The Lesser People Read online

  Ben wiped his face. He said, “The good people will miss Preacher, I’m sure of that.”

  Uncle Tommy said, “Art always said that we’re all good and we’re all bad, just these big jumble of electric impulses and training wrapped around a light spiritual core that knew what it really wanted but rarely found a way through that mess of impulses and wanting.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We talked of other things but my mind kept turning back to our grandfather and how unlike him his sons were. Daddy always said that a man who would hurt a kid was about as heartless as they come. He’d said other things too, from time to time, and I tried to process all he’d said. It seemed too much. I said, “The sheriff saved our parents. While yours and Daddy’s father sent people here to burn things down.”

  Ben said, “I hate him.”

  “I never liked him myself,” Uncle Tommy said. “Now I hate him too.”

  He scratched at the ash coating his face. His tears had cut paths through the soot.

  He said, “Dad’s been in the Klan all his life. When he became Imperial Wizard, things around here changed a lot. Even the dynamics between us, and between me and Hank. It was our father who talked me into stealing weapons from the armory, and in some sick way I did it because I thought he’d be proud of me, that it’d somehow bring us closer.”

  He sighed, said, “It’s weird to hate and love someone at the same time. I’m glad you guys don’t know what that’s like.”

  I thought Sarah knew what that was like with her own father. I glanced at her and she frowned at me. She said to all of us, “We need to bury Mom.”

  “I’ll do it,” Uncle Tommy said. “In a little bit.”

  Ben said again, “What are we supposed to do now?”

  “I got an idea,” Uncle Tommy said. “But I’m going to do it alone and not until after your parents are set free and you all are on the road north.”

  Ben looked at Sarah quickly, then away, and said, “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Neither does Hank,” Uncle Tommy said. “But you all can’t stay here. I probably can’t either. Way things are getting the government will declare Martial Law on the state of Mississippi and we’ll have another civil war on our hands. People are set in their ways, boys, and they ain’t going to change until they’ve bled a whole lot and their families ain’t nothing but memories and they forgot what the hell they were fighting for to begin with.”

  “So probably never,” I said.

  Uncle Tommy stood. He was tall above us. “Probably never going to change, just like your parents can’t change you kids once you’ve established who you are and what you believe, what you think is worth fighting and dying for.”

  “I don’t think anything is worth dying for,” Ben said, “except maybe those you love.”

  I waited for him to look at Sarah again but he didn’t.

  He just toyed with his hands in his lap and cried softly.

  Sarah stood. She pulled Leonard up with her. She said, “I’ll help you bury my mom and then I gotta figure out where me and Leo are going to live.”

  I knew that Ben wanted to tell her that they could live with us but at that moment in time we weren’t exactly living high-on-the-hog either and didn’t know where to lay our own pillows. I said, “Why can’t we just go home?”

  “Well,” Uncle Tommy said, “might as well.”

  Ben jumped up. He said, “Really?”

  “Sure,” Uncle Tommy said.

  Sarah said, “And if they come to burn it down?”

  “After the next couple days they won’t take that chance,” Uncle Tommy said.

  He nodded to her, said, “You two can stay with us unless you got some family close by who you can ask to take you in.”

  “You know we ain’t got any family like that,” Sarah said.

  Her stare was as serious and rugged as a man’s fist. It almost knocked Uncle Tommy back a step. He looked like he was about to say that he didn’t know anything of the sort, but he just nodded again, said, “I’m sorry,” then moved off and drifted down the road and left all of us kids standing there alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The first drops of rain flicked against our shovels and shoulders as we climbed out of the hole we’d dug for Miss Jessie. Uncle Tommy had walked to the neighbors and borrowed a few tools he said though the look on his face said he’d stolen them. I guessed that the neighbors probably weren’t fond of the history of this place, that they felt it somehow stained the illusion they’d created of themselves and their pure, snow-white world. I figured it hurt them to see a neighbor woman who was close to the Negroes, who trusted and respected those she chose to based on their actions instead of their color. Or maybe they just knew about Leonard all along and maybe they minded their own business but were secretly glad to hear that the place had been burned down and Miss Jessie had been shot for her trouble of trying to raise her children with beliefs that were strange and off-kilter from those she lived around.

