It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining (10 page)

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Authors: Ernest Hill

BOOK: It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining

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“Why don't you think about it a little while?” Daddy said. “You know, give this thing a chance to work itself out.”

“I have thought about it,” Grandpa Luke said. “Thought about it long and hard. I done made up my mind. I need to go home. I need to be close to Lucille.”

Up the road, I saw the turnoff leading on to Delvin Harper's place. I felt the truck slow and when he were close, Daddy pulled onto Mr. Harper's place and followed the narrow road past the large brick house and out past what used to be the sharecroppers' quarters when black folks like Grandpa Luke worked the place on shares. Now the place was mechanized and in the distance were the large tractors and cotton pickers and trailers and other farm equipment that had rendered obsolete the need for but a few laborers to work the massive fields that made up Mr. Harper's plantation. Daddy guided the truck through the fields and along a slough and stopped half a mile hence at the mouth of the woods.

“This close enough, Papa?”

Grandpa Luke nodded, and we climbed out and made our way across the slough and eased our way deep into the thick woods. Most of the leaves had fallen from the trees and the damp forest floor was covered with dried leaves and brittle twigs, and as we walked, all was quiet save for the sound of twigs snapping and leaves crunching under the weight of our heavy shoes. Daddy, clothed in coveralls, had one ax and Grandpa Luke, clothed in overalls and a heavy coat, had the other one. I didn't have anythingâmy hands were in my pockets.

“Reckon it's still out there?” Daddy asked Grandpa Luke.

“It's out there,” Grandpa Luke said.

“When the last time you seen it?”

“Week or two ago,” Grandpa Luke said.

“Hope ain't nobody cut it.”

“Ain't nobody cut it down,” Grandpa Luke said. “Put my mark on it. Besides, J.D. ain't gon' allow nobody to cut a blade of grass up yonder but me.”

“Well, I sho' hope not,” Daddy said.

“It's out there,” Grandpa Luke said again. “Trust me. It's there.”

“How much farther?” Daddy asked.

“Just over that ridge yonder.”

“What kind of tree is it?”

“Nice little old fir,” Grandpa Luke said. “I saw him pause and raise his hand to his eye level. “ 'Bout yea high. Gon' make a good tree ... been watching it for two years now. It's a beaut.”

“Hope we find it soon,” Daddy said, looking up as we walked. “Ain't much light left. Be pitch black before long.”

“Ain't much farther,” Grandpa Luke said. “Ain't much farther at all.”

We made our way through dense brush, trampling through weeds and kicking past old briars and hanging vines until finally we found ourselves in a small clearing. Suddenly, Grandpa Luke stopped and pointed.

“There she is,” he said.

Daddy and I stopped and looked.

“Ain't she a beaut?” Grandpa Luke said.

We inched forward and when we were close, I saw Daddy lean his ax against an adjacent tree, then I saw him circle the fir, inspecting the branches.

“It's a nice one, Papa,” I heard him say. “The nicest one yet.”

I saw Grandpa Luke smile, satisfied.

“Cut her down square,” he said. “Don't split the trunk. Whatever you do, don't split the trunk.”

“I won't, Papa,” I heard Daddy say.

“What you think, son?” Daddy asked me.

I eased forward and gazed at the tree. It was about six feet tall with nice full branches and a beautiful green color.

“Nice,” I said. “Real nice.”

I turned and looked. Grandpa Luke was staring off into the distance. He no longer seemed interested in the tree. His mind had drifted to something else. Something well beyond the ridge. I saw Daddy looking at him.

“What is it, Papa?” he asked Grandpa Luke.

“When we was young,” Grandpa Luke began, “and working the fields, used to be a little spot just over that ridge yonder where Lucille and I used to slip off every now and then and picnic under a old oak tree. Used to be so quiet and peaceful back there ... Hadn't seen that spot in years. Like to see it again ... snap a few pictures if I can.”

“I don't know, Papa,” I saw Daddy look up toward the sky again, then back at the tree. “We ain't got much time left. It'll be dark soon.”

