Getting Mother's Body (24 page)

“Ma won him throwing dice,” she says.

I asked first. I had tit. Now I got to tat.

“How come they call you Laz?” she asks.

“I was born not breathing,” I says. “Laz is for Lazarus.”

“You wanna watch me sleep some more?” she says. I don't say nothing and she leads me by the hand back into the office.

We do it. I ain't never done it before except in my mind thinking of Billy mostly and sometimes looking at a dirty picture. Even's done it before and she knows what to do. She takes off her dress and lays on the bed. She's got on a white brassiere and white underpants. Then she takes them off too. Her body is mountainy and warmish-cool and reddish-brown like the dirt. I take off all my clothes and my glasses and my wool cap too and I do what she tells me, getting on top of her soft warmish coolness and putting my thing in her and she don't got to tell me how to move it cause somehow I know that so I'm moving it around while she says
Lazarus
over and over in my ear. Even is rocking me in her arms and I'm loving her with my eyes open, but when I close my eyes I can see Billy Beede with her wide smile. After we're through, I close up my pants and she pulls her clothes back on. I've taken advantage of her, now I got to assume my responsibilities.

“I guess we gotta get married,” I says.

“I like you but I don't like you like that,” she says.

“I'm trying to assume my responsibilities,” I says.

Even throws back her head and laughs. “We had some fun, but you don't got to go to town with it,” she says. She sits up in bed and I sit up with her. We watch the horse out the back window. Loose from his chain he's halfway across the field, almost to the tractors.

“One day I'ma stand on his back and ride him. Maybe today,” Even says.

“Want me to catch him?” I says.

She lays her hand on my leg, to keep me from moving, then she whistles, putting two of her fingers in her mouth and blowing hard. That horse hears her calling and comes trotting back toward the clothesline just like a dog would.

WILLA MAE BEEDE

Deep down in this hole

I got to thinking

About the promises I made but ain't been keeping.

Deep down in this hole

I got to drinking

I got drunk and I done cried myself to sleep.

Deep down in this hole

It's a cold cold lonesome hole

I made my bed

Now I'm laying in it all alone.

BILLY BEEDE

We're about two hundred miles from LaJunta. Four more hours then a few hours to dig. I'll ride with them back to Lincoln and take the bus up to Gomez from there. Aunt Precious and Uncle Blood sent us on our way with three jars of Uncle Blood's Block and Tackle to give as presents to Miz Candy and celebrate with a sip when we get the treasure. When we get rich they'd like to get rich too. Not more than they deserve. Just enough to get side-by-side burial plots, matching headstones, and white Cadillacs to take them to their graves. And maybe a marching band. I tolt them there'd be enough for everybody, but I don't know. I don't like spending it all before we even get it.

Uncle Teddy and Aunt June are following behind in Homer's car. I'm driving the truck with Homer riding shotgun.

“Yr mad at me,” Homer goes.

“No I ain't,” I says.

“Yr mad cause I was looking at that filling station gal.”

“You was doing more than looking,” I says.

West of El Paso there's groves of pecan trees with their slim brown trunks planted in perfect lines along either side of the road and rolling like a thousand-spoke wheel as we pass by.

I drive along, reading the road signs. Vado and Chaparral. Through Las Cruces and across the Rio Grande where it cuts up through Mexico and Texas heading north. When I came out here with Mother I could read some of the signs but not all of them. Now I can read them all.

Homer's got a piece of paper folded on his lap. He unfolds it, studies it, then folds it neatly back up. “I have a strong feeling for you,” he says. “You turned me down so I got mad.”

“And then you went with that gal,” I says.

“I was just trying to get you jealous,” he says. “Are you jealous?”

“I'm driving,” I says.

“You're driving me wild,” he says smiling. I smile too. I can't help it.

He unfolds his paper, holding it up to the dashboard and pressing it to the inside of the windshield so I can see the figures he got written down without taking my eyes off the road. “Here's the amount the jewelry will bring,” he says. He points to a figure on the paper and I glance a look.

“All I see's a X,” I says.

“That's because we don't know the exact amount,” he says.

I want to ask him how come he just don't write question mark instead of X but I can tell the way he's holding the paper that he learned to write that X in college. Uncle Teddy, when he writes his name, makes a X too.

“Here's everyone's name and here are the percentages that they're due,” Homer says. “Your name is at the top. You get the lion's share. That means more than half. Let's say fifty-five percent. The remainder will be divided up between the rest of us.”

“How much you getting?”

“Fifteen percent,” he says. “That's pretty fair.”

