It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining (3 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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“Fine,” I said.
“And we gon' start with Miss Audrey,” she said. “Either you gon' be her son or you gon' be my husband.”
“I won't choose between the two of you,” I said.
“You're gon' have to,” she said, “if you want me.”
“No,” I said. “I won't.”
“Then it's over,” she said.
She turned to leave and I grabbed her arm.
“Don't do this,” I said.
“Choose,” she said.
I became quiet again and she started to leave.
“Okay,” I said. “I'll talk to Mama ... and I'll make her stop. I will.”
“And if she don't?” she said.
“I'll choose.”
Chapter Three
I
watched Omenita back out into the street and drive toward the night until the taillights of her car disappeared into the darkness. And when I could no longer see her, I turned and started back toward the house, and as I walked I told myself that I would talk to my mother, and I would make her understand, and if she refused to understand, then I would choose. And though I would rather not, I would, because I was a man.
Resolute and determined, I climbed the steps to the front door, and when I reached the door, I pulled it open, and all at once, the savory scent of coffee and sweet rolls drifted to me from deep within the house. I was surprised, yet I do not know why. For as long as I could remember, Mama had followed the same routine. Every Wednesday night, she went to prayer meeting, and as soon as she returned home, she made a pot of coffee and baked a pan of sweet rolls, and then, Daddy and her would sit in the kitchen around the old table with the broken leg and argue about the Bible and the church and men like Deacon Fry who ran more women once he got in the church than he ever ran when he was out of the church. And while they talked, the back door was usually open and if you were outside, anywhere within range, you could smell the scent of sweet rolls and coffee lingering heavy in the crisp night air.
Once inside the house, I noticed that Mama had changed clothes and was no longer in the kitchen, but was now sitting in the living room on the old sofa, and her sewing can was next to her, and a pair of Daddy's work pants were across her lap, and the lamp was on, and she was leaning close to the light, working a piece of thread through a needle. And though she was pretending to concentrate on the thread, in actuality, I knew she was waiting for me. I stopped before her to say something, but before I could, she spoke first.
“Sweet rolls in there,” she said, “if you want some.”
I nodded, but I did not speak. I wanted her to know that I was angry with her, and I wanted her to know that from this point on, things were going to be different and that if she forced me to choose, I would choose Omenita. I paused for a moment and waited, but when she did not budge, I knew that she was letting me know that she was not going to give me the satisfaction of looking into my face.
I waited a moment more, but when it was obvious that she would not look, I made my way toward the kitchen, and as I walked, I glanced at her, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw that she had threaded the needle and was busy at work mending Daddy's pants. And I looked at her face, and there was no discernible expression, but I could hear her humming, and when I heard her humming, I knew that she was pleased that Omenita was gone.
In the kitchen, I saw the pot on the stove, percolating, but I ignored the coffee and looked about, searching for the sweet rolls. I wasn't much of a coffee drinker, in fact, I rarely drank it at all. I did not particularly like the taste nor did I find it necessary to get me going in the morning or to keep me going at night. For me, there was just no need. No need at all.
For a brief moment, I stood gaping in the middle of the floor until I finally located the sweet rolls. They were still on the cooking tin and Mama had placed them on the windowsill just above the sink to cool, and I could tell they had not been out of the oven long because I could still see the heat rising from them. And as I moved toward them, I knew that I would not take many, for I really wasn't that hungry and besides, I knew that when Daddy and Grandpa Luke made it home, they were going to sit around the little table with Mama, and eat sweet rolls, and drink coffee, and talk about the church, and about the money Daddy and Grandpa Luke had received for the load of aluminum cans they had taken to Arkansas, and about Omenita and me, and about how foolish I was for wasting my time with a girl of her caliber.
I took a few sweet rolls from the tin and a paper towel from the holder and I considered going outside to sit on the back stoop but at the last minute, I changed my mind. Instead, I sat at the table and placed the sweet rolls on the napkin before me. The back door was still ajar and from the light of the moon, I could see the faint outline of the large catfish pond nestled safely behind the tall hurricane fence. Because it was dark, I could not see the water, but I could see the high mounds of dirt that formed the banks and jutted along the pond, following the water until they finally disappeared into the darkness of the woods on the side farthest from our house. And out near the pond, I could see the faint outline of several horses grazing along the banks, and I could hear the insects calling from the trees, and as I sat looking out across the pond I asked God to please give me the strength to do what I had to do and grant me the words to make Mama understand.
The sweet rolls looked good. I lifted one from the paper and carried it to my mouth, and as I chewed it, savoring the taste, I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, and I could feel the breeze blowing off the pond, and the cool, crisp air felt good on my warm, moist skin. And as my eyes were closed, I wondered again, why Mother and Omenita could not get along. And why were they forcing me to choose between the woman who gave me life and the woman to whom I planned to give my life.
I opened my eyes to take another bite of the sweet roll, but just as I was about to sink my teeth into it, I turned my head and I saw my mama standing in the doorway, watching me.
“Guess you told her,” she said, looking at me with dark, piercing eyes.
“No, ma'am,” I said. “Not yet.”
Instantly, her face furrowed and her piercing eyes clouded.
“Why not?”
“Just didn't,” I said.
I took another bite of the sweet roll and pretended to look out the back door. A quiet moment passed and though I could feel her eyes on the side of my face, there was deep inside of me the faint hope that she was going to let things stand, but no sooner had I completed that thought, Mama spoke again.