“Asked your mama to marry me under that tree,” Grandpa Luke said. “And when she said yes, I carved our initials in it with my old pocketknife.” I looked at Grandpa Luke, then at Daddy. Grandpa Luke was still staring out across the rise; Daddy had bent low under the tree. “Wonder if it's still there,” Grandpa Luke said.

“Is what still where?” Daddy asked. I saw him rise to his feet and look.

“That old oak tree.”

“Don't know, Papa,” Daddy said. “Maybe.”

“Think I'll take a look.”

“It's getting late, Papa,” Daddy said. “Shouldn't go traipsing off in the woods alone this close to dark.”

“Just over the rise,” Grandpa Luke said. “Won't take but a minute. I'll be back before you know it.”

Grandpa Luke turned to leave. I saw Daddy look at him, then at me.

“Go with your grandpa,” he told me.

I started to move but Grandpa Luke stopped me. “Like to go by myself, if you don't mind.”

I saw Daddy look at him.

“Aw right,” he said, “but be careful.”

“I will,” Grandpa Luke said, walking toward the rise. “Don't worry ... I will.”

We watched him climb over the ridge and disappear into the dusk, and when we could no longer see him Daddy turned to me. “You been awful quiet since we left work,” he said, moving toward the ax he had propped against the tree. “Something on your mind?”

“Same old, same old,” I said. I eased forward and he lifted the ax, then looked at me.

“Omenita,” he said.

I nodded.

“Trouble, I guess,” he said, then crossed next to the tree.

“Just pressing me a little,” I said, “that's all.”

“I see,” he said. He was not looking at me. He was looking at the tree, and I knew that in his mind he was examining the trunk, mentally marking the spot at which he would swing.

“I just don't know what to do,” I said.

I saw him brace himself steady, then swing. The blade of the ax whistled through the air, then hit the tree with a heavy thud.

“Well, what you want to do?” he asked.

“Mama say I ought to leave her alone.”

“Ain't for her to say one way or the other,” he said. Then I heard the thud of the ax crashing against the tree. I heard him grunt, then speak again. “You got to figure that out for yourself.”

“Wish I could,” I said.

He paused and looked at me.

“Will she share a crumb with you?”

“Sir?” I said, confused.

“That was always the thing I looked for,” he said. “Wanted to find a woman who would share a crumb with me. I guess, in my mind, I figured if she would do that she was a good woman. Does that make sense to you, son?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “It makes sense.”

“Old folks used to say hard times will come and hard times will go but a good woman'll stick with you through thick and thin. And I guess that's the kind of woman I was looking for.”

He swung the ax again.

“Did you find her?” I asked.

I saw Daddy smile.

“You better believe it,” he said.

“Mama,” I said, then I smiled too.

“Now don't get me wrong,” he said. “Your mama and me got this little song and dance we do sometimes, but when it's all said and done and the chips are down, I know I can depend on her and she can depend on me. Now, she complains a little every now and then, but what woman don't? But one thing about your mama. Come hell or high water she's gon' be there for me and she's gon' be there for this family.” He paused to catch his breath. “Son, I been married to your mama over twenty-somethin' years, and I can't ever say I found myself in a situation where I was pulling one way and she was pulling the other. Now, if I believe in somethingâI mean believe in it hardâand I go to her, she's gon' take a interest in it. And she's gon' support me any way she can.”

“Even if she doesn't agree?” I asked.

“Even if she doesn't agree.”

“I guess that's the way it ought to be, right?”

He was about to swing the ax again, but when I said that he stopped.

“Well, now, I don't profess to know all there is to know about the happenings between a man and a woman. Truth be told I'm still learning myself, so I can't tell you what ought to be. All I can do is tell you about the woman I got and how things are with us.”

“And how are they?” I asked.

I saw him smile again.

“Better than I ever expected,” he said. “I love your mother but more importantly, she loves me. Now she may not say it very often because that's not the kind of woman she is, but you can bet your life she's gon' let me know.”

“How?” I asked him.