“We can't afford to give you but five percent,” I says. He smiles and cocks his head, looking at my belly then looking back at his paper, but not saying nothing.

Mother said she was gonna get rid of the baby she was carrying. It was big in her belly already. She had bought some herbs from somebody. She didn't say who. We left Dill's in the middle of the day. We took all our stuff so I knew we were going for good. She ate the herbs while we was driving and she would pull the car over every once and a while and get sick. I was ten years old and thinking every time she bent in two and spat up that the baby in her she didn't want would come out of her mouth with her puke, like it was in her stomach and all she had to do was spit it up. But the baby didn't come out. So she got a better idea. She said when we got to Miz Candy's she was gonna fix herself. It weren't hard, she said. She told me to say “good riddance” to the baby while we drove along. She said we'd be free of our troubles and looking at palm trees by the end of the week.

Homer wedges his hand gently between my legs.

“I can't give you more than five percent,” I says.

“I could live with that if you gave me something to go with it,” he says.

“I don't wanna get with you, Homer,” I says.

“Don't play holy, honey, I know you got a wild nature,” he says.

We pass a sign.

I twist my hips and make a face at him. He takes his hand away. We get through the town then I pull off the road. I put my head down on the wheel but I don't cry.

ROOSEVELT BEEDE

Up ahead Billy pulls the truck over and we pull over behind her. She's got her head on the wheel and Homer's saying he's sorry.

“Lemme drive,” I says and Homer gets out the truck and goes back to his car. I open the door and Billy scoots over and I get behind the wheel and we head on out that way. After a minute, Homer, with his foot heavy on the gas pedal, cuts around us to lead the way even though he don't know where the hell he's going.

“What'd Homer do?” I ask, but Billy ain't listening. She's got that picture of Willa Mae out of her purse, studying it, looking from the young woman in the picture to the young woman in the truck's side mirror.

My father died in World War I. I was four years old. Willa Mae was two. I got a picture of him wearing his uniform. His hat looks like a tin plate.

“I bet there ain't no treasure,” Billy says.

“Sure there is,” I says.

“You mind digging her up to get it?”

“I done resolved myself to it,” I says. “Maybe we'll take her back home with us. The truck's got room.”

“Maybe,” Billy says. She puts the picture away and reaches underneath the seat, taking out a loaf of bread wrapped in wax paper.

“You want me to stop and get you something to go with it?”

“I got a taste for it plain,” she says.

She's already opened it up and she's eating a slice with nothing on it. When Willa was pregnant with Billy, Willa had a taste for dirt.

We pass a sign. “Read that for your Uncle,” I says.

“ ‘Red Mountain, elevation five thousand feet.' There was a Black Mountain a few miles back,” Billy says.

She's still working on that loaf, eating it slice by slice. There's bread crumbs on her belly.

“You think we was wrong doing that ring trick?” she asks.

“We needed the money,” I says.

“But it's stealing and you ain't no thief.”

“I guess I am now,” I says. I'm driving a truck pretending it belongs to me and I pretended to be a Driver who pretended to lose a ring with fake rubies so we could get some money that didn't belong to us so we could get a treasure that does. I don't know. I look up into the sky where I was taught God stays at. I ask God to forgive me. Several miles back, June said the desert looks like what the ocean would look like if the ocean didn't have any water in it.

“It musta hurt losing yr church,” Billy says. She's looking down into her loaf, not at me.

I don't got nothing to say at first. Her and me don't got much practice talking. “It weren't too bad,” I says finally.

She turns towards me. I lift my chin up. A gal starts as a virgin and then one day she loses her virginity. Maybe it's the same with a man losing his church.

“What happened with you and Homer?” I ask.

“He's toying with me, is all.”

“I'm sorry,” I says.

“It weren't too bad,” she says. “Homer can go to hell.”

When Willa Mae came back to Lincoln, jilted, but with that new car and sporting her diamonds and pearls, she had a photograph too, of her rich Carmichael the third fella. She'd ripped the photo into three almost-equal pieces and then Scotch-taped them back together so his face looked wrong but you could still see enough of him to see he was handsome, well-dressed, and white-looking.

“He looks white cause he
is
white,” Willa Mae said.

Once I was over visiting her and Dill and Willa Mae got drunk and fed that ripped and taped-back-together photograph to one of Dill's hogs.

“That rich bastard can go to hell,” Willa Mae said, watching the hog eat the fella's picture. She'd been jilted but she was tough about it, like Billy, jilted by Snipes and toyed with by Homer, is tough about it now.

