The Sittin' Up (9 page)

M
e and Pole were still peeping in the window at Mr. Bro. Wiley when we heard Papa's truck in the yard. There was no need to run 'cause Papa would have chased us down like runaway slaves and wore our hind parts out. His limp ain't never stopped him from chasing me when he wanted to and the Cofields gave him permission to whip Pole if she stepped out of line one inch.

“I know-know you two not-not disrespecting the dead!”

“No, we just looking at Mr. Bro. Wiley, that's all,” Pole answered.

“Let Mr. Bro. Wiley rest-rest in peace. I ain't-ain't gonna tell you again,” Papa said to us as he climbed down from the truck.

“That's right. We got to let him rest in peace, so I'm going home right now,” Pole said.

“You do that, Pole. You go-go on home and don't come back without your folks.”

“Yes, sir,” Pole said. Papa was gonna tell on us as soon as he saw her folks. I knew it.

“Bye, Pole,” I yelled.

“Bye, Bean. I'll be back.”

Papa didn't say a word to Ma about me and Pole peeping in the window. Maybe he didn't want to upset her. She didn't look as sad. That nap did her some good. I started bathing for the sittin' up 'cause I knew our house would be chockablock full soon enough. There had been talk all week 'bout how many folk from Occoneechee Neck and Bone Town were coming over to see Mr. Bro. Wiley. Not to mention all the folk from Rehoboth Road and Bryantown Road. I knew for sure that Cousin Braxton and Cousin Babe were coming with their daughter, Cousin Mer. Cousin Mer had three children, Coy, Barb Jean, and the youngest, Pattie Mae.

Cousin Braxton's grandchildren never missed school because he moved out of the Low Meadows long before they was born. Mr. Bro. Wiley said Cousin Braxton was a smart man like Mr. Creecy and Mr. Gordon without all the degrees. Just common sense in his head.

“That Braxton Jones is a man,” Mr. Bro. Wiley told me and Pole.

“Why is that?” Pole asked as she always did when she wanted the long version of what Mr. Bro. Wiley was saying.

“Braxton said, ‘No grandchild of mine will miss school to sharecrop. Let the white folk keep their own children home from school,'” Mr. Bro. Wiley confided. “So Braxton purchased him a backhoe and two mules. He started to rent land from white folk and buy his own seed. That way the children didn't have to work for nobody but him.”

“Do you think my daddy and Mr. Stanbury smart too?” Pole asked.

“Sho' I do. They ain't as old as Braxton. Life teached him more.”

A thousand feelings were in my heart about Cousin Braxton and all the other menfolk that Mr. Bro. Wiley told us about. I felt bad knowing how much they had suffered for us children to have a better life.

Of course Ma interrupted my thoughts.

“Bean, are you taking your bath?” she yelled from the kitchen loud enough to wake the dead. Loud enough to wake Mr. Bro. Wiley.

“I'm bathing, Ma,” I said.

I kept on sitting in the silver washtub and thought about my old friend. I thought about how much I really did love him. He was mighty good to me.

Sometimes on Saturday evening while Pole was sewing with the womenfolk, me and Mr. Bro. Wiley would stay down at Ole River until the sun faded away. We would do us some fishing and talking.

“Hold your pole tight, boy,” Mr. Bro. Wiley said the last time we were at the river together. I had a big catfish waiting on the other end of the line.

“I got it, Mr. Bro. Wiley. I got it.” Before I could say another word that fish had yanked me halfway in the water.

“You got it, huh?” Mr. Bro. Wiley laughed as I finally pulled our dinner into the grass.

I would never tell Papa, but I liked going fishing with Mr. Bro. Wiley a lot more than I did with him. Mr. Bro. Wiley could catch a tin tub full of fish and Papa could only catch about five. That's all—five.

It wasn't just the fishing that made me want to sit at Ole River. It was the stories Mr. Bro. Wiley used to tell. He told me all about being a slave when he was a little boy. Mr. Bro. Wiley's sad childhood made me appreciate living in the Low Meadows. At least we were free people. We might have been poor, but we were free.

“Bean, I done lived back here all my life. My papa was a blacksmith for Mr. Thomas's papa's pappy. It was his job to shoe all the horses. I helped him many a day and night. I would hold the nails in a tin cup while he put the new shoes on. When we weren't making horseshoes for the Wileys, they would send us into town to work for the other white folk. We could build fences and take care of their horses. They would pay Massa Wiley, but we never saw a dime of that money.”

“What happened to your daddy?” I asked Mr. Bro. Wiley.

