Lightning Song (7 page)

“Tell the blue snake in your asshole,” she pleaded.

Elsie said, “Molly!”

Harris said, “Not
my
asshole!”

“Yes!” Molly shouted in joy.

Harris told some stories that were supposed to be true. He claimed to have met John Dillinger, the famous outlaw. “I was just a baby,” he said. “So I don't remember it well, but it's the
truth, the God's truth, I've got a photograph around here somewhere to prove it if you don't believe me, swear to God, cross my heart and hope to spit. John Dillinger, listen here, the famous outlaw held me in his arms, sure did. He had on a hat, I do remember that much.”

Laurie said, “Did the blue runner catch John Dillinger?”

“Nobody could catch John Dillinger,” Harris said seriously. “John Dillinger was uncatchable. You might as well forget about catching John Dillinger. Even the blue runners gave up on ever catching John Dillinger. Here's a fact few people know about, historical fact, I'm glad to share it with you. John Dillinger had the only snake-free asshole in Mississippi for many years.”

Elsie said, “Harris!”

His laughter was like banjo music.

“Oh,
you
!”

Every day was a party. You couldn't keep from enjoying yourself. Evenings Harris held “grog rations.” This was what he called cocktail hour. It was a nautical term he had picked up from his foster daddy, Captain Woody, he told Leroy. The fact that there was alcohol in any form in Leroy's daddy's house made Leroy's head spin. Literally he felt quite dizzy the first few times he realized grog rations was becoming a regular element of the daily party, and the true amazement was that nobody really objected. Was this really his own house? Had he been transported somehow, taken to another world?

Each day Uncle Harris brought forth some new alcoholic
concoction. Each day the new drink was introduced dramatically. Sometimes he covered the drink tray with a clean white cloth that he whipped away at the last moment, as if he were a magician revealing a hidden rabbit or flight of doves. Always there was laughter. Frosted glasses sparkled, ice cubes clinked. Even Swami Don looked forward to what the day's alcoholic confection might be, so much color it brought through their doors, so much romance, Elsie would have insisted. Of course no one but Harris ever tasted the alcohol, no one else in the house drank, and he made no demands. No one was expected to drink if they didn't want to, only to enjoy the party. Leroy was fascinated, but for this bit of permanence he felt grateful. The fact that nobody in the Dearman household drank alcohol was one thing he felt he could hold on to. In this way the world still turned on its axis, the sun still rose in the east, set in the west.

Still, the party never seemed to end. Harris produced cocktail shakers and little paper umbrellas, cherries, sprigs of mint, even a hollowed-out pineapple, whatever was necessary. He bought a blender. He crushed ice to a fare-thee-well. Brandy alexanders, stingers, rusty nails, piña coladas, banana daiquiries—these were the new words Leroy and the girls added to their vocabulary, along with Elsie and Swami Don. Harris was no boozer, he was not a hard drinker. Life was a party, that was all, a big fat wonderful party with Harris on board, man you couldn't beat it, life was good, you better believe it was. Nutmeg and citrus rinds and a fragrance of coconut
and tropical fruits. Grog rations was as good as love, some days it seemed that way to Leroy, to Elsie, too, maybe to Elsie more than to anyone.

“Grog rations!” Harris would sing out at the same hour each evening.

Always he spoke in a funny voice that was supposed to sound like Popeye the Sailor Man. He would squint one eye hard and wrinkle his face in a Popeye sort of way. He had a stubby corncob pipe and a billed cap that made everybody laugh.

Leroy's mama would literally squeal with delight.

Harris would whistle a tune, which might sound a little like a bos'n's pipe, or sometimes he would sing a bit of a song that he called a sea chantey. Elsie and the children learned some of the words and sang along with him.

“I yam that I yam!” he would mug, and everyone would laugh again.

Elsie didn't drink the alcohol, but she was always a part of Harris's party. She piped nautical tunes right along with him. She was always as gay as he was. He never made a drink for himself that he did not make a nonalcoholic version for her. She sipped through straws, she allowed whipped cream to stay on her lip as a moustache until Harris wiped it away with a comical sweep of a napkin. Leroy kept an eye on all this. She said, “Eek!” when bubbles went up her nose.
Eek
became her favorite word. Leroy wished she would stop saying eek so much. She acted tipsy, just for fun. She put a paper umbrella
behind her ear, or two cherries in her eyes, or pretended orange slices were earrings, and giggled at the smallest joke. She was positively girlish in Harris's presence, or anyway at grog time. Harris said, “Party girl!” No words could have delighted Elsie Dearman more, Leroy could read this in her face.