“Homer can go to hell and Snipes can go right to hell with him,” Billy says.

I want to tell Billy how she's just like her mother, but that would be like picking at a scab.

We pass another sign.

“Read it to me,” I ask her.

“ ‘Continental Divide,' ” she says.

WILLA MAE BEEDE

The first few months I was with Dill I thought she was a man in the most regular sense of the word which is to say I thought she had a man's privates. We wasn't never nekked together in the daylight and some people might think that's strange, but I been with enough different men to know that just cause you don't get nekked in the daylight with him it don't mean nothing. Most men like the lights out. Most men like to keep part of they clothing on. Some gotta do it with their shoes and socks on. Some keep they pants on. Many keep they shirts on and buttoned up. Son Walker liked to wear his hat. There ain't nothing normal when it comes to Men and Relations. Dill liked the lights off and the clothes on. I had a roof over my head and our Relations were good. One night we was going at it and I got bold. I felt around down there and then I knew and Dill knew that I knew but we didn't mention it.

I found what kind of a man Huston Carmichael the III was when he jilted me. I found out what kind of man Dill was by feeling around in the dark. I found out but I didn't tell nobody for a long time and when I did, I felt bad but once words leave your mouth you can't get them back in. I know cause I tried. I went around trying to take back what I'd said about Dill Smiles but the words had already run down the road. It weren't no use.

DILL SMILES

Ma's out in the field working with Even on her bareback. Even don't got a knack for it, though. My half-sister's heavyset and can't stand on the horse even though he's got a swayback and ain't moving. After working on it for a while, they quit for the day. Ma looks tired, Even looks let down. The horse, though, looks happy, standing tied to the clothesline, eating his dinner.

“Come on over here,” I tell them, “I'll teach you how to shoot.”

“We already know how to shoot,” Ma says.

Even wants to practice, though. Maybe she'll be better at shooting than she is at riding.

Laz lines up the cans and they shoot. Ma's good. Even's aim ain't shit but she can twirl the gun around and when she do hit a can she blows the smoke away from the gun barrel like a Saturday-morning cowboy. Laz gives it a try, squirming up his face and standing to one side with his arm straight and steady as a board. He's the best of the three.

I hear the sound of a car stopping followed by a sound that could be my truck, but we're too far away from the parking lot to hear good and the row of pink rooms blocks our view. Candy and Even figure they got customers and walk toward the house to greet them. If it's Billy and them I got my gun.

“Billy comes near this grave thinking she's gonna dig and I'ma shoot her dead,” I say to Laz but he ain't listening. He's watching Even walk back toward the house.

“How was she?” I ask him.

“How was who?”

“Even.”

“She's yr own sister. Show respect,” Laz says.

“I asked you an honest question,” I says.

“I got my mind set on Billy,” Laz says. He punches his chin out when he says it.

“Billy don't got no love for you,” I says.

“She will,” he says.

My .44 revolver is loaded and in my pocket. I remember I got Willa's ring in that pocket too so I move my gun to my pocket on the other side. The wood handle curves out. My pockets are as good as any holster.

Willa Mae was in Room 33. There was blood in the bed. She was under the covers, so just glancing at her from the door, you couldn't tell she was bleeding. That's how come she bled for so long. From the door of the room it looked like she was just laying in the bed with the spread up to her chin. The blood had soaked down—spreading out and going down through the mattress. When she told Ma to call me they didn't think she was dying. Her voice just sounded tired, they said. By the time I got there they were worried. They couldn't get ahold of the Negro doctor though and Willa had the door locked anyway saying she was fine, just tired. Billy had been standing in the corner for two whole days.

“I got my mind set on Billy,” Laz says, “there ain't nothing can change my mindset.” He pulls his cap down over his glasses then pushes it up again. Once upon a time I had me a romantic mindset like Laz's got now. I ain't telling him that, though.

“You ain't told me how Even was,” I says.

“She was nice,” Laz says.

“How nice?”

“She was a lot better than my hand,” he says.

Around the corner of Room 33 someone comes walking. A fella I don't know, followed by Teddy. Behind Teddy is what looks like Billy Beede.

HOMER BEEDE ROCHFOUCAULT

I'm coming around the corner with my spade on my shoulder, ready to dig. Uncle Teddy and Billy are right behind me. Miz Candy said there'd be trouble but I'm not scared. The way I see it, I gotta make a good impression, else Billy will get more mad at me and take back my five percent we agreed on. Making a good impression means doing most, if not all, of the digging.