“I just remember my mammy cried for almost a year when they sold him away to a plantation in Fayetteville, North Carolina. I reckon I was 'bout eight, but I remember real good.”

“You mean you never saw him again?”

“Never. Massa Wiley's money got low 'cause he had a bad cotton season that year. My pappy had been their blacksmith for so long that he wasn't much good in the field. They sold him while my mammy was cooking supper at the big house that used to be right over yonder. When she got home, Pappy was gone.”

“What happened to your ma?” I asked as I looked at the empty space where the big house once sat.

“She cried herself to death. Her heart broke in half. Yes, sir, my mammy went away from here the next year. I lived with my sisters and brothers till I married Celie Mae.”

Mr. Bro. Wiley didn't say nothing for a minute. His old black wrinkled face looked darker than ever.

He stared at Ole River. The waves were big like Mr. Bro. Wiley said they get before a storm, but no storm was coming. That day the sky was bluer than I had ever seen it. Not one cloud, but the river was moving as if Ole River was talking back to him.

“There are things that don't nobody but me, the Lord, and Ole River know.”

Then Mr. Bro. Wiley helped me pull another big fish out of Ole River. He never looked at me. Not one time. He kept his eyes on the water. I reached over and touched him on the knee. I wanted him to know that I was there for him the way Ma said folk supposed to be when they love somebody.

• • •

I thought about all the good times we had together as my bathwater got cold. At least I had his mama's picture to hold on to. I had his watch and the slave papers. I would surely take good care of his things.

No sooner had I'd washed under my arms, Mama yelled from the kitchen again, “Bean, drag your water outside and dump it before folk start to come. Don't nobody want to see your nasty bathwater.”

“Yes, Ma,” I answered. I finished washing up and put on my clothes. Then I drug the bathtub with wheels on it outside. After I dumped the water in the backyard under the pecan tree, I ran in the kitchen for supper.

“Stop that running, Bean,” Papa said while loading his plate with food. We had more food on the table than we've had all year. Mama didn't seem to be looking, so I filled my plate with food too.

“Slow down-down with your eating, boy. You gonna choke to death,” Papa said.

“Don't talk like that when you know Mr. Bro. Wiley is dead in the other room. That is downright disrespectful,” Ma said to Papa.

“You-you right, Wife.”

“Can I be excused now?” I asked, swallowing my last piece of chicken.

“What about dessert?” Ma asked.

“I'll eat dessert later.” She reached over and touched my forehead.

“You sick, Bean?”

“I ain't sick at all. I just want to go on the porch and wait for Pole.” I looked at Papa. He still hadn't said a word about me and Pole peeping at Mr. Bro. Wiley.

“Go ahead,” Ma said.

Truth was I wanted to see who else was gonna bring sweets over. I knew it wasn't right to lie like Uncle Goat. As soon as I thought about him, he came walking through the back door still dressed in his work clothes acting as if he didn't know about the sittin' up.

“Hey, Sister. Hey, Bean. Hey, Bro.” He gave Ma a big kiss.

“Hey, Brother.”

“I heard tell two hundred folk coming tonight,” Uncle Goat said, grabbing a piece of chicken.

“Wash your hands, nasty.” Ma pushed her lying brother's hand out of her chicken bowl. “And who in the Sam Hill told you two hundred people coming over here tonight?”

“Yeah, who-who, Goat?” Papa asked.

“Folk in the 'bacco field said so today,” Uncle Goat said with his lies in his eyeball.

“Folk like-like who? I worked today and I didn't hear that.” Papa was determined to break his brother-in-law from lying. I reckon breaking Uncle Goat from lying was harder than trying to bring Mr. Bro. Wiley back from the dead. There was no need for me to sit in there and listen to them make a fool of him, so I kissed Ma on her fat cheek and headed to the front porch to wait for Pole.

“What about the dishes?” Papa asked.

“Let him go. I can do the dishes faster and I want my kitchen clean 'fore folk start to come,” Ma said as I rushed down the hall. But then Ma said, “Bean, stay right where you are. You need to pay your respects to Mr. Bro. Wiley before company come.” Papa still didn't tell her I saw Mr. Bro. Wiley earlier through the window.

Papa, Ma, and Uncle Goat and I stood together in the hall. Uncle Goat reached over my shoulder and opened the door. My heart began to hurt. All I could hear as I walked across the floor was the knocking of our shoes.

When I got to the casket, Papa put his hand under my arm to make sure I didn't faint. Ma wrapped her warm body around me and pulled my head close to her big belly. I could feel the baby kicking real hard. Uncle Goat was breathing hard as he stood over me. We stared down at the ole slave man. I looked real hard. He did have a smile on his face just like Pole said.

