Chaneysville Incident (13 page)

And so, when the meal was finished and the dishes washed, when the fire was stoked and the mugs of warmed and sweetened whiskey were in our hands, he did not hesitate; he did not even ask. He just said: “You want a story.”

No, I did not want a story. I wanted to sit and drink hot whiskey and pray that we would make it through the night, and later fall into a drugged and dreamless sleep. And so I did not give him the response he wanted; I did not give him a response at all.

But he spoke as though I had: “Then fetch the candle.”

I didn’t move. I just sat there with the cup held tight against my belly, trying to keep the cold at bay. For a while we struggled, and then I knew that I would win, even if he was a weak old man. I must have relaxed a little then, and he must have sensed it. Because he said:

“Bring the matches too. Can’t have light without strikin’ fire.” And I found myself moving, getting up and going to the shelf, taking down the candle and the matches, the motions so familiar they were almost painful. But when I came back to the table it changed. Because he was lying on his cot, not sitting in his chair. And so it was not precisely the same as it had been, not precisely as he would have had it. Now it was I who struck the match and lit the wick and set the candle in a pool of wax, a prisoner of its own substance, I who blew the lamp out. And so it might have been all right. But then he said:

“Put the matches back.” He did not need to say the rest of it.

“Time was,” he said, “when folks figured I was one a the orneriest bastards alive. An’ they figgered Josh was another. Tell the truth, I suspect as how we was; we was pert near as ornery as Mose.

“Now, could be you don’t know what I’m sayin’ when I say we was ornery. You probly think bein’ ornery is jest like bein’ mean, or stubborn, an’ that’s on account a you found out about it from lookin’ in some damn book. Well, bein’ ornery is bein’ stubborn, an’ it is bein’ mean, but that ain’t the best part of it. What ornery comes down to is how you act ’roun’ white folks. Now, I recall old Charlie DeCharmes, don’t know if you recollect him, but if Charlie wasn’t mean an’ stubborn, I don’t know who was. Nasty too. You coulda said to him, Charlie, we got us a barrel a whiskey an’ a pot a venison stew, come on an’ help us do it in, an’ you had a good chance a comin’ away without him. But if you was to say to him, Charlie, we’re goin’ down here to the field an’ beat the livin’ daylights outa each other with two-by-fours jest for the pure pain of it, why, you’d be lucky if he didn’t get there ahead a you an’ start in an’ beat hell outa his ownself. He was married to a girl from down McConnellsburg way, an’ folks down there couldn’t understand why didn’t nobody up here try to stop him from beatin’ on her all the time, but the way we figured it, she musta knowed what she was gettin’ into when she married him, on accounta the night she met him he was poundin’ the hell outa three fellas down to Hawley’s. She knowed Charlie was mean;
everybody
knowed Charlie was mean. But every mornin’ ’cept Sunday he went to work down to Heckerman’s, an’ he always got there on time. When he went to town he always put on a necktie, an’ he always called the white folks mister an’ ma’am. He was meanern a snake an’ nastiern garlicky milk, but he weren’t ornery.

“Me and Josh, we didn’t beat on nobody much; there was more times than not that we’d go outa our way to steer clear of a fight, lessen there was whiskey or money in question. But we was ornery. Me, why, I’d been knowed to make fun a white folks right to their faces, which was ornery. I’d been knowed to come right out an’ tell ’em to buy their butt a ticket on the express train to hell, which was surely ornery. An’ Josh? He went so far beyond that… Well, lemme tell you, what he done ain’t the kinda thing folks is gonna quit talkin’ about, an’ it ain’t the kinda thing folks is gonna still be talkin’ about, neither; it’s the kinda thing they won’t ever talk about at all.

