What the River Washed Away Read online

  I keep that fish knife well hidden and back myself into the bedroom so he follows. My eyes are fixed on him, real steady. Mambo’s knife got a thing it needs to be doing. A mambo’s knife’s got a power in it. A mambo’s knife kept razor sharp for more than gutting fish.

  He follows me like a fool.

  ‘Will that be fifty cents for one thing, and fifty cents for another thing, eh?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I get a lot for my fifty cents now. Ooooh, you are a naughty, naughty girl.’

  Sounds like he’s talking to a dog.

  Mr Seymour’s already got his jacket off and waggling his dirty fingers my way. His breath is smelling rank and he stinks like he ain’t washed in days.

  I hold steady ’cause my time has come.

  ‘That’s ya strength chile. Ya got it, ya got it now, and Nellie’s right here.’

  I point at his pants.

  ‘I wanna do that first and then y’all do whatever ya want but I ain’t taking no fifty cents. I reckon on getting a dollar for it.’

  He sniggers, like he’s feeling right pleased with himself. He pulls out a wad of dollar bills from his jacket pocket like I never seen before, and waves one right in front of my face. I grab it. He unzips his pants slow, swaying from side to side and humming a stupid kinda tune, like he just hit jackpot on his birthday. When he drops his pants I swallow so I don’t throw up before I do what I gotta do. I need to be keeping him off his guard. I don’t know how I smile the way I do, I guess I just knows I gotta, and it gets him giggling like one idiot child, standing there naked like the day he’s born.

  ‘This time he’s gone chile. He’s real gone.’

  I hear Nellie.

  Seymour leans back on Mambo’s dresser and gets himself steady for it. When he closes his eyes and starts his moaning I move outta my corner so I’m sure on having a clear run outta there. I move real slow, keeping check his eyes stay closed, then slowly, real, real slowly so he don’t get no wind of it, I get myself outta the side of Mambo’s dresser. He’s gone for sure, lost in his pleasing I’d say, ain’t seeing nothing. Then I’m ready. He gets a hold of my hair and forces himself so far down my throat I start gagging. Time come and I got my strength. I raise my Mambo’s knife, careful like, with my heart thumping and bumping like it’s never been. Then I take one long slash at the side of his private part and run like hell.

  He starts screaming more than I think a sound could ever be coming out of just one man. I ain’t never hear that sound before. Even on the dark moon, when I hear all kinda stuff, I ain’t never hear nothing like I hear coming outta Mr Seymour when his private part takes my slashing. I ain’t stopping to pay it any mind though, ’cause I’m outta there saving myself. I just ain’t taking it no more and Nellie says he’s real gone too, that’s all I know. Soon as I reach the trees out back my ankle turns in with my rushing and I stumble. I’m starting to feel terrible scared about what it is I just done to cause Mr Seymour to be bellowing worse than a mad bull.

  I just didn’t wanna do it no more.

  Inside of our cabin Mambo’s bottles are rattling on her dresser and then I hear them clatter to the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking about all the trouble there’s gonna be if any of that got broke. Mr Seymour is crashing through our cabin and I guess our clothes are all over the place too. I wanna be running just as far away as I’m able, but I gotta stay close now for clearing up once he’s gone. All that mess is gonna need fixing up before Mambo comes home, that’s for sure.

  ‘Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!’ Mr Seymour is yelling as he gets stumbling out onto our front porch. I just don’t know what I’m gonna do next. I know I’ve hurt him bad already, but I keep Mambo’s fish knife real handy in case he gets minded on causing more trouble. I’m shaking from top to toe, and my chest sure is pounding like a drum, but I run round to the front of our cabin ’cause I need to be seeing what’s going on with all that bellowing. He’s out there trying to keep steady on his feet, ain’t a stitch of clothes on him. He takes off, limping and hopping up our track, holding on to his bleeding part. Seems blood is just pouring outta that man. I never got to thinking about blood before I took Mambo’s knife to him. I never thought about much except this was gonna be the last time I ever let him be doing to me.

  He points fat fingers my way and his eyes are near popping outta his head. I ain’t sure if he’s planning on coming back at me or not, so I hold up Mambo’s knife high. My own face is wet with crying tears, and I reckon I’m howling too.

