Caleb's Wars (6 page)

"So we went around to the back and there were some prisoners playing soccer. We went up to the fence to watch them. They noticed us and one of them called us niggers."

"Oh, Lord," Ma cried.

Why had I said anything about that? Now the whole thing would come out. Might as well say it, because Henry would sure rat on me if Pop got to him.

"So Nathan and I got some rocks and threw them through the fence. I got one of them in the head."

Ma clapped her hand over her mouth.

"Jesus God!" Pop shouted. "You assaulted one of them POWs?"

"They called us niggers! We ran into the woods and started home."

"That still don't explain that lip and your eye. Tell me the truth, boy!"

Pop hadn't called me that in a long time.

"We were on the road, and the Hill brothers came up behind us on their wagon. I turned around to see who it was, and Dolan threw a turnip and got me right in the face. Then he got Henry in the head, too."

"Stinkin' white trash!" Pop exclaimed.

"We tried to walk away. Henry said we should, and we wanted to. But Lonnie told us not to turn our backs on him 'cause he's a white man."

"One of the nastiest, sorriest white boys on the face o' this earth."

"So we turned back, and Nathan said something that made Lonnie mad."

"That boy got a real big mouth," Pop noted bitterly.

"Then Lonnie said something else, and Nathan said something about Lonnie's mama, and then they jumped off the wagon and came after us. We had to fight, Pop!"

He looked serious. "How'd it turn out?"

"Nathan kicked Dolan between the legs—"

"Good for Nathan."

"And that laid him out, and then we fought off Lonnie and Orris. Orris got a bloody nose and Lonnie got a cut on his face."

"What about Nathan and Henry?" Ma asked. "They all right?"

"Nathan has a broken tooth and Henry's face is messed up some. They're okay."

"Sounds like you gave as good as you got," Pop remarked. "I'm glad about that, at least."

"We had to fight! We couldn't let them just beat us up."

"Let me take care of him," Ma said.

"Not yet. Caleb and me got some business to tend to in the workshop."

I knew what that meant. Pop intended to whip me. "No, Pop! I didn't do anything."

"Didn't
do
anything? You call goin' to that camp and messin' around with prisoners of the government not
doin
anything? Do you know what kind of trouble you can get yourself into by foolin' with them Germans? And you call sassin' white folks not
doin'
anything?"

"Nathan sassed Lonnie, not me!"

"If y'all hadn't gone to where you wasn't suppose to be in the first place, you wouldn't of run into them crackers. Don't talk to me about not
doing
anything. Now get into the workshop."

"No! I'm too old for that."

"Hell you are!
I'm
the one who decide when one o' my boys is too old to get some sense beat into him. And you ain't got the sense of a tick!"

"No!" I said again. I could feel tears coming, but I blinked them back. There was no way I would cry in front of Pop.

He started down the steps toward me. "Git! Unless you ready to move out this evening and make it on your own from now on. 'Cause I ain't gonna put a roof over any child o' mine that won't obey me."

"Can't we talk about it?"

Pop folded his arms. "I gave you your choices. Now you decide, big man."

I looked toward Ma. She nodded.

It was done, then. I couldn't stand up against Ma. She had enough on her already.

"All right. You win."

"Go on. I be there in a minute."

I was standing by his workbench when he came in with his strap. "Pop, can't we—"

"You gonna go back on what we agreed?"

I didn't agree to anything, I thought. "No, sir."

"Then drop your britches."

"Not that!"

"Caleb?"

There was no way out. I'd lost. I unfastened my overalls and let them drop to my ankles. Please, not my drawers, too, I thought. If he insisted on whipping my bare backside, I'd run away. Even I had a limit.

But Pop didn't insist. "Turn around and put your hands on the bench."

I knew what to do. How many times had Randall and I taken our whippings this way?

"Now put your head down."

I obeyed.

The strap bit into my backside. It stung bad, and I fought to keep from making a sound. No way would I give Pop the satisfaction of hearing me cry out.

"Tell me you ain't gonna go down to that camp again."

I won't.

"You won't
what?
"

"Go down to the camp again."

The strap cracked against me once more.

