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

“You sure it’s not any trouble?” Momma said.

Granny’s eyes widened. “Trouble? Why, tain’t no trouble a-tall.” She looked over my way. “I want you just to look how he’s growed! A might on the skinny side though.”

“He’ll fill out,” Momma said.

“Why yes he will. Come youngun. Come say hello to your old Granny.”

“Orbie, be good now,” Momma said.

I went a little closer, but I didn’t say hello.

“He’ll be all right,” Granny said.

“I hope so Mamaw. He’s been a lot of trouble over this.”

Veins, blue rivers, tree roots, flooded down Granny’s gray legs. More even than on her arms. And you could see white bulges and knots and little red threads wiggling out. “I’ll bet you they’s a lot better things going on here than they is in Floridy,” she said. “I bet you, if you had a mind to, Granpaw would show you how to milk cows and hoe tobacco. I’ll learn you everything there is to know about chickens. Why, you’ll be a real farm hand before long!”

“I don’t wanna be no damned farm hand,” I said.

“Boy, I’ll wear you out!” Momma said. “See what I mean, Mamaw?”

“He’ll be all right,” Granny said.

The sun was on its way down. Far to the east of it two stars trailed after a skinny slice of moon. I could see Old Man Harlan’s Country Store across the road, closed now, but with a porch light burning by the door.

A ruckus of voices had started up by the Ford, Granpaw and Victor trying to talk at the same time. They’d propped the Ford’s hood up with a stick and were standing out by the front.

Victor had again taken up his place, leaning back against the front fender, crushing my ball cap. “That’s right, that’s what I said! No good at all.” He held the cigar shoulder level — lit now — waving it with his upraised arm one side to the other. “The Unions are ruining this country, Mr. Wood. Bunch of meddlesome, goddamned troublemakers. Agitators, if you know what I mean.” He took a pull on the cigar then blew the smoke over Granpaw’s head.

Granpaw was stout looking but a whole head shorter than Victor. He stood there in his coveralls, doubled up fists hanging at the end of each arm, thick as sledgehammers — one with the open jackknife, the other with that thing he’d been working on. “Son, you got a problem?”

“The rank and file,” Victor said. “They’re the problem! They’ll believe anything the goddamn Union tells them.”

Granpaw leaned over and spat. “You don’t know nothin’.”

“ Anything ,” Victor said.

“What?”

Victor took the cigar out of his mouth and smiled. “ I don’t know anything is what you mean to say. It’s proper grammar.”

“I know what I aim to say,” Granpaw said, “I don’t need no northern jackass a tellin’ me.” Granpaw’s thumb squeezed against the jackknife blade.

Cut him Granpaw! Knock that cigar out his mouth!

“Strode!” Granny shouted. “Come away from there!”

Momma hurried over. “Victor, I told you.”

“I was just sharing some of my thoughts with Mr. Wood here,” Victor said. “He took it the wrong way, that’s all. He doesn’t understand.”

“I understand plenty, City Slicker.” Granpaw closed the knife blade against his coveralls and backed away.

“Ain’t no need in this Strode!” Granny said. “Victor’s come all the way down here from Dee-troit. He’s company. And you a man of God!”

“I’ll cut him a new asshole, he keeps on that a way,” Granpaw said.

Momma was beside herself. “Apologize Victor. Apologize to Papaw for talking that way.”

“For telling the truth?”

“For insulting him!”

Victor shook his head. “You apologize. You’re good at that.”

Over where the sun had gone down the sky had turned white-blue. Fireflies winked around the roof of the well, around the branches of the Jesus Tree. Victor walked around to the front of the car and slammed the hood down harder than was necessary. “Come on Orbie! Time to get your stuff!”

I couldn’t believe it was about to happen, even though I had been told so many times it was going to. I started to cry.

“Get down here!” Victor yelled.

Momma met me at the car. She took out a handkerchief and wiped at my tears. She looked good. She always looked good.

“I don’t want you to go,” I said.

“Oh now,” Momma said. “Let’s not make Victor any madder than he already is, okay?” She helped bring my things from the car. I carried my tank and my box of army men and crayons. Momma brought my dump truck, the toy cars, my comic books and drawing pad. We put them all on the porch where Missy sat playing with her doll. Momma hugged me one last time, got Missy up in her arms and headed to the car.

Victor was already behind the wheel, gunning the engine. “Come on Ruby! Let’s go!”

“You just hold on a minute!” Momma put Missy in the car and turned to hug Granny. “Bye Mamaw.”

“Goodbye Sweetness. I hope you find what you’re looking for down there.”

“Right now I’d settle for a little peace of mind,” Momma said; then she hugged Granpaw. “I’m real sorry about Victor Papaw.”

Granpaw nodded. “You be careful down there in Floridy.”

“Bye Momma! Bye Missy!” I yelled.

Momma closed her door and Victor backed out. I hurried down to where Granny and Granpaw were standing. The Ford threw dust and gravels as it fishtailed up the road.

Granpaw tapped me on the shoulder. “This one’s for you son,” he said and handed down the piece he’d been working on. It was a little cross of blond wood about a foot high with a burnt snake draped lengthwise over its arms. Granpaw moved his finger over the snake’s curvy body. “Scorched that in there with a hot screw driver, I did.”

It was comical in a way, but strange too; I mean to make a snake there — right where Jesus was supposed to be. Like most everything else in my life, it made no sense at all. Momma’s Ford had disappeared over the hill. Pale road-dust moved like a ghost over the cornfields and under the half-dark sky. It drifted back toward the skull of Granpaw’s barn, back toward the yard. I stood there watching it all, listening as Momma’s Ford rumbled away.

Granny held up the lamp to see by. She laid clean blue jeans and a long-sleeved red-checkered shirt over the back of a straw chair. I was lying in bed. “Where we going they’s pickers and thorns,” she said. “Scratch ye legs up awful, you don’t put something on.” The attic smelled like old kerosene and Granny’s Juicy Fruit gum. Big beams ran up from out the dark on both sides, little pieces of wood nailed in between.

Granny turned with the lamp held to the side. Her skin was sunburned, worn looking as old leather. A shadow cut off half her face — an eye and part of her nose. She stood like that, with half a face; chewing gum, her teeth moving inside a mouth looked like a pouch pulled together with a string.

The arms of the red-checkered shirt hung down from the chair, reaching toward the floor without hands. Momma and Victor had left a little over an hour ago.

I started to cry.

Granny raised the lamp and the shadow flew away, eyes green glowing as a cat’s. “Your Momma will be back in two weeks Orbie. That ain’t no time a-tall.” Midget flames like the one in the lamp wiggled in each of her eyes. “Blackberries child! That’s what we gonna do. You and me!”

“I’m scared Granny.”

“Scared? What you scared of?”

“I don’t know. I don’t like it dark. There might be something in here. Something under the bed. There might be a man.”

“A man?”