PAPER MOON
By Joe David Brown
Four Walls Eight Windows
Copyright © 2000 Joe David Brown.
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1-56858-230-7
Chapter One
They say my mama, Miss Essie Mae Loggins, was the wildest girl in Marengo County, Alabama. I couldn't say about that. There's not much I remember about her at all. What I can recall are mostly little things. Like how after she put polish on her fingernails, she would spread her fingers wide, hold out her arms, and go waltzing around the room while it dried. I used to try to do the same thing and we both would laugh and laugh because I would get dizzy and tumble down. I remember one time a man she didn't like came to the house, and she took off her shoe and chased him right out the door.
I've heard tell that little memories are the fondling kind. Maybe so, but I'm glad I have one memory about Mama that I know is important and worth keeping. It was the last time I saw her. That was two days before I was six years old. I was in the backyard with Callie, the colored girl, when she came out to kiss me goodbye. Maybe I only made it up, but I've always told myself I remember her exact words: "Be a good girl and mind Callie, and I'll bring you home a baby rabbit for your birthday." I do know she was wearing a green dress and had on a perfume that smelled like cape jasmine. When I smell cape jasmine today I think of her.
She was killed in an automobile wreck the next night, coming home from a house party down on the Black Warrior River. A man named Joe Clay Powell was driving the car, and he was killed too. He was a married man, so there was a big scandal. That's what started me traveling around with Long Boy Pray and helping him do business. But that's a long story, and I'll tell you about it later.
The time I'm talking about, mind you, was a few years before and after Franklin D. Roosevelt was elected President for the first time. I know you've heard about the Depression we had back then. Well, I don't think times were nearly so bad as some people put on. For one thing, in those days folks in small places were accustomed to being poor and didn't expect to get rich, like they do now. For another, when people are working hard for the grit essentials?like enough to eat, and clothes for their kids, and a roof that's tolerably sound?they're apt to be goodhearted and understanding of one another. It's only when they start flogging themselves to get things they don't really need?like big cars, and fancy clothes, and a house bigger than the one next door?that they get aggravated and mean. At least, that's the way it appears to me.
Besides, lots of people did have some money in those days. I don't think there was hardly a place Long Boy and I went that we couldn't find somebody to do business with. Anybody who was working usually had a cash reserve of some kind, and that's sure not true today.
Long Boy and I never stayed more than a couple of days in one place. We traveled in Alabama mostly, but Long Boy was liable to strike out in any direction. The only thing I could be sure of was that at least once a month he would head toward Decatur. I didn't like it, but there wasn't much I could say, being a girl and all. The first time I let him know I knew what was going on was when I was eleven. I don't know what possessed me, but I reckon I just was cranky and out of sorts. That happened a lot when I was eleven. It was the year I became a woman, and for a long time it scared me nearly to death every month when you know what happened. There wasn't anybody around to explain to me what was going on.
Anyway, on this day, Long Boy was tooling the old Hudson up Route 31 toward Decatur. He was humming and looking pleased with himself. It must have been late summer because there were a lot of big old wagons on the road hauling cotton to the gin. It seemed like every mile or so we would pass a bunch of men working on WPA. Every time, Long Boy would say something like, "Lookit them pore scutters," or "I wouldn't work with a shovel less'n I was drown'ding in manure." I was used to Long Boy talking this way. He never had much use for anybody who did ordinary work for a living.
Finally, he turned to me and said, "How much money we got in the box, honeybunch?"
"Enough for you to get your pole greased, I reckon," I said.
He couldn't have been more surprised, like the old saying goes, if I had hit him in the face with a wet cat. He got red in the face and blinked his eyes and forgot to shut his mouth. He yelled, "Where'd you hear that kinder talk?"
"I heard," I said.
"You oughter be shamed of yourself, talking thataway," he said, "a ten-year-old girl."
"Eleven," I said. "You talk that way."
"I ain't never ..." he started. He worked his mouth like he always did when he couldn't think of what to say. "You ain't too big for me to take a hickory to, missy," he said.
"Poo!" I said.
That made him mad. "I swear," he said, "I'm gonna do it for sure! I'm gonna put you in a home! You need a good woman to take the sass outer you."
I didn't say anything, just sort of scooched down in the seat and looked out the window at the red dirt and pine trees. It was five, maybe six, minutes before he spoke again, like I knew he would.
"Hon," he said, sounding sorry, "I didn't mean that about the home. I was just a-talking." He coughed and made clearing noises in his throat. He said, loudly, "Sure, I go to Aunt Kate's now and then. Lots of men go to Aunt Kate's, specially men that ain't married. Ain't nothing-well, you ain't old enough to know about it, hon.... One of these days you'll understand."
