Percival Everett - Suder

“Thomas,” I says, “you may not want to sit here.”

“Why?”

“We might get a few balls our way.”

His eyes grow large. “What?”

“Foul tips might come buzzing over that low screen and pop you in the face. I just figured you should know.”

“Oh.”

I’m not sure he understands just what I’m saying, but I drop the subject.

The game starts and there ain’t much to see; just a load of fellas dressed alike, embarrassing their loved ones. Then some fella’s up and the count is full and he keeps tipping the ball straight back over the screen and I keep catching them and Thomas is real excited. Thomas is giggling and telling me how marvelous it is that I can catch like that. Finally the guy at bat pounds a long ball to left and every body cheers. So does Thomas and he stands up and when he comes down his hand lands on my leg.

“Excuse me,” he says and pulls his hand away.

It starts to rain and the game is called and Thomas and I walk back down Burnside toward home. It’s a real busy street and the rain doesn’t keep people in these parts inside. I see, in the street ahead, a man leaning over, talking to somebody in a car and it’s Sid Willis. I duck into a doorway and pull Thomas with me.

“What is it, Craig?” Thomas asks, smiling.

I don’t say anything. I am peering around the corner and I see Sid climb into the car and ride off.

“What is it?” he asks again.

“Nothing.”

We walk home and Mike and Larry are sitting in the living room, reading. They look up at me but they don’t say anything, and so I just go up to my room and listen to the song.

It’s just starting to get dark outside when Thomas walks into my room and sits on the bed.

“You like jazz, huh?” he says.

“Yeah.”

“Dizzy Gillespie’s playing at the Opus Club.”

“Really?” I says, sitting erect. “Where’s that?”

“Right here in Old Town. Would you like to grab a bite and hear him?”

I pause. “Yeah.” I grab my phonograph and my record and my saxophone and I’m ready to go.

“Why’re you bringing those things?” Thomas asks.

“I haven’t played the song for you, have I?”

He shakes his head.

I plug in the record player and drop the needle down.

“Damn,” I says. “That’s something, ain’t it?”

He nods and he’s looking at me with a funny eye.

“This song just does something to me. I mean, it really gets me excitied.”

Thomas smiles. “Bring it along, bring it along.” Bud made his apologies to Ma about not attending the funeral. He said death didn’t sit well with him. I didn’t want to go either, but I had to.

The coffin was open. Grandmama was just laying there, peaceful as could be, even though there was enough crying and hollering going on to wake the dead. I looked out over the crowd in attendance. In the middle of all the dark faces dressed in dark clothes was McCoy. White as white could be. He stood out something fierce. It was difficult to look at: his pale skin, white hair, white clothes in a sea of darkness. Daddy looked back at him and frowned.

I turned to face the coffin and saw Ma summoning me with her index finger. I walked to her.

“You’re a good boy, Craigie,” she said. “Kiss your grandmother.”

I just looked at her. I wanted to back away, but I didn’t. I felt sick to my stomach.

“Kiss your grandmother,” she repeated and with that she grabbed me by the back of my head and pushed my face into the coffin. “Kiss her, Craigie.”

I felt Grandmama’s cold lips against my face and as Ma pushed harder I felt the sutures that held her mouth closed. I was breathing rapidly. I was sick.

Thomas and I are sitting at a table against the wall, far away from the band, and Dizzy walks out and starts to play. They play a long version of “A Night in Tunisia” and then I start shouting, “‘Ornithology’! ‘Ornithology’!” Dizzy begins to play the song and I fall back into my chair with a smile across my face. My hand drops down next to me and lands on my saxophone and I decide to join in. So, I stand up and start blowing and Thomas is looking around nervously and Dizzy stops playing.

“Keep going,” I yell.

This big guy walks to our table and says, “You can’t play that thing in here.”

And I yell out, “Dizzy, I went fishing with Bud Powell!”

Dizzy just stares at me and starts talking to members of the band.

“You gonna lay off that thing?” the big guy asks.

Then I hear a familiar voice. “Boy, I want my money!”

I look over at the door and there’s Sid Willis.

“I said, I want my money!” Sid starts weaving his way through the tables toward us. I pick up my things and head for the nearest exit and Thomas is right behind me. When I push through the door a fire alarm is set off and the manager is yelling at us and telling us never to come back. Thomas takes my arm and pulls me off the main street and down an alley. We make it through alleys back to the house and there’s no sign of Sid behind us.

“What was that guy talking about?” Thomas asks as we walk into the house.

“I never saw him before,” I lie and I tell Thomas I’m real tired and I retire to my room and slip into bed.

I’m laying awake and I hear Mike and Larry in the next room. I figure it’s Mike and Larry because it ain’t Quincy or Thomas and I start to listen to what they’re saying.

“I saw you!” says one.

“Calm down,” says the other.

“I saw you pissing standing up!”

“So?”

“So, I’m the dominant one in this relationship! I piss standing up! You piss sitting down! I don’t want to catch you doing it again!”

“Please, Mike. Please, don’t hit me.”

“Promise me you won’t do it again!”

“I promise. I promise.”

Then I hear moaning and groaning. I try to block out the noise and I go to sleep.

Daddy told me I better go outside. Ma was screaming at me and I was shaking. I just stood there. “Go on outside, Craig,” Daddy said. I ran outside and sat on the church steps. It was hot, but I was shivering.

Martin came out and sat beside me. “What happened?” he asked.

I just looked at him and tears came out of my eyes.

“Aunt Edna’s really screaming in there. Aunt Cleo, too.”

Martin gave me his handkerchief.

“I want to go to France,” I said.

“What?”

“I want to go to France.”

Martin tilted his head and looked at me.

“If I was in France I’d be free of everything.”

“Come on, it could have happened to anyone.”

I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. Then the church doors opened and people started coming out. Martin and I moved off to the side. The coffin was marched past us. Aunt Cleo stared at me as she walked by and so did Aunt Edna. Uncle Ernest didn’t see me. They put Grandmama in the back of the funeral car and everybody got ready to go. Martin got into a long car with Ma. Daddy stood by the car with the door open and looked at me.

I shook my head.

He nodded.

I watched as the black cars rolled away. And in the middle of the procession of dark cars with dark people was McCoy.

I walked home and found Bud playing the piano.

“You’re back early,” Bud said.

I nodded and threw my coat down and stretched out on the sofa. We looked at each other silently for a minute. “I want to go to France with you,” I said.

“Oh, yeah? Why?”

“I want to be free.”

“Free, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s free?”

“Doing what you want to do.” I paused. “When you want to do it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” My eyes were wet. “So, can I go to France with you?”