What the River Washed Away Read online

  ‘Nobody’s ever going to turn up here. Look at the place, it’s the back end of bloody nowhere, there’s nobody around here for half a mile and I bet most of them don’t even know that little whipper’s alive.’

  ‘Well, you get her to quit yelling, that’s the deal.’

  They take off. I hear their footsteps fade up our track, but I just lie there with my heart pounding so hard and so fast I can even hear it thumping inside of my ears.

  I’m so scared I just stay under my cot hugging Pappy’s magazines right up close. I think about his old face, all wrinkly and brown under the felted hat he used to pull down to shade his eyes. I think about the only tooth he had left, sticking straight up outta his gum – last man standing, he called it – and how he used to stop and lean on his cane for laughing. Pappy couldn’t walk and laugh at the same time. He’s been dead just about a year now, I think, but I can still smell him, that nice baccy smell of his, especially on his old chair.

  In the morning my legs are stiff from how I been stuck underneath the cot all night. Mambo’s bed is empty. That means she’s gone and met a new beau. I’m glad about that, ’cause she’s happy when she’s got a beau.

  I eat stale cornbread from the skillet for breakfast, softened up in cold sweet tea, but I’m terrible hungry. Mambo paraded herself off last night; ain’t no thinking about cooking for me when she sets her eye on a beau, and I was just too scared to come out from under my cot once Grandma’s tallow gave out. I was sure as hell Mr McIntyre and his friend were hanging about someplace waiting to get a hold of me for their doing. I find rice and dry spice, one sweet potato, though it’s gone mouldy where Mambo’s taken slices off, and I fetch three eggs from our hens. I light a fire under the cooking grate – ain’t s’posed to, but I learnt how to get good at that when Pappy passed away and my Mambo forgot to be getting herself home and looking out for me.

  Kids from across the fields round here are making a right noise out there on the gov’ment road where it passes near the end of our track. They’re on the way to catch the school bus that gets them in to lessons on time. I hear they’re right strict about getting in on time, and I hear folks say they’re glad they got a bus out this way now so kids don’t have to walk like they used to. White folks’ kids always got a bus, they say, but coloureds had to walk before they got a bus of their own. I don’t rightly know why Mambo ain’t letting me go for schooling. A lotta folks hereabout don’t send their kids in for it at all, and I hear other folks say that ain’t right. We s’posed to go for schooling, gov’ment says, but they don’t do nothing about getting us there.

  I place the rice in our black iron pot with fresh water from the bucket and then I put the three eggs on top. I creep through the trees at the side of our track to watch them kids on their way to school. They sure do look nice fitted out in clothes they ain’t allowed to wear for nothing else, just school. And they all look the same, real neat, I call it. I wish Mambo was sending me to school too, and I was walking right ’longside them. Pappy taught me my reading and Mambo says that’s all I need, but I know I’m gonna need more than that. I reckon I’m gonna need to know about math, and I’d sure like to know what it’s like living in all them fancy places I keep reading about in Pappy’s magazines.

  Mambo says she’s gonna teach me everything I need to know, ’cept I don’t wanna be like Mambo. I wanna be like all them other kids, instead of always hiding and worrying about how they’re gonna be laughing at me and hollering ‘Po’bean’ like they do. That’s what they call me. Po’bean. Ain’t nice. I hide behind the trees till they’ve gone, then I go sit on the back step of our cabin on my own. I watch the hummingbirds flutter at flowers – they need breakfast too, I guess – till I think my eggs gotta be done. I lift them out with a spoon and set them down for cooling off. Then I pop spices in the rice and take it off the grate so it don’t get no more heating. Pappy says that makes the best rice.

  ‘Just let it rest in water that boil for about four minutes. That’s all there is to it, Arletta.’ It was always right fine when he made it, but I don’t know four minutes.

  I eat one of my eggs right away and get to thinking I’m gonna have me a walk by Sugarsookie Creek. I feed the chickens, ’cause I never got around to that with Mr McIntyre and his friend and all, and watch that cockerel strutting about the place, lording it over the hens. He don’t know what Mambo’s got coming to him as soon as the moon gets to its darkest night.

