J u s t i n   S w i n g l e

  

n o v e l i s t  -  s c r e e n w r i t e r  -  n o v e l s  f r o m  t h e  s c r e e n p l a y s  -  s c r e e n p l a y s  f r o m  t h e  n o v e l s

  

Andy's entire comment on WS,BD can be read under comments

 

 

ADAPTED FROM THE SCREENPLAY 

White Shadows, Black Dreams.

 

DR HORTON'S COMMENTS ON THE SCREENPLAY:

 

Swingle evokes the era as well as the character and aptly carries us through something of an epic "journey" not only of locations but of emotions as well. Humor, horror, humanity, and love mix and cross leaving us with an all too rare satisfaction in contemporary cinema, even when tackling historical figures; a sense of not only having enjoyed the "journey" along with Sarah, but of having been enlightened and uplifted as well through her pain and joys. 

                                                                                        —Andrew Horton

 

Andrew Horton is an award-winning screenwriter, and the author of thirty books on film, screenwriting and cultural studies including, Screenwriting for a Global Market (University of California Press 2004) and Writing the Character Centered Screenplay (University of California Press, 2000, 2nd edition).  The Library Journal wrote about his Character Centered Screenplay, "Horton walks away with an Oscar in the valuable books for the prospective scripter category with his latest rendering."  His films include Brad Pitt's first feature film, The Dark Side of the Sun (1988), and the much awarded Something In Between (1983, Yugoslavia, directed by Srdjan Karanovic). 

 

 

 

  

 

 

TWO NONSEQUENTIAL CHAPTERS FROM THE NOVEL-IN-PROGRESS

 

 

 

 

Borrowed Dreams

 

Lord, you know how hard Alex and Jeffrey worked at the stables. Still, there were times when the owner, Mr. Harold claimed he didn't take in enough to pay them. He'd say maybe next week be better. But that day never seemed to come around. Harold's talk was only a tale he used to tether their lives with. Brother said he knew it was a lie because he could see Harold had lots of customers handing him money; he just didn't want to pay them their wages. When Jeff tried to talk to Mr. Harold about getting paid up, the man only told them they could try to find work elsewhere if they didn't take to the situation. But things are different for colored men. If Alex and Jeffrey took off for new work, they'd be asked for references from their last job. Got no references; maybe you just got out of jail; don't need nobody today. Truly, it was no lie that if you didn't have references, you'd get no job, no place soon. Sleeping in the hayloft may have been as bad as it smelled, yet you still knew that when winter came, one could freeze to death out on the street or, maybe worse, get hauled away for being a vagrant. That's a destination that ends with you sharing a pallet to sleep on alongside a filthy stranger who shares your slop bucket to eat from. Mr. Harold knew that letting the men sleep over the horses in the hayloft was the only thing Alex and Jeff had to keep from being lost out there. They had to swallow hard their pride so they wouldn't gag on Harold's horseshit lies. But then, didn't we all carry the weight of our days under these rules? For Jeff and Alex, it seemed as though sharing a notion of one day owning an acre of their own to farm was merely a borrowed dream; one that Harold held the mortgage to tknotted around their necks like a pair of mules.

 

*

On those summer evenings back then, as Louvenia and I headed home from delivering the ironing, we'd steal a few moments here and there to window-shop. But one time, Louvenia paused in front of a hat shop a few blocks from our place. At first, I couldn't think of why, as we'd passed it so many times without lingering. I could see it was the kind of shop them fancy big-hat women at church probably shopped at. I stood next to Sister watching her gaze through the shiny glass, with her reflection looking back at us. All those weary lines on her face seemed to soften as though she'd slept peacefully for an entire night. There was even a slight smile on her lips where too often only a bruise hung. Her long, furtive gaze revealed that she'd glimpsed something that took her away from her troubles, if only to dwell in a borrowed dream for a moment or two. Could it be all them beautiful hats displayed in there that had truly captivated her, I wondered? You know, there were more ribbons, bows, and flowers gathered together on them shelves than I'd ever seen before. Lord, wasn't it like a room brimming with rainbows?

 

"Count all the colors on them fine flowers," Sister all but whispered to herself. "Ain't it a sight to behold?"