  ‘You little bitch! You’ll pay for this,’ he screams, limping off butt-naked, trying to cover up his parts. ‘You wait, you little piece of trash …’

  I wave Mambo’s knife one more time and then he’s gone.

  I gotta set to clearing all that mess up before Mambo finds out something’s gone down. Seeing that blood all over Mr Seymour had me thinking it was gonna be everywhere, but I’m glad to see inside ain’t so bad at all. Mr Seymour crashed out onto our porch, so seems that got most of it. Mambo’s string is down, but her clothes and my uniform look fine, ain’t no blood on them at all. I stand on one of our stools and get that string tied back up on its nails. Everything gets hung back over it, the same as always. I’m scared as hell, dashing in and out of the place in case Mr Seymour takes a mind on coming back. If he gets a hold of Mambo’s knife, I’m gonna be done for myself. Glad to say there ain’t no sign of him, though, ’cept for that trail of blood. I fix things up and find the dollar he gave me.

  Most of his blood is out on our porch and up our track; I soon get done with that. By now our bucket and rain barrel are both dry and I need to be tearing up and down to the pipe for more water. Mr Seymour ain’t nowhere at all, he sure got outta here real quick. I’m used to seeing Mr McIntyre up the gov’ment road a ways, waiting for the bus after he gets his doing, but ain’t nobody up there now at all and I start reckoning Mr Seymour’s bleeding to death in the cane.

  I cover up the last trail of blood on our track with earth and check our porch. Inside, the cabin floor ain’t so bad, that gets done quick too, and then I start wiping up inside the bedroom. Ain’t easy cleaning up bad blood and I’m back at that pipe three more times with my gut turning over and swallowing back on my own retching.

  I check Mambo’s bottles are just so, like they’re all s’posed to be. She’s right particular about that, so I sure am glad nothing got broke. I check one more time that everything is done right and there ain’t no blood left at all. Then I spot a splash of it, though it’s near dried out already, right there on Mambo’s dresser next to where I slashed him. I get down to wipe it, feeling feared to death for myself ’cause by now I’m sure as hell the law is coming for me and I’m gonna swing. That’s when I see the mighty wad of money outta Mr Seymour’s pocket rolled way back up under the dresser. And that’s when I stop and get to feeling doggone tired out.

  What I just done to some big-shot white man is starting to sink into my stupid head. I don’t even know how bad cut he is, there sure was some blood outside on our porch. I just know when he was forcing himself on me I had no mind at all what might be happening to him, I was too busy caring what was happening to me. But I start thinking then about how bad cut he is and if he’s lying flat out in the cane with me put an end to him. I start wondering if I need to be telling somebody about what I just done. Maybe I oughta get over to Safi’s folks and tell them Mr Seymour is laying up bleeding to death in the cane ’cause of me. Then I get to thinking about how I once saw the law come for one of Pappy’s pals. He was called Big Marcus. Pappy and me were over that way, ’cause he was looking for work, and I saw Big Marcus get his hands tied back and marched off with a state marshal and a dog ’cause he stole something to buy his grandson a pair of shoes to go to school with. Big Marcus had shiny tears on his face and said he was sorry for it. Next time anybody saw him he was smelling bad and swinging from the branch of a tree. Folks said he was so big that branch near enough touched the ground and if he was wearing a pair of
shoes himself he ain’t never have swung.

  Ain’t nobody ever ask how Big Marcus get from that marshal marching him off to them finding him hanging outta that tree. Everybody scared and living in fear of saying anything about it. All of them talked a lotta noise about a riot, but it ain’t never happen.

  I reckon it’s best that I ain’t tell nobody about what I just done to Mr Seymour, ’cept Nellie.

  I add up all them dollars and get to 405, counting the one I just got. I always chucked the fifty cents he gave me after every time into the washhouse, I never kept a dime of it. I hear a bunch of kids got caught poking about with a stick, thinking they’s always gonna keep finding money, and all of them got a right licking for playing in other folks’ shit.

  He sure never looked like it to me, but Mr Seymour gotta be some kinda wealthy white man if he’s walking about the place with all them dollars, ’less he stole them from someplace. He ain’t no thief though, too soft for that, and sure as hell he gonna be easy to catch. I’m thinking he probably just been to the bank, and that must be how he knows Mr McIntyre. I take one long time checking all that money sitting in the lap of my frock before I need to give up thinking on it.