  I roll the rice in newspaper along with the other two eggs and head off. Pappy and me went sitting down by Sugarsookie Creek all the time to watch it flow on its wise old way. I watched him smoke his pipe and listened to all his old stories about days gone by that he was right fond of talking about. I listened good to anything my Pappy ever had to say in his deep, slow, drawling voice that sounded as warm as fresh-made steaming pie. I kept hold of his pipe after he was gone, so when I get to feeling real sad I can suck on it and remember him like he’s still right here and smoking it himself. I do that when there ain’t nobody around to see me acting like I’m crazy, smoking an old pipe with no baccy in it at all.

  ‘What the hell he do with that pipe of his?’ screamed Mambo, turning the place upside down after he was gone. ‘I promised that pipe to Louis Marquez. He says he loved the look of that pipe and I says he could have it because of him being right fond of Pappy.’

  ‘He ain’t love it and he sure ain’t never fond of my Pappy. You owe him money, is all.’

  Thwack.

  It’s my pipe now and I got it hidden away in my green tin buried way back of the treeline at the bottom end of our track, away from the gov’ment road. Ain’t nobody ever see me go there, ’cause I take good care they don’t, and I never go near it in daytime at all. More than the magazines he left me, Pappy’s pipe is my most precious thing, it’s my own treasure, safe and hidden in the beat-up old tin with the face of the King of England on the lid. Pappy gave me that tin and said I ain’t never to open it unless his pal Jeremiah was right there with me. Jeremiah passed away not long after Pappy though, and I’m so scared Mambo is gonna find his pipe and give it to Louis Marquez that I open the tin anyways. Pappy ain’t gonna mind that. Just some ‘sentimental old papers’ in it, he said when he gave it to me, and I’ve gotta hold onto them ’cause they’re mine and mine alone. That’s what he said, I remember it clear as day. I wrapped them sentimental old papers in the only handkerchief he ever had, placed his pipe on top and asked Lord Almighty to tell him I’m gonna keep them safe till he rise up.

  I ain’t saying I know for sure how Mambo paid off Louis Marquez, but I got a pretty fine clue, since she got herself all smiles and pushed-up bosoms when he came for it. I took off as soon as he walked down our track, so I ain’t rightly sure about it.

  Cicadas are settling down ’cause the day is getting hot, and down on Sugarsookie Creek the water seems just too lazy to make a sound. I soak my poor sore feet, ’cause they’ve started bleeding again from walking, and I’m still hurting bad from Mr McIntyre and his doing to me yesterday. But it feels better if I hug my knees up tight close to my chest and watch the water flow. Pappy always said a river remembers everything in its water. All the dirt it took from the hands of poor hard-working slaves, and all the sweat of the cotton fields soaked in the only clothes they got. The river remembers the sound of them all singing in praise and pain, and every scream they had from a master’s lash. The river remembers the blood on their backs because it had to wash it away.

  I hear a noise, like somebody is close-up by. Sounds like they’re singing a sad song, slow and full of mourning.

  ‘Somebody there?’

  My voice is just a whisper asking, ’cause I’m fearing Mr McIntyre and his friend have followed me out here.

  ‘Somebody there?’

  The singing voice is deep and low. But it’s a woman’s voice. I’m glad about that, anyways.

  I never laid down my load, Lord

  I never gave Jesus my yoke

  And on b
oth sides of the river

  Blood fed the roots of oak.

  Deliver, deliver, deliver my soul

  Rest my head on your pillow

  Lord, I never grew old.

  Hmmm, hmmm, hmmmmmmm …

  The humming is just about as close as it could be without belonging to someone I sure oughta be seeing with my own eyes. My breathing catches in my throat, ’cause it’s full of so much choking fear I can’t get any air in.

  ‘Hmmm, hmm, hmm-hmm.’

  My eyes start darting all over, but I ain’t seeing nothing at all. Then the singing stops. I’m scared as hell somebody’s gonna be touching me from behind, so I ain’t dare turn round neither. I hold my picnic up close and back my way careful along the bank of the creek. Us black folks always kept fearful, Pappy used to say. The humming starts up again.

  ‘Pappy? Is that my Pappy?’

  I don’t know why I think it’s Pappy; I ain’t never hear him sing. But if I could feel him close, I know I would be safe. I sure do miss him.

  ‘Pappy, I’m scared. I’m just scared all the time since ya gone with God Almighty.’

