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

I reached the walking stick up. “Somebody sees you, we’ll both be in trouble.”

Willis pushed the window up with his stick and crawled in. A breeze whooshed through the trees behind me, bringing the sound of voices. “Goddamn it, Willis!” I whispered.

Willis stuck his head out. “What ya’ll be waitin’ on boy?”

“There’s somebody out here,” I whispered. “Out there in the woods!”

“Ain’t nnnobody.”

“Is too! Willis? Willis!” Willis had ducked back inside. I looked around again at the woods. Another breeze whooshed in through the trees. “Shit,” I said, and climbed up onto the roof of the car. I tried to move careful but the roof made another bunch of loud banging noises. Through the window I could see Willis, standing on a little stage next to a preacher’s stand. Down the front was draped a silk flag — purple with flowing gold letters that read: They Shall Take Up Serpents .

“What you ’fraid of, boy?” Willis said.

“Don’t be calling me that, Willis.” I pulled myself inside and around and down on the floor next to a row of benches, plain long planks nailed together with high plank backs.

“Dis here Kingdom Church,” Willis said.

“You already said that.”

“Mo preach here. Bring da snakes.”

It was pitiful — the hall of the church house was — more worn out and crack-walled than our store front church in Detroit, used up, plain as bones, strewn with tattered red songbooks and cast off bibles. Kerosene lamps, ugly with oily green dust, gawked pot bellied from the windowsills. Some stood guard on little tables off to the sides.

“We fixing to get in a whole heap of trouble,” I said.

Willis walked himself to the front part of the little stage, looked at me and smiled. Then he looked up at the ceiling; his eyes all big and smiley like they were seeing something good. And then he closed his eyes. And then he started to sing — just like he did with the chickens — real high and pretty like a girl.

I sat back on one of the benches and felt my own eyes close. Suddenly I was on top of a hill, looking out over an ocean of white clouds, nothing but blue peaceful spaces and the sun overhead. The sound of Willis’s singing was everywhere, peaceful, filling up the sky, filling up me.

I wasn’t mad any more. Nor was I afraid. I couldn’t even remember how I got to be afraid in the first place. Or why I’d become mad. The whole world had gone to some deep quiet place. I opened my eyes and saw Willis at the preacher’s stand, looking way off somewhere, I thought, with his eyes closed. We could’ve stayed that way a long time, but then came the sound of somebody laughing.

“Willis!” I whispered. “There’s somebody out there!”

Willis came down from the stage, went over and unlocked one of the windows. He pushed it up a crack.

“They’ll see somebody’s here Willis. They’ll see Chester.”

“He on da otha side.” Willis looked out the window. I went over and looked too. There were six or seven white boys out there, laughing, playing around, pushing at each other. A couple of them looked our age, the others older. Bigger. The littlest boy was without a shirt. He had a thick piece of rope in his hand; holding it away from him and shaking it, making it wiggle. “Lordy, Lordy, don’t let this here snake bite me! Please Jesus! Don’t let it!” The other boys laughed. I laughed too.

“Shhh!” Willis said.

Another boy started talking funny, shaking himself all spastic like. “Blah! Blah blah! Blah! Glah glah! Glah glah blah!” He got down on the ground and started rolling around, all the other boys laughing.

One boy stood away from the rest. A fat boy — so fat his cheeks made little bellies under his eyes. He had a gray ball cap with a winged horse on the front.

“That boy’s wearing my hat!” I said.

“Shh,” Willis said. “Dem Circle Stump boys.”

Right then a rock smashed through one of the windows. Glass splashed all over the floor with one of the kerosene lamps.

“Holy rollers!” one of the boys shouted.

“Niggers! Jungle Monkeys!”

Another rock splashed through the window.

“Goddamn,” I said.

“Be still,” Willis whispered.

I looked out again. The boys were all running off up the road now; laughing and yelling. The fat boy was last. He had one hand on top his head; trying to keep the ball cap from falling off.

Willis walked himself over to where the glass was and started picking it up — sharp splinters of yellow glass.

“They’ll know somebody’s been in here, if you do that,” I said. He went on picking up the glass anyway. He picked up the kerosene lamp and set it on a bench. Its top was cracked, half the kerosene spilled. I found a cardboard box and a broom. Together we cleaned up the rest of the mess. In the window two ugly holes looked out on the day.

“What if it rains?” I said.

“It never rain.” Willis looked sad. All the quiet from his song gone now. I put the cardboard box with the glass on the bench next to the lamp. Willis walked himself over to the window where we’d come in.

“What about them boys?” I said.

“Dey gone,” Willis said.

“They might’ve heard you singing.”

Willis shook his head, turned and climbed out the window. I followed after. On the way home I tried to talk. I tried to talk about his song, about my hat and the fat boy. Willis stayed quiet. When we came to Granny and Granpaw’s, I got down. Willis rode off without even saying goodbye.

Granny and Granpaw walked in front. Granny carried a lantern: Granpaw, a Bible. From the back Granpaw looked like a gorilla, a gorilla with a Bible and a hat and one arm swung out like a bow. The sun was going down. I had me a tree limb, busting up dandelion puffballs by the side of the road.

“What’s he mad about?” Granpaw said.

“Got another card from Ruby today,” Granny said. “No telling when they’ll be back.”

“Hell fire! How long’s it take to see about a job?”

“Hush now; he’ll hear you.” Granny’s hips worked under her dress.

“Quit swinging that and come on,” Granpaw said to me.

I was tiptoeing over the gravels, trying not to hurt my feet.

Granpaw stopped. “Where’s your shoes at?”

“Left them,” I said.

“Left them?”

“Uh huh. Back the house.”

“How come?”

“He’s trying to do like Willis,” Granny said. “Trying to make them calluses.”

“You’ll think calluses them feet start to bleed,” Granpaw said.

Granny reached down in her bag and brought out my tennis shoes. “Yes, I brought them. We won’t never get to church you picking along that a way.”

“Look how red his feet is,” Granpaw said. “He’s pert near a hillbilly already. Better hurry up you want to see them fireworks. This here’s Eisenhower’s birthday!”

“It ain’t got nothing to do with Eisenhower,” Granny said.

All kind of colored people stood around inside Kingdom Church. Except for times at the Detroit Zoo, it was more colored people than I’d ever seen in one place. Nigger shadows jumping over each other. Shaking hands. Mixing in. Jigaboos. Negroes. The whole church house was full of them.

As we’d walked up to the church house, I’d seen firecrackers exploding and orange sparks skittering over the ground. I’d seen a United States flag on a pole next to the front porch. People eating corn on the cob. Black-eyed peas. Ham and sweet potatoes. Colored boys were running around, waving sparklers over their heads. Granny tried to get me to join in, but I was afraid. After while we went inside.