 

But then I noticed what had put a gleam in Sister's eyes. There she stood, all fixed on one particular hat displayed on a fancy pedestal — the one with the feathered bird that was prettier than all the rest. I was sure that it had to be a tiny glimpse of a dream Sister had long before shared, even if only a borrowed one of being a fine lady for a few precious moments. Like on a Sunday when the big-hat ladies tossed aside their cleaning rags and put down their irons to get all dolled up to sit in the front pews like royalty. Maybe, I thought, Sister had a secret dream hidden where nobody could steal it away. Right then, I decided to do more than just follow Sister as she drifted along the road where our dreams fall off and leave our hopes in the dustpan.

 

It was a few days later, after delivering our ironing, that I headed over to the milliner's shop with a few coins in the purse I kept hidden in my blouse. Couldn't spend all I'd taken in, but figured I could put some down on Louvenia's hat; enough to hold it.

 

I stepped into that shop, but quickly felt it was the last place in town that might be expecting me. I'd barely said a word before the milliner looked down her nose at me like I best turn and go out the same door. Well, I'd been face to face with this kind before, even if they were only my white customers across town.

 

"That hat yonder on the stand with the feather bird; want to put some money on it for holding till I come back," I told the shop woman. I figured I'd talk plan so she'd think I knew about things and so she'd not go off thinking I'd never been in such a fancy place before. The milliner was a lot lighter than Sister and me. Could even pass and had airs accordingly.

 

"What's that you want, standing there like that?"

 

 Before her mouth went at it again, she looked me up and down as though I had a smell.

"You can't wear no fine hat like I gots in my shop!"

 

"What? Why not, I can't?"

 

"Cause they's meant for ladies, not tub girls like what I's see standing there!"

 

"How you know I work the tubs?"

 

"I can see a laundress' hands comin' from a block away and don't want none in my shop, them wasting my time and crushing my hats with they's rough hands, like they're really gonna buy. They only wanting to pretend they's fine ladies on my dime. Ain't it so? Huh! Like I don't know no better! And anyway, you'a child. These here hats are for grown women!"

 

"I ain't no child!" I said right up in her face. "I'm near thirteen and got my breasts!"

 

"Well, is that so now? Glad you told me on both accounts."

 

She came around her counter and looked at my feet as though that would confirm whether I was a laundress by seeing if I wore shoes or not.

 

"Chil'e, I had breasts when I was ten and a boyfriend when I's eleven! And ain't nobody ever took me for a child like I done you!"

 

"Why I care? Maybe you a granny when you was twelve!"

 

"A granny?" she barked. "Well, I don't want your money and ain't gonna waste my time with you just so you can go brag that you're a customer of this here fine shop."

 

Well, I guess Louvenia and I weren't the only ones who borrowed dreams from time to time, even if we didn't have much to put down on them.

 

"Who your customers then?"

 

"My customers, in case you think you're gonna open a shop one day," she barely got those words out before she was laughing like some alley cat in heat, "are the whores on First Street and the best of them women bending the pews down with their fat asses at the First Street Baptist Church." 

 

"You a whore?" I asked.

 

Sister had always told me never to look into the face of one of them whores that hung around Jesse's alley where it met the street, so I never seen one up good and close.

 

"Now, do I look like one?" she asked.

 

"How I know? You gots on enough rouge to be a whore."

 

"That so? Or did the preacher tell you that? Well, I give up being a whore. Took the money I hid back and bought me this here shop near ten long year ago. I pay dear for rent but I'm close enough to the whitey part of town. Them white women venture over here so long as I pretend to give 'em a hefty discount for crossing the tracks. And I do their bills up so they sure think so. But I ain't given 'em nothin'! Not nothin, them white women. They pay dear for my hats and that's all there is to that!"

 

"How you start your own shop?" I asked. "How'd you get the money then?"

 

"Honey, I stole my money back from my pimp!"

 

"Yeah?"

 

I had a vision of that woman getting into it with Jesse in some dark alley. He could sure sniff out our laundry money like a pimp on the take!

 

"He don't come after you?"

 

"Now how's he gonna do that?" she asked. 

 

"How'd he get your money in the first place 'less you kept your eyes closed?"

 

"Well, let me tell you standing here with my eyes wide open, that man was heartless, and I bet he's still countin' how much money he done stole from how many women. Yeah, but he doin' it buried six feet under! And he's down there all alone but for my knife buried deep in his heart. You see, it don't pay to be a heartless man 'cause then a woman like me come along with a knife, and she's gonna want to see for herself if he really don't got a heart. Well, he lied 'bout that, too. He did have a heart, and didn't I cut it up with my sharp knife just like a rhubarb pie? Anything else you need to know 'fore you go on your way, lil' girl?"

