Jeffery Allen - Rails Under My Back

Why they chase Dave out of Houston?

I can’t remember. It was so long ago. But Dave, Sam, R.L., and Nap was always gettin into something. They were young men looking for trouble. They chased Sam out bout a year after they chased Dave. Then Nap end up dead in that jail in Jackson.

Houston?

No, Jackson.

How’d he—

Never would take his medicine. Bout the same time, R.L. passed. That red Edsel. Dave, Sam, Nap, and R.L. — all them fools drive faster than next week.

Porsha played the silence. But why?

Why what?

Why did she take up with this Casey Love? Why did she leave Daddy Larry?

Ask her.

DID YOU BRING AN EXTRA SUITCASE LIKE I ASKED YOU?

Porsha nodded.

Well get it.

Porsha got it.

Put these things in it.

Why?

Hurry up.

Porsha did as instructed.

Quick.

Her hands moved quickly. A photograph flashed up into her eyes and made her quick fingers pause. A baby-faced man grinned up into the camera from a poker table. Three other men — smoking, drinking, winking — shared his company. He sat upright, no curve in his spine, upright under a stiff-brimmed hat, tweed blazer draped over the back of his folding chair. Is that R.L.?

Mamma looked at the photograph. Nodded.

Is this the only—

Put it in the suitcase. Mamma took it and put it in the suitcase. Look at it later. Put these things in there. Hurry up. Come on. Quick. Before Gracie take everything.

HATCH LED SHEILA to the casket, his hand in the small of her back. A pyramid of flowers. The casket was black with silver fittings, the trestles hidden by flowers in a mass of shapes: wreaths, crosses, bows. He leaned forward and looked into eternity. About what he had expected. She had shrunk since the last time he’d seen her a year ago. Her head almost too small for her black wig. He noticed a red dime-sized hole on her neck, a red scarf trying to conceal it. A faucet hole where they had drained her decaying insides? Damn that mortician!

He held Sheila up, kept her from falling. Helped her back to the pew. Had she seen the red hole in Lula Mae’s neck? (Her old eyes weren’t as sharp as his.) He was unsure if he should ask her. She cried next to him and he watched, knowing nothing better to do, jumpy inside himself but calmly waiting for her to settle.

Clothed in righteousness, Gracie walked quickly to the coffin, looked, and didn’t linger. Sheila — resolved now, firm in herself again though still shaky, motion in every cell of her body — and Porsha carried Beulah up to the coffin, the way Lucifer and John would carry her from her bed to the front porch and the swing she enjoyed, though her legs were too weak to move it. Her frail body trembled as if she was soaked in cold water. Her smooth yellow face and long black Indian hair had escaped the snares of old age. Mamma, I been obedient, she said. I followed your words, Keep over your brothers and sisters. I’m the oldest and put the youngest in the grave. Carrie Sweet. Sheila and Porsha held Beulah up, kept her from collapsing into the casket.

Beulah!

Lil Judy, Jacky, and Rochelle — Hatch’s first cousins, age exact versions of himself, Jesus, and Porsha but raised differently, living now in a place they had never been, possibly living a life they had never known and would never know; when had he last seen them? Surely at their father’s funeral, old drunk Dave — followed Beulah up to the coffin, a mocking light in their eyes, indifferent to the proceedings. They had never been close to Lula Mae. Only Hatch and no one else from his family had attended Dave’s funeral, and only he and Uncle John had gone to their grandmother’s funeral, Big Judy, Dave’s mother, the woman Dave’s crumb snatchers called Mamma — they called Beulah that too — since she had raised them.

The church was crowded with people. Standing at the back and along the walls. Who would have thought that Lula Mae had so many friends and acquaintances? Who would have thought?

She walked in the road with her black umbrella open to the pounding sun. She spoke to everyone she saw.

How you duche?

Fine.

Alright.

And the next person she saw a few feet ahead.

How you duche?

Fine.

Alright.

And the next person.

How you duche?

Fine.

Alright.

Children greeted her. How you, Miss Pulliam?

Alright. Yall be careful playing in that road.

She knew everyone. All of West Memphis. Now all of West Memphis came to say goodbye, stopped by the first pew to offer their condolences to the family. Hatch didn’t recognize most of the well-wishers. Perhaps he knew them beyond recognition. Memory knowledge.

The hot church made hotter with hot people, two small windows to let in the hot air and let out the sweat. The church was a small one-story structure with chipped and dusty stained-glass windows. A little piece of church pastored by a little piece of preacher. No white-robed nurse standing with one white-gloved hand behind her back to hold Sheila in her seat and fan her when she got the Holy Ghost. Yes, Lord. Oh come oh come oh come oh come oh glory. No ark that rocked to Beulah’s shouts. You may bury me in the east. You may bury me in the west. But I’ll hear that trumpet sound in the morning. Lula Mae, dear sister, hear that trumpet blast.

Porsha sat next to him bent forward on the pew, face in her hands, water escaping between her fingers. Lula Mae would greet Porsha with a hunk of grease in the palm of one hand and a straightening comb in the other, the necessary tools to keep her hair from going back home.

Hatch, put some of this Duke on yo head. Make you look like those nice boys I work for.

I hate white folks.

Hush yo mouth. You don’t hate nobody.

How you know?

What I tell you bout talkin back! You have to love somebody before you can hate them.

Porsha had wanted to track down Jesus and notify him of Lula Mae’s death. Reasoning swiftly, Hatch had persuaded her not to. Remember how he acted Christmas? What if … The family was none the wiser about the situation with Jesus, John, and Lucifer. He would keep it that way.

The choir sang:

Swing low

Sweet Lord

And carry all home

When I shall stand

Before the great white throne

When he shall wrap me

In the flapping wings of his robe

If I make it home

My saviour let me hold his hand

You’ll know, he satisfied me

Their bodies swayed, following the motion of the spirit.

I AM THE WAY, the preacher said. No one comes to the Father except through me.

Yes, Lawd.

My sheep, hear my voice. Know and follow me that I give eternal life. No one shall snatch you out of my hand.

Wooh. Beulah let her soul escape through her mouth. If I could have been there, sister. Wooh. I would have seen you through. Mamma and Daddy told me to watch over you. Wooh, Beulah howled. Wooh.

Hatch looked at Porsha. They both wanted to laugh, Beulah’s grief humorous to hear.

Aw, Sam! Wish I had been there. To hold up yo head. To put a pillow under you. Mamma told me to take care of you. You were her only boy. The youngest. She told me to take care of you. And I did my best. But this wicked woman … Sam!

O Grave, where is thy sting? Beulah, humming the words, preacherlike, singing them. O Death, where is thy victory?

The young organist — judging by the looks of him, about Hatch’s age — dripped water from the wells of his eyes. He wiped his eyes quickly to keep from missing a chord.

Wooh. Ah, Lula Mae!

Sheila attempted to quiet Beulah. He understood. She had faith. Belief. But he would not give in. Both grief and belief deceived.