“By letting me know her.”

“I don't understand,” I said.

“Well, son, let me explain it like this,” he said. “I know that when we get home tonight, if I were to go out in the backyard and start staring up at the sky, ain't gon' be long before your mama gon' ease out there, and when she get close she gon' say âNat, what you doing?' And I'm gon' say âlooking up at the moon.' And she gon' say, âwhat you doing that for?' And I'm gon' say âI was just thinking. I'd sure like to go there one day.' And when I say that, she ain't gon' bat a eye and she ain't gon' say ânigger you crazy standing out here in the dark looking up in the sky like you done lost your mind.' Naw, she ain't gon' do that. But you know what she's gon' do?”

For an answer, I shook my head.

“She just gon' tilt her head back and take a long look. And then she gon' look at me and say, âwell, you better take a coat, 'cause I hear it get cold up there.' That's how I know she loves me. Because she'll stand behind me. No matter what I try. And she won't throw it in my face if it don't work out.” He paused again and looked at me. “Son, a man needs a woman who can help him get where he's going and who will give him a soft place to land if he fall along the way. Now, I don't know Omenita that well. I just know you and her been at this thing a long time. Now, if you love her and you say she the one, then I love her too. The only thing I say is just make sho' she'll share a crumb with you.”

He paused again and brought the ax down hard against the tree, and no sooner had the blade struck the tree than it fell crashing hard against the cold, frozen ground. I moved close to the tree and so did Daddy.

“Papa was right,” he said. “This gon' make a nice tree.”

I smiled and nodded but I was not thinking of the tree, I was thinking about what he had said; I was thinking about Omenita. I saw him kneel and inspect the tree closer. I looked up. Over the crest of the ridge, I saw Grandpa Luke approaching and when he came into full view I saw that the ax was in his left hand and his right arm was extended behind his back. He was dragging something behind him. He came closer and I could see that it was a tree.

Chapter Twelve

W
e dragged the trees out of the woods and at Grandpa's insistence, we dropped the one he had cut by his house before taking ours home. And at home, the three of them sat down to supper, but I did not stay, for I had promised Omenita that we would spend some time together this evening, and I was anxious to see her and hold her and make her understand that regardless of the momentary tension between us, I loved her in ways I never thought possible and with a strength and depth that not even I understood. And that this love was not something that either of us should take for granted, but it was something that we should cherish and nourish. And that this thing of which we had to speak was but a small obstacleâthe importance of which could not and should not pose a threat to either that which we now have or that which we longed to have in the not too distant future. Yes, I had heard Daddy speak of love in a way I had not considered. And now that I had, I wanted Omenita to understand the importance of us being there for each other, and not just today, or through this crisis we now had to navigate, but for all eternityâthrough good times and bad.

I pulled onto her street, feeling swarmed by emotions with which heretofore I had not been familiar. I parked on the shoulder just beyond the small cluttered yard that extended a few feet from the three concrete steps leading onto the small wooden porch that jutted out from her parents' house. She was home; so were her parents. I could see their vehicles parked in the yard just east of the house. Her father's truck was parked up front, and her car was parked directly behind his. I ambled out of the truck and marched forward with my head angled down against the wind and my anxious heart pounding in anticipation of gazing into the beautiful brown eyes of this woman for whom I so desperately yearned, and as I walked, I noticed in the yard next door, several men cloaked in coats, standing around an old trash barrel. The fire within could be seen flickering just above the rim, and I saw one of the men tilt his head back and drink from a bottle, then pass it to the man standing next to him.

I climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. And instantly, it swung open and Miss Jones stood before me.

“Hi, Miss Jones,” I said. “Is Omenita home?”

“She here,” Miss Jones said politely. “Come on in out the cold. She ought to be ready in a few minutes.”

I entered the house and as I did, I looked around. Mr. Jones was sitting in his recliner before the television watching the evening news and from the rear of the house I heard the sound of a radio, and I figured it was coming from Omenita's room for I did not believe that either her brother or her two sisters would be listening to such a tune. It was too mellow, too sedate, too sophisticated. I entered the room and stopped before the sofa and when I did, I looked at Mr. Jones but he did not look at me.

