'hear me?” I was thinkin' I would use some cool police phrases too.

He just laughed.

“Wait, wait... wow. Ha. You got the drop. On me...”

He used one finger to tap his chest, while he smirked at me in the mirror. Then he went from amused to bored, but I wasn't goin' to leave without makin' my point.

“Frico, I heard you say ‘shhh' up in that tree, but I'm prepared to do the opposite if we don't come to an understandin' right now.”

To be honest, at that point I knew I pushed too far – and by any measure I was being too big for my britches, as Pops would say. But Frico didn't grab for my throat like I expected him to. Instead he just stood in the mirror, took up the toothpaste and squeezed a bit on his fingertip. Then he started draggin' his finger around and sketchin' on the glass with the toothpaste. Meanwhile he's doin' it, he's talkin' real calm.

“See Skid... maybe I said ‘shhh' up in that tree so you would shut up and not scream like a girl again, and let ol' man Benet see us and start blazin' bullets – cos maybe he thought it was Calvin climbin' a tree or some Loogaroo or something. Or maybe I did it so you can keep your mouth shut, period – especially to Belly and Marlon and Harry T about all this rubbish – you got that?” He moved from in front of the mirror and pointed.

“Aww now Skid... look what you done gone and did to yourself.”

I looked and – would you believe it? – that bastard sketched a perfect image of my face on the mirror with the toothpaste. And then the guy added pimples! Lots of them. I grabbed my face. I was ready at this point to back off and fight another day, but he pushed past me and was walkin' out the door when he said: “I will sketch that every mornin' and find somewhere to add one more spot until you promise to shut the hell up. Even if it's on your scalp. You got that?”

* * *

I got obsessed with mirrors after that. Had one in my pocket, lookin' out for a bad complexion every hour on the hour. Then I started hoggin' the ol' dresser mirror inside of our shack as well. Now, come to think of it, I know I never told you anything much about the inside of our one-room swamp shack. That's because a man can't describe what he can't see. But since Pops moved out with his stuff, we did some spring cleanin' and threw out more junk – and, frankly, our house was in better shape. Inside at least. There were pale patches on the floor, squares and rectangles where appliances used to sit, pale wood undisturbed for years and years. We took out some of the furniture. It wasn't much, just four iron chairs and a formica table with wooden legs, three beds – or, rather, two beds and a cot – and a big, tangerine fake-leather armchair behind the door.

We decided not to move the heavy stuff, like Moms' display case with all the fine china that's never used, and the stuff that was hooked up to Pops' power sources, like the fridge and CB, cos he wasn't around to fix anythin' if it went haywire. The old record changer that some poor soul had brought in to get fixed was still there. They'd left a Justin Wilson Cajun comedy record in it, but the changer played real slow, so ol' Justin's jokes took too long to hit the punchline. Pops' workbench was still in the far corner of the room, with yellowin' electronic magazines hangin' over it from shelves like an overstuffed Po' Boy sandwich. Moms took down each shelf herself and put them out in the yard for the mosquito fires. Tony snuck half of them back inside.

The job to clean the floor went to me and Fricozoid. Moms went into an old shippin' barrel and took out a few ounces of some red powder, and we mixed it with water and washed the wood floors with it until it was blood red. Then we started on the porch. She called the red powder “annatto”
.
We called it “weird”. She was grinnin' and sayin' she “hadn't seen a floor
so pretty since...” – and when she trailed off, I got brave and finished her sentence: “Since San Tainos?” Well, right then she just stopped and stared ahead right across to Pa Campbell's place. And he just turned himself around in his wheelchair and slid inside his house and locked the door behind him.

She put up some new white curtains after we painted the inside of the house with this aquamarine flat emulsion that we found in Pops' left-behind belongin's. “It's time things got a little more permanent round here.”

That night the mosquito fire was a huge camp-style blaze fuelled by some of Pops' old magazines. When the light from it was brightest and made the trees and their shadows elastic, Moms started a show-and-tell. Dozens of jars and old clothes and albums and some knick-knacks later, we had heard all about San Tainos – just like that. She said our Pops didn't want us to grow up confused, so she didn't tell us much, but we were older now. She made it fun, better than many teachers I've had – playin' all the parts in the drama of when the sun was young and the Caribbean gods created San Tainos by breakin' off pieces of Peru and draggin' them up the Central American Walkway and hurlin' them into the sea right off the coast of Mexico to make steppin' stones into the Greater Antilles. This was a road of escape from other tribes, who raided Taino villages like it was a hobby. Well, some of the Taino people went on ahead into Jamaica, Cuba, Puerto Rico and Hispaniola, but others stopped to rest a while on those steppin' stones – and the breeze was so cool they fell asleep and had sweet dreams for centuries. When they woke up, Columbus was knockin' on their door with a nightmare. But after a while some of them found refuge from the ol' Spanish sword by escapin' in the dead of night with some runaway slaves that the Spanish called Cimarrónes. Them and the Cimarrónes took to the mountains to live high up inside a cooled-down volcano cone on the north of the island. And up inside that big burner, the Spanish didn't even know where
they were at first. That group of people recognized the volcano as a
zemi
, a god in itself, since it was apparently the one who saved them from the invaders. They called the mountain Bik'ua.