Legend of Buddy Bush (9781439131824) (12 page)

He takes another bite of tobacco and say, “This court is adjourned.”

I don't know what that word means. I turn to Ma.

“Ma, what does ‘adjourned' mean?”

“Baby, it means your uncle can't come home.”

Ma starts crying, then screaming like Uncle Buddy is dead.

Grandma cries for the first time in weeks and Miss Nora does too. I didn't even know she was in the courtroom until I hear her crying.

Grandpa curses like I have never heard him curse before, and the law leads Uncle Buddy away.

We go home.

No one says a word at dinner. We have been staying here on Jones Property for over a month and it don't look like we are going home anytime soon. I'm not going to ask when. The other day when I asked, Ma just said when things are better. That's definitely not now. Uncle Buddy's in jail and Grandpa says he is in danger, that they want to keep him there long enough to kill him.

It don't take long for word to get around Rehobeth Road that them white folks have no intention of sending Uncle Buddy to the prison in Raleigh.

They are planning something else. Something bad.

The week is going by so slow as Grandpa becomes weaker from his tumor and the pain of
Uncle Buddy being in jail. His sight is worse than yesterday. I can tell because every night before she goes to bed Grandma is laying his clothes out to wear the next day. But he keeps on having them nightly meetings with the Masons. Because Grandpa ain't feeling well, they come to the house and talk to him about something real important and leave.

Come Saturday night, some of the younger men show up and say they have come for Grandpa. I know this is serious, because Grandma ain't even trying to stop him. Plus, Grandpa is dressed like he is going to Chapel Hill. Mr. Bishop leads Grandpa out the door and down the steps.

My grandpa built those steps; now he can hardly see them.

I stand on the porch and watch him go into the unknown with those men.

Colored men who are fed up with white folks about the way they're treating Uncle Buddy.

Rehobeth Road is quiet after they drive away. Except for Hobo barking. Hudson is on the front porch in Grandpa's rocking chair. That cat ain't no fool. I think he knows where Grandpa is going.

I'm trying to sleep, but I can't. Where is Grandpa and what is he doing?

I almost jump out of the bed when I hear a voice at the window calling my name. I peep outside.

It's Randy.

“What are you doing here?”

“Get dressed. We are going into town. There is going to be a mess out there tonight.”

“Are you crazy? How are we going to get there?”

“I'm driving Ole Man Taylor's truck.”

“Ole Man Taylor? No way! You ain't suppose to drive that truck after chopping hours.”

“Come on, chicken! Chick-A-Boo is waiting for us.”

If we get caught, Ma is going to kill me. Miss Blanche is going to kill both her children and give them a double funeral like June Bug and Willie's.

“Wait! Let me see what Ma is doing.” Thank God, Ma and Grandma are asleep in the sitting room. I ease into the sitting room and they both are fast asleep on the two sofas that line the walls.

I walk back to the window and whisper, “I'll be out in a minute.”

Lord, I keep thinking about the whipping I will
get if Ma wake up in the middle of the night and realize that I'm gone. But that's unlikely, because Grandpa says if a train came right down Rehobeth Road, into the sitting room, the controlling women would not move. Nothing wakes them up when they are sleeping after a long day in the strawberry patch. Let's hope that train don't come tonight.

Ole Man Taylor's truck seems bigger than it ever did as we drive away. When we reach Rich Square, Randy parks at the schoolhouse.

“Why are we parking here?”

“Because, silly, we don't want to get caught. The jail is right down the road. We are walking.”

Now I feel like a criminal, like they calling my uncle Buddy. Like thieves in the night, we walk to the jail, ducking behind bushes, stores, and the movie house all the way. Finally we make it to the store next to the jail. Chick-A-Boo ain't saying nothing and I think she is going to cry any minute.

“Now what?” I ask, wanting to cry myself.

“We have to hide and wait,” Randy whispers. He is sure something is going to happen. He probably has been ease dropping too.

“Get down!” Randy whispers.

Randy, Chick-A-Boo, and me hide behind the dime store.