  I didn’t know and couldn’t pretend to and by the time we were finished digging the grave I barely had any energy left and all I wanted to do was to eat and sleep.

  Sarah stood at the foot of the hole as Ben and Uncle Tommy laid Miss Jessie, still in her white funeral shroud, gently into the dark earth.

  When they climbed out and stood like statues on the sides, Sarah said, “You were a good mother. Honest and fair with us and with everybody. And it’s a crime that people had to rob you of that, and they had to rob you of watching me marry and have a family of my own. And it’s horrible that they’d take from Leonard his one true rock because I don’t know that I can raise him on my own.”

  She let her tears fall freely but after a while, her voice thick as she continued, she wiped a hand across her face.

  “I don’t think I told you I loved you enough. I don’t think anybody ever tells those that mean the world to them that they love them often enough. We think you know. But we wonder once you’re not there, you know? We wonder if maybe we’d said it more then maybe that last moment you were breathing would have helped you go on easier. But we can’t know and we can’t do anything about it once you’re taken from us.

  “And all we can do to honor your memory is to live honest lives, and that’s hard to do when men make us chose between two evils. It’s not fair. I’m not even that old, though I feel like I’m ancient right now, Mom, and all I know is it’s not fair the demands other people make of us when they think they’re right and you can’t change their minds. And I don’t want to change my mind either because I know what’s right and wrong for me and Leo, what was right for you and Big John and Little John. Love was all that’s right, trust, hope, laughter. Everything else,” she said, “it’s just fear. It just destroys us.”

  “Amen,” Uncle Tommy said.

  “Amen,” Ben said.

  “Amen,” I said.

  Leonard curled up into a ball at the head of the grave. He sobbed for a moment then pushed the first handful of dirt into the hole.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Uncle Tommy stole one of the neighbor’s cars, a new Impala that was a cherry red convertible. We rode with the top down into town where the quiet streets were crowded with the detritus of spent cartridges, burned rubber, dark black stains smearing the road where they’d dragged someone. I tried to think it was someone other than Preacher.

  He pulled into our driveway and studied the house for a moment. It seemed darker than normal, than it used to, and I couldn’t remember how long it’d been since I’d slept in my own bed. It felt like a week though I figured it couldn’t have been more than two or three days.

  Since we were all filthy Uncle Tommy said, “How many showers do you have?”

  “One,” Ben said.

  “We all need to get cleaned up.”

  Sarah said, “I don’t have anything to change into.”

  Ben said, “You could probably wear some of my clothes until we can get into town and buy you somet
hing.”

  “I don’t have any money,” she said.

  “It’s okay,” Uncle Tommy said. “Think of it as a gift.”

  We climbed out of the car, stiffly and slowly, moved up the walk and to the front door. It was unlocked. Glancing at the wall, the windows, everything, nothing seemed out of place and it made me a little angry that we didn’t get to stay there the whole time. Then I thought of Miss Jessie and Preacher and it felt like my heart softened. I choked a little on something caught in my throat.

  My stomach growled and it hurt deep down. I said, “Can we cook a pizza? I’m starving.”

  “We can make whatever you want,” Uncle Tommy said. He opened the door and pulled a pistol from the waistband of his pants. He waved us inside and we all stood listening to the old house creak as it settled. He said, “Nothing seems amiss.”

  “No,” Ben said. “Figures they wouldn’t do anything since our parents are locked up. Probably would have only done anything if they couldn’t have taken Daddy in.”

  “Probably,” Uncle Tommy said. “But we’ll get him out later today or tomorrow. For now don’t think about it. We’ll get cleaned up and get some grub, then you guys should probably catch up on some sleep. I assume you didn’t get much in the tunnel you told me about.”