“You want to touch him?” Papa asked as he rubbed Mr. Bro. Wiley's head.

“Yes, sir, I do.” My mouth said yes, but my hands froze. Ma pulled my hand away from my leg and moved it towards my friend. I could hear Mr. Bro. Wiley's voice in my head.

“Don't be scared of dead folk, Bean. The living are the ones you have to watch out for.”

I touched him right where I reckon his heart might have been. Ma was holding me so tight that I could feel the life growing inside her move again, but Mr. Bro. Wiley's life was over. I touched his hand. Those old hands were hard and stone-cold.

“Why is he so hard, Ma?”

“Child, that's just Mr. Bro. Wiley's shell. He ain't here at all. Mr. Bro. Wiley's in heaven with the angels.” When Ma said that, Uncle Goat got to crying like a little girl.

Then I heard a thump. I turned around and there he was—Uncle Goat had fallen down on his knees just like the womenfolk do on Sunday.

“Bless you, Mr. Bro. Wiley, bless you!” he said over and over. I felt sorry for him because he loved Mr. Bro. Wiley just like I did. Papa helped my uncle up, so I turned around and looked in the casket again to study his face. His skin didn't look so wrinkled. He somehow looked younger and his black suit looked some kind of nice up against the ugly necktie Ma made him out of the dead folk fabric.

I reckon it was Mrs. Gordon who combed his hair straight back from his face with a little part on the left side. She didn't know Mr. Bro. Wiley like we did 'cause he didn't wear no part in his hair.

“You got your comb with you, Bean?” Ma asked. She noticed it too.

“Yes, ma'am. I got it right here.” She reached down and touched Mr. Bro. Wiley's head like she was touching a piece of cotton and combed the part away.

“There,” she said. “That's our Mr. Bro. Wiley.”

“It sho' is, Ma.”

I think she laughed for a second, but I couldn't hear 'cause Uncle Goat was still carrying on.

“Ma, why is Uncle Goat carrying on? Does he know Mr. Bro. Wiley didn't think much of him?” I whispered.

“Oh, child, that ain't so. He thought the world of Goat. He just wanted him to stop his lying. He wanted him to be a better man. Now hush 'fore your uncle hear you.”

“I don't want to look no more, Ma.”

“Okay. You all right?”

“Yes, ma'am. It's sad to see him in that casket.”

“Yes, it is, child, but God don't break a heart he will not heal. Mr. Bro. Wiley's truly free now.”

I knew what Ma said was right, but it still hurt my heart to know that my friend was gone forever. We turned and walked away from the ole slave man. Uncle Goat was in the hall crying like he had lost his best friend. We all had.

I
went on the porch and sat in Mr. Bro. Wiley's rocking chair so that I could feel close to his soul. I could hear him singing the way he used to do right after supper.

“
Steal away, Lord. Steal away. I don't have long to stay.
”

“Sing, Mr. Bro. Wiley . . . sing all you want to,” Ma would say as she ironed our clothes for the following day. When Mr. Bro. Wiley got tired of singing, he would just hum. Hum till bedtime.

Come morning, Mr. Bro. Wiley and Ma would sing some more while Ma fried us one egg each and some fatback. After our plates were ready, Mr. Bro. Wiley would pray till the cows came home.

“Dear Lord, I know you hear me this morning. I want to thank you for waking us up and starting us along the way. Thank you for waking us up clothed and in our right minds. Thank you for Bean, Magnolia, and Stanbury. Have mercy on the folk back here in the Low Meadows and all over this world. Have mercy, Lord. Thank you for this life and the life after this one. Thank you for this mouthful of food this morning. Amen.”

I would never hear Mr. Bro. Wiley pray again.

When I looked up, I saw the Cofields walking down Stony Hill.

“Evening, Bean,” Mr. Jabo said.

“Evening, Mr. Jabo. Evening, Miss Lottie Pearl. Hey, Pole.”

“Hey, Bean,” Miss Lottie Pearl said.

Pole didn't say nothing 'cause she thought Papa was gonna come outside soon and tell on us for peeking at Mr. Bro. Wiley.

Mr. Jabo had on the same black suit he wore every Sunday that God sent, and Miss Lottie Pearl had on an ugly black dress that she made. Poor Pole. Miss Lottie Pearl made her a dress too. It was white and wide at the bottom. It looked as if it had a big balloon under it. Miss Lottie Pearl made a big ugly green ribbon to tie around Pole's little skinny waist. The ribbon seemed to make Pole's body lean to one side.