 

Well, I got to thinking this woman's tongue was just as sharp as any knife I'd ever seen! Still, I wasn't gonna take nothin' off of her!

 

"I didn't come in here 'cause I needed to know nothin'. I come to put somethin' down on that hat over there. Now, go fetch it off the stand, like I say."

 

"What? I should go fetch it, huh? I said I won't be wastin' my time with you. If I let you put a nickel or two down on one of my fine hats, then I got to save it till you come 'round wantin' your money back, and all the while I could have sold it to one of my ladies! So, now off with you! I gots to make a basket of bows for hats the whores and the nice ladies at the First Street Baptist Church is gonna buy from my shop. And let me tell you something: them whores and the women at the First Baptist, they's all praying to the same Lord, and they be praying to be saved from the very same men! Now find the door 'cause I got things to get to!"

 

What could I say? So, I went to looking down my nose right back at her and down to see if she was wearing shoes and gave her the evil eye like Louvenia always did me before she smacked me upside the head, and I walked out.

 

 I left thinking that if she asked me to prove she had a heart any bigger than her pimp's, I'd for sure have to stick a knife in there to see for sure. Still, I wasn't gonna let that woman put an end to Sister's bit of a dream. No, I sure wasn't.

 

I headed over to the stables to talk it out with Jeffrey. It was summer, and the sun was up till late, so I could still get back to the alley before dark when Louvenia would for sure be headed up to the mouth of the alley to watch for me. And if I dragged in a moment late, she'd tongue-lash me all the way back to our porch, saying things about whores gonna interfere with me if I was out there too late and all!

Well, I told Jeff everything about that woman, from her baskets of bows to her chopped-up rhubarb pie, along with everything else she'd slung in my face. He smiled as he brushed down a horse because maybe he felt sorry for that nasty woman don't know no better than to act that way.

"And that woman said I had a fat mouth!" I told him.

 

"And you told her she got that all wrong?"

 

Jeff laughed at her for being so rude to me.

 

"Then she kicked me out of 'er shop 'cause I's a tub woman!"

 

"Aint' you a tub woman?"  

 

"What!?! Well, then you go down there and buy Louvenia's hat and we'll see what she do to you, that mean ol' woman!"

 

"You ain't heard that before, I mean about your mouth?" Jeff asked with a wink and a grin that went from dimple to dimple, which got me confused as to what he was thinking!

 

Still, the next day when Mr. Harold was gone, and with Alex looking after things, Jeff headed over to the hat shop to see about Sister's hat.

 

"Well, now look at you!" that hat woman said as he walked in. "Ain't you an eyeful."   He told me she looked him up and down and then right at a certain place I can't say.

 

"I think I see some dimples," she told him.

 

I wondered with talk like that if she'd done forgot she'd left her last vocation behind.

 

"I ain't here except for a hat. One gots a feather bird up on it somewhere," Jeff told the milliner, who was still eyeing his manhood armed with a measuring tape and, from what it sounded, not to measure no damned head for a hat!

 

"You don't look like you'd fit one my hats. Ain't had a man in here for me to know how to measure a head that big," she told him. "I bet you got a big one, too!"

 

"Ain't for my head," Jeff told her.

 

"No? What's it for then, Mr. Sunshine? That what they call you?"

 

"You got a hat someplace. One with a feather bird up there. I put some money down on it now, and you keep it till I get paid; then I come for it."

 

"Oh, I know then! You gots yourself a lil' girl who wants a big hat to look like a big woman! Huh?"

Jeff said he ignored her talking down to me like that.  

 

"Alright. Give me four bits. Guess I put your hat with the damned bird in the back for keeping."

"That's all I come for," Jeff said.

 

"Well, didn't I figure that out soon enough?"

 

Jeff probably let her see his dimples—always got a woman weak in the knees—then he nodded and nodded again so she'd know he was tired of nodding. Finally, he said she stopped batting her eyes, put a scowl back on her sour face, and went off to fetch Sister's hat back to the storeroom. That milliner probably felt a bit annoyed that Jeff's charm got her to do what she was sure not gonna do for a no-account tub girl.