  Our cabin looks the same as it always does after I’m done giving it a good clean. Mambo likes everything just so, and she’s gonna be pleased I set to it instead of reading The Mulatto. I do one last check all over – the porch, underneath the dresser, and up our track. Then I take the bucket and fish knife up to the pipe to scrub them clean.

  I’m finishing up when Claudette Benoit comes with a basket of mucky roots she’s getting ready for peeling.

  ‘Hey Arletta. I hear ya doing great at school. And look at ya. Now ya cleaning for Mambo. Ya just a honey Arletta. That’s what ya is chile, just a honeychile.’

  Mambo’s fish knife gets put back in the tin can out back of our cabin, and I feel a whole lot better when it’s outta my hands. One way or another Mr McIntyre’s gonna find out something’s happened to Mr Seymour and I’m sure I ain’t gonna be seeing him no more neither. I get to feeling so happy I stop feeling bad about the slashing I just give Mr Seymour.

  I wrap the wad of dollar bills in Mambo’s black newspaper; ain’t nobody gonna ask what’s in that packet. When it’s dark I creep into the trees and dig up Pappy’s tin. I suck on Pappy’s pipe like it holds the finest baccy in America, then hide the dollars on top of his sent’mental papers. I put the pipe back, close the lid tight, and place the King of England back in the ground. The last thing I gotta do is get up to the pipe and fill our rain barrel out back same as it was before I started my cleaning. Best do that while it’s dark too, ’cause folks ain’t s’posed to do it at all, and somebody’s sure gonna shout about it if I get spotted. After that’s done, I creep up to the washhouse and throw his white suit in the shit.

  The fried chicken Mambo left tastes good and I fall asleep with a full belly, thinking I ain’t never gonna have to be doing with Mr McIntyre or Mr Seymour again.

  When Mambo comes home she says Madame Bonnet is gonna come and give me lessons in French. Well, I gotta be pleased about it, I guess, ’cause I wanna learn, but there ain’t no way I was ever gonna be tagging behind Mambo or wiggling about the place for it. Madame Bonnet must be real nice if she’s thinking on coming all the way out here to be teaching me my French.

  Then Mambo tells me about how she got word to go see Mr McIntyre and he’s gonna give her a job cleaning the bank office in Brouillette. She’s mighty pleased about it.

  ‘Well, I just says I’m gonna do it right away Arletta. I mean, of course he don’t let on we knows one another, him being white and all.’

  She winks my way.

  ‘Some of them white folks just get a taste for a bit of good old black soul loving. On the side, like.’

  ‘That right Mambo?’

  ‘Sure, always been, and I ain’t never foolish enough to be thinking he was laying down with me for anything other than a piece of good loving like he ain’t never gonna get outta that skinny little white wife he gone get himself.’

  ‘Well, ain’t something oughta be going on Mambo, him being married and all.’

  ‘Married ain’t mean he get good loving.’

  She looks at me like I oughta know it.

  ‘Honey, ya gonna find that out for y’self one day. I always set about giving good loving. He get himself one good time and just look now how it pay off, Arletta. Look how it just darnit pay off for us. We gonna be fine now honey. I got me some work outta that.’

  Mambo’s about as happy as I’ve ever seen her. She drags a brush through her hair and looks in the mirror like she’s seeing a whole new person with a whole new life out there.

  ‘I got me a job Arletta, we gonna be fine. All that sneaking about, giving him what he wanted, just right darnit paid off.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad Mambo, real glad about it.’

  Mambo’s so happy she wraps her arms around me and hugs my breath right out. I hold onto my Mambo real tight. Feels fine. I love my Mambo and it sure is good that we’re gonna be okay.

  It turn out to be some kinda day.

  Five

  Mambo gave up thinking I’m ever gonna be following her ways.

  ‘Ya ain’t got it girl.’

  Simple as that, she reckons. Too much schooling put paid to it, she says. Ruins the gut, takes away what she calls instinct. All that reading up on other folks’ instinct sure as hell kills ya own, she says.

  ‘I knows it, and ya grandma knew it too, when she was living here in this world.’