“It first come out one Saturday night, when we was all settin’ around to Hawley’s, which me an’ Josh an’ Mose done jest for the company, seein’ as what we was drinkin’ was Mose’s whiskey marked up to make a profit for Hawley. Only Josh wasn’t there that night, which wasn’t hardly usual; only time Josh missed a Saturday night at Hawley’s was when we was all three off somewheres. So as you might expect, somebody sooner or later wanted to know where he was, an’ somebody else said they seen him ridin’ down the Springs Road, an’ swore he was wearin’ a suit. Now, everybody knowed better. I questioned the fella perty close—I forget now who it was ’xactly, but I made him get mighty particular ’bout what he seen, an’ what he only thought he seen, an’ what he only wisht he seen. An’ what it come down to was, he seen somebody
looked
like Josh ridin’ hard down the Springs Road. An’ soon as I got him to stop bein’ so sure, I was perty certain it wasn’t Josh, an’ I said so. Mose, he shook his head. ‘Jack,’ he says, ‘you shoulda been a white man. Fella come along an’ says he seen somethin’ an’ you hound him till he admits it might not a been that he saw, only somethin’ that looks jest like it, an’ from there you say he couldn’ta seen what he said he seen.’

“ ‘Well, damn,’ I says. ‘There’s a big diff—’ But ’fore I could say much, in through the door comes Josh hisself, and he was dressed in overhauls jest like always. ‘There,’ I says, ‘ya see?’ ‘See what?’ Mose says. He looks at Josh an’ says to him, ‘What the hell was you doin’ on the Springs Road in a suit?’ ‘Who, me?’ Josh says. ‘I wasn’t on no Springs Road, an’ I don’t have no suit.’ Mose looks at him real close, an’ he wrinkles his nose up a couple a times. ‘You lyin’,’ he says. ‘I ain’t,’ says Josh. ‘You is,’ says Mose. ‘You callin’ me a liar?’ Josh says. Well, the whole place got real quiet; folks was figurin’ out how to get a bet down an’ get out the way at the same time. Woulda been a fair fight—Mose had the muscle, but Josh was fastern a blue racer—but it never come off, on accounta Mose says, ‘No, I ain’t callin’ you a liar. Way I figure it,’ he says, ‘you jest forgot all ’bout buyin’ a suit an’ borrowin’ a horse an’ ridin’ down to wherever. Ain’t your fault; fellas forgets all the time, ’specially when they been sniffin’ bay rum. You know what I mean?’ Well, I started sniffin’ too, like I shoulda been all along, an’ I was startin’ to see what Mose meant when I seen that Josh knowed what he meant. You could tell sure, ’cause Josh, bein’ so damn white an’ all, Josh could blush. An’ he was blushin’ then. Looked like a cross ’tween a raspberry an’ a Mcintosh.

“ ‘Goddamn!’ I says. ‘This nigger’s in love.’ Mose looks at me an’ grins. ‘Damn, Jack,’ he says, ‘you ain’t so dumb after all.’ But Josh wasn’t havin’ none a that. ‘Naw,’ he says, ‘naw, he ain’t dumb. He’s jest a damn fool that don’t know his butt from a bung hole.’ But I knowed I was on the right track, an’ Mose did too. ‘I don’t know, Josh,’ Mose says. ‘Jack seems to be perty sure you been out cattin’ around’ ‘Nawsir,’ I says. ‘He ain’t been cattin’ no place. We ain’t talkin’ ’bout pussy-snatchin’. This here is
love
we’re talkin’ about.’ Mose shook his head—Josh was jest too busy splutterin’ an’ blushin’ to say anythin’—an’ he says, ‘Now, how you know all that, Jack? I can’t see it.’ Well, he was lyin’; half the time Mose acted dumb, but you didn’t need to know him too well to know he was always one step ahead a you, sometimes two, an’ half the time he was leadin’ you by the nose. But he liked to let things come out their own way. So I went straight on. ‘Well,’ I says, ‘he done shaved on Saturday afternoon, an’ that means women is in there somewheres.’ Mose nods. ‘An’,’ I says, ‘he was wearin’ a suit….’ ‘Hold up there,’ Mose says. ‘I thought you didn’t believe that.’ ‘I didn’t,’ I says. ‘Reason I didn’t was that it woulda been mighty strange. But when you got a woman stuck in the middle of somethin’, actin’ mighty strange is reglar.’ Mose considers that for a minute, an’ then he says, ‘Good point. Continue, sir, if you please.’ Sounded jest like a white man. Jest ’bout everybody there started grinnin’, ’cause they seen Mose’s ‘white man’ act before. As for me, I knowed how to play too.

