Caleb's Wars (11 page)

Jealousy had me by the throat, but I had to be honest. "I can't top that."

He looked satisfied. "And that ain't all!"

"There's more?"

"Now don't you wish you was at Davis's with me, instead of slavin' in that kitchen? This afternoon, they was a fight. I couldn't see too good, since I was workin' at the other side o' the field, but I heard some noise again, and sure 'nough, some o' them Germans was goin' at each other. Two of 'em held this one guy while another one hit him in the face. Guards had to run in and break it up."

I didn't want to give Nathan the satisfaction of knowing it, but his story excited me and made me wish I could be part of it. "Anything else?" I asked coolly.

"Not much after that. The guards wasn't doin' nothin' before that 'cept standin' under the trees smokin', but now they had to stay right there in the field. The Germans went back to work, and that was that."

"What were they fighting about?"

"Who cares? Just keep 'em away from me. I don't want nothin' to do with no Nazis. How's it goin' in the dish-washin' business?"

I told him about it, but it sounded dull compared to his adventure. Nathan spit when I mentioned Stewart Davis's name. And I told him some of Randall's stories about the army, and about Randall's fight with Pop.

By then, it felt really late, and we headed home. Randall didn't rouse when I climbed back over him. I was beat now, and it seemed like only a minute before Ma was waking me up for another day at the Dixie Belle.

***

After the breakfast rush was over, Mr. Davis and Miss Sondra came into the kitchen. She looked grim.

"Mornin', y'all," Mr. Davis said brightly. "How y'all doing today?"

"Makin' it," Aunt Lou replied. "Barely."

"That's why we're here. You know I always listen to you, Lou, just like I always have ever since I was young."

Aunt Lou just looked at him.

"My sister-in-law and I been discussing what you said about needing another helper, and we got the problem solved."

Miss Sondra's face was stony.

"Sondra don't think we can afford to hire anyone else for the kitchen. I disagree, the way the customers have been flockin' in here these past few days. But I always respect what the ladies have to say"—he smiled at Aunt Lou and Miss Sondra, who rolled her eyes, disgusted—"and so I figured out a way to give y'all some extra help."

I kept working away at my pans, wondering what Mr. Davis had up his sleeve.

"I got your new worker out in the dining room, and I'm gonna introduce y'all to him in a minute. They say he's a real good cook, too, since you need help in that department."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Lee," said Aunt Lou.

"So I want y'all to give him a chance. Everybody deserves a chance, don't they?"

"They shore do," Uncle Hiram agreed. "I been sayin' that all my life."

"I'll get him."

He went into the dining room and came back with our new helper. An MP came, too, because the new helper was a German prisoner.

Uncle Hiram put down the cheese grater and stared. Aunt Lou stayed in her chair, and she stared, too.

The prisoner was wearing blue trousers and a white T-shirt, and he held a blue cap. He was young, maybe Randall's age. Thin, and his hair, the color of cornsilk, was cut short. A red birthmark the size of a pecan on his right cheek. And a swollen, purple left eye. He'd been in a fight.

"Who that?" Aunt Lou put down her pipe. "I ain't never seen him before."

"Course not," Mr. Davis said cheerfully. "He ain't from around here. Fact is, this boy come all the way across the Atlantic Ocean just to work in your kitchen, Lou."

"One of them prisoners from that new camp?"

"Yes, ma'am! This here's Andreas. He's a trained chef, according to Colonel Ross, the fellow that runs Camp Davis. Ross says he's a good fella, quiet, hard worker. He won't give you any trouble."

I felt like laughing at Mr. Davis's nerve. Only a man as rich and powerful as he was could get away with a scheme like this. But glancing at the prisoner, I felt a little shaky, too. He looked harmless enough, but he was an enemy, after all.

Aunt Lou pushed herself out of her chair and confronted Mr. Davis. "You gon' bring one o'
them
into my kitchen? Them that's fightin' against our boys, killin' 'em? That how you gon' 'help us out'?"

"Andreas here is gonna be a
big
help. He promised Ross he would. Y'all don't need to worry about a thing," Mr. Davis went on. "The guard'll stay around for a couple days if you want him to, until y'all feel comfortable. But I promise that nothin' is gonna happen. Andreas ain't got nowhere to go and no one to help him. If he gives you a lick o' trouble, he'll end up in the stockade, and he don't want that."