There's a long fella sitting at what must be the grave. A second fella, about my height, is standing beside him. I add things up pretty quick. “I ain't afraid of no Dill Smiles,” I yell. I've got to give it to her, though. From here, at first, I took her for a man. Laz, seeing us, comes running over.

“Dill's a good shot,” Laz says. His face is sweating.

We all stop walking. I stand as tall as I can and point my chest out. I stick the tip of my spade in the red dirt, telling Billy and Uncle Teddy and Laz, with the way I'm standing, that I've got things under control. But I'm not just going to run over there. The bulldagger's a good shot.

“Hey, Dill,” Uncle Teddy says waving. Dill doesn't say or do anything.

“How was yr ride?” Laz asks Billy.

“It was long,” Billy says.

Laz looks me over. “You Billy's new man?” he asks.

“Hells no,” Billy says before I can get my answer together.

Laz pats the sides of his pants and stands a little taller. That's probably his baby she's got. He looks at Billy but Billy's looking at Dill.

Miz Candy and Even and Aunt June come around the corner to stand with us in the fat triangle of shade thrown by Room 33. Aunt June has her little shovel. They're all waiting for somebody to start.

“We've come to dig,” I say, yelling at Dill.

“You ain't come to dig nothing,” Dill yells back.

Just the sound of that lezzy's voice makes me take a step back and all of them behind me follow suit.

“Dill ever killed anyone before?” I ask.

“Not yet,” Billy says, and we all laugh nervously.

“Go head and laugh,” Dill says. “Laugh all the hell you want.”

I can feel fear coming up. I need to make a move before fear grabs me and someone else takes the lead and I lose my five percent. I walk forward a few steps. Dill raises her pistol in the air.

“Willa Mae wanted to provide for Billy,” Uncle Teddy says, but the pistol doesn't come down.

“We came all this way,” a woman says. I turn to see who spoke. It was Aunt June.

I take another step forward, Billy steps forward right behind me as does Laz. Billy's got her spade on her shoulder, holding it steady with one hand while her other hand is pressed into the small of her back, balancing the weight of her belly. Teddy is just behind Laz. June's behind him with Miz Candy and Even at the rear.

When we were pulled over by that Deputy I was scared. I could see that white man taking my car and lynching me and Uncle Teddy just for sport. When he didn't do any of that, I saw the fingerprints and that picture he took of me as things that would be a bad mark on my career. The white man was doing what he could to keep me down. But Dill tops that white man. He did what he could to thwart me on my road to the Senate but that Senate seat isn't mine, it's just something I want. The bulldagger wants to thwart me from getting a five percent that's rightfully mine.

I reach into my hip pocket, slow, like I was reaching underwater. I take out my piece of paper, where I got everything figured out, opening the paper up slow and holding it in front of my chest like the sense it makes can stop bullets.

“We can all profit from this,” I say, taking another step forward.

Dill shoots her gun into the air. The horse they have gets up on its rear legs, pulling at the chain but not breaking it.

“Keep going just like yr going,” Billy says. Her voice has a nasty edge to it. I'm still in the lead but she's right behind me. The others have moved back into the shade. Billy smiles at me and gives me a thumbs-up sign. It isn't a real smile, though.

“I don't know you, but that don't mean I can't shoot you,” Dill yells in my direction.

My five percent will pay off my father's debts. Then I'll be the true man of the house and mother will have to let me go to any college I want.

I take another step. Then another. Dill points the pistol right at us and we all hit the dirt. A shot rings out, popping the side of the house.

“Deliah, what the hell you doing?” Miz Candy yells.

“Don't you Deliah me,” Dill yells back.

“You don't got to shoot,” Miz Candy says.

“They stole my truck,” Dill says.

The record that Deputy's got on me will be a bad mark somewhere in the future but Dill Smiles wants to kill me right now. I stand up, walking backwards with my hands up in the air.

“I'm going to sit in my car,” I tell Dill and everyone.

My paper and my spade are just laying on the ground. The wind comes and floats my paper across the field. I back up, passing Billy still laying in the dirt, past all of them huddled in the shade, before I can take a breath again. I take a few good breaths, getting my voice back.

“You Beedes figure out what you want to do. I'm happy to help dig, but I don't need to get killed,” I say walking away.

This must be what my mother meant by Beedeism. Jewelry buried in the ground. Gals needing husbands. Bulldaggers with pistols. I would head home right now and wash my hands of the whole thing if it weren't for my five percent.