  “No,” Ben said.

  “Not really,” Sarah said.

  I shrugged. I just wanted to eat and sleep. I didn’t care about taking a shower. I saw Leonard standing at the front curtain and he reminded me of his mother. I said, “Can he take his own shower or does somebody have to wash him up?”

  “I can do it,” Sarah said. “Momma used to but, well, I can do it.”

  “I’ll help you,” Ben said.

  “No,” she said. “It’s okay.” She lowered her face, stared at her shoes. “Thank you for letting us come with you guys.”

  “No problem,” Uncle Tommy said. “Weird as it may sound, I think of you guys like family.”

  Sarah looked up and shook her head, her tear-filled eyes bright even though we hadn’t turned on any lights. “Don’t say that,” she said. “You would have left. Eventually, you would have.”

  Uncle Tommy reached for her but she jerked away and grabbed her brother’s hand. Our uncle looked confused for a second, like he didn’t have any context to put her statement against and gather it’s meaning, but he nodded anyway, said, “I get it. And maybe you’re right, Sarah. But that doesn’t mean I can’t care about you. And it doesn’t mean that I’m not here now. Understand?”

  She shrugged, wiped her nose, and hugged Leonard hard.

  Ben said, “Who is going to shower first?”

  “I’m just hungry,” I said. “And dead tired.”

  They all looked at me. I shrugged. “I am.”

  Somebody sighed. Uncle Tommy said, “I’ll keep an eye out for anybody stopping by and get the pizza cooking if there’s one in the freezer.”

  “Who would come by?” I said.

  “Grandpa,” Ben said. “That’s who you mean, isn’t it?”

  Uncle Tommy rubbed the hammer of his pistol with his thumb. “He may,” he said. “I imagine he’ll be looking for a little revenge.”

  “Why?” I said. “You didn’t do anything to him.”

  “What’d you do?” Ben said.

  “Hell,” Uncle Tommy said. “Being born was more than enough reason for him.”

  Sarah looked at the pictures on the wall. She said, “You did more than that.”

  Uncle Tommy looked guilty, perplexed, maybe not liking that he had to explain himself to kids. So he didn’t. He just said, “Figure out what order you’re taking your showers in and don’t give me any lip.”

  “Fine,” Ben said. Sarah agreed. Her and her brother went to the bathroom first. Ben and me gathered some clothes for them, both of us deciding that Sarah probably wouldn’t mind wearing one of Momma’s outfits, though it’d be a bit big on her. Leonard would fit into my clothes with room to spare. The sound of the shower running was comforting. It seemed normal, like a shift in the harsh reality to something softer, more like home. Ben and me sat at the foot of my dresser. He said, “I love you. I’m sorry for all the mean things I done.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “It’s not okay,” he said. “Just tell me you forgive me.”

  “I love you too,” I said. “Though you have been a jerk sometimes.” I looked at the clothing I’d gathered for Leonard. I shrugged, said, “I’m sorry too. I can be a jerk sometimes as well, I guess.”

  “No guessing about it,” Ben said. He hugged me. “We can be jerks sometimes, but let’s not be mean ones, all right?”

  “That sounds good.”

  Within ten minutes the smell of a pizza cooking in the oven made my stomach gurgle and my mouth water. We took the clothing to the bathroom and Ben knocked on the door. Sarah opened it a crack and snatched the clothing and she thanked him then shut the door softly. We waited until they were done and came out into the living room where we waited on the couch. My stomach pained me. Uncle Tommy brought us pizza when I didn’t think I could handle just the smell of it anymore, and he sat in Daddy’s chair and popped open a can of Pabst. He took a long drink and watched us eat at the coffee table. Not long after I showered and then Ben showered and then Uncle Tommy asked us to watch the street while he showered.