 

*

For days afterwards, I bit my lip to keep from telling Sister what we had gone and done. But then one night, my heart sank low. You see, we were headed home one evening from deliveries when Sister stopped again at the window of the hat shop. The hat that shared her secret was no longer on the pedestal and nowhere to be seen. Sister stood there looking frozen, with a look of sadness.

 

"Looky. It's all gone. Ain't it always all gone for us…?" she mumbled like to herself.

 

She walked off with me following but I still saw her dab a tear. Later that night, Louvenia kept saying she was real tired and went to lie down on her cot. I pulled the cover up over her, but she rolled over to face the wall and never asked me to read the Psalms she liked to drift to sleep hearing. But I knew she wasn't really asleep because I could see that she never stopped staring at the blank wall inches from her face. Was she still seeing that empty shop shelf where she left behind her hat with the bird and wondering what fine woman possessed it now?

 

Louvenia stayed quietly to herself over the next few days as we worked our way through the never-ending piles of laundry stacked on the porch. At the end of the day, I tried to work up a chat about the church's big summer picnic where ever'body would meet in the square after the service. We'd all be getting dressed up in our best and spend hours the night before, or early that morning, preparing our best dishes to share with those sitting on blankets near ours. Jeff and Alex had been looking forward to the day for weeks, even though they'd come up with all sorts of excuses as to why they couldn't sit through the sermon before the picnic on the green.

 

The Friday before the picnic, Alex and me finally had enough saved up to pay the milliner, and Jeff agreed to take the money by her shop and fetch Sister's new hat. Could hardly contain my excitement, as Louvenia had never had anything new bought just for her. No, she wore cast-off hats with an assortment of this and that sewn on by Lord knows how many prior wearers; a lightly crushed flower or a few bent bows having been patched on and resewn to appear like a knarled mess of sorts.

 

The Sunday of the picnic came, and Louvenia and I got up early to finish our cooking and iron our dresses, along with a shirt for Jeff. He was coming by to pick up the picnic basket loaded with fried chicken, peach cobbler, all golden brown on top, collard and potata salads with crumbled hickory bacon, all ready. Everything was packed carefully in a spare basket of Annie's with a big jar of sweet tea.

 

I told Jeff I'd had a dream. It was Sister and I at church, and the pride I felt walking her down the aisle to a seat up front; her smiling and nodding to all the other big-hat ladies.

 

So, on the morning of the picnic, Louvenia came out of the back room all dressed for church. Thank goodness Jesse was still behind bars across town. He'd have cursed if he saw that pretty dress Annie had given to Sister. It was something one of the churchwomen had donated to the church's clothing drive, and Annie knew it would be just right for Louvenia'cause Sister loved pretty bright colors. She was prancing about the kitchen wearing it as I made coffee when Jeff walked in with the hat. He set the fancy-wrapped package on the table. I still recall Jeff's dimple to dimple grin.

 

"Mornin', Jeffrey. You had your breakfast yet?"

 

Sister pirouetted so he could better see her special dress and so noticed what was waiting there on the table for her.

 

"My goodness, what's in that package with such fancy paper?" she asked.

 

 I handed her a mug of coffee with the extra cream her stomach needed.

 

"Miss Louvenia, this here was just brought around by the delivery boy. He left it at your back door, didn't he, Sarah?"

 

"You didn't say nothin' 'bout telling the butcher to deliver an extra chicken for the picnic," I said pursing my mouth to keep a grin from escaping.

 

"Now, you know there ain't no chicken in that kind of fine paper with little blooming cherry trees. You ought not to be fibbin' like that on the Lord's Day! Anyway, He's got to be tired of hearin' your mouth all week and needs a day of rest from it, don't He, Jeff?"

 

"Amen, Lord, amen, Miss Louvenia." Jeff gazed up at the ceiling as though the Lord might be peeking through one of them big cracks up there.

 

Sister looked at us suspiciously before slowly peeling the paper down—just enough to see that little feather bird peering up at her. I can't tell you how large her eyes became. Not a sound came out of her for the longest time. But then a well-worn tear fell from the corner of her eye; one of joy as precious as a glistening jewel, for right there it looked as if her moment of happiness was no longer borrowed from someone else's dream. At first, Sister only stood there wringing her hands as she did when she was anxious before slumping down in that old kitchen chair and cautiously peeling back the pretty wrapping paper to reveal her hat.