JUNE FLOWERS BEEDE

If that Dill Smiles thinks we gonna stand out here in the heat with her playing shoot-out at the O.K. Corral, she got another thing coming.

Homer went to sit in his car. We all stand around until Candy says she's got food for us and eating will help us think of what to do.

We sit at her picnic table and she takes a brand-new pink tablecloth out the package, spreading it down.

“All them times you wrote, we woulda sent you something if we could,” Teddy says.

“June wrote me pretty letters,” Candy says smiling, “at last I get to meet you.”

“Wish we were as fancy as my handwriting,” I says.

“Hush,” Candy says.

I'm a pretty good cook but Candy's got a four-burner gas stove with a oven and a big ice box. We sit at the picnic table with her and Even playing waitress. They bring out smothered pork chops in brown onion gravy, steamed cabbage, a fresh loaf of Wonder Bread, and macaroni and cheese. They got lemonade to drink and for dessert there's chocolate layer cake. Teddy gets two jars of Cousin Blood's liquor from the truck. Homer's working on jar number three.

“We made it this far,” Teddy says serving the food onto our plates.

Candy reaches out her hands, taking ahold of my hand on her one side and Billy's hand on her other. She dips her head and we do too. Nobody speaks. After a minute I look up. Candy's looking at Teddy.

“You gonna say grace?” she asks him.

“Thank you for this food,” Teddy says.

I squeeze his hand and smile at him. He ain't gived much of a blessing since he lost his church. He lets my hand go and picks up his fork.

“Willa Mae said her brother was a preacher. Guess she was talking about some other brother,” Candy says.

Teddy's got a forkful of pork chop on the way to his mouth. He holds it there, then sets it back on his plate. The fork touching down makes a little clattering sound. He's got a look on his face I been looking at for many years. Not when I met him. It came on his face when he reminded me he was the husband and we turned back from California. It became the face he had when we was in Tryler. I thought the face was just a look and I figured he'd shake it, but in the thirty-odd years we been married that face has become his face and it's the face I married that's lost.

“Stand up, Teddy,” I says and he stands up.

“I'm at a loss for words,” he says. He goes to sit down but I give him a look that won't let him sit. He clears his throat.

“Thank God we made it this far,” he says. I think that's all he'll say but he keeps talking. “I guess we could ask for your help as we hoping on getting Dill to lay down her sword and shield but we ain't asking you for that. We just saying thanks and Amen.”

“Amen,” we all say. Teddy sits down. We eat quiet, complimenting Candy and Even on they cooking, but not saying much else.

Laz finishes first. “Me and Dill rode out here together,” he says. “I can talk sense to her cause we's friends.” He gets up and walks around the house.

When he's out of our view there's several shots. Billy stands up but the rest of us can't move. Laz comes back around the house. He's OK.

“There's plenty of food,” Even says and we settle back down and heap up our plates again. I don't know what anybody else's thinking, but every time I cut me a piece of pork chop I pretend like I'm slitting Dill Smiles' throat. Homer's in his car drinking Blood's moonshine and singing along to the radio. Before long we're through. Billy has a third plate full. We sit there watching her eat. Laz got his elbows on the table and his head propped up in his hands like it was his child Billy's got.

“Anybody got any ideas?” Billy asks.

“I'll think of something,” Even says.

“We got time,” Laz says. He don't want to rush Billy's eating.

“Me and June gotta be back by Wednesday,” Teddy says. He's thinking of Sanderson coming. Here it is Monday evening. When we get back I'll have a new garden. Teddy helped me pull up flowers by they roots and I wrapped them in wet rags.

“If we dig or not, they're plowing on Thursday regardless,” Candy says. She gets up and opens the first jar of the liquor and passes it around the table. We each take a sip. It occurs to me at that moment how lucky Willa Mae is. She may be dead but at least she is dead all in one place. When I go they'll bury me someplace, and my leg, long gone, will be in the ground someplace else. One time Willa Mae called me “one-legged” so I called her “fast.” But maybe it was me who did the name-calling first.

Teddy's got something to say. He stands up. Maybe he'll give another blessing. When Billy's through wiping her gravy up with her bread he speaks.

“I'ma talk to Dill. I think she'll hear me out,” he says.

I lift my hand up, taking hold of the hem of his coat. Before I lost my leg I felt something bad was gonna happen, something bad that I couldn't stop from happening. The yard is studded with weed grass. The breeze going through makes the grass look silvery. Dill Smiles is around the corner with a loaded gun. I should feel something bad coming but I don't. Teddy pets my hand and I let him go. We all watch him walk around the house.