  She blames Pappy. That he taught me different, did it to spite her and grandma, so that I ain’t ever gonna be mambo. He always said he was gonna do it, and ain’t it just what come about. That was Pappy all over, she moaned.

  I tell her she’s sore ’cause she ain’t never get no proper schooling herself.

  ‘I ain’t ever want no schooling. Schooling get folks thinking too much about stuff ain’t nobody’s business to be thinking. White folks’ business. A mambo need her gut.’

  ‘Most folks need reason.’

  Days past, I’d be sure on getting a thwack for my cheek and answering Mambo back like that. Last time she thwacked me I could see she knew it ain’t right, and ain’t working neither. Seems me starting to learn took the whole wind of thwacking right out of her.

  I got my period round that time too, and she laid a power on it.

  ‘Blood gives a woman power,’ she says, giving me my rags and telling me to be private about them and never find cause to use them for anything else.

  ‘And don’t ever let nobody get a hold of ya rags honey. I’m warning ya and ya best listen good. Them rags holding ya own blood, ain’t nobody else’s. Blood from outta ya belly and that ain’t nothing. That’s life.

  ‘There’s some woman over Pawnee way and I hear she’s counting on taking up being a mambo. Going round asking folks to call her Queen Something-or-other, priestess, or some damn rubbish. Lord Almighty. That kinda stuff going on, Arletta. And that half-bake shit is bad stuff. I’m telling ya that.’

  ‘What’s that got do with my rags?’

  ‘That’s what I call it. Half-bake shit.’

  ‘Ain’t nothing to do with me.’

  Well, that start her off about how I ain’t never learn nothing and telling me to listen good. A woman gets power in her moon-time and all that power is able to be turned back on her if she goes getting careless. Course I know that’s just Mambo’s crazy old stuff talking.

  ‘Ain’t no crazy stuff. Ya just ain’t got it, ya ain’t never got it. That’s exactly what I’m telling ya. And that Pawnee woman is going after some of my folks too. I ain’t wanting her finding no way of getting nothing over on me, so always go minding what I’m saying and watch ya rags.’

  Then she laughs right out loud and says, ‘Hey, y’all grown up now girl. Ya need to be getting on out there and find y’self a young man for popping that cherry.’

  Anybody would think that was the fu
nniest thing she ever said. The way she set to laughing all over our cabin about popping my cherry. Well, I tried telling her about that one time and got me nothing but a mouthful. And none of it was anything to laugh about, or worth a mouthful neither.

  Madame Bonnet is just about as flighty a person as I ever saw in my life, and a right sight for sore eyes too. The first time she comes flouncing, and that’s the word for it, down our track with a bunch of pink feathers round her neck and a pair of dainty slippers on her tiny feet, she’s cursing the good earth she’s walking on for having the affront to be dusty.

  ‘Mon Dieu, c’est un désastre! Je vais devoir en faire quelque chose tout de suite.’

  She rolls up the gov’ment road sitting up front of a fancy wagon ain’t nobody ever seen the likes of, with a set of red covers on the seats and a black box to rest her dinky li’l feet on. She calls the driver – ain’t much outta being a boy – ‘Tout de suite’, and he’s about as plain and quiet as to say he’s probably dumb. The sight of them on that road picks up a trail of nosy kids thinking who the hell coming to see Mambo and Po’bean now.

  With all the giggling going on later, I find out that box under Madame’s feet is just the right size for a heap of real French wine. Tout de suite fetches two fine glasses outta it, them’s so thin I wonder they don’t snap in half, and gives them a right good polishing before he fills them up with dark red wine. It’s plain to see he’s doing that every day of his life. Then he says, ‘Excusez-moi,’ because he ain’t dumb at all, and ain’t no Creole neither. That’s the first time I ever hear proper French spoke. He starts picking up all them feathers Madame let fly down our track, he don’t look this way or that way, and when he’s done picking up feathers, he stands guard over Madame’s fancy wagon.

  Course I don’t learn anything at all that first time. Well, no French to speak of anyways. I learn what it is to be drinking fine wine and get to giggling about nothing. And I learn what it is to be real nice to them that’s serving on you, ’cause Madame sure treats Tout de suite like he’s somebody worth something. Matter of fact, that’s exactly what she says.