Swami Don joined in, in his way. He was more reserved than Elsie—always he was—and yet he was not left out. He loved Elsie's laughter. Leroy watched his daddy watch his mama and thought this must be the meaning of love. That was the main thing for Swami Don, Leroy could tell, he loved to see Elsie happy. He drank a Coke sometimes, just to join in; he raised his glass for Harris's silly toasts. He didn't drink the nonalcoholic version of his brother's drinks, though. He only said, “Aw, no, no thanks, I don't think so.” He didn't say why. Maybe he didn't know. Once Laurie picked up one of Elsie's drinks and was ready to take a sip and he took it firmly from her and set it down. No one mentioned it, not even Laurie. What Swami Don really seemed to like, though, even more than grog rations, was the time he now spent each day with his younger brother, with Leroy's Uncle Harris. Leroy watched his daddy, saw him in a new way. He wondered what it was like to have a brother. He wished he had a brother. What was he saying? He didn't want a damn brother. Often Swami Don and Harris spoke quietly at night, out on the porch. They recalled living together in the hills, before the family broke up. They remembered an owl they saw once, in the moonlight.
They recalled a Pentecostal minister who wore an Indian warbonnet. They talked about their Old Mammy's death, the gunshot that crippled Swami Don.

Leroy lay beneath a soft quilt on the porch glider in the cool of the evening and listened to their quiet talk.

Swami Don said, “You sure had a way with the girls.”

Harris said, “I felt guilty for having two good arms.”

He said, “You could have used four!”

Leroy could hear the laughter.

Later, when his mama came in to say good night, Leroy said, “Tell me the story,” and Elsie said, “Oh, honey, no, not tonight, not that old story.”

L
eroy's Uncle Harris was a wonder to behold, Leroy couldn't take his eyes off him. One morning he was dressed in a brightly flowered Hawaiian shirt and white duck pants and deck shoes, and the next morning in khaki safari shorts and belted bush jacket and pith helmet. Another day he wore tennis whites; another the white Panama suit and straw hat; another a Nehru jacket and beret and double-knit bell-bottoms. Each day was a fashion statement of some demented sort. Where did all these clothes come from? How had he smuggled them into the house? Had he somehow fitted them all into his carpetbag? It was not possible. He was like Ginger and Mrs. Howell on the “Gilligan's Island” reruns. Was this the way all divorced men dressed? This seemed impossible as well. Leroy remembered that Hannah had thrown away all of Uncle Harris's clothes, given them to the poor. He had been cast out, naked and homeless, he had been desperate.
Was this the wardrobe a man with no clothes comes up with on short notice? Did he shop each day when he went out on his rounds away from the farm, at junk stores, used-clothing places, such as Leroy had noticed, places with names like Second Hand Rose and Twice Told Tales?

Each day Harris slept late and Leroy found himself waiting expectantly for his uncle's appearance. Each day when Harris finally emerged from the attic he was always wearing a long silk robe with a sash. He spent long hours in the bathroom. He used lotions and colognes. Each day he came out dressed in some new outrage of fashion. No one asked him about his clothing, there were other aspects of Uncle Harris's personality that drew similar attention. His toilette was one. His indolence was another. He did nothing, absolutely nothing. He sat, he ate heartily, he made suggestions on improving the service, he asked people to bring him things, to adjust the fan so that it blew on him without ruffling his newspaper, he made himself comfortable, no one on earth had ever been so comfortable as Uncle Harris. Uncle Harris was the laziest man alive. Anyone would have agreed. Nobody held this against him, but no one could have failed to notice. He was not depressed, he did not sleep all day, he simply relaxed, his mood stayed high, his spirits were excellent. The work on the farm went on, and he did none of it. Leroy's mama and daddy each had part-time jobs they sometimes worked at to help make ends meet. None of this bothered Uncle Harris in the least. If his brother and sister-in-law wanted to work, well, sure, work was an honorable
thing, he fully approved, no need to be embarrassed, you go right on ahead, don't let me stop you. In the meantime, he better check the sports page, that midseason pitching was beginning to heat up in Fenway, it looked like to Harris, real horse race shaping up in the American League, yessiree, go right on with your business, you ain't disturbing me a bit, I mean it.