"Thank you, Mr. Lee," Uncle Hiram declared. "Everything gon' work out good. Don't you worry none. Lou and me can take care o' things."

"I know y'all will. Just put him to work. If he gives you trouble, let the guard know." He patted the prisoner on the back. "You do what they tell you, hear? They'll take good care of you, long as you mind your manners."

The prisoner—Andreas—didn't say anything.

"Let's let these folks get acquainted," Mr. Davis told Miss Sondra. "See y'all later!" He went toward the door, then turned back. "Oh, one thing I forgot to tell y'all. Andreas don't speak any English."

"No English?" Aunt Lou cried, getting right up in Andreas's face.

He understood her. "
Nein
" he replied, shaking his head like he was all sorry.

"How'm I gon' talk to you, then? Answer me that!"

He shrugged and looked pitiful.

Much as I disliked Mr. Lee Davis, I had to hand it to him. He was a slippery customer. Aunt Lou had wanted an extra helper, and now she had one. Even if he could really cook, which remained to be seen, he was an enemy soldier who couldn't speak her language. But Mr. Davis had produced that extra pair of hands—cheap.

Aunt Lou kept looking at Andreas like she'd never seen a blond-headed white boy before. Then she began to untie her apron. "I'm done!" she cried. "Enough is enough."

Uncle Hiram came to the rescue again. "No need to get all outdone, sugar. You leave this boy to me. I can put him to work. It be all right." He looked at the guard. "We got this under control, sir. You can go set in the dining room if you want. We can bring you a cup o' coffee and some cake in a minute."

The guard didn't say no.

Aunt Lou squirmed away from Uncle Hiram's arms. "Y'all might as well carry me over to Milledgeville right now, so I can finish goin' crazy. Ain't we fighting a war 'gainst them Germans? We might as well give this one the butcher knife and let him cut our throats."

Aunt Lou had a point, despite her dramatics.

"We got dinner to finish," Uncle Hiram reminded us all. "Lou, you and me can talk this over later."

All this time, Andreas just stood there, messing with his cap. He didn't need to know a word of English to understand what was going on.

"Come on, young fella," Uncle Hiram said. "Might as well make the best of it. I's Uncle Hiram." He laid one hand on his chest. "Can you say that?"

"Hiram."

"Good! And this here is Aunt Lou."

"
Tante
Lou."

"How's that?"

Tante.

"What's he mean?"

"How in hell should I know?" Aunt Lou shot back.

I thought I knew. "Maybe that's German for 'aunt."'

"Shore! That's it! Thanks, Caleb. You one smart boy." He addressed Andreas again, pointing at me. "And this here is Caleb."

"We can't stand here passin' the time," Aunt Lou said. "I got chicken to fry and cornbread to bake."

"And I got meat loaf to mix up," Uncle Hiram remembered. "Caleb, you and Andreas get them taters peeled. Then y'all can do the fruit salad. I'll fetch that guard his cake an' coffee."

Handing Andreas the sharp paring knife felt strange after what Aunt Lou had said. I told myself it was stupid to worry.

Right away, it was clear he knew what he was doing. For every potato I peeled, he did two or three. I found myself watching him and trying to figure out how he worked so fast. We got done in no time, then went on to the fruit salad. After that, we cut cucumbers and onions for a vinegar salad, and then we sliced up the chocolate sheet cakes and put the pieces on plates. Having someone to help made it all easier—fun, almost.

As we worked, Andreas looked around. He watched how Aunt Lou could do three things at once and nodded like he appreciated her efficiency. He studied the food—the butter beans, black-eyed peas with ham hocks, the dressing made from yesterday's leftover biscuits, the yellow squash casserole. Aunt Lou made a point of ignoring him, but she had to notice how much he wanted to help and how interested he seemed.

English or no English, Andreas made a difference, even that first morning, and when Miss Sondra came in to announce that the first dinner customers had arrived, we were ready.

When the rush was over, Aunt Lou told me to take Andreas into the alley, where she brought us two heaping plates of food. Andreas tasted everything. He wolfed down the pork chop and fried chicken legs, the mashed potatoes and gravy, too, and some of the black-eyed peas and mustard greens. He wouldn't eat the squash casserole. Uncle Hiram brought us some cake, and Andreas cleaned his plate. I watched him eat and wondered how long it had been since he'd had food as good as Aunt Lou's.

