Jeffery Allen - Song of the Shank

He expects Ruggles to speak but he doesn’t. Because Ruggles’s response is silence, he assumes Ruggles is waiting to hear more. You might as well send for her, Tabbs says. Send for anybody you like. Damn him. Damn her. The boy can stay here and give concerts to piss-poor orphans.

How did this all start?

I’m losing track of things.

Has he asked for her?

He hasn’t asked for her, Tabbs says. He hasn’t asked for a goddamn thing.

Ruggles listens, sitting not quite straight in his chair, his back to a window, sits quietly, watching Tabbs, Tabbs trying to put a name to the look on Ruggles’s face.

Happy now? You got what you wanted.

Ruggles continues to look at Tabbs.

I never had a chance, Tabbs says. His face falls. Something not right about both of them. Maybe he’s what they always said he is, an idiot. And she ain’t much better. Who knows? Maybe we’re just not like them. We’ve been free from the start. He leaves in what is essential, takes out what is not.

You and I, homeskillet, we ain’t like nobody. Never have been. Never will be.

That’s some comfort, Ruggles. Some comfort.

They say nothing for a time. Then:

Well, I should give you a fitting good-bye.

Or bury me.

You ain’t ready for that. You got some years ahead.

Tabbs draws his breath but says nothing.

You ain’t got to go back among them.

Tabbs forces himself to look directly at Ruggles. I can’t stay here. You want to go back. You still seeking their approval, their praise. I hate them as much as you do. They use us any way they like then throw us away.

Then why go?

You expect me to stay here, on this island filled with donkey shit?

Take some time. Get yo head right.

What’s to think about? I tried to give her something. He got what he wanted and left nothing for me.

And what did you get her to give up to come here?

I brought her here.

A husband.

She had nothing.

Children.

Ruggles—

Siblings.

I took nothing from her. I gave her back what the Bethunes took away, her son. And look how they repay me. I’m the only one losing here.

You paid what she couldn’t.

Somewhere beyond his consciousness, his thoughts are racing, unformed, disconnected. He trusts these surroundings. He can relax in the midst of this conversation, this running series of ruminations, let his eyes close and give in to his tiredness, his body unbearably heavy, drained. Needs to close his eyes, try to collect himself. Dissolving, parts of him drifting away. Haven’t they discussed all this before? What’s being remembered, confirmed, denied? Him secure in his own awareness, Ruggles asking him to open out to accept this place.

Tabbs!

He looks at Ruggles, tired of everything.

You sitting there feeling sorry for yoself, thinking yo luck ran out. You can’t even see what’s happened. He put one over on you. He ensnared you. The boy was the bait. You couldn’t resist.

But I was the one. He didn’t know me. I made the offer. Drew up the contract. Me, Ruggles, me.

Don’t matter. He had you.

Why would he go through the trouble? For what? Just to get my money?

They never need reasons, Ruggles says. Ain’t you figured that out by now?

Ruggles was like that. Everything he said was a certainty in his mind, and he expected you to see it that way too.

We can’t be among them.

So you think this is what the boy deserves, Edgemere?

I ain’t say that, Ruggles says. Don’t matter what he deserve. Nothing you can do about that now.

Tell me something I don’t know.

But the boy ain’t got to be the end.

Tell me. Tabbs saying anything rather than sit in ungracious silence.

Forget all that. Bygones.

Forget? Damn, Ruggles. What’s happened to you? They took everything from you, everything you had, everything you worked for.

None of that was mine anyway. I only thought it was. But them alabasters had claim to it. All of it. You can’t be king in somebody else’s castle. No way they gon let that happen.

Well, Ruggles. You go on and be king.

I’m glad they took it.

Wish I could say the same.

Your three thousand. Ruggles says it with slight disgust, his lips working against the words.

You don’t know what it cost me.

Take them into the other room.

Ruggles gives him a strange look of anger. And you don’t know what it cost me, living among them.

Maybe I don’t, but one way or the other you’ll keep sitting there flapping your mouth about it.

Ruggles snaps to his feet like a fish yanked from water. He unbuttons his trousers.

So, what, you’re going to piss on me now?

Ruggles lets his trousers drop to his ankles, a cloth puddle. Tabbs is thinking, Did they take that from him?

Ruggles raises his shirt ends to reveal his shaved groin, his long even thighs. To Tabbs’s eyes, the sight is a relief. Go on, Ruggles says. Get you an eyeful. See?

Tabbs neither confirms nor denies. But he can plainly see that Ruggles’s deformed leg is deformed no longer. How could this be?

Take your measure, so there’s no doubt.

What?

Measure them. Measure each and see if they match. You can’t dispute numbers.

I ain’t got to do that. Pull your pants up.

You sure?

Ruggles.

Ruggles secures his trousers in place. Resumes his seat.

You really think you need to prove that to me?

Seem like I do.

He finds it impossible to answer. Without words. I must not surrender to Edgemere.

Wire told me that it was a sign I should give myself over to the church. That the Almighty had been good enough to take pause and go back and correct what He had created. And what about the many He hasn’t corrected? I asked him. I can’t speak for them, he said. Far more the mistakes of man than the imperfections that can be attributed to God’s hand. But we ain’t talkin bout God, homeskillet. God ain’t play no part in it. These alabasters made the man you see here.

Tabbs feels the focused tension of violence beneath the words.

My house burned to the ground. My friends dead. Had I a firearm I would have killed the first alabaster I saw — man, woman, or child. Truth is, maybe I did kill one or two. Maybe I even spent my rifle to the last bullet. Hate carried heavy in my heart. I can still feel it, feel it now even as we speak. But I ain’t got no reason to hate them anymore, do I?

Some hours later, he finds himself alone once again with Tom. The boy holds the glass of milk up to his ear as if listening to it, a seashell, the sound of ocean. Brings the glass around to his lips and makes quick work of the contents. Sets the glass down on the table and sits with both hands on the table. It’s not as flat as it feels, he says.

What, Tom?

Water.

His statement is like many things he says, demanding (deserving) no reply. Now he sniffs the air, smelling water, ocean, Edgemere.

You want something? What would you like?

Lait , he says.

You are tired? You wish to rest?

You’ll give me the drink.

A drink? I have tea, sweet water. Even wine.

Lait. Hot or cold. You know, the honey from cows.

More milk?

Yes.

Tabbs fills the glass, both hands carry milk to mouth, then one ear listening to the glass.

I’m going to take you back. He might as well say it.

Across the water.

No, Tom. To the Home, the orphanage.

Across the water. He sips the milk.

I’m trying to understand, Tom. Is it that you don’t like me?

You brought me here.

Yes, Tom. Yes I did. So why? I only wanted a chance. Why give white men that chance and not one of your own?

Tom neither moves nor speaks. He is misinterpreting the boy’s behavior, assuming he knows— this —what he wants. Then: You gave him money?