Jehovah Witness,” she said.
“No, ma’am. I’m just collecting for the
Morning News
.”
“You’s early.” Her eyes ran down me and she smiled, then tried to harden it. “Mercy, that’s a big knife. You lookin to cut somebody?”
“No, ma’am. It’s for moccasins. We were at Casey Canal.”
“I don’t tolerate no snakes around my place, no sir. My grandson cuts that grass every second week. I hope you killed some.”
Tim was enjoying this from the sidewalk.
“Let me see do I have any money I can give you.” She didn’tclose the door or step back, but simply reached down into her blouse, and I suppose her brassiere, and extracted a balled handkerchief. She unrolled it. “You have to scuse an old lady. I was on my way to the bingo.” She licked her finger, then unfolded a wad of bills and counted slowly.
“If you can’t spare it, ma’am, that’s all right.” I remembered back to our old paperboy pestering my folks. I took a step backwards. “I’ll just come back on the first.”
“No, now, you’ve got some money comin. I know how y’all chirren need your spend in money. If y’all don’t have none, you take it out your mama’s pocketbook, ain’t that right?” She narrowed her eyes into that suspicious, amused look women save for naughty boys. “I had six chirren of my own.”
“You could just pay me half,” I said. “We really only want to get a box of chicken or something.”
“I see. That’ll work out real nice.” She counted three moist bills into my hand.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Now don’t forget to mark me down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mind you don’t let no policeman see you carryin that knife, hear?” Her brow bunched. “You want me to get you a Band-Aid?”
“No, ma’am, thanks anyway.” I had an idea the blood might prevent me from getting in trouble for being late.
“That’s all right.” She smiled, a front tooth outlined in gold. She closed the door a little, watched through it until I fastened her gate behind me. Her door clicked shut.
“Did I see her pull that money from under her tit?” Tim asked.
We followed the dirt road. I liked dirt roads in the summer. They seemed pleasant. But when it was chilly, like now, they seemed cruel somehow.
And then I saw the worst thing since my brother getting hit by a car. A dog limped beside the road, sniffing at trash cans. She was yellow, where the fur remained, raw gray in the patchestaken over by mange. She held up one leg, the paw sideways, out-of-joint. One eye was a crust. Her swollen teats dragged in the dirt and her tail was curled in between her legs.
Tim’s face drained so pale it scared me, like someone hemorrhaging.
I said, “I can’t believe they let their animals suffer like that,” requiring blame, wanting to say “niggers,” but unable and knowing better, even back then.
Tim crept towards the dog with his hands opened as if to stroke her, chin quivering. The dog limped away, her one eye terrified white. Tim sobbed out a cloud of frost and screamed curses in every direction. He kicked a trash can until it buckled, then jumped on it, flattening it with a horrendous metal scraping. The dog hobbled farther away.
Light appeared at the corner of several curtains and shades. Across the street a big black kid stepped out onto a porch where the moths were already swirling at the light.
“You bet quit dat poundin fo I come make you quit.” His accent was so extreme I could barely understand him and was sure Tim didn’t. The boy held the screen door open, ready to go back inside as soon as his threat took.
Tim shrieked, “Whose dog is that?!” and I was afraid now because he didn’t care what happened, his anger was so big.
“What dog?” the black kid said, stepping forward. The screen door whapped shut. “Ain’t none a my dog. My dog inside by the TV. I was a little white boy, I’d be somewhere’s else about now.”
Tim hissed, crying, teeth bared, and ran to where the
“No, ma’am. I’m just collecting for the
Morning News
.”
“You’s early.” Her eyes ran down me and she smiled, then tried to harden it. “Mercy, that’s a big knife. You lookin to cut somebody?”
“No, ma’am. It’s for moccasins. We were at Casey Canal.”
“I don’t tolerate no snakes around my place, no sir. My grandson cuts that grass every second week. I hope you killed some.”
Tim was enjoying this from the sidewalk.
“Let me see do I have any money I can give you.” She didn’tclose the door or step back, but simply reached down into her blouse, and I suppose her brassiere, and extracted a balled handkerchief. She unrolled it. “You have to scuse an old lady. I was on my way to the bingo.” She licked her finger, then unfolded a wad of bills and counted slowly.
“If you can’t spare it, ma’am, that’s all right.” I remembered back to our old paperboy pestering my folks. I took a step backwards. “I’ll just come back on the first.”
“No, now, you’ve got some money comin. I know how y’all chirren need your spend in money. If y’all don’t have none, you take it out your mama’s pocketbook, ain’t that right?” She narrowed her eyes into that suspicious, amused look women save for naughty boys. “I had six chirren of my own.”
“You could just pay me half,” I said. “We really only want to get a box of chicken or something.”
“I see. That’ll work out real nice.” She counted three moist bills into my hand.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Now don’t forget to mark me down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mind you don’t let no policeman see you carryin that knife, hear?” Her brow bunched. “You want me to get you a Band-Aid?”
“No, ma’am, thanks anyway.” I had an idea the blood might prevent me from getting in trouble for being late.
“That’s all right.” She smiled, a front tooth outlined in gold. She closed the door a little, watched through it until I fastened her gate behind me. Her door clicked shut.
“Did I see her pull that money from under her tit?” Tim asked.
We followed the dirt road. I liked dirt roads in the summer. They seemed pleasant. But when it was chilly, like now, they seemed cruel somehow.
And then I saw the worst thing since my brother getting hit by a car. A dog limped beside the road, sniffing at trash cans. She was yellow, where the fur remained, raw gray in the patchestaken over by mange. She held up one leg, the paw sideways, out-of-joint. One eye was a crust. Her swollen teats dragged in the dirt and her tail was curled in between her legs.
Tim’s face drained so pale it scared me, like someone hemorrhaging.
I said, “I can’t believe they let their animals suffer like that,” requiring blame, wanting to say “niggers,” but unable and knowing better, even back then.
Tim crept towards the dog with his hands opened as if to stroke her, chin quivering. The dog limped away, her one eye terrified white. Tim sobbed out a cloud of frost and screamed curses in every direction. He kicked a trash can until it buckled, then jumped on it, flattening it with a horrendous metal scraping. The dog hobbled farther away.
Light appeared at the corner of several curtains and shades. Across the street a big black kid stepped out onto a porch where the moths were already swirling at the light.
“You bet quit dat poundin fo I come make you quit.” His accent was so extreme I could barely understand him and was sure Tim didn’t. The boy held the screen door open, ready to go back inside as soon as his threat took.
Tim shrieked, “Whose dog is that?!” and I was afraid now because he didn’t care what happened, his anger was so big.
“What dog?” the black kid said, stepping forward. The screen door whapped shut. “Ain’t none a my dog. My dog inside by the TV. I was a little white boy, I’d be somewhere’s else about now.”
Tim hissed, crying, teeth bared, and ran to where the
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