The Bottoms (16 page)

The men brought a little bit of hooch to slip into their drinks. The kids sometimes made ghost costumes from sheets and pillowcases. Some of the older kids slipped off, went down on West Street to mark up windows with soap.

Daddy drove us to the party. When we arrived and stepped out into the main room of the house where the tables were prepared, Mrs. Canerton, who was surrounded by men, both single and married, came to me straight away, walking in a bouncing manner I’d never seen before.

Her hair, tied up and bound in the back, had slipped. A chestnut strand had fallen across her cheek, another across her long neck. Her white dress, dotted with blood-red flowers around the neck, fit her well, and in all the right places. I suppose now that dress would be considered modest. It showed very little, but suggested much.

“How’s my favorite reader?”

“I’m fine,” I said.

On some level, I realized that night that Mrs. Canerton was
more than just a widow lady and, like my mother, pretty. And when she floated across the room in that white, red-flowered dress, she seemed magnificent.

Her breaking off from those men, including Cecil, and coming over to me right away, made me feel special. I could see they were all a little jealous, her having decided to give her time to me.

She took me aside and sat me down in the corner in a red-velvet chair. She sat across from me on a wooden chair and reached into her bookcase. She said, “Have you read Washington Irving?”

I said I had not. I found myself staring at her blue eyes, porcelain white skin, and full lips.

After explaining to Mrs. Canerton that I had not only not read Washington Irving, but didn’t know who he was, she said, “Well, you ought to know who he is. And you will now. There’s one story in here you’ll especially like. About the headless horseman. With you not getting a lot of school, you and Tom need to keep up. At least with good books. I’ll come out in a few days and you have this one read. I’ll bring you some others.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Though I was glad to have the book, all my friends were outside playing, and that’s where I wanted to go. Not only to play, but to get away from Mrs. Canerton. She was making me feel funny, her face close to mine, her breath sweet as a hot peach pie. I had grown warm and itchy all over.

Mrs. Canerton’s men friends were anxious for her to be back as well. Cecil came over, winked at me, said, “Are you trying to steal my girl?”

He was wearing a stiff black suit with a shine to the knees and elbows. He had on a white shirt and a tired black tie.

“No sir,” I said.

“Oh, that’s silly,” Mrs. Canerton said. “I’m not your girl, Cecil.”

“There,” Cecil said, giving me a falsely sour look. “You’ve done it. Stolen my girl. I think we should duel with sabers at dawn. The prize, Louise.”

That was the first time I realized she had a first name.

“Quit being silly,” Mrs. Canerton said, but it was obvious she was loving it.

Doc Taylor came over then, just sort of edged between me and Cecil and touched Mrs. Canerton’s arm.

“I’ll tell you whose girl she is,” he said. “Mine.”

The three of them laughed and floated back to the crowd of males that had gathered around the former Mrs. Canerton. I saw a number of other women on the far side of the room, dressed up and pretty, frowning in the direction of the pack, and I remember overhearing a little later at the general store one of those women say something about how shameful it had been, Mrs. Canerton with all those men around like that, and she ought to be ashamed, but I thought it sounded like sour grapes to me.

I found Mama and gave the book to her. She was in the kitchen, sitting at the food-loaded table with the rest of the women, having what she called a hen party.

As I went back into the living room I saw Doc Stephenson sitting in a chair across the way. He was slouched down, looking drunk. I hadn’t noticed him when I came in, but then again, I hadn’t been looking. Mrs. Canerton had distracted me right away.

Doc Stephenson glanced at me briefly, his face turning even more sour. I figured he was still mad at my Daddy. Then Mrs. Canerton darted by with Cecil following like a puppy, the other men not far behind, Taylor being prominent, and Stephenson quit looking at me. He watched Mrs. Canerton meet some new guests as they came in. I couldn’t tell if the way he was looking at her was with interest or anger.

I realized then every man in the room was watching her, like birds protecting a nest.

I went outside to play.

