The porch was quiet for a while, each man climbing out of the well of memory. As they did they touched upon stones — recollections of other lynchings — family and friends slain in open fields, dragged on the backs of cars, swinging from a low branch. Ephram’s mind caught on his father dying alone in the piney woods.
The men outside of Bloom’s had drunk from that well plenty — knew it was a dangerous place where water could suddenly rise from all sides. A man could drown like that.
Rooster pushed back his thoughts with, “Hear they n-n-never could cl-cl-clean that blood stain off the floor.”
Charlie added, “I hear ain’t nothing but haints on Bell land.”
Gubber coughed up a wet laugh. “Hell, only thang livin’ in that house is one butt-ugly, crazy-assed heifer.”
Pete rose and retreated into the wall of shadow. He stopped and looked at Ephram. The two men shared a gaze.
“Rumor say them White folk up in Neches who take Ruby in wasn’t right,” Charlie sent back, “that lady draggin’ her around like she own her.”
K.O. shook his head. “Why anyone hand over they child to slave for White folk is beyond me.”
“Plenty folk done had trouble,” Gubber spit, “don’t mean they got to walk around with no man’s pants on they knucklehead. We just sitting round playing dominoes and here she come wearing them soiled pants — then just walked blind into that ditch.”
Charlie snorted. “Folks was laying bets on whose pants they were.”
Rooster jumped in, “W-well we kn-kn-kn-know they wasn’t G-g-gubber’s, ’less she got a head the size a’ barn door.”
Gubber took aim. “Watch out Rooster, or I’ll find some little girl to whoop yo’ ass.” A direct hit.
Rooster’s hand reflexively touched upon the scar a nine-year-old Maggie had torn across his cheek.
Gubber rallied, “I come up on her whiles she was butt naked, wrapped around one a’ them mother pines.”
Charlie’s mouth flew open. “Ain’t so!”
“My mama seen her humping rocks on the ground.” Gubber kept on, “Cleary seen her grinding herself into the clay road. She just throw that used toothpick she call a body at anything happen by livin’ or not.”
Rooster found his voice, “And wh-what she be buryin’ out th-there every n-n-night?”
Charlie added, “And all that screaming and hollering. Something got to make her do that.”
“M-my m-mama always say it’s some evil th-thang living inside of her.”
“That ain’t all she wants up inside of her, you catch my meaning.” Gubber smacked out a grin.
K.O. lifted himself from the stairs. “Even that stump catch yo’ meanin’ Gubber.” He spoke to an unseen ally. “Lord please do something ’bout these ignorant Negroes!” Then to the men behind him, “I need me a drink.”
Charlie and Gubber reluctantly rose and followed him into the house. Ole Pete looked after them, then back at Ephram and the rest of the men hidden in shadow. Then walked onto the red road into a bath of moonlight.
THE CLOTH trembled against the cake in Ephram’s hand. The hot wind pressing it close. Ephram turned back and saw the steam from Bloom’s mash rising just over the low trees. He shook his leg and felt the cool flask between sock and skin. He took it from its hiding place. Not much left. Enough for a quick shot of courage before knocking on her door, but no more.
He looked down the long road in front of him and thought of Ruby at the end of it. Each step he took was a question. How would she answer? Would she laugh at him as Celia had done? Would she slam the door? Would she kiss him? Raise her skirt for him? Would she remember Ma Tante and Marion Lake when he showed her the little dolls? Ephram felt a root of fear spike into his belly so he unscrewed the flask’s cap and took another sip.
He turned quickly, flask slipped back into his sock. Bloom’s wasn’t far. Just a few shaded yards away now through the trees. A sudden thirst caught hold as he crossed into the open yard.
“What chu’ doin’ there boy?” Ephram looked over and saw Bloom and Sheriff Levy, Junior, Sheriff Levy’s only son, standing just to his left. Folks called him Sheriff Junior, though he was well past fifty. Ruddy faced with a beefy build, his mustard hair spread thick across his forehead.
“Sheriff Junior, you ’member Ephram Jennings. Live with his mama just up the way. Work up there as bag boy at the Newton Piggly Wiggly.”
He stared blankly at Ephram. “Sure do.” Then, “You ain’t spying are you?”
“No, Sir.”
“Stealing?”
“No.”
“Well you didn’t come over this way for spirits did you? Newton’s a dry county and jail’s the place for drinking men round here.”
“No, Sir.”
“Well that’s good.” He stared at Ephram for a long moment. “Can’t be too careful.” His mouth smiled, slow and steady, but his eyes stayed fast on Ephram.
Ephram noticed Sheriff Junior’s patrol car hidden behind the back of Bloom’s Juke.
“What kind you got there?” The Sheriff nodded towards the cake.
“Angel food. I’m — taking it to a sick friend.”
“Can’t be too sick if they eating cake.” He laughed at his joke. Bloom joined in.
“Don’t suppose you could spare a slice for a working man. Y’all got me so busy I plain missed my dinner.”
Ephram paused. He tried to imagine handing Ruby a half-eaten cake, then imagined saying no to this Sheriff Junior. The moment yawned uncomfortably.
A sudden clank to Ephram’s left. The Sheriff wheeled in that direction and pulled the forty-five from his holster. A large crow lifted in flight from Bloom’s trash can, perched in a nearby tree and cawed. The Sheriff laughed nervously, gun in hand. He looked at Ephram again.
“Can’t be too careful now ’days.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Later, Bloom.”
“Thanks fo’ stoppin’ by.”
The Sheriff walked to his car with the gun loose in his hand, got in and rolled away. When he had cleared the distance of vision, Bloom walked swiftly to Ephram, finger poking hard into his chest. “What is wrong with you!”
Ephram stepped back holding tight to his cake.
“What I tell y’all ’bout comin’ here daytime Saturday?” Bloom turned back towards his house. “Y’all gone git me and your own stupid ass kilt over this shit! Man lets me be. Just don’t want nobody foolin’ with his business.” He paced, raising dust. “Then wouldn’t give him a piece of cake! Get away from here Ephram Jennings and you best stay ’way fo’ a month.”
Ephram stood as if punched, then turned and walked swiftly to the road. He was breathing quickly. A sticky musk stained the underarms of his shirt. His shoes were dusty, his pants torn. How could he face her now? He felt the tug to turn back but fought against it. He looked at his Timex. Ten after four. He was losing the day. But, he figured, he could still stop at P & K, stitch his pants and reach Ruby’s before nightfall if he was careful. And Ephram Jennings was a careful man. He was careful of the cloud of sweetness he carried on Celia’s fine plate, careful not to let the August breeze blow dirt under the cloth. Careful not to hope.
Suddenly, a cool sludge plopped onto the dome of his scalp. It dribbled mulberry and white down his temple, his cheek and onto his clean collar. Ephram looked up and saw what appeared to be the same black bird from Bloom’s making lazy circles in the air above him. As he retrieved his handkerchief to wipe the bird’s waste from his face and neck, the bird began to fly south over the Samuels farm. Ephram watched as it veered west towards Bell land.