Percival Everett - Suder

“Jesus,” Daddy muttered.

“Why don’t you invite Lou Ann Narramore to dinner, too!” Ma screamed.

Daddy ignored her.

“Did you hear me? Lou Ann Narramore!” Ma ducked back through the doorway. I could hear her in the other room. “From down at the drugstore.”

All the kids in the neighborhood gathered around and stared at the sight in our driveway. Parked behind Daddy’s Mercury was a white Cadillac convertible with white upholstery and white sidewall tires. Out of the big car climbed Dr. McCoy, wearing a white shirt, white shoes, a white tie. The late-afternoon sun was playing off his white hair. His socks were bright red. He walked across the yard toward the front door. I was beside Daddy at the front window, watching Dr. McCoy approach.

“Jesus,” Daddy muttered.

The doorbell rang and Daddy let Dr. McCoy into the house.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Suder,” said the dentist.

“Dr. McCoy,” Daddy greeted him.

“Isn’t this a beautiful day that God has presented us with?”

“Beautiful,” Daddy said.

Ma came into the room wearing her heavy coat and her high-top sneakers. She bounced over to the man in white. “Hello, Dr. McCoy.”

“Mrs. Suder, you’re looking wonderful. The Good Lord has blessed you with beauty.” Dr. McCoy looked down at me. “How are you, Greg?”

Martin came into the room and stopped, confused, as he caught sight of Dr. McCoy.

“Come on in, Martin,” Ma said. “This is Dr. McCoy.”

Martin nodded.

McCoy smiled.

Daddy was watching all of this without any expression. Then the doorbell sounded again. Daddy opened the door.

“Hey there, Doc,” said Mr. Powell.

“Bud.” Daddy stepped aside to let him in.

“New car, eh?” Mr. Powell said as he passed through the doorway. “Pretty fancy.”

“Not mine. Bud Powell, I’d like you to meet Dr. McCoy.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Powell,” said McCoy, extending his hand.

Mr. Powell’s hand closed firmly around McCoy’s rag of flesh. The contrast was striking. “I was just admiring your machine,” said Mr. Powell. I could tell he didn’t know what to make of McCoy. We sat at the table and McCoy closed his eyes and put his hands together.

“Heavenly Father, we thank you for this meal…”

“Just fine,” said Mr. Powell, glancing at McCoy. “It was real hot there. People don’t come out when it’s hot.”

“And bless these peas and sweet potatoes…”

“Atlanta’s going to be even hotter,” Daddy said.

“Lord, help us through these trying …”

“Yeah, well, at least people down this way are used to the heat.”

“And Lord God, bless these good colored folks who I’m eating with.”

Daddy shook his head and smiled and Mr. Powell laughed out loud.

“Amen.” McCoy opened his eyes and looked sternly at Daddy and Mr. Powell. “If you folks believed more strongly in God, maybe you wouldn’t be colored.”

Daddy sat up very straight and his eyes narrowed. He leaned forward on his forearms. “What are you doing in my house?”

“What?” McCoy asked.

“I want to know why a peckerwood like you comes to a Negro house for dinner.”

Mr. Powell raised his napkin to his mouth to hide his smile.

“Ben?” Ma tried to call Daddy off.

“Well, Dr. Suder, I just wanted to see what colored folks was like. So, I could pray for you, like real people.”

“McCoy, you half-baked, Bible-headed redneck, just get out of my house.” Daddy stood up. “Get up and get out.”

Mr. Powell stood up, too.

McCoy looked at Daddy and Mr. Powell and slowly pushed himself up from the table. He looked at Ma, but she didn’t say anything. McCoy walked out of the house.

I’m sitting in the living room listening to the song and looking out the window when Thelma comes in.

“What time does the drugstore close?” she asks.

“Which drugstore?”

“The one on Maple.”

“Six o’clock.”

“Great. You’ve got ten minutes,” she says.

“What do you need?”

“Kotex.”

“Jesus, you know how I hate to buy those things. Especially there. I can’t stand that old lady.”

She doesn’t say anything. She just stands there looking at me.

“Okay, I’ll go.” I hop into the car and drive over to the drugstore and all the while I’m trying to think of what else I should buy because the old lady seems to notice the Kotex pads less if they got company on the counter.

I’m in the drugstore and I pick up a couple of boxes of facial tissue with the Kotex and set them on the counter. The old lady comes out of the back room,

“Hello, Mr. Suder.”

“Mrs. Wilson.”

“Is that it?” She picks up the Kotex. “These ain’t going to help your leg much.” She laughs. “Sometimes I just crack myself up.”

I drive home and when I walk through the door I see ribbons strung all along the ceiling and a banner that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

“Surprise!” shouts Thelma. David Nicks, Lou Tyler, and my brother, Martin, also shout.

Thelma runs to me and kisses my cheek. “Happy birthday, honey.”

I look at each of their faces and then at the cake on the dining room table. The cake’s got a baseball diamond on it and the message HAPPY 33RD, CRAIG.

“It ain’t my birthday. My birthday ain’t for three days.”

Everyone is quiet.

Then Lou says, “Well, better early than never.”

I smile.

“Let’s cut the cake,” says my brother.

“After he opens his presents,” says Thelma.

I turn and see, beside the table, three boxes on top of one large box. I open the gift from Thelma. A pair of silk pajamas. I thank her and kiss her. I open the present from David. An electric razor.

“Thanks, David.”

“Don’t cut your throat with it,” David says.

I open the present from Martin. It is a Water Pik. “Thanks, Martin.”

“Open mine,” says Lou.

“Sure is big,” I says.

“Just open it,” Lou says.

I rip through the paper and open the box and I’m looking down at a stuffed dog. It’s one of the dogs we picked up on the road. I am speechless.

“Pretty good, huh?” says Lou.

“Yeah, great,” I says and I look at Thelma and she’s frowning and I look at David and he’s doing all he can not to laugh out loud.

We sit around eating cake and all the while that dead dog is staring right at me. The dog’s mouth is sewed shut but his tongue is poking out the side and I really want to put him back in the box.

“Pretty good job, huh?” Lou says.

“Yeah,” I says.

“Look here.” Lou puts down his cake and walks over to the dog and turns it over. He’s showing me the belly and he says, “Look at that stitching. That’s a job, huh?”

“Sure is,” I says.

“What do you think of it, Nicks?” Lou turns the dog’s belly to David. “I should be a goddamn tailor. Look at that needlework.”

“That’s something else,” David says softly.

Martin moves to the dog and pulls up on the dog’s lips as Lou is holding him and looks at the teeth, revealing the long, jagged sutures keeping the animal’s mouth shut.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” says Lou. “I got a letter from Roy Rogers.” He puts the dog down.

“Oh, yeah?” I says.

“He sent me an autographed picture. I don’t know what it means. I’m gonna write him again.” Lou looked at the dog. “I wonder how tall he is.”

“That’s great, Lou,” I says. “Ain’t that great, David?”

“Yeah, great,” says David.

We sit in silence for a little while. Then I get to thinking about the song and I get up and start toward the stereo.

“I want you all to listen to something,” I says. I drop the needle down on the record. “Listen to this. You’re going to love it.” I listen for a second. “Ain’t that something?” I close my eyes and listen to the saxophone solo.