Newspapers were Harris's true love. He snuck in a dirty magazine, okay, that was true, hidden in a folded paper now and then, he had diversified interests, sure, but it was the newspaper that really captured his heart, he read as many of them as he could get his hands on, newspapers from all over the country. Uncle Harris was quick to make friends in the village, he found a newspaper supplier right away. There were so many of them, too, these newspapers. At the end of a day his hands would be black with newsprint. Why, he might have to bathe all over again. Who would have ever guessed there were so many different newspapers in the world, Leroy thought, they cost a fortune, must have, there were so many. When Harris finished reading one, he threw it on the floor. That's all for that newspaper, let's see now, where was the
Post-Dispatch
, I thought it was right here under the
Commercial Appeal
. Leroy's mama was always having to pick up after Harris. He kept the newspapers stacked beside his chair and read one after another. By the time he was finished with them they were all over the house. It looked like a blizzard.

Elsie said, “Maybe we should think about recycling.”

Harris said, “I just read an excellent article about recycling scams, where was that piece, the
Times
I think, let's see, I've got it right here somewhere.” Eventually he found the article proving the folly of recycling and the subject was dropped.

Newspapers seemed a constant source of adventure. He loved to read aloud. He had a beautiful reading voice, it didn't matter what he was reading. He could make serious things sound funny or even funny things sound serious. Leroy would have gladly done nothing during the day but sit in his uncle's presence, in his lap if he would let him, but of course his mama wouldn't hear of that. Indolence in others was not allowed. Harris was the only person on the property who was permitted to be a total bum. This seemed to Leroy simply to be the way of the world. Harris loved to read and he shared everything he read. He read to whoever happened to be in the room from whatever paper he happened to be making his way through. Ann Landers and the horoscope, of course, headlines, cartoons, Miss Manners, Heloise, the lives of others, in many forms, long articles on astronomy or anthropology, political pieces, op-ed pieces, book reviews, church bazaars, executions, plane crashes, disco artists, whatever caught his interest.

“I'd love to go on a dig,” he'd say. “One of these days I'm going on a dig.”

Leroy imagined going on a dig with him, or a safari, or deep-sea diving, or to the moon, whatever had caught Uncle
Harris's attention that day. Leroy noticed a look on his mama's face one day that told him she might like to run away with Harris, too, she might enjoy a dig on foreign soil.

Harris read the obituaries, at length. Watch out if you were in the room when Harris reached the obituaries. You were going to hear about some dead people if you were nearby, mark it down. The grown-ups knew to clear out. They had learned their lesson. The children usually got stuck with the tales of the dead. It didn't matter to Leroy, he loved every word. Even little Molly was not immune to the obituaries.

“Listen to this, Molls,” Uncle Harris might say. “This guy died and he was just, well let's see, it says here he was thirty-four years old. Can you believe that? Thirty-four. Jeez. Same age as me. Whew. Makes you think, doesn't it? Let's see, it says here, oh listen to this, Molls, it says here he was survived by his mother—well, let's see, hm, his daddy must be dead, he's not mentioned, heart attack probably, men don't live as long as women, it's a scientific fact, you take any scientist off the street and he'll back me up on this—survived by his mother, well at least she's in good health, I'm glad to hear she's doing okay, that's good, and oh listen to this, seven brothers. Seven brothers! Wow! Jeez Louise! That's one shitload of brothers, wouldn't you say, Molls? What do you think about that?”

Everything was an adventure. He drove into the village most every day. He had a few other regular stops, not just the newspaper guy. The newspaper guy was real old and said he
taught Elvis Presley how to comb his hair. Some things you believe, some you just have to take with a grain of salt, that was Harris's way of looking at it. He found a truck stop on the edge of town where he said they served the best breakfasts in the world. He was always bragging about these breakfasts.