It was another fine cool night with no mosquitoes, lots of lightning bugs glowing and crickets chirping. Me and Tom got to playing hide-and-go-seek with the rest of the kids. While the boy who was it was counting, we went to hide. I crawled under Mrs. Canerton’s house, and elbowed and kneed my way beneath the front porch, hoping I wouldn’t get fussed at too much when Mama saw my clothes.

I hadn’t no more than got under there good than Tom crawled up beside me. I hadn’t worn a costume, but she had on her ghost outfit, an old white pillowcase with eyeholes.

“Hey,” I whispered. “Go find your own place.”

“I didn’t know you was under here. It’s too late for me to go anywhere.”

“Then be quiet,” I said.

While we were sitting there, we saw shoes and pants legs moving toward the porch steps. It was the men who had been standing out in the yard smoking. They were gathering on the porch to talk. In passing, I recognized a pair of boots as Daddy’s, and after a bit of moving about on the porch above us, we heard the porch swing creak and some of the porch chairs scraping around, then I heard Cecil speak.

“How long she been dead?”

“Couple of weeks, maybe,” Daddy said. “It’s hard to say. Water and tornado didn’t do the body any good.”

“She anyone we know?”

“A prostitute,” Daddy said. “Janice Jane Willman. She lived near all them juke joints outside of Pearl Creek. Maybe she picked up the wrong man. Ended up in the river.”

“How’d you find out who she is?”

“I brought Doc Tinn and the Reverend Bail from over Pearl Creek to take a look at her.”

“How’d you know she was from there?”

“I didn’t. But they seem to know most everybody. Colored do most of their personal business over there, for obvious reasons. They both knew her. Doc Tinn had treated her for some female problems, and the Reverend had tried to save her soul, of course.”

“I didn’t know niggers had souls.” I knew that voice. Old Man Nation. He showed up wherever there was food and possibly liquor, and never brought a covered dish or liquor. “And one less nigger ain’t gonna hurt nothin’.”

“She wasn’t all colored,” Daddy said. “She was part white. A mulatto. Not that that matters.”

“Ain’t no such thing as part white,” Nation said. “A drop of nigger blood makes you a nigger. You shit in a snow bank, snow’s ruined. It don’t matter how white it was to begin with. You ain’t gonna melt that and drink it.”

“You know who did it?” Cecil asked. “Any leads?”

“No.”

“Hell, a nigger did it.” Nation again. “He’d have liked it better had it been a white woman. And mark my words, it will be you don’t catch this sonofabitch. A nigger prefers a white woman he gets a chance. Hell, wouldn’t you if you was a nigger? A white woman, that’s prime business to ’em.”

“That’s enough of that,” Daddy said.

“I’m sayin’ it’s comin’, Constable. It’s nothing yet, just niggers, but a white woman is gonna get hers.”

“I don’t get you,” Daddy said. “You think colored kills colored it’s all right—”

“It is.”

“—and you don’t care if anything’s done about that, but now you’re telling me this killer’s got to be caught because a white woman might die. Which is it?”

“I’m just sayin’ niggers ain’t a loss.”

“And what if the killer’s white?”

“They still ain’t a loss,” Mr. Nation said. “But it’ll turn out to be a nigger. Mark my words. And all this murderin’ won’t end at just niggers.”

“I heard you had a suspect,” Cecil said.

“Not really,” Daddy said.

“Some colored fella, I heard,” Cecil said.

“I knew it,” Nation said. “Some goddamn nigger.”

“I picked a man up for questioning, that’s all.”

“Where is he?” Nation asked.

“You know,” Daddy said, “I think I’m gonna have me a piece of that pie.”

The porch creaked, the screen door opened, and we heard boot steps entering into the house.

“Nigger lover,” Nation said.

“That’s enough of that,” Cecil said.

“You talkin’ to me, fella?” Mr. Nation said.

“I am, and I said that’s enough.”

There was a scuttling movement on the porch, and suddenly there was a smacking sound and Mr. Nation hit the ground in front of us. We could see him through the steps. His face turned in our direction, but I don’t think he saw us. It was dark under the house, and he had his mind on other things. He got up quick like, leaving his hat on the ground, then we heard movement on the porch, the screen door again, and Daddy’s voice. “Ethan, don’t come back on the porch. Go on home.”