 

 She quickly pulled her hand back, twisted it up in the other, and sat there silently tapping her foot on the leg of the spindly chair. Tap, tap, tap, it went. Must have been trying to keep herself from grabbing at that beautiful hat as though it couldn't really be hers, so's she ought not to be touching it. Tap, tap, tap, little pulses beating out a drumroll, saying what her joy couldn't fold into words. But I knew . It was no longer a secret. There it was, that little feather bird looking up at her—a tiny dream to feed her soul with a few moments of joy that wasn't borrowed.

 

Sister's obvious delight was greater than I'd ever seen—greater than any Christmas morning. None of us could say much; we just sat there, smiling with her until it was time to leave for church, Sister wearing her big hat just like any big-hat woman. 

 

After the preacher finally finished talking 'bout the devil—don't he have anything else to preach about? And doesn't Jesus keep the devil locked up on beautiful days like that anyway?—we rose to leave. As we walked out, Louvenia nodded to all the nice folks she usually averted her gaze from out of shyness. At the front steps, the big-hat ladies were happy to see Sister and remarked on how fine her hat was. I left Louvenia to chat with them while Jeff, Alex, and I went over to the park to lay out our picnic.

 

*

Later that evening, Alex and Jeff sat at the kitchen table like two kids with big spoons, finishing off the last of the cobbler. While I washed up our picnic things, Louvenia sat chatting about her hat and how it was as nice as any of the big-hat women's.

 

"Best in the world, ain't it so?" She asked, her eyes still caressing that hat.

 

"Yes, Miss Louvenia, everybody sure had their eyes on that new hat of yours. That's for sure, ain't it, Alex?"

 

Jeff couldn't take his eyes off that pan of cobbler in case Brother might get his spoon in there faster for the next bite.

 

"You know, Louvenia, I don't know nothin' 'bout women's things. No, I sure don't."  

 

Jeff's gentleness always eased Sister into speaking freely, as she could with no other man except Annie's husband, the preacher.

 

"Like what color is that flower? That one right there. That blue?" Jeff asked.

 

"No," Sister said, as though she was the milliner speaking to a customer. "That there is called lavender. You see, it ain't really pink and ain't really blue, that's how you know. I seen that color on a flower once. Annie, she brung over some sweet peas from her momma's garden once. Little round flowers, and they smelled so sweet. Sweet and spicy they was. Thought it was the most beautiful smell in the world. Late that summer, Annie gave me seed pods from her ma's sweet pea vines. Told me when to plant 'em. Annie said they's gonna be beautiful flowers, mostly lavender, but some pink and some white, too."

 

"That's a good idea, Sister," I said, not remembering any flowers at Jesse's. "When you gonna plant them seeds?"

 

"Oh, Jesse, he seen them seed pods dryin' in the window and throwed 'em out. He don't want no flowers 'round him. Said it reminded him of the dead," Sister said. "Don't make no difference. Ain't nothing ever gonna grow in that alley. Not enough sun and the soil's fouled bad."

 

 Jeff swallowed down the last bite of that cobbler and continued.

 

"What color is that there bird, Miss Louvenia?"

 

"That feather bird?"  Her eyes got big; that bird delighted her so. "That bird's the color of sapphires, like royal princesses wear. I know it is. Preacher said all the princesses in Pharaoh's court wore sapphire-colored gems knotted in the braids of their hair. Guess it's the most beautiful color there is if princesses wear it. You think?"

 

"Yes, Ma'am, I sure do," Jeff said. "And I know that color is red, ain't it?"

 

He pointed to small felt roses tied into a posy with a pretty ribbon.

 

"Some folks call it magenta. I know because one time I was deliverin' some clothes to one of my customers. Long ago it was. She was real nice to me, that lady. Always gave me some sweet tea to drink on her back stoop if she didn't have no company in her kitchen. Then one day when I started off, I seen this here beautiful rose along the path to her gate. I bent over to smell it. Smelled like the finest soap, like I smelled in white folks' houses I used to clean. That woman, she came out and yelled for me to stop. I ain't snappin' off your roses, I tol' her. Well, then she come down the walk carryin' a knife. Said that rose was magenta-colored and it was her favorite, too. She cut it and tucked the bloom into the buttonhole of my blouse. Said she only wanted me to stop so's she could give it to me to smell on the way home. Don't never 'member if anybody done something so nice that way. No white woman, I mean. I held that flower to my nose all the way home just to smell it. You know, I always figured if I ever had me a baby girl, I'd name 'er Magenta. You think that might be just a fine name for a baby girl?"

