Freddie Owens - Then Like the Blind Man - Orbie's Story

Momma got up to wipe the table.

Victor’s eyes followed her. “Ruby? Do you remember when we first met?”

Momma wiped harder at the table. “Why yes. It was at that picnic Fords put on.”

“You were the finest looking woman there.”

Momma hopped like a bird to the other side of the table. She picked up the saltshaker and set it next to the pepper. “Oh Victor, go on now. Ain’t no truth in that.” She went on with her work, wiping where she had already wiped before. “It’s sweet of you to say so though.”

“Go on yourself. I know a good looking woman when I see one.” Victor emptied his beer, got up and put it down next to the sink. His good looks sparkled out at Momma. “You wouldn’t happen to have a cup of coffee, would you?”

“I always got coffee. You want cream?”

“Just sugar,” Victor smiled. “Just stick your finger in it.”

Momma knocked over the salt and looked at me, her face glowing bright red.

I looked at the floor.

Victor did come to church, first with us — then all by himself — though he always would sit close by to us. People at the church liked Victor. Even when he used high-sounding words they did. He was always willing to go over things again — for people who didn’t understand. He was good that way.

“Why, he’s just an old hillbilly in northern clothes,” Momma said. “I never seen nobody with so much patience.”

“I reckon,” Daddy said.

“It’s a shame what he went through though. I mean, with his family and all.”

“He had a hard row,” Daddy said.

“But look how good he turned out. Why, it’s almost like he’s found another home here at our little church.”

“He shore got a way with people,” Daddy said.

“Don’t he now?”

One time The Lane Sisters sung a song for Victor. Mary, Elsie Mae and Loretta. They liked Victor more than anybody. Daddy said they were sweet on him; said all they wanted was to be his girl friend. They got up one Sunday and Loretta, she was the pretty one, said her and her sisters had practiced up a song special for Brother Denalsky. ‘We’ll Understand It Better By and By’, she called it; and it was their prayer, she said, that Brother Denalsky, and all God’s beloved children would someday come to understand better the pain and sorrow of this world. She stepped back then and the piano lady played the starting in part, and then all the sisters started in singing together. When they got through the first verse they started on the chorus.

Victor listened for a while, and then he started to cry. He wiped his eyes with a clean white handkerchief. He leaned over and put his whole face in the handkerchief. He cried and blew his nose. Preacher Hilly walked over — probably he was going to talk to him about Jesus — but before he could get there Victor got up, walked straight to the back of the church and out the door.

“Thank you Jesus,” Momma said.

After church The Lane Sisters came up to Momma and Daddy. “That man’s under conviction,” Loretta said. She always sounded like somebody with a cold, all stuffy nosed and sniffling.

“If ever one was,” Momma said.

“I hope we didn’t embarrass him none,” Elsie Mae said.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Daddy said.

“He’s real good looking,” Loretta said, smiling. “A real gentleman.”

“Well,” Daddy said. “You know he isn’t married.”

Mary and Elsie Mae giggled. They were fat girls. Loretta was slim and pretty, like Momma. She had a red dress on. Red shoes.

“Got a good high paying job too,” Daddy said. “You want his phone number? I’ll give it to you, if you wannit.”

Mary and Elsie Mae went all bug-eyed.

“Brother Ray, you stop teasing,” Loretta said.

“I’d be glad to put in a good word. I work for the man.” Daddy looked around at Mary and Elsie Mae. “I could put in a word for the three of you, if you’d like. I could say I know three girls would like to kiss him all over.”

The Lane sisters stood there now with their mouths dropped open.

“Jessie stop it,” Momma said.

The Lane sisters broke out in a three-girl giggle.

“Brother Ray!” Loretta laughed. “You the sorriest thang I ever laid eyes on. And you a Christian.”

“That’s right, I am a Christian! You think I’m gonna dry up and blow away ‘cause of it? Naw sir. Christians need lovin’ too. Not just talk-about-it love either.” Daddy smoothed the little hair left at the side of his head and twinkled his eyes at The Lane Sisters. “Ya’ll better get to kissing on somebody, you don’t wanna blow away.”

Everybody laughed then, even Momma.

When I wanted, Victor would let me look at the gash on his neck. Or sit in his lap and trace a finger around the heart with the snake on the back of his hand. One time he showed Momma and me another heart, which was the medal he got from the war, purple with a gold picture of George Washington on the front.

“It’s bronze, not gold,” Victor said. “It’s The Purple Heart. I got it because I was wounded. A consolation prize.”

“You must be proud though,” Momma said.

“Not really. It takes more stupidity than bravery to catch a little shrapnel.”

“It took a lot more than that,” Momma said. “I’ll tell you what’s the truth. I’m glad Jessie never had to go into battle. And I’m glad for men like you, that did.”

Victor was good in a whole bunch of ways. Going to church. Bringing Missy and me presents for Christmas. A bag of army men. A new baby doll that could pee in its own diaper. Taking Missy and me to the zoo. To the picture show. The carnival at Fun Park. The Merry-Go-Round there.

He made Daddy his ‘right hand man’ at Fords — even with him being in the Union. Daddy would talk to Victor about what the worker-men needed. Victor bragged on Daddy. He even tried to get Daddy on Management’s bowling team, but the Union wouldn’t allow it. Said Daddy rolled a mean bowling ball missing fingers and all.

They would ride home together on bowling nights, him and Daddy would. One time Daddy came in smelling like beer. Momma got mad. Later on, I heard her talking to Daddy, telling him how they should be strong and not bend to Victor’s ways. Then Victor might have a chance to be saved, have a chance to find a good girl — Loretta Lane maybe — settle down and be happy in the Lord.

Victor wrote things on little notepads and scraps of paper. Poetry, he called it. Impressions of the day. All I knew about poetry was just nursery rhymes and the rhymes on cards at Christmas time.

“He writes in that book,” Daddy said one night, as he and Momma were getting ready for bed. I was in my room with the door open unable to sleep.

“It ain’t right to spy around on a person,” Momma said.

“I wasn’t spying around. He was sitting up in the cab of that truck, writing. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. I climbed in; he never even looked up. We were supposed to be going bowling.”

“He told me he writes. He likes words,” Momma said.

“He’s got a whole book full of writing,” Daddy said. “I found this today.”

I could hear paper rattle. Something Daddy had.

“A letter?” Momma said.

“Something come from his book.”

“Jessie, you know it ain’t right snooping in another person’s business.”