“How you doing, Mr. Jones?” I said.

“Aw right,” he said, grunting. And when he said it he still did not look at me and I could tell that something was wrong. And I was wondering if it was me, or if he and Miss Jones had been quarreling or if he was just in a bad mood. I was looking at him pondering the possibilities when I heard Miss Jones's voice again.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Coke, water, a cup of coffee?”

“No, thank you, “ I said. “We gon' get something a little later.”

“How Audrey?” she asked.

“She's fine,” I said.

“And Nathaniel?”

“He's fine too,” I said.

“Well, when you see 'em again be sho to tell 'em I send my regards.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “I will.”

I saw her look toward the hallway, then back toward me.

“Well, sit down and make yourself at home,” she said. “I'll tell Omenita you here. She ought to be out in a few minutes.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said again.

I removed my coat and sat warily upon the sofa. And as I watched Miss Jones walk away, I hoped that Omenita would not take too long for I sensed that Mr. Jones was in a foul mood, and I felt uncomfortable sitting alone with him. I looked at my watch. It was almost seven and though I had not given a lot of thought to what Omenita and I were going to do, it had occurred to me that it might be nice to drive to Cedar Lake. There was an inexpensive motel overlooking the lake, and if Omenita agreed, I thought that we might pick up some takeout and go there and get a room and spend the evening together in the peaceful solitude of a quiet, cozy room with nothing to disturb us but time. I was thinking that when she entered the room, and immediately I stood and looked at her and at that moment she looked more beautiful than I could ever remember. Her hair was hanging about her shoulders and her face was made up and she was wearing a pair of designer jeans that hugged her waist and revealed the incredible shape of her amazing body. And when I saw her, this feeling came over me and all I could think about was that hotel in Cedar Lake and how anxious I was to get her there and hold her and touch her and love her.

“Ready?” she said.

“Ready,” I said.

She turned her back to me, and I assisted her with her coat.

“We going, Daddy,” she said. He grunted again, but did not look.

We made our way to the door and Miss Jones followed us.

“You kids have fun,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “We will.”

I pulled the door open and we stepped out onto the stoop. A gust of cold wind swept us. I saw Omenita cringe. I put my arm around her and drew her close. Then, I heard the door shut behind me. And as we slowly descended the steps, I saw that the men were still huddled around the barrel, only now there were four of them instead of three and from all outward appearances the liquor they were consuming had taken hold, for now their laughter had grown louder and their inebriated bodies more animated. I slowly guided Omenita to the truck, enjoying the fact that her head was on my chest and her arm was about my waist, and when we were close, I opened the door and helped her in, then quickly scurried around to the other side and climbed in next to her. I started the truck and immediately switched on the heater.

“You hungry?” I asked.

“A little,” she said. “Why?”

“Well, I thought we might stop by Wongs and pick up some takeout and drive to Cedar Lake to spend a little quiet time together, if that's alright with you.”

“Sounds nice,” she said.

“Good,” I said. I pulled out into the streets. And as I did, I looked at her. She was sitting close to the door and her baby doll face was angled away and there was a far-away look upon her face.

“Something the matter?” I asked.

“They just at it again.”

“What happened?”

“He was drinking. And Mama said something about it, then all hell broke loose.” Her voice trailed off as if she were about to cry.

I paused a moment, not knowing how to respond.

“You okay?” I asked.

“I guess,” she said in a sad, unsure voice.

“Anything I can do?” I asked.

She paused and turned toward me. Her eyes were moist.

“Tell me that you love me,” she said. And at the moment I could tell that she needed to hear me say it. She was vulnerable and hurt, and needed to be reassured.

“I do,” I said. “More than anything on this earth.”

“Tell me that we will never be them.”

“We won't,” I said. “I promise.”

I saw her reach up and wipe her eyes.

“Don't know why she put up with him.”

“He's her husband,” I said.