 

I sat there in the silence that followed Sister's words of joy, wondering how I could somehow come to fill her days with more. It would be a long journey to reach that dream, but how could I have known how long back then?

 

 

 

Jagged Recollections

 

 

Louvenia had been imprisoned in Jesse's jail for years by the time Alex and I came to her after our folks' passing. For so long he'd convinced her that if she walked out on him he'd get the law down on her. He warned that she'd then get no farther than the chain-gang he'd convinced her was all but waiting around each and every corner she might turn down.  Sister surely heard in Jesse's rantings the echo of the Burney overseer ol' Isaac.  When you live in brutality long enough, the layers of scars blind you to your options. But there were precious few for us, so best keep at your ironing board with the kitchen curtains pulled tight. Maybe then you won't catch yourself gazing into that dead end alley to see if you're still dying. But by then how could you deny the truth?

 

We seldom left that hell hole of a kitchen 'cept to deliver our ironing or to go buy more soap to pour into more tubs. Well, maybe it was too easy to blame Jesse—a poor soul also a slave, slave to his bottle—but we had to find a way out, Louvenia and me. Mind you, I knew there were only two options for our women: being bent over a tub or being a bent over whore.

 

Back then the stories Sister had shared during our long hours out on the laundry porch never stopped weaving through my thoughts. Perhaps it was all her jagged recollections that I'd come to string together that broke into my hopes for us. Like maybe them dreams of where a life of dignity might be; a place away from that alley if we could only somehow work our escape. Momma once told me up on Orchard Hill that a soul is a place to hide your dreams from the white folks. What she could never have known is that we'd come to hide our dreams from plenty of coloreds all the same.

 

Those mornings when Jesse was in his backroom snoring, Louvenia and I got to whispering. What 'a we gonna do? Because we had that laundry business going good so why did we take it from him day in and day out? Jesse busting our hopes as quickly as he busted our lips. Him thinking we was his nobodies—but still nobodies good enough to live off. I came to think that if Jesse was no longer at least then what pennies we made would be ours to keep. But Louvenia told me she done seen chain gangs and was scared he could all but rise to shackle her to one—the only promise he was sure to keep. How many times had he bolted from a drunken stupor to stumble in and put Sister's face to the tabletop because his meal wasn't there waiting? Strangely, she didn't seem to be as scared that the day would come when he' would finally kill her or, perhaps worse, he'd put her out on the street to make room for one of his whores. Maybe one of those women whose names he blurted in his drunken sleep. It's hard to see how terrifyingly deep the dry well is that a colored woman can stumble into when she reaches for the door and yet knows that the only thing waiting on the other side is her final prayer what with no money, no place to head to and nobody to turn to.

 

"Look at them whores out there on the street past Jesse's alley," Louvenia challenged. "They know what I's talkin' about!"

 

Most of the time Sister and I knew where we stood on things, and we seldom stood far apart even after bickering over this or that. But Louvenia somehow survived those years with that ol' man before Alex and I fell into her life. From those dark times I would come to understand that there were things Sister had seen too awful to put to words. Things still too scabbed to pick open again; all of them jagged recollections is what I'm talking about. Why is shame always the wound that resists healing?

 

One morning while Sister was ironing, and I was twisting the water out of a shirt to hang it seemed as though my going on about us getting out of that alley got Sister cross. I still recall her saddened look of frustration folded with anger when she put her iron back on the stove and pointed to the table for me to take a seat. I knew what that meant.

 

"What?"

 

"Sit down over there. I got things to say to you," she said. "Things I should 'a told you long ago. Ugly things I reckon it's time to tell you because you got to know what I seen, where I been. Then you understand what I been tellin' you."

 

"What I got to know, Sister?"

 

"You're always goin' on like all we got to do is fill a pillowcase with our things and step off that porch ridin' on nothin' but a big smile. Maybe like we ain't never gonna have to beg Jesse to take us back come some cold rainy night. But I know better, and I'm gonna tell you what I know, too!"