No wonder Grandma and Ma never buy anything in this store. It's nasty back here.

“You yell, nigger, and we will kill you!” The words rip through the air. I hope I am back at Grandpa's in the bed dreaming, but this is no dream. Five men with sheets on their head come out of the jailhouse. I have heard Grandpa and Mr. Charlie talk about the Ku Klux Klan a thousand times on the front porch at night, but I never thought I would see them with my own eyes.

I look them over one by one. White sheets and white hoods over their heads, and they all are wearing black shoes. One of them is carrying a shotgun. My uncle Buddy walks out with a look of terror on his face like I have never seen before.

“Move, nigger!” one of them KKK men yells, as he pushes Uncle Buddy in his back with the butt of the shotgun.

My feet move to run.

I have to do something. What, I don't know. But I have to save Uncle Buddy.

Randy pushes me back down.

“Get down before you get us all killed, fool.”

“But what about my uncle?”

“We will follow them and see where they take him,” says Chick-A-Boo. Peeping back up, we see them forcing Uncle Buddy into the boot of a black car.

Three of them climb inside and the other two get in a car in front of the one with Uncle Buddy, and they all start driving away.

Chick-A-Boo, Randy, and me are now running as fast as we can behind the building, trying to get back to the pickup truck to follow them.

When the two Klan cars get to the end of Main Street, just before you enter Lovers' Lane that leads to the swamp, they get caught at the stoplight. Our only stoplight.

“They stopped,” Randy says.

Still on foot, we ease to the end of the building to see which way they are going to turn.

“Stop, or I will shoot!”

Lord, I almost pee on myself again, because I think they have caught us. But no, in between Moore's Grocery and the Fish House, we peep again. All we can see is the back of Uncle Buddy running faster than a jackrabbit. The boot is wide open. I can't believe they didn't tie Uncle Buddy up.

That white trash raises his rifle into the air and aims it at Uncle Buddy. I close my eyes and wait for his head to blow into the night sky.

But the tallest KKK man knocks the attempted murderer's gun to the ground.

“You fool, you are going to wake up all of Main Street!” Thank God, that Klan member has come to his senses. He can't shoot Uncle Buddy, so he lowers his rifle.

They chase Uncle Buddy on foot. We chase them.

Then I hear a big splash and I know my prayers are answered.

He did it. Uncle Buddy just made it to the swamp. All those big fat white men are on their knees out of breath.

We run into the woods so they don't see us.

“Randy, my uncle ain't going to get caught. He and Grandpa hunted in the swamp for rattlesnakes to make belts for years. He knows that swamp, and they aren't going to never find him. Never!”

Good God from Zion.

We laugh. . . .

We laugh. . . .

We laugh. . . .

Out of breath . . .

We laugh. . . .

We are going home.

I climb back in the bedroom window.

Just like I figure, Ma and Grandma are still asleep in the sitting room. I sleep like a newborn baby for the rest of the night.

T
his morning I make sure that I am up early enough to ease drop on Grandma and Grandpa while Ma is taking a bath.

“Braxton, where in the world did you go last night?” Grandma asks in a whisper.

“Woman, you know better than to ask Masons' business.”

“Masons' business? Man, you got one foot in the grave and the other one on a banana peeling and you talking about don't ask Masons' business?”

Grandpa kind of chuckles at that one. One foot in the grave and the other one on a banana peeling.
That's what she and Uncle Buddy are always saying about Mr. Bay.

“Ain't no need to get all out of place now,” says Grandpa. “I didn't go to Rich Square. The meeting was at Johnny Williams' house. We met for the final plans to get Buddy out of jail before them white folks killed him. The senior Masons stayed there and played bait with Johnny while some of the other men folks went off and did what they had to do.”

“Played bait? You best start making sense, Braxton Jones, if you plan to eat breakfast this mornin'.”

Poor Grandpa. Now she is controlling him with food.