  He gave Ben the .22 rifle from Daddy’s bedroom, the gun that Daddy had trained us both with. It was a 1950 Remington 550-1. A semi-auto that always worked flawlessly, quietly. Once Uncle Tommy shut the door Ben handed me the rifle. I was so tired I could barely hold it. He said, “I ain’t good with moving targets let alone standing ones. You’ve always been a crack shot and I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn and if anybody comes they’ll be moving.”

  He smiled at me and the warmth of it warmed my chest. But the satisfaction and pride it brought passed quickly as Ben stood and left me there alone by the window that looked over the porch, yard, driveway and road.

  He went into our parent’s bedroom and grabbed extra blankets and pillows. He laid them on the living room floor for Sarah and Leonard. I wondered how the boy slept with that contraption strapped to his face. He sat heavily and Sarah helped him get comfortable beneath the blanket, pulling it up to his shoulders. He lay still on his back, staring at the ceiling for a long time. Ben and Sarah talked quietly. She looked like I imagined our mother looked when she was that age, and Ben looked like Daddy. It was a strange feeling seeing them together on the floor, like I’d been transferred back in time before my birth.

  I shook the odd feeling off and looked back out over the road, my eyelids drooping, a yawn seizing me so hard and suddenly I almost dropped the rifle. I covered my mouth. Uncle Tommy shut off the shower. Ben hugged Sarah and she curled next to her brother, on her side, and stared at him sadly for a few seconds before she closed her eyes. Ben sat next to me and gestured for me to hand him the rifle. I did, right before Uncle Tommy came out in a pair of Daddy’s jeans and a white tee. He didn’t have any socks on and his toe nails were long and yellow. He smiled at us, said, “Thanks for standing guard. You two can shuffle off to bed. I can handle it from here.”

  He took the rifle from us and pointed down the hall.

  Ben said, “Where are you sleeping?”

  “I’ll be on the couch.”

  Ben nodded. He stood and tapped my shoulder and said, “Come on.”

  In our room, I slid into bed, almost overwhelmed by how soft and warm the mattress and blankets felt. I rubbed my body all over them, wishing I’d never have to leave them again they felt so good. Then I thought about our parents in the jail with the concrete and their fear and them busted up. Ben said something to me but I couldn’t hear him. I looked up. He said, “You can sleep in my bed if you want.”

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said.

  We looked into each other’s eyes for a while until I couldn’t keep mine open any longer.

  At first it felt wo
nderful, like a good kind of empty.

  Then sleep and darkness enveloped me.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I knew I was dreaming because Preacher was there in the dark tunnel with me, his voice soft but it sounded like he spit the words from his mouth as he said, “Same mud, same blood.”

  I blinked, crawled toward the sound of his voice and the sound of the wind blowing somewhere far off, me figuring it was the exit, anxious to find it, to escape, and knowing somehow in my bones that this tunnel went on forever.

  For some reason, thinking that made me crawl faster. My hands and knees crunched what sounded like broken glass. It didn’t hurt and all the little lacerations in my palms and pants didn’t make me bleed. Instead, spots of yellow light the color of Uncle Tommy’s toe nails burst from my pores. It lit the walls with horrible shadows before it dimmed to a soft glow. Leonard mewled somewhere close by, me believing that he was in a parallel tunnel, tons of dark earth between us.

  Preacher said, “Same mud, same blood.”

  I whispered, “I heard you.”

  He said, “I have them with me.”

  What? I thought, thinking he meant he had the spiders that Isaiah had told me about. I blinked again, dust in my eyes, the musty soil thick in my lungs. I imagined spiders crowding the path ahead and couldn’t move my limbs, afraid to move forward and cast the light upon them. Afraid that in seeing them up close that they’d be the last thing I’d ever see and I didn’t want to go through life only hearing and smelling and touching. My eyes had soaked up so much and I enjoyed colors and shapes and distance. Something brushed my hand, scurried across it on tiny hairy legs that tickled my skin.