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

“Git off me!” Momma yelled.

Take care of Momma son. She don’t see things all the way through.

I got hold of a tobacco stick. “Momma’s in trouble, Willis.” I would have crawled out except then I heard Momma’s voice, all whispery sounding and out of breath.

“Oh, Victor, Victor,” breathed Momma. “Not here, hon! Not now.”

Victor’s words also came between gasps of breath. “Yes now , baby. Relax. We both need this. You know it, I know it.” More dirt rained down from the floor. A fear squeezed around my heart then. A hand I couldn’t see.

“You filthy vulgar dog!” Momma said, but she was laughing again.

That night Victor slept with Momma in the trailer. When I came down to breakfast the next morning he was at the table. He was wearing his pink shirt but no tie, his hair combed over like Dean Martin. Momma had fixed him some eggs and he was sitting there in what used to be Granpaw’s chair. When he saw me, he smiled.

“Sit down sweetheart,” Momma said.

“Where’s Granny?” I asked.

“Out on the front porch, feeding Granpaw. He had another one of his spells.” Something in Momma’s voice made me jump, something high-pitched and chirpy like a bird’s. She hopped around the kitchen like a bird. She wore her black skirt and the blouse with the roses, the one you could see the soft part of her titties in. Her hair was piled on top, fixed together up there with a green tortoise shell comb.

“What’s wrong, Momma?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Sit down.”

“Where’s Missy?”

“In the front room, still asleep.”

Victor held up his cup. “More coffee, Momma.”

Momma smiled, brought the pot over and filled his cup.

“Thank you Momma.” Victor took a sip from the cup and set it down.

Granny’s calendar said August 19 th. I sat down across from Victor. Momma placed a glass of milk in front of me. “I want coffee.”

“Coffee?”

“Yeah. With biscuit mixed in. Sugar too.”

“You’re too little for coffee, son,” Victor said.

I looked at Momma. Yesterday she was ready to throw Victor out, now she was chirping like a bird — hopping around everywhere he pointed.

“Did you hear what I said?” Victor said.

“I ain’t your son,” I said.

“Orbie,” Momma said. “Be nice.” She hopped to the refrigerator, took out a plate of ham from last night’s supper, and set it on the table. “You want me to warm this Victor? It’ll be good with them eggs.”

“No thank you Momma. Maybe Orbie will have some.” He smiled at me and sipped his coffee. He was cleaned up, clean shaved with that smelly stuff, the sleeves of his shirt turned back.

“I said I want coffee and biscuit! I want soak! Granny lets me have it.”

“Watch your tone, son,” Victor said.

“I reckon a little coffee won’t hurt him none.” Momma got a cup and set it down in front of me. Her hand trembled. She filled the cup halfway with coffee.

The mole next to Victor’s nose glowed like a little slicked over hill. He pushed himself away from the table and got up. Momma kissed him on the lips. I felt like throwing coffee at the both of them. Victor grabbed Momma’s butt and squeezed her to him. “You shouldn’t let the boy talk to you that way baby.”

“I know. We’ll talk about it later.”

“I love you Momma.” He squeezed her butt again and kissed her on the lips. Then he went out the door.

Momma sat down in Victor’s chair, smiling to herself. She reached and got one of the biscuits and cut it in half. Then she reached for the blackberry jam. She scooped the jam out with a spoon onto half of the biscuit, put the other half on top and bit off a piece. Her hands trembled. “These is the best blackberries I ever eat,” she said as she chewed. “You and Granny get these?”

I got a biscuit and crumbled it in my coffee, pushed it down in there with a tablespoon. I mixed in two big tablespoons of sugar.

“Have a little coffee with your sugar,” Momma said.

I dug out a spoonful of the soak and put it in my mouth.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Momma said. “People can change though. Victor can change.”

We sat there a little bit, Momma with her biscuit, me with my soak. I got another tablespoon of sugar. I watched it fall out of the spoon a little bit at a time into my cup.

Momma said, “You can see how he’s changed can’t you?”

I kept watching the sugar. “Your the one always changing Momma. Victor’s always the same.”

Momma almost dropped her biscuit. “I’ll wear you out boy! Talking to me like that!” Momma grabbed the spoon away. Sugar went everywhere all over the table. She grabbed the cup away too. “You know better than to act this way! Look here now.” She put the spoon in the cup and set it down on the table next to her. “Yes, it’s true. We’re going to try again; Victor and me are. He’s made mistakes but he’s changed now. You can’t just give up on people Orbie.” She took hold of my hand and looked me direct in the eye. “We got to be good to one another from now on.”

“I hate him Momma! I wish he was dead!” I jerked my hand loose. “I hate you too! Your just stupid is all! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” I jumped down out of my chair, slammed through the screen door, ran out down the steps and under the house — into the crawl space underneath. I sat, crying and kicking at the dirt, staring at the shadows, at the old cans and rocks and tobacco sticks that were scattered all about.

I had me a shoebox there in a hole under a board. I slid the board away, got out the box and opened it. It was lined with some of Granny’s store bought cotton. Granpaw’s tobacco pouch lay in there with the Rain Skull inside. There was Granny’s butcher knife too, its point bent to one side. Still crying, I took it up from the box and looked at its long gray blade. I remembered how it had glowed with the blue light. I remembered the voice, the lightning, the tree branch cracking down with the tire in the swimming hole. The Circle Stump Boys running away.

I laid the point of the butcher knife on a piece of orange brick and pounded it flat with another. I got Granpaw’s pouch with the Rain Skull and put it around my neck. I held the knife blade up in front of my face, the point now straight and sharp. I could hear Momma above, boohooing at the kitchen table.

“In thy blood,” I whispered. “In thy blood, live!”

Momma went on like usual, talking about the Lord and how He’d made everything all right, how He changed Victor, made him into a good person again — a better person.

Victor brought all his stuff from the motel he was staying at in Glasgow — his tan suitcase and green file box — and moved into the trailer with Momma. Soon as Momma was ready, he said, we’d all go back to Detroit, take care of our business there, sell the house and move down to Florida — where the sun always shines and the fishing is always good.

“Oh I know he won’t never be good as Jessie,” Momma would say to Granny. “You can’t have everything perfect though.”

Granny would just crack her gum. “You both growed up people. I reckon ya’ll can handle your own business.” Usually she had a lot more to say than that, no matter whose business it was. I figured she was just too busy what with Granpaw and there being a million things to do around the farm and all. The ‘L’ brothers helped with the fields. Miss Alma brought over pies and occasionally did things around the house. Said there wasn’t as much housework at Moses’ place anymore. “He gone. He do dat way. Mmmm. Go off, not tell a soul.”