  I sit down, lay my head on my arms and start rocking to and fro. I’m talking to Pappy like he’s right there, same as always.

  ‘I don’t know what to do since ya gone Pappy. I want more than anything in this world for ya to come back. Even if ya gonna be shouting at Mambo, I don’t mind. I don’t mind that at all. It sure would be better than not having ya here at all. Pappy, please come back.’

  ‘That’s ya child and ya gonna do right by her. I’m gonna see to that,’ he warned Mambo one time, pointing a smoking pipe her way and she ain’t care a thing about it.

  ‘What ya gonna do, Pappy? What ya gonna do that I ain’t able to sort out good? Eh? Mamma and me sort everything out good, and I’m Mambo round here now. Ya hear me, Pappy?’

  ‘Bad stuff and nonsense, all of it. Children of the Devil, both of ya, and don’t even know it. That’s the Devil’s way. One thing I gonna make sure about is this here child ain’t never gonna practise them stupid ways. Ya mind that good! Ya just a pair of fools. Both y’all just devil’s fools.’

  I remember Mambo tossed her head back and laughed at Pappy.

  ‘Oh what, Pappy? What ya calling us? We’re the fools?’ Mambo was always teasing poor old Pappy with that giddy sing-song voice she puts on sometimes. ‘And maybe ya not even my Pappy at all. Maybe my mamma lay with that old devil himself. Maybe it was just any old somebody else, any old fool. Anybody but Pappy, old Pappy.’

  Mambo made Pappy sad all the time.

  ‘Ya has a child, girl, a child ya bring in this world ain’t nobody ask for. Ya gonna do right girl. Ya gonna do right or no good ever gonna come of it.’

  That night Pappy sat out on our porch holding me close till I fell asleep in his warm baccy smell and we ain’t seen hide nor hair of Mambo for days. That’s when she took to staying out all the time and my Pappy died with his heart broke.

  Seems there ain’t any love at all coming my way from Mambo these days. It ain’t even that she’s taken to thwacking me since Pappy’s gone, ain’t even all them ugly dolls and all that root-grinding, or the moaning and groaning. I just ain’t feeling safe no more. She ain’t here enough anyways.

  The humming starts up again. I hear it over the noise of my own sniffling, getting louder and louder.

  ‘Please, who is it? Pleeease, please … don’t hurt me.’

  ‘Shush chile. Ain’t no cause for crying.’

  I jump near right outta my own skin when I hear that talking.

  ‘Don’t look for me chile.’

  ‘Pappy? Where are you? Please, I’m scared.’

  ‘Leave Pappy be. His time for resting come now.’

  ‘Who is it? Who is it I ain’t seeing?’

  ‘Ain’t my time for resting. Nell, they call me, but I’d like y’all to call me Nellie. They called me Nellie when I was just a girl.’

  The voice is kinda deep, but it’s soft too. It sounds to me only good folks ever gonna be speaking that way, but I’m still scared as I’ve ever been, hearing it. I get brave enough to swing around fast but I ain’t see nothing at all.

  ‘I’m real scared. Don’t do nothing, please don’t …’

  ‘I see ya crying is all, lonely and far from home for a little one. Ya way out here by y’self, cryin’ and all alone. Don’t be frightened, chile, ain’t no cause. Shush now.’

  ‘Where are you? Please. I’m scared.’

  ‘I’m right here, watching the river flowing too, and I like singing. I gotta say, ain’t nobody ever hear me before. Just you, chile.’

  ‘Ya dead and gone?’

  ‘Have no mind on that. I’m just right here.’

  The sound of her voice is starting to make me feel easy, though I’m still shaking with fright and losing hold on my legs. The rice from my packet spills out all over the grass and my eggs roll off down the bank. They plop into the creek.

  ‘I don’t wanna be hearing no dead voices, I don’t wanna be like my Mambo. Please go away!’

  ‘Ya just a chile. And ya ain’t like Mambo, not at all chile.’

  ‘D’ya know her? My Mambo?’ Fear is beating hard at the side of my throat. This has got be one of Mambo’s devils, for sure. I’m gasping for air and swallowing warm stuff.

  ‘Ya … ya know who Mambo is?’