When we were done, Andreas brought out a pack of Camels and offered me one. I took it and we lit up. I wanted to talk to him, ask him a lot of questions. Where in Germany was his home? How did he get into the army? Had he been in battle, killed anyone? What did he think about America? And then there was that swollen eye. Was he the prisoner Nathan had seen get beat up? He seemed friendly enough, and he was a hard worker, but that didn't make up for one thing: Andreas was a German soldier, captured because he was fighting against America. Against soldiers like Randall. Still, here I was, eating dinner with him and smoking one of his cigarettes.

T
HE NEXT EVENING
we were sitting on the porch when Lee Davis drove up in his shiny black LaSalle.

"What the hell do he want?" Pop muttered. "He ain't come out here to pass the time o' day."

Mr. Davis hoisted himself out of the driver's seat and came to the porch. We all got to our feet. "How you doin', Mr. Lee?" Pop asked. "Come on the porch and set a while. Lucy be glad to get you a cold drink."

"Thanks, Frank, but not now. I can't stay away from home too long. Mama's not doing well. She's gone senile, if you want to know the truth. I wouldn't tell just anyone, but we've been friends a long time, and I know y'all care about Mama. She gets right fretful sometimes if I'm not around."

We all said how sorry we were to hear all that and prayed that Miss Evelyn would soon be feeling better.

"I appreciate that," Mr. Davis replied, "but I don't believe she
can
get better. Only a miracle could do anything for Mama now." Then he pulled himself together. "I just wanted to come by and say hey to our soldier boy and let him know how proud we all are that one of our own is fightin' the good fight of freedom."

"Thanks, Mr. Lee," Randall said. "You're right thoughtful to come by to tell me that." Mr. Davis would never guess that Randall despised him—or that Pop did, too.

"One more thing. I've arranged somethin' good for y'all. I just cut a deal with the state to bring electric lines out this way. Toad Hop is gonna have power at last."

For once, Pop looked genuinely pleased. "That's mighty good news, Mr. Lee. Mighty good. We been waitin' a long time for that."

Davis looked pleased, too. "What are you gonna get first, Lucy?"

"Well, sir, I'd like a light in each room. Not having to use lanterns and candles anymore will be real nice. And then I'd like to have an electric iron instead of having to heat flatirons on the stove."

"You, Frank?"

"A radio."

"Sure! You want to listen to that comedy show about colored folks—
Amos V Andy.
"

"Yes, sir," Pop said, careful always to agree. "But I want to be able to follow the news, too. I'm mighty interested to know how the war is goin'."

The white man's smile faded a bit. He didn't like it when Negroes acted interested in government or politics or world events. But Mr. Davis remembered his manners and put his smile back in place. "Of course you do, Frank. What with Randall about to go over there, y'all want to hear the news. Guess who I got to put up the poles for the power lines? The prisoners! I told Colonel Ross there wasn't much farm work to do just now, it being so early in the growing season, and I suggested we could keep some of his boys busy. He agreed right away. Soon as the supplies get here, we're good to start. Toad Hop's gonna have electricity before you know it!"

We all repeated how thankful we were, and Mr. Davis said it was time to get going. He wished Randall lots of luck and told him to go over there and kick some Germans' backsides and then come home safe. Naturally he didn't offer to shake hands.

At the car he remembered something else. "By the way, Frank, Caleb's doin' real good at the Dixie Belle. We're happy you could spare him this summer."

"Glad it worked out." Pop sure didn't sound glad.

"Caleb tell you about our new kitchen helper?"

"No, sir."

"Aunt Lou kept fussin' about needin' more hands—y'all know how
she
is—so I arranged for one of them prisoners to work at the restaurant. The fellow is a trained cook, too! Strange world, ain't it? Here we are, fightin' this war, and our boys are goin' overseas to take care of business, and fellows from the other side end up here in Davisville! Might as well squeeze some work out of 'em long as they're here."

With that, he got in the car, waved at us, and drove away.

Randall spoke first. "Cracker comes out here to tell us he's doin' us a favor, and all I want to do is punch him."

"Mr. Davis didn't
have
to get them to bring electricity out here," I pointed out.