Percival Everett - Suder

“Where are you going?” Daddy asked Ma.

Ma had her pocketbook and was by the door. “I’m going to a meeting.”

“What sort of meeting?”

“Dr. McCoy’s Bible group.”

Daddy’s palm flew up against the door and he leaned, holding the door tight. “Put your bag down. You’re not going.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not getting tied up with that lunatic McCoy.”

“Why not? I’m a lunatic.”

Daddy snatched Ma’s pocketbook away. “Go upstairs!”

Ma went running upstairs, crying. Daddy fell against the door and rubbed his forehead. He tossed Ma’s bag into the umbrella stand, walked into the living room, and sat on the piano bench.

I sat beside him. “When does Mr. Powell get here?” I asked after a few minutes of silence.

“In the morning,” Daddy said.

“Daddy, is Mr. Powell sick?”

“He’s tired. He’s coming here to rest.”

Just then, Martin came running into the house. “Daddy! Daddy! Come quick!” he shouted.

Daddy was up and following Martin through the front door and I was close behind. We ran out into the clear night to see Dr. McCoy standing next to our house, looking up into a tree. Ma was in the tree, trying to get down.

“Hey!” Daddy yelled.

McCoy didn’t even turn to look, he just ran to the street and climbed into his white Cadillac. Daddy picked up a stone and hurled it at McCoy and then he turned to Ma.

“Come down, Kathy,” Daddy said.

“I can’t. I’m stuck.”

“Then go back through the window.”

“I can’t.”

“Try!”

“I can’t.”

“Then jump!” Daddy shouted.

“Are you crazy?”

Daddy looked at Martin and me. “It’s only a few feet. Jump!”

Ma jumped and rolled across the ground. Daddy helped her up and took her inside. Martin was shaking his head. His eyes caught mine.

“She really oughta be put someplace,” Martin said.

“She’s our mother,” I said.

“So? Crazy is crazy and crazy people should be put away somewhere.”

I turned and walked into the house.

The next morning Martin and I left the house and went to the old school yard. We were just standing around with Bucky and Wendell and Fred. They were Martin’s age. Bucky was bouncing a basketball against the wall of the building.

“What was all that in your yard last night?” asked Wendell, who lived across the street from us.

“That was their mama,” said Fred, Wendell’s twin brother. “Their mama was in a tree.” They laughed.

Bucky caught the ball off the wall. “Your mama is touched, huh, Martin?”

“You take that back,” I said, stepping toward Bucky.

Martin pulled me back. “Calm down. He’s right.”

I stared angrily at Martin.

“Well, well, well,” said Fred, looking across the street. “That’s Naomi Watkins.” He pointed with his head.

“Word’s out that she does it,” Wendell said.

“Oh, yeah,” Martin said, staring.

Bucky stopped bouncing the ball and turned around. “Like that, do you?” he asked, tossing the ball to Martin.

“You don’t want any of that,” said Wendell. “They say she’s got VB.”

“That’s VD, stupid,” Martin said.

“Oh.”

“Maybe Craig wants to take her on,” Bucky said.

I was just looking at her. I thought she was real pretty.

“Go talk to her,” Bucky said to me.

“Yeah, go on,” said Fred, pushing me, “little man.”

“Leave me alone,” I said.

Martin laughed.

Mr. Powell was sitting at the piano, staring at the keys, when I walked into the house. He didn’t notice me. He just kept staring at the keys. I slowly walked toward him. I was next to him.

“Hey there, Bird,” he said, turning his face to me.

“Hey, Mr. Powell,” I said. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at the keys.”

“How come?”

“Listen to this.” He started playing. “This is a song called ‘Ornithology.’ Charlie Parker wrote it.”

“That’s pretty.”

“I’m playing it slow, but it don’t matter. Long as I play it.”

“That’s real pretty.”

“That’s jazz,” he said, and tossed his eyes to the ceiling, “and jazz is life. Jazz is life.”

“What is it?”

Mr. Powell looked at me and stopped playing. “What is what?”

“What is jazz?”

He hit a chord and held it. “Jazz is one step beyond, one giant step.” He hit another chord. “Charlie Parker is dead now, but not really.”

We were silent for a time while he struck a series of chords that filled the room. Then Ma came trotting through in her coat and she went out the front door. Mr. Powell stopped playing.

“My mother’s crazy,” I said. My eyes fell to my lap.

“Maybe not crazy,” said Mr. Powell. “Maybe just different.”

I looked at his eyes. They were tired, somehow distant.

“Why don’t you run on now and play.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later, Mr. Powell.” I headed for the door.

“Hey, Bird.”

I turned.

“Call me Bud.”

I’m naked under the covers in the cabin of Sid’s boat when I hear some voices on deck. I can make out Sid’s voice and I can hear at least two female voices and they all sound drunk. They’re loud and laughing and I hear them knocking things over. I pull the blanket up around my neck and close my eyes and try to block the noise out. Then the hatch opens and I hear someone stumbling down the ladder and the light comes on. I shade my eyes and I’m looking at Sid and he’s swaying from side to side.

“Got something for you, boy,” he says and he raises a hand and helps this woman down the steps into the cabin. “Ain’t she something?”

I sit up and pull the blanket across my lap.

“Here he is, gal,” Sid says to the woman, and then to me, “I gotta go back topside. I got two for myself.” He starts up the stairs and then leans back. “I had no idea things would work out like this. Boy, you’re my good-luck charm.” He heads out. “Damn!”

The woman Sid leaves with me is out-of-her-head drunk and she’s staggering around, talking all sorts of nonsense. “You know Timmy?” she asks.

I shake my head.

“You don’t know Timmy? That’s too bad. Timmy is some body you should know.” She points a finger at me and takes a step closer. “You’re not Timmy.”

“No.” I don’t know quite what to do, but dressing seems like a good idea and I reach for my pants, which are on the floor by my feet.

“What are you doing?” she asks, frightened.

“Putting on my pants.”

“No, don’t pull a knife!”

I just tilt my head and look at her.

She screams.

The hatch opens and Sid yells down, “Go get her, boy!”

The woman looks at me silently and then she closes her eyes and begins to sway. Then, just like a felled tree, she topples toward me. I catch her and lay her on the bunk. She’s out cold and I look at her face and I think her features sorta attractive. She ain’t covered with paint and powder like the women Sid went chasing after and I notice that I have an erection. I look under the blanket at myself and then I look at the woman and she looks even better than before. The next thing I know I’m taking her clothes off and sliding her well onto the bunk. I hold myself over her for a long time, wondering if I should do it to an unconscious woman. Yes. I lower myself on top of her and I’m looking at her face and her eyes open. Her eyes open wide and my pecker goes limp and I roll off of her and stare at the wall.

“What’s wrong, Timmy?”

I roll over.

She sees my face. “You’re not Timmy!” She looks and finds that she ain’t got no clothes on. She screams and grabs her clothes and runs out.