“Let's go see Mr. Bro. Wiley before the house get full of folk,” Mr. Jabo said.

I winked at Pole to let her know we were safe from Papa telling on us.

“Got something in your eye, son?” Mr. Jabo asked.

“No, sir. I believe a fly just went by.”

Pole winked back 'cause she knew that's our code when we ain't in trouble. But before Pole could get too happy, Papa came to the screen door.

“Good evening,” he said.

“Evening,” Miss Lottie Pearl and Mr. Jabo replied.

“Glad you early so-so I wouldn't have to walk over to Stony Hill to tell y'all how no mannered Bean-Bean and Pole was acting earlier today.”

“Well, I'll be doggone!” I thought Papa was gonna keep his mouth closed, at least till the sittin' up was over with. Miss Lottie Pearl didn't look happy. I didn't know why he had to tell on us. Why? Why? Why?

It was sad enough on Low Meadows Lane without us getting beat. Papa should've been ashamed of himself. He really should've. Now I was just saying that to myself. I knew better than to say a word out loud to him.

“What did you do, gal?” Miss Lottie Pearl asked.

“Not just her, both-both of them,” Papa said. “I gave Bean a good talking to. They were peeping in the window at poor-poor old Mr. Bro. Wiley this afternoon after I told them to sit on the porch. Peeping at-at a dead man like they ain't got no home training. I didn't tell Miss Magnolia, 'cause she-she already tore all to pieces.”

Papa looked at me real hard like he forgot we were kinfolk.

“Being upset is one thing, forgetting your manners is another. Bean ain't in-in the clear either. He gonna rake the-the yard tomorrow soon as the funeral over with.”

“I am? Well, that was my first time hearing that,” I thought.

“I guess they both will have to do extra work next week,” Mr. Jabo said.

“Get-get out of that chair, boy. Lottie Pearl might want to sit there after viewing the body,” Papa told me as he opened the door for the Cofields. “Y'all come on-on in and take a good look at Mr. Bro. Wiley. Say-say your good-byes in peace. Ain't nobody here yet but Goat.” Papa left out the fact that my uncle just finished hollering. Me and Pole followed the grown folk inside.

“Hey, y'all,” Uncle Goat said as he rushed past us, wiping his tears away. “I'll see you after I change clothes.”

Everybody spoke softly as they walked in the sittin' up room.

“Take your time. Take your time,” Mr. Jabo told Miss Lottie Pearl.

“Come with me, child,” Miss Lottie Pearl said to Pole as she motioned for her to walk to the casket. “Come view the body like you supposed to, girl. Not through a window like you ain't got no home training.”

“Lord, have mercy, Mr. Bro. Wiley gone,” Miss Lottie Pearl said. She reached down and rubbed Mr. Bro. Wiley's face as if he could feel her touch. Then she went to fixing his necktie. She knew good and well Ma already had Mr. Bro. Wiley looking the way she wanted him to look, but she wasn't satisfied unless she helped.

Pole strong. She cried a little bit, but not aloud like the womenfolk and Uncle Goat. I stepped up to the casket and held her hand so that Mr. Jabo could tend to his wife.

“Good-bye, Mr. Bro. Wiley. I am going to miss you,” Pole said as she pulled one of the flowers out of the arrangement and put it in his hand. That girl just do whatever she want. I was kind of proud though.

Seeing her put that flower in Mr. Bro. Wiley's hand tore her mama all to pieces.

“He looked like he never been sick a day in his life,” Miss Lottie Pearl cried out. “He looks asleep. Sleep on, Bro. Wiley, sleep on. I hope you didn't suffer while you were leaving here.”

“He didn't suffer at-at all,” Papa said.

Next thing we know Ma was shouting again. Right then I knew that Mr. Bro. Wiley's funeral was gonna be a mess and a half tomorrow. According to Uncle Goat, anytime you go to a sittin' up and the folk crying a lot you knew it was gonna be a funeral filled with hollering and carrying on.

It ain't gonna be quiet like Mr. King David Lightfoot's funeral was last year. He lived in an unpainted house that sat right at the foot of Stony Hill. He was one mean man.

Now, folk didn't just get up one morning and start disliking Mr. King David. He gave them plenty of reasons. He was just plain hateful. Never even bothered to say hello to the children. Didn't talk in the fields. Didn't attend church. Nothing. He had only one son, named Bob, if you don't count our neighbor Real Kill. I didn't know if it was so and I better not ask, but folk said Real Kill was really Mr. King David's blood son by some woman with a mustache who came through here with the circus. She stayed long enough to give birth and leave her baby on Miss Penny's doorstep. Miss Penny died years ago and Real Kill raised himself with a little help from the Low Meadows women. Mr. King David never claimed Real Kill, so when he died he was all alone.