 

In silence, Louvenia paced the kitchen shaking her head as though she was cursing at the very recollections she didn't want to drudge up again. I sat down to hear what she had to say.

 

"Not long after I come to Jesse's, he told me he was gonna rent a buggy and we was gonna get out of town. Go for a picnic, he say."

 

"Jesse took you on a picnic?"

 

"Now you just hush and let me tell you 'bout Jesse's picnic alright," she said. "He told me to make up a basket of food. And I did. Baked us fresh bread the night before; fried some ham and Annie shared some mustard she'd made. Even baked a cake. Never since I met that man had we gone nowheres I recall. Then I carried the basket to the stables 'cause Jesse, he say him's back was hurtin'."

 

"Jesse's back hurt so bad he couldn't carry no damned basket of sandwiches?"

         

"He rented us a buggy. We went all the way out of town and then down some dusty county road."

 

"Where was that?" I asked.

 

"Don't know. Just 'member the dust blowing up in my face. I figured Jesse knowed of a place where we could eat under some shady trees or maybe near a pretty stream. But then I seen for sure where we was headed. Way up there, in a cloud of dust, I seen these folks workin' a ditch. They was all colored and Lord, there was women in with 'em. I asked Jesse why we was headed there. He said he had somebody he wantin' me to meet. Jesse stopped where them folks was working their picks and shovels. They all looked up but couldn't hardly see 'cause they was so blinded by that hot sun and all that dust covering their sweaty faces."

 

"What were they doin'?" I asked.

"They looked to be diggin' a drain ditch along the county road. I tell you, there'd not been a hotter day that summer! No, ma'am."

 

Sister paused like she needed to catch her breath but then went on in a whisper.

 

"I watched when a man fell over on the side of the road. Don't think he ever made it up. Nobody done nothin' for him. Not even give 'im a swallow of water."

 

Sister started to tear up at the very thought of that poor man. Her recollections became jagged and she swollowed hard from it.

 

"Lord, Louvenia, why'd Jesse go there for a picnic?"

 

"Then Jesse waved to a man standing there watchin' over 'em all. You know that man was like ol' Isaac who watched over us in the cotton fields. Jesse nodded to 'im. That man, with a grin on his big ugly face headed over. Lord Jesus, I got to thinking he had that same evil look that Jesse do!"

 

"Were you scared?"

 

"Jesse, he say to me, 'I want you to listen good here 'cause I ain't gonna say it but once. There ain't but one reason I took you in, and it ain't 'cause I wanted to look at that face of yours. No, Ma'am, it sure enough ain't.' He say, 'I only married you 'cause I gettin' old and gonna need somebody to take care 'a me when I need it, and that's all you's good for. You got nothin' else that interests me. No, you sure as hell don't. But if you ever get it into your head you'd be better off by heading out on me, you gonna find yourself right down there in that dirt like them others. Look 'em over good, 'cause you'll be down there with 'em. Yep, gonna be digging your way back to me with a pick and shovel. And Lord, you know I mean it, woman! You be digging your way to where I told you never to stray and then be on your knees thankin' me for takin' you in and all.'"

 

"My Lord, Sister!"

 

"That ugly man, he come up to the buggy with that big grin still on his face. Jesse grabbed the basket off my lap and handed it over to him. He yanked the rag off the top and tossed it to the ground and went to eatin' my sandwiches like he'a hog. Jesse say to 'im, 'You tell Louvenia here who them folks yonder are. She gots to know how good it is with me so's to keep 'er doin' what I tell 'er.'"

 

"That man, with a mouth full of my food, he say, 'Sister, that there is a nigger chain-gang. They's worthless vagrants, them is. Owe the county jails money to pay off theys fines for vagrancy. But they ain't got no money, so they come work the roads or the county ditches. They earn a quarter a day, and ever' cent goes to the boss. Yeah, done lost another over there. Bet he's dead from heatstroke,' he gestured to the man covered with so much dust you couldn't no more make out his face."

 

I was speechless.