"Promise me you won't mess with white boys again."

I promised. Another lick. This time I flinched.

"Promise me you ain't gonna let that idiot Nathan lead you 'round by the nose. He gonna get hisself murdered one o' these days if he can't learn to shut up."

I promised, and the strap came again.

"And promise me that you ain't never,
ever
gonna talk back to me as long as you live!"

"I promise I won't ever talk back to you again."

Another stroke, this one harder than the others.

"Now turn 'round and apologize to me."

I made myself say the words, but I didn't mean them. If Pop intended to keep whipping me, I'd grab the strap and—

"Now drop them drawers," Pop ordered.

"Why—?"

He cut me off. "Didn't you just promise you wouldn't sass me?"

I could feel my hands wanting to move, not to take down my drawers, but to go after my own father. How—
how
had all this happened?

"Caleb!"

I turned back to the bench and pulled down my drawers.

"This didn't have to be, but I don't want to see you strung up on a tree one day. Don't you know by now that white folks'd just as soon kill you as look at you?"

"Yes, sir."

"I won't have many more chances to teach you that. Stay away from white folks, and when you got to be around 'em, keep yo' mouth shut! That the only way you ever gonna survive. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

The next cut of the strap made me cry out. It stung more than any of the others.

"Last one," Pop said.

He didn't let up—this one seemed to cut into me like a knife.

"I hope you remember every word I told you in here. You might not believe me, but your life depends on it."

I kept my head down on the workbench so he couldn't see my tears.

"Now pull up your pants and get into the house. Your ma'll tend to you. I'm goin' over to talk to Henry's and Nathan's folks. This is one hell of a mess you boys got yourselves into."

When I knew he was gone, I let myself cry. My backside burned like fire, but that wasn't the reason. No, it was the fury—fury deep down in my guts.

Before I went into the house, I swore I'd find a way to get even with Pop. He couldn't use me like a dog and get away with it.

M
A HAD WARM WATER
ready, and I had a bath while she waited in the front room. The water felt good, except on my backside. When I was done, she patched up my face and gave me some salve to put on the welts Pop's strap had raised.

Then I lay facedown on my bed. Looking at the empty bed next to mine suddenly made me miss Randall so bad that I started to cry again.
He
wouldn't have let Pop whip me. He'd have said something, done anything, to protect me.

I got up and lay down on Randall's bed. The quilt felt cool against my face. Where was he tonight, and what was he doing? Playing cards with his buddies in the barracks? In town somewhere, drinking and looking for girls? Or just lying on his bunk, thinking of home?

My brother was getting ready to go fight and kill—maybe
be
killed.
Life
magazine was full of pictures of the war in Europe and the Pacific. Our guys were getting slaughtered every day. Like Blaine Durden. And just down Brinson's Mill Road, prisoners that we'd captured were going to spend the rest of the war safe, playing soccer.

Why couldn't I be off with Randall? He was lucky to be old enough to join up and get away from Pop.

Ma came to the door. "Your daddy's back. Why are you on Randall's bed?"

I didn't know how to answer, but Ma seemed to understand. "Smooth out the quilt when you get up. Supper's on the table."

After Ma asked the blessing, Pop told us about going to Nathan's and Henry's. "No doubt where your buddy Nathan get his foolishness," he said. "Artie just laugh when I talk to him about the mess down at the camp and with them Hill boys. Course he already know what happen, 'cause Nathan show him his tooth, and anybody can see his face. And the whole time I'm tryin' to get Artie to see how serious this is, Nathan be addin' more details ab out what you boys said and done, and Artie think it the funniest damn thing he ever heard!"

Ma shook her head. "Artie has never been strict enough with Nathan."

"That ain't all. Artie say he
proud
of his boy for sassin' them Germans and for talkin' back to the Hill boys. Say he like to see a young man with some ball—some backbone!"

"What happened at the Johnsons'?" Ma asked.

"Just what you expect. Cora all to pieces about her precious baby boy gettin' hurt, fussin' over him like he five years old. Cecil actin' outraged at how Caleb and Nathan done led his boy into temptation, and about how the baptism sure ain't done no good—'specially for Nathan."