  All those years of feeling scared, huddling behind bushes watching Mambo and Grandma slit the throats of running chickens, throwing cursed ashes at folks, dancing and mumbling in the spirit world, sure has got me nervy. Now I’m standing right in front of one of them devils Pappy said they cause trouble with, and there ain’t no living soul about but me. And this devil ain’t got no more than a voice. Nobody should ever be on the wrong side of a mambo ’cause of how they’s able to do bad things. I know, with all that thwacking and leaving me by myself so one of her devils can send Mr McIntyre to be doing his hurting. I sometimes think he’s the Devil himself and that sure freezes me up every time.

  I open my mouth to scream but no sound comes. Wetness trickles down my leg.

  ‘No. I don’t know ya Mambo, but I seen her.’

  ‘Where? Where ya seen her?’ I’m just whimpering with fright.

  ‘Oh, I sees her here and there. I can tell ya mother and chile, but ya ain’t like her at all. That ya ain’t. Ya just a sweet li’l chile, nice as nice can be, and I’m sure glad to know ya able to hear me singing. Sure am.’

  She hums.

  The sound is real strange, on account that she ain’t there I s’pose, but I start feeling something soothing coming on all over me. I fix my eyes on a stick in the middle of the creek, ain’t hardly moving at all, and my breathing comes back easy. My eggs have sunk in the deep pool, but my hunger’s gone off anyways. I stare at that stick for one long time before it floats off round the bend that’s gonna take it to the Red River and the Mississippi. And I keep drying my eyes ’cause it seems my tears ain’t never gonna stop running at all. Once that stick is gone I peep around, slow like, ’cause I ain’t sure what I’m gonna be seeing, but I ain’t see nothing. I just hear water start lapping at the side of the bank with the wind coming up, and the sound of Nellie’s humming getting farther away.

  Two

  When Mambo comes back, she’s singing a flighty tune. Must be the latest in a juke joint someplace. I wish she’d take time to teach me singing – she’s real good at it. I wish we had one of them phonogram boxes I see in my magazines, ones they say can play music on the end of a needle. Pappy ain’t never able to sing a ‘blessed note’ he said, but Jeremiah and his other pals sure could. They got something special goin’ on, folks always say. They’d be clapping hands and shuffling feet, and telling Pappy to keep in time with the bent spoon he used to beat on his knee. He was able to do that fine. Pappy chipped away one time making a couple of wooden spoons for his clapping, but Jeremiah took them over ’cause of him being right musical and able to drum them both at the same time as tu
rning out a fine song. Pappy said he was happy enough getting back to his bent spoon. He always used to keep that spoon in the inside pocket of his only jacket, but I couldn’t find it after he was gone. I guess that went the same way his pipe was gonna go if I ain’t get to that first.

  Mambo brings home some nice fresh cornbread, and she’s beaming all over happy.

  ‘Arletta, honey, fetch me something to drink. And cut me some of this cornbread. Come on now, this cornbread real fresh. Just got made.’

  She goes on singing and I pick up the bucket from out back for fetching fresh water. As I pass through our cabin, she’s standing in front of the dresser mirror stripping off her tight frock and loosening up her corset. That corset is her most precious thing for sure, ’cause if she don’t do up all them pins and hooks and padding just right, her breasts flop flat out, ain’t no life like Grandma’s in them at all. She flicks them up and tells the mirror it’s what giving birth to a daughter did for her. I slip out and go fill the bucket, ain’t saying nothing.

  Since she’s come back, Mambo is spending the day lying in bed and grumbling about the heat.

  ‘Mr McIntyre promised me a motor-fan. He promised clear as day to bring one of them motor-fans and get us all wired up. They’s getting wired up in Brouillette now. He been round here saying something about a motor-fan, Arletta?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, he said he’d be round. Come and fan me, Arletta. Keep me cool honey. I ain’t standin’ this heat and ain’t even past spring time. Come on now.’

  I fan her till she dozes off, then I sit out back thinking about Nellie and her deep, warm humming voice. I recall her easy tune and hum it into the palm of my hand, quiet-like so I don’t wake Mambo.

  Then I hear somebody knocking out front. There’s a young girl out there, about my own age, hopping from foot to foot in our front yard. She’s looking kinda scared to me.

  ‘Ya want something?’