dark, shimmering river; then there was the nothingness of the sleep of a tired child.
***
David Champlin murmured sleepily, opened, then squeezed his eyes closed against light, tried to, but could not, follow his grandmother's words as she knelt beside his cot: " 'Our Father, who art in Heaven...' " He sighed tremulously and slipped again into nothingness at," 'Give us this day.' "
There had never been a day like it before; it had been the most exciting, the most satisfying, the happiest day of his short life. For the first time bare feet had run through grass with no one to call out, "No!" For the first time bare brown toes had curled into country dust and dirt; small, long-fingered hands had picked flowers that grew wild and undisciplined, and a small body just outgrowing chubbiness had rolled in rough undergrowth. There had been a fat brown dog that came and rolled with him, a dog that came from nowhere just to play with him and then returned to nowhere. There had been a solemn, skinny black boy who crossed a bumpy, ill-paved road and watched, then shared a licorice whip with him. Then there had been a time of racing through the empty rooms of a half-finished house, crowing, laughing, shouting.
His happiness had been marred only once that day, when his grandfather, smiling, had said, "You reckon you'd like to live here, son? Reckon you'd like to move over the river and stay in this house? Have your own room and all?"
He stood motionless, looking up first at Gramp, then at Gram. The dark eyes widened as he rolled them, looking around at walls whose unplastered lath framework gave a vista of every room from where they stood. Tears spilled over, the round face crumpled. Gram picked him up quickly. "Baby!"
He fought back sobs. "Where'm I going to sleep? Where's David going to sleep?"
"With us, baby," said Gram. "Just like it is now. Don't you fret. We fixes your cot like it is now, at the foot of our bed."
His grandfather said, "Shucks, you knows we ain't going to turn you loose to sleep by yourself, son. Least, not till you learns to stay in the bed and not keep falling out. Gets mighty cold some nights for an old man like your Gramp to go traipsing around into another room to pick you up every time you falls out of bed."
That had made it all right, and happiness came rushing back. Gramp and Gram had never lied to him. If, in this new place, Gramp would be as near as he had always been to pick him up from the floor to which he fell so often with a soft,"Plop!" in the night, there was no need for fear. Some day he would be older and wouldn't fall out of bed and waken with
a wail of fright. Gramp had told him that. But until then he could go to sleep without fear, knowing that should that startled wakening come in the dark there would be, almost at the same moment, the quiet slap of Gramp's feet on the floor, the sleepy murmur, exasperated but without reproof, "Jesus have moicy! There he goes again!" and the feel of Gramp's arms, and Gramp's voice very close. "So-so, little man, so-so." And then the safety of his cot again with the covers tightening over him as Gramp tucked them in firmly.
***
Geneva Champlin gave full credit to the Almighty for her husband's good fortune when disaster and tragedy were common fare for almost everyone. She was also sure she knew the reason for His kindness: that she and her husband would be able to take care of the child He had placed in their care. Tant' Irene said only, in her high, quick voice, "I told you, Joseph. God never made the mouth He wouldn't feed. See you thank Him, hear?"
Sometimes, in Jones's Funeral Home, working over an eviscerated, post-mortemed cadaver from Charity Hospital or the city morgue, Li'l Joe found it hard to make his thanksgiving without reservations. He had done a kind and thoughtful thing one morning and stopped in to see Zeke Jones, who had broken his collarbone a few days before. He didn't suppose God had too many rewards to pass out in those bad
***
David Champlin murmured sleepily, opened, then squeezed his eyes closed against light, tried to, but could not, follow his grandmother's words as she knelt beside his cot: " 'Our Father, who art in Heaven...' " He sighed tremulously and slipped again into nothingness at," 'Give us this day.' "
There had never been a day like it before; it had been the most exciting, the most satisfying, the happiest day of his short life. For the first time bare feet had run through grass with no one to call out, "No!" For the first time bare brown toes had curled into country dust and dirt; small, long-fingered hands had picked flowers that grew wild and undisciplined, and a small body just outgrowing chubbiness had rolled in rough undergrowth. There had been a fat brown dog that came and rolled with him, a dog that came from nowhere just to play with him and then returned to nowhere. There had been a solemn, skinny black boy who crossed a bumpy, ill-paved road and watched, then shared a licorice whip with him. Then there had been a time of racing through the empty rooms of a half-finished house, crowing, laughing, shouting.
His happiness had been marred only once that day, when his grandfather, smiling, had said, "You reckon you'd like to live here, son? Reckon you'd like to move over the river and stay in this house? Have your own room and all?"
He stood motionless, looking up first at Gramp, then at Gram. The dark eyes widened as he rolled them, looking around at walls whose unplastered lath framework gave a vista of every room from where they stood. Tears spilled over, the round face crumpled. Gram picked him up quickly. "Baby!"
He fought back sobs. "Where'm I going to sleep? Where's David going to sleep?"
"With us, baby," said Gram. "Just like it is now. Don't you fret. We fixes your cot like it is now, at the foot of our bed."
His grandfather said, "Shucks, you knows we ain't going to turn you loose to sleep by yourself, son. Least, not till you learns to stay in the bed and not keep falling out. Gets mighty cold some nights for an old man like your Gramp to go traipsing around into another room to pick you up every time you falls out of bed."
That had made it all right, and happiness came rushing back. Gramp and Gram had never lied to him. If, in this new place, Gramp would be as near as he had always been to pick him up from the floor to which he fell so often with a soft,"Plop!" in the night, there was no need for fear. Some day he would be older and wouldn't fall out of bed and waken with
a wail of fright. Gramp had told him that. But until then he could go to sleep without fear, knowing that should that startled wakening come in the dark there would be, almost at the same moment, the quiet slap of Gramp's feet on the floor, the sleepy murmur, exasperated but without reproof, "Jesus have moicy! There he goes again!" and the feel of Gramp's arms, and Gramp's voice very close. "So-so, little man, so-so." And then the safety of his cot again with the covers tightening over him as Gramp tucked them in firmly.
***
Geneva Champlin gave full credit to the Almighty for her husband's good fortune when disaster and tragedy were common fare for almost everyone. She was also sure she knew the reason for His kindness: that she and her husband would be able to take care of the child He had placed in their care. Tant' Irene said only, in her high, quick voice, "I told you, Joseph. God never made the mouth He wouldn't feed. See you thank Him, hear?"
Sometimes, in Jones's Funeral Home, working over an eviscerated, post-mortemed cadaver from Charity Hospital or the city morgue, Li'l Joe found it hard to make his thanksgiving without reservations. He had done a kind and thoughtful thing one morning and stopped in to see Zeke Jones, who had broken his collarbone a few days before. He didn't suppose God had too many rewards to pass out in those bad
Similar Books