"How's Henry?" I asked.

"That little sissy make me sick! He start in on how he didn't want to go to the camp with y'all and how he try to get y'all to run into the woods when the Hills come along. He put all the blame on you and Nathan, which ain't no surprise."

Henry was telling the truth, mostly, but he made us look bad, trying to make himself look innocent.

"I suppose to give you a message," Pop told me.

"Who from?"

"From the
Reverend
Cecil Johnson."

"What is it?"

"That you and Nathan can't have nothin' more to do with Henry, 'cause you two is a bad influence on him. Henry ain't allowed to hang around with y'all, and he ain't gonna be workin' at Davis's with Nathan, either."

Suits me, I thought.

"I always said that boy is sorry."

"More stew?" Ma asked Pop. "Another biscuit?"

He poured syrup on his dinner. "So that's that. All we can do now is hope nothin' more come o' this thing. Looks like you got off easy, Caleb."

I kept my eyes on my plate.

"You do understand why you had to get that whippin'?"

I was silent.

"Maybe if Artie had laid the strap on Nathan when he little, Nathan wouldn't have that smart mouth on him now."

I kept my mouth shut, but it was hard. Pop didn't understand anything. He'd whipped Randall and me for years, but it hadn't made one bit of difference to how we behaved. I wasn't thinking about all his whippings when I threw the rock at the German, and I sure as hell wasn't thinking about them when the Hill boys came after us.

Sometimes you had to do what was necessary right then—no matter what bits of wisdom your folks had tried to cram into your brain.

***

As I tried to get to sleep that night, dark, ugly thoughts kept me company. I couldn't get comfortable. Usually I slept on my back, but my rear end hurt too much when I tried that, so I had to turn on my stomach, and that was worse. I settled for lying on my side.

Pop had no right to whip me. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. And I knew what I was going to do.

Next day, after my chores were done, I walked to The Cedars, Mr. Lee Davis's plantation. I expected that Aunt Lou, his cook, would answer the back door, but it was Aunt Minnie instead. Yes, Mr. Lee was at home, and she'd see if he would speak with me.

He came to the door, a fat, messy man in white linen trousers, white shirt, and a red necktie—the only outfit I'd ever seen him in. Mr. Davis greeted me with a hearty smile and asked about how my family was doing. Then he wanted to know all about Randall: where he was, how the training was going, and when he would be going overseas.

I answered all Mr. Davis's questions, saying "Yes, sir" and "No, sir" as I'd been taught, never looking the man in the eye. On the outside, I was polite, but inside, I would just as soon spit at him as beg him for work.

At last, Mr. Davis asked why I was there. It wouldn't do for me, or any Negro, to speak first. With eyes fixed on the dirt, I asked could I please work in his fields for the summer, now that Henry couldn't.

"Cecil come by this morning to tell me about that," Mr. Davis said. "He mentioned something about trouble Henry got into."

I wondered how much Brother Johnson had said, and whether he'd made Nathan and me look bad.

"Didn't say what the trouble was, and I didn't ask. None of my business, after all."

Mr. Davis didn't mean that. He made it his business to know everything going on within twenty miles of Davisville, but maybe he didn't think the troubles of some of his colored boys were worth knowing about.

I waited, like I had all the time in the world and the grass was the most interesting thing I'd ever seen.

"So you want to work here."

"Yes, sir."

"I thought you was goin' to work with your daddy."

I was ready for this. "I was goin' to, Mr. Lee, but Pop ain't gon' have as much work as he thought. 'Sides, I ain't a very good carpenter." I kept my voice low and humble, and I was careful not to use the proper grammar Ma had worked so hard to pound into me.

The man pulled out a crumpled white handkerchief and mopped his forehead. "I don't really need no extra help in the fields. Not with our new guests in town. You seen 'em yet?"

"You mean the prisoners, Mr. Lee?"

"That's right! I can't wait to see how they handle hoes and shovels. Hell of a lot better than the rifles they was aiming at our boys in Africa, the goddamn Nazi sons of bitches."

I said nothing, just kept my eyes on my shoes.