“If you hush your fussing, I will tell you the rest. See, around midnight, we stage for Johnny's brother, Tradus, to get sick. Then we called the law for them to come down there to help us. That's the reason we had the meeting at Johnny's, because he is the only colored on Bryant Town Road with a telephone. Of course the law came, because you know Tradus cleans the jailhouse, and if they like any colored person in Rich Square, it Tradus. It's
amazing what white folks will do to take care of coloreds that clean their houses and offices.

“Anyway, when they got down there, just as we thought, not only did they take care of Tradus, they took him clean to the hospital in Rocky Mount. Tradus shoo should go out to Hollywood and start acting, because he fooled them white boys.”

“Then what happen?”

“What do you think happen?” Grandpa answered.

“The young men folks went to break Buddy out of jail. Had a car waiting to take him to Newport News, then on to Harlem. 'Course they cut through the swamp so white folks wouldn't see them coming to town. Go through the swamp and you don't have to worry about white folks; they think it's filled with hanks and slave bones. Anyway, when the Masons made it deep in the swamp, out of nowhere Buddy jumped. Didn't have to break him out of jail. Never even made it to town. The KKK beat them to Buddy and by God, he got away from them somehow and made it to that swamp.

“That boy knows that swamp like I know Jones
Property. Brother Boone said they met Buddy midway. He was knee-deep in water and they spotted each other at the same time. They told me every word my boy said.”

“ ‘Buddy,' Brother Boone yelled.

“ ‘Bro Boone. Yes it's me,' Buddy yelled back.

“ ‘Get over here, man. We were on our way to get you out of jail. How in the sand hill did you get out on your own?' Brother Boone asked.

“Buddy told the Masons how the Klan took him out of jail. After that, they left that swamp and made it to the cars, and Brother Smitty took him on to Newport News. From there they taking him to New York. He must be halfway to Harlem by now.”

Grandma drops one of the plates with the dancing white ladies on it.

Better her than me.

“You mean my boy out of jail? Jesus to the highest!”

Grandma throws her hands in the air and starts shouting like she has the Holy Ghost.

“Thank, thank, thank you, Jesus. Oh, thank you, Jesus. I been praying for my child.”

This is better than watching a Saturday night movie.

For a moment, I feel the spirit too. Then I realize it's Ma hitting me on my behind with Grandpa's belt.

“Girl, didn't I tell you about ease dropping?”

Grandma is praising the Lord so loud that Ma heard her all the way in the washroom.

Lick one is painful. Lick two is harder, and three and four are worse. Five, I feel like hell has come to earth.

“Go and put your Sunday clothes on,” Ma says in between licks.

I want to cry, but I have made up my mind that almost-teenagers don't cry. So I hang on to Ma's waist so that every time she hit me, she hits herself too. Well, that is a mistake.

She stops and now she is giving me the look of death.

“You have finally lost your mind! Go to your room and put your clothes on. You ain't going nowhere but to the fields for the rest of the summer!”

I am not going to look at her. Surely, she don't mean I can't go to Harlem. But this is no time to ask. I run to my room and close the door. Grandpa and Grandma never even heard me getting my tail whipped because Grandma is still calling on the Lord.

I dress for church.

Chapel Hill Baptist Church ain't going to be able to hold the folks today.

When we drive up, the deaconesses have posted signs on every tree on the church ground.

“Buddy Bush is free. Thank God.”

Sore behind and all, Lord what a time we have.

I
t's Monday morning and I'm back in the fields.

Everyone in the fields are talking about my uncle Buddy Bush escape. And the law is all over Rich Square looking for him. Randy said they are bringing in some outside law, from over in Potecasi.

Chick-A-Boo and me are staying close to each other all day and we ain't talking very much to nobody else. I don't even talk to Miss Nora all day. We have witnessed a crime and we are scared to death. Randy acts like nothing even happen on Saturday night.

“Who's that?” Chick-A-Boo asks.

I look up and see something that scares me worse than what we saw two nights ago.

A white truck with a bunch of white men on the back. Who are they and what do they want? White folks only come on Rehobeth Road if they own land or to see Mr. Bay.

We aren't moving a inch as the white men raise shotguns in the air and yell, “We want that nigger, Buddy Bush!”

“A nigger for a white woman!”