George?
Yes, Hatch. He returned the cup to the saucer with the least bit of sound.
What kind of work did you do? He could never get it straight.
Well, when I first came up from Arkansas, I got a job in the stockyards. Worked that for about two years, then I got this job workin for these two Jewish brothers.
Reading blueprints?
No. It was a machine company. We made the templates used to stamp out car parts.
I see.
Yeah. George pulled off the top of one biscuit. Steam curled from its soft white insides. It was just a mom-and-pop operation when I started. Big business now … Those two Jewish brothers smelled like dead fish, that heavy fish odor.
Man.
Back in Russia, they managed a fishery. Good people. Fair. But I also made a dollar a day. Service pay. That was good money in those days.
How’d you like the army?
George thought about it. See, it’s all about the military-industrial complex. That’s why they going to war now. George rose up from the table and walked into the kitchen.
Yo father was here, Inez whispered.
Lucifer?
Junior.
Uncle John?
Yes. He left something. Let’s go out to the garage. I’ll show you.
Hatch took Inez’s arm — light and brittle as a twig — and guided her to the garage. Partitioned in two, a space for the car (ordinary, nondescript, pale blue and gray), tools, and fishing gear, and a screened porch overlooking the patio and yard. He had spent many hours on that porch, book in hand, rocking, on a large swing meant for two people.
In there, Inez said.
He helped her into the garage proper. She took an object down from a wooden utility shelf. An ordinary basket, full of baby’s breath.
He and that woman left it.
What woman?
It’s some kind of spell. I been meaning to ask yo mamma.
Hatch recalled the time George got sick, weak in the legs, and Sheila instructed Inez to put a picture of a horse beside his picture. Horses have strong legs. And burn a candle. Red might be too strong, make his legs too powerful. So burn a red and a white candle.
Inez quickly put the basket back on the shelf and led (pulled, reined, rider and horse) Hatch from the garage.
Why would Uncle John want to put a spell on you?
She pushed him into the screened porch.
Inez? Why would Uncle John—
That man, George.
Hatch glimpsed the old swing — smaller than he remembered it — and a few old clover-shaped church fans for cooling down the Holy Ghost.
He is low. The dirt washed off turnips.
George?
Yes. That man there, George. He got powers.
Hatch said nothing.
He knows everything I’m sayin. See, he can touch something and then he sprays me with something while I sleep. George. That man there. Married all these years. Married. To dirt.
George opened the patio door. Inez’s wrinkled mouth went tight, a drawstring purse.
HATCH DRUMMED HIS FINGERS on the glass table, which yielded his reflection. He saw himself churn Inez’s ice cream. Saw himself drop fresh cream and fresh cubes into the bucket then turn the handle with all the power of his skinny kid’s arms. He saw himself skin apples for Inez’s applesauce. Shell peas for her soup.
You hungry?
No. I ate. He lied. Memory brought hunger.
If you are hungry all you have to do is speak up.
No—
But you know, I don’t do any cooking. These hands. She raised them. One day when you’re old—
Inez?
— you’ll understand. George, Junior is hungry. He want some chicken. Inez?
Some chicken. Think I can drive like this? I’m not dressed. She smoothed her palms over her white cotton housecoat. Shuffled her matching house-shoed feet.
You can stay in the car, Inez. George spoke from down the hall.
Wait, Hatch said. I don’t want any — He let it go. You want me to drive?
No, Inez said. You relax. You are a guest.
The three left the patio, walked out to the garage, and took their places in the car. Hatch in the back seat and George shotgun with Inez. She curved the car onto the gravel-covered alley. Took the alley slowly, then curved the car onto the street.
Okay, George said. Now make a left at the corner.
She did.
Stay on this street.
She did. She drove, steadily, both hands on the steering wheel, face intent on the road and George’s directions.
There it is, right up there.
How was poor-sighted George so precise? Was he speaking from memory or instinct?
I see it. She eased the car into the lot.
Park over there.
She did.
Keep the engine running.
She did. She carefully took neat, clean bills from her purse and handed them to Hatch. There you go, Junior. Buy a box.
Yall want any?
No.
Buy some for yourself, George said.
Hatch ordered the cheapest box and pocketed the change. Boxed chicken under his arm like a football, he ducked back into the car.
Now back out the way you came, George said.
But the sign says—
I’m telling you the right way to go.
But those arrows there—
Inez, just do what I say.
She didn’t.
What are you doing?
She said nothing.
Inez, what are you doing?
Shut your damn mouth unless you going to drive. She swung the car into the streaming avenue, just missing another car. She drove on steadily. Drove past their turn. George said nothing. She turned left and moments later, they were back at the chicken shack. This time she turned right, at the wrong corner. It went on like this. They circled the chicken shack again and again and again.
Make a right at the corner, Hatch said.
Okay, Junior. She made a right.
Now, there’s the alley. Turn left.
Thank you, Junior. She turned, car bouncing, tires crunching on gravel. See, they fixin the street. Junior, you see?
Yes, Inez.
Those cobblestones ruin the tires. She pulled the car before the garage. George got out. Hatch got out.
I’ll park it, George said.
Okay. Inez made her way for the house. Junior, come on.
You see what jus happened? George whispered. You see? George took Hatch’s silence as acknowledgment. She spend all her time in that garage. All her time. He blinked back his anger. Tell yo mamma to call me. I got to tell her something very important.
I will.
Be sure and tell her.
I will.
Better yet, tell your sister to come out here.
I will.
Tell her.
I will.
10
SHEILA LEANED OVER THE EDGE of the platform — a wood-and-iron structure rising stories above the street — to see if her morning train was coming. A yellow oval shimmered near her face. A young Oriental woman watched her, small, prim, and delicate in a red dress suit. Her hand held firm to the black leather purse strapped over her shoulder. Her eyes were sharp and curved, glinting swords. Hear they don’t like to be called Oriental but Asian. Oriental like saying Negro. Or nigger. Bet she own a cleaners. Or a restaurant. Or a grocery store. Turned her face away when she and Sheila locked stares.
The rails looked white and fragile under the sun. Sheila often wondered what Sam felt when he fell under the speeding train and lost his leg. Nawl, I didn’t pass out. I tried to get up and walk away. Crawl away. I remember looking up at the third rail high above me. I felt like one of those limbo dancers. Cause after it happened, all he did was look her in the face from his hospital bed and say, Niece, I gotta learn to use my wings again. Then he looked at Lucifer. Sam and Dave were big on teasin Lucifer and John.