 

She continued, "Jesse, he say to that man, 'Tell Louvenia 'bout them women over there!' The man grinned, and with his dirty hand grabbed a fist full of my cake and started shoving it into his mouth, nodding to Jesse as he swallowed it down. That hog did! Then he said, 'Them women, they's whores, ain't they Jesse? Sure, they are. They don't work hard enough out there. Ain't that right? You can plainly see they ain't no good. So, they owe me overtime now don't they? End of the day, they service the men here. Yeah, they sure as hell do! The man that works hardest and gives me no grief, he first at 'er while the others watch. Then they gets their turn on her. Don't make no difference, they's whores.' That's what that man said, then went to laughin' like it was at me. Jesse, he laughed with 'im and turned the buggy 'round and headed back. That was my picnic that day. So, you still think it's easy movin' on? I got nowheres to go. Got no money, and after living in this alley I got no name people gonna respect. Cause me and Jesse weren't never married. And you know what that makes me this alley? Me livin' with a man I ain't married to? I'd be called a whore by the folks livin' up and down this alley! So, now where you think we can head off to? Huh? Well, you go ask Jesse. He'll tell you where we had that picnic, 'cause that's 'bout where we'd end up!"

 

"But where we headed now if we stay here?" I replied. "We're climbing into a box. A pine box Jesse gonna nail shut and put six feet under," I said.

 

"Let me tell you something more," Sister said. "That man, that nigger watching the others like him a white slaver, you know who that was? Huh?"

 

"You know 'im?" I asked.

 

"That man is Jesse's brother, Fred. That Fred Powell. After that day, he started comin' 'round the alley all the time to eat my food till he and Jesse got into it at the bar over a whore. Him comin' up to me in my kitchen with a big ugly grin on his face and askin' me if I wanted to come out to the ditches with him to visit with the men out there. Said they's waiting for a woman like me to service 'em! Him workin' for the man and his chain-gang off the backs of folks like me, he was. No, he ain't no better, 'cause I know what he does with them women from the bars! He works the alleys with 'em, that's what!!"

 

*

At times I wondered if maybe Jesse could read our minds. At least there were nights when he seemed to sense something stirring behind his back out in the kitchen.

 

Sister was still ironing one night, and I'd just come in from washing my hair out on the porch when he come out from his sleeping room looking mean like maybe he was aiming to situate his next helping of bruises. That man, he watched over us night and day as he did his bottles. But then we were his bottles. Jesse looked about like something was amiss and then looked me up and down real hard like 'cause I had my nice dress on and was cleaned up to go down to Annie's to help her with her kids.

 

"What's that girl up to gettin' herself all dolled up?" he asked Louvenia, standing next to me with the brush. "That a new dress she got on? Huh? Come over here so I can get a good look at you."

 

"That ain't no new dress, Jesse. You know it ain't," Sister replied in barely a whisper as she had to have known he was looking for a fight. "Just one the neighbor passed down." Then she jumped to defend against his next accusation. "Where would we get money to buy a new dress? I only put a new collar on it cut from an old white shirt one of my ladies give me. You know that shirt was too small for you Jesse," she quickly added. "Sarah, hadn't you best get on down to Annie's. Go on now, like I say."

 

"Yeah and bring me back a bottle or don't come back through my door, lil' girl. That's all I got to say to you!" Jesse snorted.

 

"Now, Jesse, you knows Sarah can't go out on the street this late for no bottle. She only twelve."

 

Sister knew that Jesse's friends would pimp me as good as any child in the alleys.

 

"What I know is that girl gots too high opinion of herself. You seen that?"

 

"I sure seen lots of things, Jesse," Sister retorted.

 

"Huh? If that keeps up, she be out on the streets like that boy, Alex. You remind 'er what I done to him for not respectin' me!"

 

"Don't worry, Jesse. Sarah ain't never gonna forget what you did to Brother that winter."

 

For Louvenia the hurts piled up like lash scars; layer upon layer crisscrossing the backside of her soul. Jesse never stopped reminding me there were nigger dogs of all colors.

 

"I ain't in the mood for you," Jesse announced again as Sister stood biting her lip surely to keep from telling him to go to hell. "I'm goin' over to my brother Fred's. You hear that? May not come back tonight. You think on that!"

 

And Lord how long had we? We'd been thinking on him walking off that laundry porch with his stolen money and borrowed pride and getting so damned tripped up on his own barbed life that he never come back. Amen, Lord, hear our prayers even if you're tired of hearing them.

 

 

THE FIRST PART OF THIS NOVEL AS

 

The Air Between Our Tubs

 

was

 

Winner

 

Hackney Literary Awards

 

and

 

Runner Up

 

William Faulkner - William Wisdom Competition