If I hadn't been out of sorts, I might have giggled. I had been knowing about Aunt Kate's house ever since I was seven. One night when Long Boy was there, I went and stood across the street. I never will forget how disappointed I was. Aunt Kate's looked like the other houses in the block, except all the lights were on. Somebody had told me houses like that had a red light out front. But that wasn't so. I had a lot of imagination in those days. I suppose I expected to hear a lot of laughing and singing and carrying on. Except for the katydids, all I could hear was a victrola playing real low, and I couldn't be sure it was in Aunt Kate's.
I wasn't about to tell Long Boy all this. I just turned and stared at him like I did when I wanted to make him uneasy.
He got red in the face again. "Well, now ..." he said, opening and shutting his mouth. He bent over the wheel and peered at the road, like he couldn't see three feet ahead. I let him wiggle a little before I turned and looked out the window again.
After a while he reached over and gave my shoulder a little push. He tried to sound like nothing had happened. "What say I buy you a little ol' new dress in Decatur? You like a new dress, Addle sugar?"
"Ain't enough money," I said.
"Why, shoot," he said, "that ain't no problem. We'll just do a little business this afternoon. A little quick business before the stores close."
"What kind of business?" I asked right away. I couldn't help it. Everytime we talked about business, I got that little crawly feeling of excitement.
Long Boy knew it, too. He cut his eyes at me and grinned. "Well," he said, "we've still got some picture frames, ain't we?"
"Ten," I said.
"And Bibles?" Long Boy asked, making talk, because he enjoyed seeing the way I was perking up. "We must have some old Bibles left?"
"We got five," I said.
"Any white Bibles?" he asked, just like he didn't know.
"One's white," I said.
Long Boy pretended to think that over. "How much money did you say was in the box, honey?"
"There's twenty-three dollars and eighty-seven cents," I said. I always knew to the penny how much money was in the Roi Tan cigar box under the seat.
"Well, then," Long Boy said, "we oughter add ten, fifteen dollars to that easy. We'll just take that old white Bible and put some golden initials on it and do a little business."
I swallowed hard. "You think we can, Long Boy?"
"I don't know why not," he said.
"I ain't helped you do business but one time with a white Bible with golden initials," I said.
"I know," he said.
"That time in Demopolis," I said.
"I know," he said. "You done fine."
It made me smile to think about it. I said, "You remember, she had tears big as horse turds running down?"
Long Boy yelled, "Don't talk thataway!"
"You said it," I said.
"Not to you I didn't," he said. He was red in the face and scowling.
I scooched up in the seat and looked out the window. After a little while he gave my shoulder a nudge and asked, "You hungry, Addie honey?"
"Not much," I said.
"Wouldn't you like a coney island and a Nehi?" he asked.
"Well, I wouldn't mind," I said.
He laughed. The old fool. He knew there wasn't anything I liked better than a coney island and a strawberry Nehi.
It was in the middle of the afternoon when we got to Decatur. Long Boy drove right to the newspaper office. I waited in the car while he got all the newspapers for the last week. He divided them up and we began to read through the death notices. It didn't look too promising. It's not easy to do business with a Bible with golden initials. You've got to have just the right kind of information. Finally, Long Boy slapped the paper he was reading and said, "Got it!" He started reading off the important facts, "Amos Huff ... died suddenly ... at home ... baggage master, Frisco Railroad ... deacon, First Baptist Church ... married former Edna Richards."
He reached in the glove compartment and got out the kit he used to put initials on things. I had the white Bible all ready, but before I handed it to him I had doubts. I asked, "Do you think we ought to, Long Boy?" White Bibles cost us three dollars apiece even when we bought them by the dozen. Putting initials on a Bible raised the price but they were ruined if you couldn't do business with the right person.
Long Boy just grinned and started work with the thingmajig that pressed initials in the cover of the Bible. I never knew him to take so long. After he dabbed on glue and sprinkled on a little golden powder I saw why. Instead of initials, he had put on a whole name: Edna Huff. He blew on the name, squinted his eyes to study it, and said, "That oughter hold the old biddy!"
I never could understand how Long Boy could be so calm when we did business. Even if we did go through the same thing two or three times a week, I always felt like everytime was the first time. You never knew what was going to happen. Why, one time I?but I'll tell you about that later, too. As we drove out to the Huff residence, I was feeling like I always did. Excited and a little scared, and feeling like maybe I would wet my pants.
"Now, don't talk too fast," Long Boy said.
"I won't," I said.
"Don't let her see the Bible till I get there," he said.
"I won't," I said.
"Be sure you got her hooked afore you call me," he said.
"I will. I will," I said.
It was the kind of medium-size, neat house I expected. There were some petunias and hollyhocks outside, and the grass looked like it had been cut blade by blade. Long Boy sat in the car with the motor running. I walked up the front walk and climbed the front steps slowly, holding the box with the Bible in it like an angel's-food cake. The front door was open and through the screen I could see the living room was as prim and clean as a cat in mittens. As soon as I tapped on the door jamb with my toe, I heard a woman call out, "Coming."
It was the widow, all right. New widows all look the same, kind of washed out and put upon, like somebody they trusted had done them a dirty trick. Mrs. Huff was plump and pretty old, about fifty, but kind of sweet-looking. It surprised me when she gave me a smile that was almost natural. "Well, hello, child," she said.