After Papa found the body, he called Bob, who lived up North in a place called Baltimore. For someone who hadn't been home in twenty years, the man Ma called Big Shot Bob sho' got to the Low Meadows fast.

Folk said he came to get the bury legion money. I didn't know him and he didn't stay long enough for us to get to know him. I just remember he came to the Low Meadows in his black Chevy, with his fancy clothes and his pretty wife, Miss Marie. She was Mexican and looked liked an angel.

Miss Marie wasn't a tall woman like Miss Lottie Pearl, but she looked tall because of her long legs. On them legs she wore stockings every day. She didn't know Low Meadows women only wore stockings when they were going to church. Miss Marie had dark hair and a mole on the tip of her nose. She barely spoke English, but I didn't need to hear her talk. Just looking at her was good enough for me. I think every man in the Low Meadows went over to the sittin' up just so they could get a good look at her. She smelled of honeysuckle that grew on the edge of the fields come springtime.

Ma and Miss Lottie Pearl left the field early when they got word that Big Shot Bob was gonna bury his daddy without having a sittin' up. They went to that man's house and took over. They talked some junk to him as sho' as you born. Me and Pole weren't there, but Miss Marie managed to get out enough English to tell us what happened. The grown folk wouldn't talk to the pretty lady, so she just talked to us when she saw us sittin' on my porch watching folks go in and out of Mr. King David's house. We weren't about to tell Miss Marie that Low Meadows grown folk don't tell Low Meadows children nothing!

“‘No sittin' up!'” Miss Marie told us Ma yelled at the city man. “‘You just pay for the funeral with your bury legion money. Us womenfolk will do the rest. But we gonna have a sittin' up. You can't come down here acting like you better than us. You ain't nothing but a Low Meadows boy just like your papa, my husband, and your brother, Real Kill, if you want the truth. Now, go on out to town and give that policy to Mr. Gordon so we can pick out a casket before the sun go down.'”

Then Miss Lottie Pearl jumped in. “We didn't think much of your pappy and don't feel no different about you, but we gonna bury him the way we bury all Low Meadows men.” When Big Shot Bob rolled his eyes at the womenfolk, Miss Lottie Pearl got real mad and the rest of the devil came out of her.

“Go on and give Mr. Gordon that policy! Don't try to keep half the money, because I ain't picking no cheap casket.” Miss Marie said that Pole's mama was jumping up and down like a rooster with his head cut off.

“By the way, your papa ain't been to church since your ma died twenty years ago, so his one suit too little for that big belly! Buy your daddy a suit. If you ain't careful, you'll need a suit for your own sittin' up,” Miss Lottie Pearl added. Big Shot Bob walked out the door steaming mad.

After the womenfolk ran Big Shot Bob to see Mr. Gordon, they cooked up all the food Mr. King David had left in his pantry.

Me and Pole were eleven at the time, so we missed the funeral, but Miss Marie filled us in. She said that Ma put Real Kill's name on the obituary right beside Big Shot Bob's name. Right after Mr. Creecy said a few words, Miss Lottie Pearl read the obituary out loud at the funeral, but she skipped over Real Kill's name. That made him some kind of mad. Miss Marie said he stood up and starting acting crazy.

“Hush up, Lottie Pearl. Y'all act like you love me, but you don't. What you and Magnolia put my name in the obituary for if you scared to say it out loud? All y'all going to hell.”

Then he walked out the church. Big Shot Bob didn't say a word. He didn't care. He had the rest of that bury legion money in his suit pocket.

Papa and Mr. Jabo was still laughing when they got home. Ma didn't laugh because she and Miss Lottie Pearl were too busy walking up and down Low Meadows Lane looking for Real Kill so they could tell him a piece of their mind. Big Shot Bob and Marie went speeding past the two mad women without waving.

No need for Ma to be mad at Real Kill.

No need for Miss Lottie Pearl to be mad neither.

They knew Low Meadows folk wasn't thinking about Mr. King David dead or alive. Folk said there wasn't one tear shed at the funeral. Not a one. Well, maybe that's if you didn't count the folk that laughed until they cried after Real Kill showed his sinning ways. Nobody really loved Mr. King David; but folk sho' loved our Mr. Bro. Wiley. His sittin' up was proof of that.