pulled his hand fully back. “You an evil woman. We both evil. I evil the day I’s born of this world.”
Hillary looked up as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, her face streaked with tears. The setting sun set behind Lean; she squinted.
“I know.” Her whisper was so soft Leon wasn’t sure he’d heard the words correctly.
“We stoppin’ the sin now.”
“You have no right to decide.”
“I have the say,” he shouted.
Hillary curled back from his voice.
Leon searched the woods for movement. How did this scene look? How did it sound? He tried to think from outside his small world. His stomach burned and his throat locked shut. Nothing made sense. He wanted to run away and hold her at the same time.
“Go,” Hillary said. “I hate you.” She crumpled sideways onto the ground. “You’re just a lousy nigger. Like your mama you enchant us with the idea of forbidden fruit, but you’re nothin’ but flesh. You’re flesh and blood and bone like us all.”
Leon turned to leave. He bent over and coughed, sensing bile rise in his throat, surprised he didn’t vomit.
“I’ll make you sorry,” she cried.
Her words shoved at him until he ran stumbling over roots and stepping into holes.
As the light burst across the horizon before the sun disappeared, Leon came to a stop. Bending forward, his hands on his knees, Leon spit. He gulped hot humid air, like trying to breathe under water. He waited, sending his will to his lungs, trying to get them to operate more slowly, more efficiently.
Suddenly, Big Leon stepped out of the bushes.
Leon’s eyes stretched as wide as they could. “What?” was all he could muster.
“Need your help,” Big Leon said.
Leon spit again. He glanced up through the twilight.
“A late calf comin’. I need a hand. It may be breached.”
Leon wondered why him, but didn’t ask. He followed Big Leon to the South barn where they kept the few head of cattle Fred Carpenter owned.
On the way Leon asked why one of the other men wouldn’t do it.
“Cain’t.”
Leon didn’t ask why.
At the barn, a cow lay in its stall bleating like a sheep. Big Leon and Leon were the only two there.
“Why not Tunny?”
“Toll ‘em all to scat home.” Big Leon kneeled next to the cow and stroked her neck.
“How you know it’s breached?”
“Said maybe. She breached last year.”
Leon kneeled near the cow’s back and laid his hand on its bulbous belly. They waited for a while.
Big Leon stood and paced for a moment.
The barn stood quiet now, with only an occasional creaking sound from the wind. A breeze blew through the open doors scuffing up loose straw.
Leon noticed how well kept the barn was. He wondered briefly why Tunny and the others were sent home.
Big Leon leaned against a stall post. He stared out the barn door at a dark sky. An owl hooted. “I always hated you. You face mostly, that white ugly.”
Leon kneeled, silent, listening to Big Leon’s even tone.
“And you mama, she could-a died instead a birthin’ you. Lord knows I died. Still do when I looks at you. And I know she hate you too, only she hate you and love you. They’s always opposites. When they’s sun they’s night. When they’s poor they’s rich. And when they’s divine, they show-‘nuff be sin to go with it.
“What I sayin’, boy, is with all my hate, they’s love too. I cain’t see you gettin’ kilt for nothin’. And white girls, they jus’ nothin’.”
Leon’s questions never got out.
The cow bawled and action occurred.
Like a dream, the world took over and Big Leon’s words faded as though never said.
The next day the two men separated early in the morning and went on with their chores.
Hillary was missing and Leon heard snippets of conversation that suggested she had become unstable, “Like her momma,” someone said. He heard she’d run off.
After dinner, he sat out back, waiting for Big Leon to return from his walk. But he didn’t return and Leon went in to
Hillary looked up as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, her face streaked with tears. The setting sun set behind Lean; she squinted.
“I know.” Her whisper was so soft Leon wasn’t sure he’d heard the words correctly.
“We stoppin’ the sin now.”
“You have no right to decide.”
“I have the say,” he shouted.
Hillary curled back from his voice.
Leon searched the woods for movement. How did this scene look? How did it sound? He tried to think from outside his small world. His stomach burned and his throat locked shut. Nothing made sense. He wanted to run away and hold her at the same time.
“Go,” Hillary said. “I hate you.” She crumpled sideways onto the ground. “You’re just a lousy nigger. Like your mama you enchant us with the idea of forbidden fruit, but you’re nothin’ but flesh. You’re flesh and blood and bone like us all.”
Leon turned to leave. He bent over and coughed, sensing bile rise in his throat, surprised he didn’t vomit.
“I’ll make you sorry,” she cried.
Her words shoved at him until he ran stumbling over roots and stepping into holes.
As the light burst across the horizon before the sun disappeared, Leon came to a stop. Bending forward, his hands on his knees, Leon spit. He gulped hot humid air, like trying to breathe under water. He waited, sending his will to his lungs, trying to get them to operate more slowly, more efficiently.
Suddenly, Big Leon stepped out of the bushes.
Leon’s eyes stretched as wide as they could. “What?” was all he could muster.
“Need your help,” Big Leon said.
Leon spit again. He glanced up through the twilight.
“A late calf comin’. I need a hand. It may be breached.”
Leon wondered why him, but didn’t ask. He followed Big Leon to the South barn where they kept the few head of cattle Fred Carpenter owned.
On the way Leon asked why one of the other men wouldn’t do it.
“Cain’t.”
Leon didn’t ask why.
At the barn, a cow lay in its stall bleating like a sheep. Big Leon and Leon were the only two there.
“Why not Tunny?”
“Toll ‘em all to scat home.” Big Leon kneeled next to the cow and stroked her neck.
“How you know it’s breached?”
“Said maybe. She breached last year.”
Leon kneeled near the cow’s back and laid his hand on its bulbous belly. They waited for a while.
Big Leon stood and paced for a moment.
The barn stood quiet now, with only an occasional creaking sound from the wind. A breeze blew through the open doors scuffing up loose straw.
Leon noticed how well kept the barn was. He wondered briefly why Tunny and the others were sent home.
Big Leon leaned against a stall post. He stared out the barn door at a dark sky. An owl hooted. “I always hated you. You face mostly, that white ugly.”
Leon kneeled, silent, listening to Big Leon’s even tone.
“And you mama, she could-a died instead a birthin’ you. Lord knows I died. Still do when I looks at you. And I know she hate you too, only she hate you and love you. They’s always opposites. When they’s sun they’s night. When they’s poor they’s rich. And when they’s divine, they show-‘nuff be sin to go with it.
“What I sayin’, boy, is with all my hate, they’s love too. I cain’t see you gettin’ kilt for nothin’. And white girls, they jus’ nothin’.”
Leon’s questions never got out.
The cow bawled and action occurred.
Like a dream, the world took over and Big Leon’s words faded as though never said.
The next day the two men separated early in the morning and went on with their chores.
Hillary was missing and Leon heard snippets of conversation that suggested she had become unstable, “Like her momma,” someone said. He heard she’d run off.
After dinner, he sat out back, waiting for Big Leon to return from his walk. But he didn’t return and Leon went in to
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