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

A loud cracking sound wandered across the sky — like an earthquake I heard on TV once, like the ground cracking apart. A fist of wind knocked Reverend Pennycall’s hat away. He went chasing after it, his hair thin and light brown, circling a bald spot on top his head. Old Man Harlan laughed. White popcorn shapes began hopping across the ground.

“Hail!” Miss Alma shouted. I looked up to see a white curtain of hailstones clacking over the hill toward us.

Reverend Pennycall trapped his hat against a fence post, got it on his head and pushed by Willis and me. “Let’s go Nealy! Hell fire!” Him and Old Man Harlan both hurried themselves down the cellar stairs. The rest of us just stood there, dumbfounded, watching the curtain advance down the hill.

“Go on!” Miss Alma finally shouted. Willis and me ran for the cellar. Even with just one good leg Willis could go fast. He walked himself lickety-split to the cellar door and did a quick hobble down. Some of the hailstones were big as marbles. Some rock-sized. They popped off the bill of my ball cap and stung the back of my legs. I turned to look up the road one last time and almost knocked into Bird, her eyes filled with miseries and water.

“I don’t thank she’s going to make it, do you?” she said. “I’m a feared she’s in some bad awful trouble.”

“Twister took half a Grinestaff’s store,” said Old Man Harlan.

Bird set the basket with the checkered dishtowel on a little bench in the middle of the cellar. “Radio said them funnel clouds was north. Not in Circle Stump!”

“I don’t care what the radio said!” Old Man Harlan squawked. “I’m tellin’ you what I seen! What the Reverend here seen!”

Reverend Pennycall nodded. Him and Old Man Harlan had parked themselves in the only two chairs in the cellar. Willis and me sat on a pile of grass sacks. Vern and Fable squatted against the wall. Bird eased herself down on the little bench next to the basket, facing Willis and me. The cellar door was open, and a green light lay like a ghost across the stairs.

“What’s ‘at ole pancake nigger doing up there anyhow?” Old Man Harlan said. “Don’t she know they’s a storm on?”

Willis stayed quiet. Vern and Fable looked at the floor. “You shouldn’t call her that, Mr. Harlan,” I said.

“Who says I shouldn’t?”

“Miss Alma is Vern and Fable’s momma. She’s waiting up there for my Momma. My sister too. She’s keeping a watch out for them.”

“Well, why ain’t they showed up yet?”

“Momma had to get the house ready. Cause of the storm. She had to warn Victor. She said they’d be down in a little while.”

“She did, did she?” Old Man Harlan caught Reverend Pennycall’s eye. “You say she aimed to warn Victor?”

“Uh huh. Then they’ll come.”

Old Man Harlan and Reverend Pennycall looked at each other and laughed. “Sounds easy, don’t it,” Old Man Harlan said. “Like they never had no disagreements.”

“He’ll straighten her out,” Reverend Pennycall said. White light flashed across the cellar stairs followed by another boom of thunder. “Thank Gawd court ended when it did.”

“Amen on that,” Old Man Harlan said. “We just did make it.”

“We did,” Reverend Pennycall nodded.

I wondered how Granny and Granpaw made out, whether the judge had agreed with them or Old Man Harlan. Damned if I’d ask Old Man Harlan about it though. I wondered if Granny and Granpaw were driving back now; trying to get home in the storm. A fuzzy light bulb dangled from a wire in the middle of the ceiling just over Bird’s head. There were some plank shelves on the other side. Dingy glass jars, moldy looking, full of pear halves and apples. Dark tomatoes. Gray corn.

Bird grinned her rotten-toothed grin and uncovered the basket. “Ya’ll want a bite of this?” A good warm smell overpowered the musty smell of the cellar.

“Give that here.” Old Man Harlan took a hold of the basket and set it on his lap. Him and the Reverend both took out a napkin with something wrapped inside.

“They’s tators and corn too,” Old Man Harlan said. “We’ll have that later.” He reached the basket back to Bird. “Get you a piece in there Bird.” He looked at Vern and Fable, then at me and Willis. “You negroes will have to wait.” Reverend Pennycall laughed. Willis, Vern and Fable looked on hungrily. I hadn’t eaten anything myself since breakfast. My mouth began to water.

Bird took out a crusty piece of something and bit in — like some old spider jawing on a bug. “Chicken smells good fried, don’t it Reverend? Eats good too.”

The Reverend held his piece in the napkin in front of his mouth, grease shining all around his lips. “It do, don’t it?”

Old Man Harlan held up a golden brown drumstick and pointed it toward me. “These is them chicken-friends of that boy there. I believe this leg belonged to Elvis. That right Reverend?” Reverend Pennycall winked at me and went on feeding his face.

“You know that boy loves chickens,” Old Man Harlan said. “Pitched him a fit t’other day cause I killed me two. Pets he said they was! His pets.” White meat turned over in Reverend Pennycall’s half open mouth.

Bird looked up from the piece she was gnawing on. “Buried they heads in ‘at graveyard a mine.”

I watched as they ate my snowbirds, as they looked for fresh places to bite in. The good smell of the dinner spread all throughout the cellar. I tried to swallow the water in my mouth and almost gagged. I thought of Momma, the bruises around her neck, Victor’s hands like Old Man Harlan’s around the chicken’s necks.

Bird pushed the good smelling basket into my thoughts. “Get you a piece in there, Ruby’s boy!”

I swatted it away. “Do that again and I’ll knock the rest of your goddamn teeth out!” Bird’s mouth dropped open. What I said, how I said it, like a grown-up person, surprised even me.

“Keep on that a way and I’ll whip you myself,” Old Man Harlan said.

I jumped off the sacks. “You can go straight to hell! You and Bird both!” Old Man Harlan got up from his chair, but I dodged him and ran up the steps.

Miss Alma was standing outside in the rain, the umbrella raised over her head. She grabbed hold of my arm. “Hold on, boy! Where ya’ll off to?”

“Momma’s in trouble Miss Alma! I just know she is!”

Old Man Harlan was at the bottom of the steps. “That boy’s meaner’n a snake! Send him back down here!”

“He’s the mean one, Miss Alma!” I yelled. “They’re eating my chickens down there! Momma’s in trouble! I know she is!”

“Laud, Laud! Ya’ll don’t know dat. Cain’t go running off in dis no how!” Miss Alma gestured with the umbrella toward the sky. Black clouds in a spooky green soup were chasing after one another up there, circling around and around like water going down a drain.

“I said to send him back down here!” Old Man Harlan yelled, bald head hanging off his crooked neck.

Miss Alma rose up big as a mountain. “Hush yo mouth, Nealy! We ain’t down to no crossroad now!”

Reverend Pennycall appeared next to Old Man Harlan. “I wouldn’t go so faw with that tone a voice, Miss Alma. That tone a voice might upset folks. Ya’ll wouldn’t want that now.”

“Alway somebody get upset!” Miss Alma answered. “Ain’t nothin’ new on me.” I tried to jerk away. Miss Alma held on. “How you know she in trouble?”

“I just do. I had a dream Miss Alma. Daddy told me I had to take care of her.”

Miss Alma frowned. She looked off over the little rise toward Granny and Granpaw’s. Then she let go of me and yelled down the cellar. “Fable! Vern! Willis! You boys, come on now! We gone find Ruby!”