“Who do you think you are to tell me anything?” Mr. Nation said.

“Right now, I’m the constable, and you come up on this porch, you do one little thing that annoys me, I will arrest you.”

“You and who else?”

“Just me.”

“What about him? He hit me. You’re on his side because he took up for you.”

“I’m on his side because you’re a loudmouth spoiling everyone
else’s good time. You been drinkin’ too much. Go home and sleep it off, Ethan. Let’s don’t let this get out of hand.”

Mr. Nation’s hand dropped down and picked up his hat. He said, “You’re awfully high and mighty, aren’t you?”

“There’s just no use fighting over something foolish,” Daddy said.

“You watch yourself, nigger lover,” Mr. Nation said.

“Don’t come by the barbershop no more,” Daddy said.

“Wouldn’t think of it, nigger lover.”

Then Mr. Nation turned and we saw him walking away.

Daddy said: “Cecil. You talk too much.”

“Yeah, I know,” Cecil said.

“Now, I was gonna get some pie,” Daddy said. “I’m gonna go back inside and try it again. When I come back out, how’s about we talk about somethin’ altogether different?”

“Suits me,” someone said, and I heard the screen door open again. For a moment I thought they were all inside, then I realized Daddy and Cecil were still on the porch, and Daddy was talking to Cecil.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,” Daddy said.

“It’s all right,” Cecil said. “You’re right. I talk too much.”

“So do I. I shouldn’t have told you I had a suspect in the first place. I didn’t tell you to be quiet about it. I should have. I can’t say I’m much of a policeman. I think I was talkin’ so I could brag a bit. About what, I don’t know. Feeling like I’m on the job, I guess.”

“Still, I knew better.”

“Let’s forget it. And thanks for hitting Nation. You didn’t owe me that.”

“I did it because
I
owed him that. This suspect, Jacob. You think he did it?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Is he safe?”

“For now. I may just let him go and never let it be known who he is.”

“Again, I’m sorry, Jacob.”

“No problem. Let’s get some of that pie.”

O
n the way home in the car the windows were rolled down and the October wind was fresh and ripe with the smell of the woods. My belly was full of pie and lemonade and I was cozy and content. I was thinking of Louise Canerton, and I found myself wondering how she would look without her dress. The thought bothered me and I tried not to dwell on it. But I kept thinking about her bosom, her long legs and how they would feel beneath my hands.

Finally I prayed silently to God, but all the while I was thinking of her naked. I wondered if God saw her naked. He must. What did he think about that? Did he like what he saw? Was there no consideration for what he saw? Didn’t he create her? If so, why did he make ugly people?

I believe it was at that point, although I didn’t realize it at the time, my ideas of God and religion were starting to change, even erode.

As we wound through the woods along the dirt road that led to our house, I began to feel sleepy.

Tom had already nodded off with her dirt-stained ghost
mask clutched in her hands. I leaned against the side of the car and began to halfway doze. In time, I realized Mama and Daddy were talking.

“He had her purse?” Mama said.

“Yeah,” Daddy said. “He had it, and he’d taken money from it.”

“Could it be him?”

“He says he was fishing, saw the purse and her dress floating, snagged the purse with his fishing line. The dress washed on by him. He saw there was money in the purse, and he took it. Figured a purse in the river wasn’t something anyone was going to find, and there wasn’t any name in it, and it was just five dollars going to waste. Said he didn’t even consider that someone had been murdered.”

“So you believe him?”

“I believe him. I’ve known Old Mose all my life. He practically lives on that river in that boat of his. He wouldn’t harm a fly. Besides, the man’s over seventy years old and not in the best of health. He’s had a hell of a life. His wife ran off forty years ago and he’s never gotten over it. His son disappeared when he was a youngster. Whoever raped this woman had to be pretty strong. She was young enough, and from the way her body looked, she put up a pretty good fight. Man did this had to be strong enough to … well, she was cut up pretty bad. Same as the other woman.”