“ ‘Certainly, Mr. Washington,’ I says. ‘Well,’ I says, ‘we’re sure about the woman. We’re sure about the suit, on accounta women makes strange things reglar, an’ if that ain’t enough, you can take a whiff a Mr. White an’ you’ll sniff the stink a bay rum, which sure as hell ain’t no more reglarn a suit, an’ if one unreglar thing is goin’ on, then why not another one?’ ‘Indeed,’ Mose says. ‘Continue, sir.’ An’ I was glad to keep goin’ too, on accounta I was havin’ a real good time turnin’ Josh into a cherry. Every time I’d say somethin’ else, he’d turn red someplace else. By that time I had his face red an’ his neck red. So I pulled up ma socks an’ went to work on the backs of his hands.

“ ‘Certainly, sir,’ I says. ‘Now, this here woman must be a mighty special woman. Man don’t put on a suit an’ stinkwater jest to lay out in the brier patch with some country girl. She’s so special, Mr. White is in love with her. He
respects
her.’ ‘An’ how do you know that, Mr. Crawley?’ says Mose. ‘Well, my dear Mr. Washington,’ I says, ‘it ain’t but midnight, which is jest about the time willin’ women is crawlin’ out their windows, or leastways throwin’ up the sashes, an’ Mr. White is here among us, which means the lady is not willin’, on accounta if she was, Mr. White would be elsewhere. On the other hand, he didn’t come in cussin’ an’ swearin’ an’ goin’ on ’bout bitches what gets a man to dress up an’ put on stinkwater an’ gets his nose open an’ then don’t wanna do nothin’ ’cept sit on a porch swing an’ hold hands. An’ that must mean that Mr. White don’t mind jest settin’ on a porch swing an’ holdin’ hands. An’
that
means he’s in love.’

“Now, about this time Josh was ’bout the shade of a barn door, an’ I was ready to ease up some. But Mose, he looks at me an’ he says, ‘Well, I’ll tell you, Jack, you reason that there out jest like a white man. Onliest problem with it is you left out one thing: man said he seen Josh here headin’ down the Springs Road, an’ that road don’t go nowheres but south, an’ as I know don’t nobody know bettern you, there ain’t nary a colored family that way ’fore you get clean to Cumberland. An’ lessen Josh done stole hisself somebody’s racehorse, ain’t no way he could get clean to Cumberland an’ back in that little piece a time, let alone doin’ any courtin’. So I wisht you’d think like a white man a while more an’ tell me jest ’xactly who this lady is.’ Well, he surely had a point, an’ I knowed he did, an’ if I hadn’t a knowed it I woulda been able to figure it out pert quick by the way old Josh jest quieted down an’ looked at me. Quit blushin’, quit chompin’ at the bit; he jest looked, ’sif to say, there, you smart-butted bastard, let’s us see who gonna be laughin’ at who in ’bout three minutes. Everybody else was lookin’ at me too, seein’ what I was gonna do. An’ I didn’t know, but I did know if I didn’t do somethin’ I was gonna look like God’s own fool, an’ the only thing I could figure was to make a joke outa it, so I says, ‘Thinkin’ like a white man, the answer’s clearern air: Josh’s been a courtin’ a white woman.’