I pushed the box forward a little and said, "I've got something for Mr. Amos Huff, C.O.D., ma'am."
Her smile died. "Well, I ... I ..." She fumbled around for a moment or two before she said sadly, "Mr. Huff has ... has passed away, dear."
"Oh," I said. Still holding the box up high, I backed away and looked at my feet, then toward the car.
"I'm Mrs. Huff," she said. "Maybe if you?"
I backed away a little bit more and said, "It's for Mr. Huff, C.O.D."
"I know, hon," she said, "but maybe I can?" She unlatched the screen door and pushed it open.
I waited until I was sure she was coming outside, then said quickly, "I'll call my daddy." I went to the edge of the porch and yelled, "Daddy! Daddy!"
It was hard to beat Long Boy when it came to doing business. He climbed out of the car and came up the walk, looking good-natured but a little impatient. He took his hat off and smiled at Mrs. Huff. "Evening, ma'am." He looked at me, but I just shuffled my feet.
Mrs. Huff said, "I was telling your little girl that Mr. Huff has ... has passed away."
Long Boy let his jaw sag. "No!" he said. He shook his head slowly. "I just can't believe it!"
"It was his heart," Mrs. Huff said.
Long Boy looked at her. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear it, ma'am," he said. "Why, it was only a week, ten days ago?"
"We had the funeral Tuesday," Mrs. Huff said.
"?he was as healthy as me 'n' you," Long Boy said.
"He was sitting reading the paper," Mrs. Huff said.
"I jus' can't get over it," Long Boy said, shaking his head.
"He just put his paper in his lap and smiled and?and went away," Mrs. Huff said. She had found a handkerchief somewhere and was dabbing at her eyes.
"Such a fine man," Long Boy said. He shook his head some more before he said, "Well, I guess you know, ma'am, I'm with the Dixie Bible Company, and Amos ordered this here deluxe Bible for?"
"Bible?" Mrs. Huff asked, surprised. "Why, we have?"
Long Boy cut in. "He wanted it as a gift for somebody, ma'am." Before you could blink, he had the box out of my hands and open. He held up the Bible. The name Edna Huff looked like it was printed in molten gold.
Mrs. Huff's face purely dissolved. She sure cried tears big as horse turds. They poured down her face. She grabbed the Bible and hugged it to her breast like it was her lost child. "Oh, that blessed man," she said, "that dear, blessed man!"
"Yes, ma'am," Long Boy said sorrowfully. After a while he said, "'Course, if you don't wanter keep the Bible, ma'am, I'll be glad to give you back Amos's dollar deposit, and?"
"Oh, I want to keep it!" Mrs. Huff cried. "Of course I want to keep it. Oh, that sweet, blessed man!" Before I knew what was happening, she had reached out her free arm and pulled me close. I stiffened a little at first, but I can't say I really minded. She felt warm and comforting, and I couldn't even remember when I had been hugged last.
Long Boy nodded understandingly. "Yes, ma'am, I can see why you'd wanter keep Amos's last gift." He pulled out an order book, and while he flipped through it he said, "I told Amos I could sell him a cheaper Bible. But, no, he naturally wanted the best. The deluxe edition with the name printed in golden letters and the words of Jesus printed in red. Ah! Here it is, ma'am. Amos paid me a dollar deposit, so the rest due is twenty-four dollars."
I must have jumped. That price shook me. I thought Long Boy had lost his mind. But Mrs. Huff didn't seem to give it a thought. She sniffed and said, "I'll get my purse." She leaned down and smiled at me with her face all woozy. "How old are you, hon?"
"Eleven, ma'am," I said.
"Do you like gingerbread?" she asked.
"Well, I ... I'm not hungry, ma'am," I said.
"Of course you are," she said, squeezing me hard. "You come in the house with me and I'll give you some gingerbread while I get your daddy's money."
There wasn't much I could do. She held me so tight I had to walk sideways as she pulled me into the house. The living room was close with the smell of flowers, like it always is after a funeral. But it wasn't a bad smell, and it gave me the funniest feeling that I had been in this house before. I wondered if I felt that way because it was the kind of house I sometimes wished I lived in.
It had the nicest kitchen I had ever seen, all yellow and white, and everything in its right place. There was a big spicy-smelling pan of gingerbread on the kitchen table. Mrs. Huff pushed me toward it. "You help yourself, child," she said. "Take all you want."
I didn't, of course. I just stood there and looked around while Mrs. Huff went to a cupboard and took out her purse and counted out Long Boy's money. When she came back, she gave a little laugh and picked up two or three big pieces of gingerbread and handed them to me. It was still warm. Then she did a funny thing. She put her hands on both my shoulders and named me around so she could study me, smiling sadly. "What's your name, hon?" she asked.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from PAPER MOON by Joe David Brown. Copyright © 2000 by Joe David Brown. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
