Percival Everett - Suder

“Yeah,” she says, her mouth open.

I’m really excited, watching this osprey fly off, his big wings beating. Then there’s a loud high-pitched scream and I see this bald eagle. The osprey drops his fish and the eagle catches it and I’m a little sickened by this. No wonder it’s our national bird.

“Did you see that?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I look back at Jincy on Renoir. “Ain’t that something?”

“What?”

“The way they fly like that.”

She looks up at the eagle. “Yeah.”

There was a hole at the base of one of the walls at the old school. Some bricks were still laying on the ground. Kids used to talk about the green-eyed lady that lived in there, under the floorboards of what was believed to be the cafeteria. Supposedly she would come out at night looking for food because there was nothing left inside. I walked on past the hole and into the sandy playground in back. There was one large tree in the center of the yard, the only shade. I moved toward it. I circled the tree and there was Naomi Watkins. I froze.

“Hello,” Naomi said.

“Hey.” I didn’t look at her. I looked across the playground.

“You going to sit down?” She was staring at me ;I could feel her eyes on me. “Please.”

I sat down beside her. “Hey.”

“You said that.”

I smiled at her. “Sure is hot.”

“Sure is.” She threw back her head and tugged at the collar of her dress. “Do you like me?”

“Yeah.” I was sweating.

“No one likes me, you know.” Her eyes were closed.

“That’s not true. My brother, Martin, likes you.”

“He doesn’t like me. He just wants to … I’m sorry about what they did to you.”

“What?”

“You know.” She looked at her crotch.

“Oh.” I recalled Martin making me touch her down there. I rubbed my finger under my nose and imagined that smell. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was afraid to run.” She closed her eyes again. “They seemed to like me before that.”

I didn’t believe she was afraid. I remembered her smile. “What about when you and Martin were in your daddy’s funeral home?”

She was surprised that I knew.

“I followed Martin.”

“I thought he’d like me if I—”

We were silent for a while. “You’re not very bright,” I said honestly and I looked over at her. Tears were streaming down her face. I wanted to make her feel better, so I decided to confide in her about my mother. “My mother is crazy,” I said.

She stopped crying. “Crazy?”

“Really crazy.” I started pushing my fingers through the sand. “She wears a coat all the time and sneakers and she’s always running around.” I shook my head. “She hates Martin and she won’t leave me alone.”

Naomi looked at me, wide-eyed. “What are you going to do?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Daddy thinks it may be the heat. Bud says she’s just different.”

“Who’s Bud?”

“Bud Powell, the famous piano player. He’s staying with us.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“He’s famous. My daddy told me. They even moved in a piano and Bud plays it. He’s real good.” I paused and closed my eyes. “But my mother scares me. There’s no telling what she’ll do next.” I sniffed.

Naomi put her hand on mine. “Do you really like me?”

I opened my eyes and looked at her. I nodded.

The bathroom window was painted shut. Why, I didn’t know, but it was closed for good. So, it was hot as the devil in the bathroom and you made a point of getting in and out as quickly as possible during the afternoon hours. I was sitting on the toilet, perspiring profusely. The afternoon sun was pounding on the window and then the door opened. It was Ma.

“Don’t get up,” she said.

I watched as she snatched the roll of toilet tissue and dashed out. I sat there, stunned, for some time, looking around for paper. Perspiration was pouring out of me. I started yelling for help. “Daddy! Martin! Bud! Somebody!”

Bud poked his head into the bathroom. “What’s up?”

“Ma came in and took the toilet tissue.” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

“Oh, yeah?” He chuckled.

“I need some toilet tissue,” I pleaded.

“Right.” He backed out and came back with a box of Kleenex. “Here,” he said, tossing it to me.

I finished up and walked out into the front yard and there was Ma. She had draped toilet paper from one oak tree to another at one side of the yard. She sprinted across the yard and through the tissue, striking it with her chest, her arms thrown back. She put up more tissue and did it again. Then again, like winning races. I went back inside. I looked at Bud and then I turned and looked back through the screen door. There were some people standing across the street and they were laughing. I got really upset and I ran back outside. I grabbed Ma’s coat and started yelling, “What’s wrong with you?! Why do you have to be this way?!”

Ma glared at me and then she hauled off and slapped me across the face. She looked over at Daddy, who had just stepped out of his office. Then she looked back at me and started trembling. She ran off, around the house.

Daddy stepped over to me and dropped a hand on my shoulder. He was looking in the direction that Ma had run. He rubbed my head and said, “It’s all right.”

A couple of days go by and time is slipping past me like a well-hit ball on plastic grass. Three days of sun and heat and a dwindling mound of hay in front of Renoir. So, one night I drive down the road to that barn full of hay and Jincy is with me and it’s raining.

“Where are we going?” Jincy wants to know.

“Over there.” I’m pointing out across the field at the barn.

“What for?”

“Hay.” I stop the truck and get out and open the gate. I turn off the headlights and approach the barn.

“Why’d you turn the lights off?” Jincy asks.

I look at her. “It ain’t my hay.”

“You mean you’re stealing it?”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that, but yes.”

Jincy says nothing. I back the truck up to the open barn doors and the rain is falling harder. We get out and we’re in the barn and the barn is full of the sound of water hitting the tin roof. I grab a pitchfork and start tossing hay into the back of the truck and Jincy’s just staring at me.

“What is it?” I ask, and when she doesn’t say anything, I says, “Help me out here.”

Jincy grabs another fork and starts throwing hay into the truck and then she stops. She looks up at the rafters and then outside at the night and says, “This is weird. I’m in a strange barn, shoveling hay for an elephant that belongs to a nigger.”

I stop tossing hay and I look at her. She’s looking at me, too, and we’re silent for a spell. I start tossing hay again and soon she is, also.

The morning was almost cool, with a light drizzle and a nice breeze. Ma was running, her first attempt to circle the town, and I was on my bicycle, riding along behind her. Behind me was McCoy in his white Cadillac with another man. Ma kept a good pace for about two miles, but then she began to fall off. By the fifth mile Ma was just falling forward into each step. Then she fell. I got off my bike and ran to her. She was bleeding from both knees and crying.

“I can’t make it,” she said through her tears.

“Come on, Ma.” I grabbed her arm. “Let’s go home.”

McCoy and the other white man were out of the car and beside us. “Well, I guess the Lord wasn’t with you this time, Mrs. Suder,” said McCoy. He smiled at the other man and they turned away. “Crazy nigger-woman,” McCoy said to the man and laughed.