“Well, nobody said nothin’ for a second, an’ then for ’bout five minutes you couldn’t hear nothin’ but folks laughin’. Hawley was laughin’. Charlie DeCharmes was laughin’ fit to bust his gut. Mose, he was damn near rollin’ on the floor. Me, I was perty happy gettin’ outa that little tight spot I’d jawed ma way into, an’ I was laughin’ perty good for a minute. But then I looked at Josh, an’ I seen somethin’ knocked the chuckle clean outa me: Josh, he wasn’t laughin’ at all. He wasn’t even smilin’. He was lookin’ at ’em all laughin’, lookin’ real hard. An’ then he spun around on his heel an’ stomped out. The rest of ’em was so damn busy laughin’ they didn’t even know he was gone. But I knowed, an’ it didn’t take a whole lotta fìgurin’ to see that there wasn’t nothin’ good gonna come of it.

“Well, the next day, I went huntin’ him. It took me a load a huntin’, too. It was sundown ’fore I come on him, settin’ on a rock by the side a the road, up on Blackoak Ridge, watchin’ the sun go down. I come up on him from behind an’ he didn’t even hear me come; he was that far gone with starin’. So I walked right up behind him—didn’t try to be quiet, but it didn’t make no difference—an’ I grabbed his arms real tight. Had to do that; you don’t walk up on a man like that an’ say somethin’—it’s a fast way to get your head took off. So I grabbed him, an’ I swear to God he didn’t hardly notice that. He just turns an’ looks up at me an’ grins. Dumbest damn grin I ever seen. I left him go. ‘Lissen here,’ I says. ‘I come lookin’ for you to tell you I didn’t mean to ram them spurs in like I done—’ Now, usually Josh woulda made you beg him to leave you apologize, but this time he jest waved it off. ‘Why, Jack,’ he says, ‘that wasn’t nothin’.’ An’ he goes right back to lookin’ at the sunset. ‘Naw,’ I says, ‘I don’t think there was no harm done; wouldn’t nobody believe it ’cept me.’ That there got his attention. ‘What?’ he says. ‘What the hell you sayin’?’ I jest shrugged at him. ‘I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ ’cept that your secret’s safe.’ ‘Ain’t no secret,’ Josh says. ‘Ain’t gonna be for long,’ I says, ‘if you keep on settin’ out in the middle of a Goddamn field in plain sight a the main road, moonin’ over a sunset. Everybody gonna know what you doin’.’ ‘Damn if they are,’ says Josh. ‘Damn if they ain’t,’ says I. ‘Hell, you act like you the first sorry soul ever fell in love. I’ll lay you five to one you an’ this girl decided you was gonna watch the damn sun go down every night an’ think sweet thoughts an’…’ I let up there, ’cause he was turnin’ so red I figured he was gonna bust somethin’. So I says, ‘Josh,’ I says, ‘lemme tell you somethin’.’ I says, ‘You recall when I was all het up ’bout that Berry girl, one lives out near Pleasantville? The one you an’ Mose kept actin’ like you was sniffin’ around jest to get me goin’? You remember all that, Josh? Well, I’m gonna tell you what me an’ that girl useta do. We went to town one day an’ we bought us each a colored candle. Blue ones. An’ every night at eight o’clock, she’d be in her house an’ I’d be wherever I was, an’ we’d light up them candles an’ stare at ’em an’ think ’bout each other jest as hard as we could. So you go back to your sunset, ’fore it’s all gone.’

“Well, I moved off a ways an’ waited there till the last piece a pink was gone outa the sky. Wasn’t bored waitin’. I had me a couple things to think about. First thing was that Berry girl. Lord, she was somethin’! Long strong legs an’ eyes like gooseberries an’ skin that felt like hot whiskey on a raw throat, an’ that damn candle-starin’ was damn near as good as bein’ right inside her, an’ I swear to God I mighta married her if it hadn’t been for the fact that I went out there one day an’ seen where she had a yellow candle an’ a green candle an’ a red candle right upside the blue one, an’ every one a them others was shorter. But she was still somethin’. But then I started thinkin’ ’bout what was sure to happen when the word got out. An’ that’s what I was thinkin’ ’bout when the sky got dark an’ Josh stood up an’ shook hisself like a hound dog comin’ outa a crick, an’ come over to me.