“Should've left him a long time ago.”

“You don't mean that.”

“I do,” she said. “She weak and she just let him walk all over her.”

“Might not be weakness,” I said. “Might just be love.”

“Love!” she said.

“He seems to be alright when he's sober,” I said.

“She should have left him,” she repeated.

“Why doesn't he consider enrolling in a program?” I asked.

“A program!”

“Yeah,” I said. “A program.”

“You joking, right?”

“No,” I said. “I'm serious.”

“My daddy,” she said, “in a program?”

“Why not?”

“He'd die first.”

“Really?” I said.

“Really,” she said. “Daddy stubborn as hell.”

“Well, I'm sure they'll work it out.”

“No they won't,” she said. “He'll keep doing what he doing and Mama'll keep taking it.” I saw her dab her eyes again. “I just want to get away from this place,” she said “Far, far away.”

We stopped at the restaurant and purchased the food, then drove the eight miles to Cedar Lake. At the intersection, leading into the city, I turned right and followed the road along the lake until, in the distance, I saw the bright flickering lights of the Lakeside Motel. We pulled into the lot and as always had been our custom, she waited in the truck while I went in and paid for the room. And like always, we both knew that we would stay but a couple hours and when we departed we would not check out, rather we would simply leave the key on the nightstand next to the bed and be on our way.

The Lakeside Motel was smallâonly two levels highâbut Omenita and I preferred it because it was affordable and because the rooms were only accessible from inside the building. And once inside, we were always at ease, for we felt with a certain degree of confidence that anyone visiting the lake or passing by would not be aware of our presence.

I secured the key and we went to the room, which was located on the second floor on the side of the building overlooking the lake. And once we were situated, we sat at the small table next to the window, and the curtains were open and it was dark outside and we could see the glow from the lights cascading along the far bank of the lake. And as I watched her remove the cartons from the bags and place them neatly on the table, I could not help but think how much I loved her and how certain I was that she was the one with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. While I was looking at her, she looked up and our eyes met.

“What?” she said softly, flirtatiously.

“Nothing,” I said.

“No,” she said. “Really ... what?”

“You just look nice,” I said.

She lowered her eyes and looked away, embarrassed.

“I look a mess,” she said, “sitting here crying like some kind of silly old fool. My eyes are puffy, my mascara's running.”

“No,” I said. “I mean it. You look absolutely beautiful.”

She smiled and slid a container of food next to me. “Here,” she said. “Eat before your food gets cold.”

“Have to do something first,” I said.

I pushed away from the table and rose to my feet. On the way to her house, I had stopped by the corner store and purchased a couple of candles. Not fancy. But candles nonetheless. I retrieved them from one of the bags that I had hid among the food, and I placed them in the center of the table. And when I was sure that they were where I wanted them, I turned off the lights and lit one candle and then the other. And instantly, I watched the flame flicker and grow until the dim light cut through the darkness casting about us a warm, soft glow. And I looked at Omenita through the flickering flame and her eyes sparkled and her skin shone and through the window by which she sat, I could see the moon sitting high in the heavens, full and bright, keeping watch over the stars and the lake and the night. I smiled at her and she smiled back. And I felt rise in me a warmth that engulfed my being and made my emotions spiral and sent soaring my desire to hold her, to touch her, to possess her.

There was a small radio on the stand next to the bed, I tuned in to a station and adjusted the volume. It was jazz. The music was low and soft and soothing. I turned my face again toward her, and when I was sure that the music met her satisfaction, I returned to my seat at the small table across from her and again gazed longingly into her beautiful brown eyes and there was pulsating in me the joy of the moment and the unabiding love I felt for this womanâthe one I had loved since the long gone days of high school. I was sitting there, taking her in when she stretched forth her hand and took my hand into her own.

“Thanks,” she said. “This is so nice of you.”

“Glad you like it.”

I lifted my fork and I began to eat.

“Maurice.” She called my name softly.

I looked up and gazed into her soft brown eyes.

“I do love you,” she said. “You know that, don't you?”