wasn’t breathing, but her eyes were open, and as Emma looked at her she blinked.
Emma’s heart lurched.
Lisa. Alive.
She could see Lisa was all empty inside, like a shell pretending to be a little girl, but even so Emma wanted to cry or pray or sing or something, anything. She ran to Lisa, grabbed hold of her and sang into her dead cold ear. “Lisa, Lisa, my darling baby Lisa.” When her lips touched Lisa’s ear it felt like butchered meat, but all the same she cried wet tears of joy.
As she cried her tears fell onto Lisa’s face, into her eyes. And after a moment Lisa reached up to wrap her arms around Emma, and she said “Mama,” in a voice that sounded like dry paper brushing against itself.
Emma heard Mama Estrella gasp behind her, and looked up to see her standing over the fire, trembling. “Something’s inside her,” Mama Estrella said.
Emma shook her head. “Nothing’s inside Lisa but Lisa.” Emma was sure. A mother knew these things. “She’s just as alive as she always was.”
Mama Estrella scowled. “She shouldn’t be alive at all,” she said. “It isn’t good, a soul alive in a dead body.” She frowned. “Her soul could die forever, Emma.”
“What do you mean?”
“It isn’t right,” Mama Estrella said. “We need to put her back to rest.”
Emma felt herself flush. “You’re not going to touch my baby, Mama Estrella. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you’re not going to touch my baby.”
“Emma —”
Emma pulled her daughter away. “Damn you, woman!” she said. “Damn you straight to hell!”
Mama Estrella gaped at her. Emma thought she was going to say something, or do something, or — something. But she didn’t. She didn’t say a word, in fact. Didn’t so much as move a muscle.
After a moment Emma took Lisa’s hand. “Come on, child,” she said, and she led Lisa out of the graveyard, out through Brooklyn, back toward Harlem and their home. It was a long, long way — longer than Emma would’ve imagined back in the cemetery when she’d walked away from Mama Estrella and her car. Lisa never complained about the distance, but a mile after they’d left the cemetery Emma began to worry about her walking that far in nothing but her bare feet, and she took the girl in her arms. After that she carried Lisa most of the way to Fulton Street, where Emma hailed a livery to drive them home.
When they got home, Emma put Lisa to bed, even though she didn’t seem tired. It was long past her bedtime, and God knew it was necessary to at least keep up the pretense that life was normal.
Twenty minutes after that, she went to bed herself.
Marlin, Texas
November 1948
Blind Willie Johnson died ten years after Robert Johnson broke the Eye of the World. He died of pneumonia quietly and humble in the same Marlin Texas hovel where his mother had borne him. When he was gone his wife called on the men from the burying ground to take him and put him in the soil.
For three days he rested still as stone in the Texas dirt, dead as any deadman waiting for the Second Coming.
And then Peetie Wheatstraw came for him.
He paid the gravemen good money to dig with shovels — hard, slow, careful work that lasted hours where the backhoe could have dragged the coffin up in the time it would have took to soften up a wad of chaw.
Peetie Wheatstraw had good reason to be careful.
When the gravediggers’ shovels scraped Blind Willie’s coffin, Peetie Wheatstraw made them stop, change tools, and clear the remainder with garden spades.
Then the coffin was clear, and they lifted it gently to set it on the grass beside the open grave.
Wheatstraw himself hammered out the nails that held the lid secure. When they were gone he pried it free to expose Blind Willie’s carcass to the light of day.
Peetie Wheatstraw stooped over the open coffin, peering at the corpse. After a moment he murmured derisively. “Get up,” Peetie Wheatstraw commanded the corpse. “Ain’t no sense you
Emma’s heart lurched.
Lisa. Alive.
She could see Lisa was all empty inside, like a shell pretending to be a little girl, but even so Emma wanted to cry or pray or sing or something, anything. She ran to Lisa, grabbed hold of her and sang into her dead cold ear. “Lisa, Lisa, my darling baby Lisa.” When her lips touched Lisa’s ear it felt like butchered meat, but all the same she cried wet tears of joy.
As she cried her tears fell onto Lisa’s face, into her eyes. And after a moment Lisa reached up to wrap her arms around Emma, and she said “Mama,” in a voice that sounded like dry paper brushing against itself.
Emma heard Mama Estrella gasp behind her, and looked up to see her standing over the fire, trembling. “Something’s inside her,” Mama Estrella said.
Emma shook her head. “Nothing’s inside Lisa but Lisa.” Emma was sure. A mother knew these things. “She’s just as alive as she always was.”
Mama Estrella scowled. “She shouldn’t be alive at all,” she said. “It isn’t good, a soul alive in a dead body.” She frowned. “Her soul could die forever, Emma.”
“What do you mean?”
“It isn’t right,” Mama Estrella said. “We need to put her back to rest.”
Emma felt herself flush. “You’re not going to touch my baby, Mama Estrella. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you’re not going to touch my baby.”
“Emma —”
Emma pulled her daughter away. “Damn you, woman!” she said. “Damn you straight to hell!”
Mama Estrella gaped at her. Emma thought she was going to say something, or do something, or — something. But she didn’t. She didn’t say a word, in fact. Didn’t so much as move a muscle.
After a moment Emma took Lisa’s hand. “Come on, child,” she said, and she led Lisa out of the graveyard, out through Brooklyn, back toward Harlem and their home. It was a long, long way — longer than Emma would’ve imagined back in the cemetery when she’d walked away from Mama Estrella and her car. Lisa never complained about the distance, but a mile after they’d left the cemetery Emma began to worry about her walking that far in nothing but her bare feet, and she took the girl in her arms. After that she carried Lisa most of the way to Fulton Street, where Emma hailed a livery to drive them home.
When they got home, Emma put Lisa to bed, even though she didn’t seem tired. It was long past her bedtime, and God knew it was necessary to at least keep up the pretense that life was normal.
Twenty minutes after that, she went to bed herself.
Marlin, Texas
November 1948
Blind Willie Johnson died ten years after Robert Johnson broke the Eye of the World. He died of pneumonia quietly and humble in the same Marlin Texas hovel where his mother had borne him. When he was gone his wife called on the men from the burying ground to take him and put him in the soil.
For three days he rested still as stone in the Texas dirt, dead as any deadman waiting for the Second Coming.
And then Peetie Wheatstraw came for him.
He paid the gravemen good money to dig with shovels — hard, slow, careful work that lasted hours where the backhoe could have dragged the coffin up in the time it would have took to soften up a wad of chaw.
Peetie Wheatstraw had good reason to be careful.
When the gravediggers’ shovels scraped Blind Willie’s coffin, Peetie Wheatstraw made them stop, change tools, and clear the remainder with garden spades.
Then the coffin was clear, and they lifted it gently to set it on the grass beside the open grave.
Wheatstraw himself hammered out the nails that held the lid secure. When they were gone he pried it free to expose Blind Willie’s carcass to the light of day.
Peetie Wheatstraw stooped over the open coffin, peering at the corpse. After a moment he murmured derisively. “Get up,” Peetie Wheatstraw commanded the corpse. “Ain’t no sense you
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