“Son, that gal don't mean you no good,” she said. “She just trying to get between you and where you trying to go.”
“That's not true,” I said.
“It is true,” she said. “Might not want to hear it but it's the truth.”
I shook my head. “No, Mama,” I said louder than intended. “It's not.”
She looked at me intensely, and instinctively I dropped my eyes. An awkward moment passed, then she spoke again.
“You best watch yourself, Maurice.” She issued a vile threat. “Lest you forget who you talking to.”
I sighed deeply, but did not speak.
“Tell her ... Next time you see that gal ... you tell her ... you hear?”
Omenita was right. Mama was handling me like a child, and that realization touched something inside of me and I felt myself become angry, so angry, until I felt that if I answered her, I would speak to her in a manner that would only make things worse. So, I didn't answer her. Instead, I turned my head toward the back door and looked out. High in the pecan tree, I saw a raccoon dangling from one of the branches. It had strayed out too far and the weight of the limb could not support him, and his shoulders were hunched and his body was curled and his wide eyes shone yellow, reflecting the light of the moon. I was watching him struggling, wondering if he was going to fall when I heard her stern, starchy voice cut through the silence.
“Boy, you listening to me?”
Her words smacked hard against my bruised ego, and instantly I felt warm blood pulsating through constricted veins.
“Yes, ma'am,” I uttered through tightly clenched teeth, then it got quiet. She had called me a boy; but I wasn't a boy, I was a man. I waited for her to say something else and when she did not, I spoke again: “Why do you treat Omenita like that?” I said. My voice was forceful and Mama hesitated before she answered.
“Ought not to act the way she do,” Mama said matter-of-factly “What kind of girl go traisping through folks' houses when they ain't home?”
“I told you we were just visiting.”
“In your room?” Mama said.
I looked at her defiantly, but I did not speak. “Maybe you got more on your mind than just visiting.”
My eyes wanted to stray toward the floor but I would not allow them. Instead, I looked at her directly and I reminded myself that I was a man.
“Is that what you been learning in school?”
She paused and stared, but still I said nothing.
“Boy, you better answer me,” she said.
“I love her,” I said.
“Love ... what you know 'bout love?”
“I know enough,” I said.
“Keep living,” Mama said. “You gon' find out what you don't know.”
“What has Omenita ever done to you?” I asked.
“Never said she did anything,” Mama said.
“Must of done something,” I said, “for you to hate her so.”
“Hate!” Mama said, shocked.
“Omenita say you think she ain't good enough for me.”
“You can do better,” Mama said.
“Don't want to do better,” I said. “I just want Omenita.”
“That gal gon' be yo' downfall,” Mama said. “You mark my words.”
“You just don't know her,” I said. “If you did, you wouldn't talk like that.”
“Know her better than you think,” Mama said.
“Why you hate her so?” I asked again.
“I don't hate her,” Mama said. “I don't hate nobody.”
“But you don't like her,” I said.
“Not her,” Mama said. “Her ways.”
I tilted my head and looked at her strangely. “What ways?”
“That gal her mama all over.”
“That's what you got against her?” I said. “Her family.”
“She is who she is ... and her family is her family.”
“So what,” I said, perplexed.
“So what?” Mama said. “Honey, family is everything.”
“Maybe to you,” I said.
“And to you too,” Mama said. “You just don't want to admit it.”
“One thing I will admit,” I said, “I don't like mess. And that's all this is. A bunch of silly old mess.”
“No,” Mama said. “This ain't about mess. This about your future.”
“My future is just fine,” I said.
“Could be,” Mama said. “If you leave that gal alone.”
“Don't want to hear this,” I said.
“Might not want to hear,” Mama said, “but it's true.”
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
“ 'Cause you my child,” she said. “And I'm responsible for you.”
I sighed again, heavy this time.
“I'm not a child,” I said. “I'm a man.”
“You my child,” Mama said. “You gon' always be my child.”
I shook my head. “I'm a man.”
“You got some important decisions to make,” Mama said.
“And I'll make them,” I said.
“Don't want that gal influencing you.”
“She's not a gal,” I said. She's my fiancée.”
Mama looked at me and shook her head.
“I had hoped this thing between you two would pass. But since it hasn't, there's something I need to say.”
“I just wish you would let things be,” I said.
“You say I don't know Omenita.”
She talked on as if she had not heard me. I sighed again and looked out of the back door and pretended that I was not there. I heard her, but I was not listening to her. I was looking at the trees and pond and the starlit sky.
“Well, that couldn't be farther from the truth,” she continued. “We all come up together ... Me and your daddy and Omenita's folks.”
I stared high into the pecan tree. The raccoon was gone now and a gentle breeze was blowing, and I could see the leaves stirring and the smaller branches swaying back and forth, riding the invisible currents of the wind. I did not want to hear what she had to say and it angered me to know that I had no choice but to indulge her.
“We went to school together,” I heard her say. “We worked in the fields together ... and we all lived in the quarters together.” Her voice seemed distant and faint, and I told myself that this was but a bad dream that I simply had to ignore. I focused on the tree and I tried to ignore her. But I could not. I leaned back in the chair, frustrated. I heard her but I was not listening. “Back then they used to call Omenita's daddy Tipsy Russell ... Called her mama Run-Around Sue. Of course, they wasn't married back then. None of us were.”
Suddenly, I felt her hand on mine, and my eyes strayed from the tree and I looked at her. She paused briefly, then started again.

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