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

I hadn’t seen Moses since the time in the cave. He’d finished painting Granny and Granpaw’s house except for one little triangle-shaped patch under the roof above the attic window. Willis and me would look up there from time to time just to see if he had come to finish it.

Granny got Willis to stay with us while Moses was gone. I was glad about that. We slept in Granny’s big feather bed together. Sometimes we’d laugh and talk so much that Granny’d have to holler up the ladder hole just to quiet us down.

Granpaw’s wall was still up against Victor. Granny told him it wasn’t none of his business — or hers — what decisions Victor and Momma made together. “It would just confuse things if we was to interfere,” Granny said. “I think he’s trying, Victor is. I really do.”

“Trying my patience is what he’s doing,” Granpaw said.

Victor was all smiles and smooth words, trying to get along with everybody, even with Granpaw. One time I was standing next to the rain barrel at the side of the house, watching Granpaw use his jackknife to cut yellow callus away from his thumb. Victor came around the front of the house, this time a fat new unlit cigar stuck out the corner of his mouth. When he saw Granpaw, he got a big smile on his face. “Another miserable day in paradise, hey Mr. Wood? Glad to see you up and around!”

“Uh huh.” Granpaw sliced a thin piece of callus away from his thumb.

“Is it always like this?” Victor asked. “Muggy and rainless, I mean?”

Granpaw slipped the knifepoint in around his thumbnail. “No. T’ain’t.”

Victor raised the hand with the snake tattoo and took the cigar away. “I thought you were some sort of meteorologist.”

Granpaw cocked an eyebrow at Victor. “A what?”

“A meteorologist. You know, a weatherman. A meteorologist loves to talk about the weather.”

Granpaw went back, working on his thumb. “Well I ain’t one of them.”

“That’s not what I hear, but all right. Anyway, I’m glad to see you up and about.” Victor’s eyes warmed over with friend-liness. “Orbie here thinks the world of you. Don’t you son?”

I kept quiet.

“His Momma says he does,” Victor said.

“He don’t have to repeat it then, does he?” Granpaw said, still working on his thumb.

“I know that. That’s not what I meant.” A cloud passed over Victor’s face, but then he caught himself and smiled. “You be careful with that knife now, Mr. Wood! With skin that tough, you might dull the blade!” He reassigned the cigar to the corner of his mouth and walked off toward the trailer.

“Dumb ass City Slicker,” Granpaw said under his breath, but then he looked at me. “I ought not have said that. Ought I?”

Once, when Granpaw was in one of his spells, Victor out of the blue offered to take care of him. Granny wouldn’t let him. “This is woman’s work. Man’s got more important things to do.” Something in the way she said it made me think she wouldn’t let Victor take care of Granpaw even if it was a man’s work.

He did help out with things though, Victor did, like when he went into Circle Stump to buy groceries. Sometimes he brought back soda pop and potato chips for us kids. Willis and me would each get a bottle and take the chips out on the front porch.

Missy wouldn’t have any.

She stayed close to Momma. Only time she said anything was when Momma asked her questions, simple questions like, “You want to eat now hon?” or “You got to pee?” Missy would answer “No Momma,” or “Yes Momma,” but in a whiny little voice made you want to slap her direct in the face, not to be mean or anything, just to wake her up from her spell. If Victor got too close, she would let out a scream that would soar up to the ceiling so loud Momma would have to take her off in another room. Granny would get a look on her face and shake her head.

Victor stayed sober. Him and Momma went to church in the fancy blue Cadillac. Circle Stump Church. People there liked Victor.

“He got a natural way with folks,” Momma said. “When he wants to have, he does. Reverend Pennycall was plumb beside himself, introducing him around. I never seen the like.” She liked to be proud of Victor — of the way he looked, of the way he dressed — so fine, so important. I think his being important made her feel important too.

Still they fought. I would hear them yelling at each other in the trailer. I heard things thump against the wall. One time Momma screamed. I saw Victor push out the door and go cussing all the way up the little wagon road toward the barn.

Another time I saw him up at Old Man Harlan’s store, standing out on the porch there with Old Man Harlan. Reverend Pennycall was there too. Victor laughed with them and smoked his cigarettes. Reverend Pennycall put his hand on Victor’s shoulder. Victor let it stay.

“You can’t never tell how things will work around,” Momma said to Granpaw one day. “Why, the Lord might be working through Victor to make things right between you and Nealy.”

“Hell He is,” Granpaw said.

“I don’t care much for Nealy’s ways myself, you know I don’t. He attends church though,” Momma said. “I saw him over to Circle Stump.”

“The Devil attends church, Sweetness,” Granpaw said.

“I’d rather Victor was talking to somebody just the same,” Momma said. “Rather than him moping around here everyday.”

That was one thing about Momma I couldn’t understand. How she fit things together sometimes. Like Old Man Harlan and Victor. To me they fit together all right but more like a gun and a holster than friends.

He spent a lot of time in the trailer, Victor did, with the door and all the windows open. When he wasn’t there, he kept the doors locked. Momma got the key from Granny. Momma said it was because he was writing letters in there. Letters to Armstrong and to Fords. Private important business he didn’t want anybody else to mess with.

“He’s still trying to get things straightened around, I reckon,” Momma said to Granny. “About all what happened up there, you know, with Jessie and all. ‘Investigation’s still going on.”

“I thought that was done with,” Granny said.

“It is. There’s just some loose ends, you know.”

“You’d have thought they’d have been tied by now,” Granny said.

It was getting toward the end of August. Victor started to talk more about Detroit, about us going back to Detroit, what he would do to set things right when we got there. He talked about the move to Florida and the manager job at The Pink Flamingo. It was his big chance to get ahead. Not to take it made about as much sense as flushing money down the toilet. I heard him talking to Momma in the trailer. “You’ve got to strike while the striking’s good, baby! I admire your parents. I care about them. I do. Mr. Wood seems quite capable when he’s up and about. And your mother certainly is.”

“I know, but I can’t just up and leave,” Momma said. “Not till they’re better situated.”

“The kids will have to begin school soon.”

“I know. I’ll figure something out.”

“Well, figure it out now!” Victor said. “I’m tired of all this nonsense! I’ve got important matters to see to.”

“Go on to Detroit then, if that’s what you want!”

“Leave you and the kids?”

“We’ll come as soon as we can,” Momma said. “I told you.”

“Jesus, you’re stubborn.”

“Look who’s talking,” Momma answered. “Mr. Easy-To-Get-Along-With, himself!”