One Mississippi (24 page)

“Ma’am?”

“Yeah, I was the first one got tangled up with him, went in there trying to settle him in, nasty old thang starts to calling me nigger, well I tell you right now I don’t care who he is, I ain’t putting up with that bullshit! Cause that’s all
that
is, racist cracker bullshit. Ain’t nothing in my job description says I have to put up with it! I told him to stuff it up his old ass, then another girl went in there, he start up with her too. Say he don’t want to be took care of by no niggers, for us to go get him a white nurse.”

“Look, I’m sorry, if I could explain,” I said.

She made a face. “Yeah, go on. I want to hear you explain.”

I swallowed. “Well — Jacko’s real old. He’s from out in the country. And he says that word, but he doesn’t really mean it — not like, you know, if I was to say it.”

She lifted her chin. “If you was to say it, I would kick yo white ass down the stairs. And if he wadn’t crippled, I’d kick his white ass down there too.”

“He’s got all these black friends back home,” I said. “That’s what he used to call them, and they liked it.”

“Well, I don’t like it. Nobody here like it. Are you tellin’ me we supposed to
like
it?”

“No,” I said. “Just, he doesn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Honey, there ain’t no good way you can say nigger.”

Another nurse came to join in. “This one related to 503?”

“Yeah, tellin’ me how some that old cracker’s best friends is black, so that give him the right to say nigger whenever he wants.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“What it sound like to me,” said the orange-haired nurse.

I raised my hands in surrender. “I’ll tell him to shut up.”

“Yeah, you tell him,” she said. “Five-oh-three.”

The door stood wide open. Jacko lay crumpled on his side, his nose and mouth covered by a yellow oxygen mask. Tubes ran up under his hospital gown.

I went around the end of the bed. “How you feeling, old man?”

He looked pale, decrepit. He pulled the mask an inch from his face. “Hey Danums. They got nothing in this place but nigger nurses.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” I said. “But they don’t like you calling ’em nigger. If you keep it up, they’re gonna kick your white ass down the stairs. That’s what they said.”

“Take me on home, Danums.”

“I can’t. Home is gone. Dad blew it up.”

“Not there,” he said. “I mean
home.
”

“Sorry, Jacko. You’re sick. Doctor says you gotta stay here.”

“Yo daddy didn’t blow up no house,” Jacko said. “It was Miz Wagna, I done tole you. She come from the devil. She is trying to murder us all.”

“Shut up and breathe your oxygen, old man. It wasn’t Miz Wagner.”

His cackle turned into a coughing fit.

Both nurses kept their eye on me all the way to the elevator lobby. They watched me the whole time I stood waiting for the elevator. The bell went
ding!
and I got on, and they kept watching me until the doors slid shut.

1
8

I
RODE IN
the back of the station wagon. Mom yelled. Dad drove. He kept saying “Calm down, now” and “Would you calm yourself?” I tried to say something, but Mom whirled on me and told me to shut my mouth, it was just as much my fault as Daddy’s for not lifting one finger to stop him.

“It’s one thing when a moving van tumps over in the highway and everything burns,” she cried. “That’s fate! That’s an act of God, and nothing you can do about it. But to do it on purpose, Lee, to set out to destroy our home, all the things we — my God, what am I supposed to wear? I don’t have any clothes!”

“You can get new clothes with the insurance money. You can get a mink coat.”

“What would I do with a mink coat in Mississippi?” Mom shouted. “I don’t want new clothes — I want
my
clothes! I want to go home and get in my bed and pull the covers over my head and forget about you!”

Dad shrugged. “I said I was sorry. What else do you want?”

“Oh please — like one ‘sorry’ is supposed to make up for this? Forget it! I am not forgiving you this time!” She was really wound up. “I’ll tell you who’s sorry — I am, that I ever met you! And didn’t have the sense to keep from marrying you, like Mary Nell tried to warn me. No, I’ve stuck it out all these years, and for what? Thinking maybe you’d change, but you never do. Your bad side just gets worse.”

Dad said Mom was damn lucky to have him, he could have married any girl in Alabama.

She laughed. “Lucky is not the word. I have just about had it with you. You let your temper run away with you, and now you’ve done this foolish thing, Lee, this childish, idiotic —”

“Watch out.” He darkened.

Mom gave birth to a healthy nine-pound sigh. “This
stupid
thing,” she said, “which leaves us with nothing.”

“Insurance,” he said. “Fifty thousand on the contents, full cash payout.”

“All of life is not about insurance!”

“At least you could give me some credit for taking it,” he said, “after the hell you gave me for turning it down before.”

“Credit?” she shrieked. “You want me to give you credit?”

“Guys, would y’all please shut up?” I said, as nicely as I could.

They left off yelling at each other to turn around in their seats and yell at me. What finally shut them up was the first whiff, at the foot of Buena Vista Drive: a scorchy electrical-fire odor.

“Look at all these cars,” Mom said. “What in the world?”

“Bunch of durn rubberneckers,” said Dad. “Annabelle Wagner is not gonna like them parking all over her grass.”

Mom gasped, “Oh my God!” and fell back in her seat.

The snowlike scattering on the landscape was our disintegrated stuff. The explosion had taken down both of the big oaks. Great heaps of greenery lay all over the yard, as if Hurricane Camille had swept up our street.

Hours after the house blew up, people were still lining up three deep at the yellow rope, snapping pictures, having a look. Around the smoldering hole was a herd of Mississippi Gas trucks, two Minor fire trucks, cop cars, sheriff’s cars, a bulldozer.

We had to drive all the way up the hill to find a place to park. Our former house was now a tourist attraction. See The Smoking Hole In The Ground! See The Family Walking Toward The Smoking Hole!

Someone had already nailed plywood over the windows on the near side of the Logues’ house and all along the front of the Wagners’. Debris littered every yard on Buena Vista Drive. Dad winced when he saw all this secondary damage. In all his careful calculations, I don’t think he had ever stopped to think about the neighbors.

From out of the crowd came Ella Beecham, opening her arms to me. “Musgrove! We thought you was dead — and look at you, live as anybody!” She squeezed me hard about the ribs.

“Miz Beecham! What are you doing here?”

She sniffed. “Hmp. I stopped being mad at you when I thought you was dead,” she said. “But now that you ain’t, I’m going right back like I was.”

Arnita slipped up behind me, put her arms around me, kissed my cheek. “Hey you,” she murmured. “I knew you had to be okay.”

I was shocked all over again by how beautiful she was in her little white sleeveless T-shirt, cutoff jeans crisp against slender brown legs. There was not a flaw of any kind. What a miracle on earth I was ever permitted to kiss this girl, much less do what we did in my bed in the house that now lay scattered all around us. My heart soared to think she had been worried for me — she made her mother bring her out here to see about me! “I’m so glad you’re here,” I said.

“We were watching the news, and — oh my God,” Arnita said. “They said no sign of survivors, but I knew you couldn’t be dead. I would have felt it. I was so scared you got hurt or something. Are you really okay? Is your family okay?”

“Yeah. A little shook up, that’s all. Jacko’s in the hospital. I thought you might be mad at me because of — well, you left that morning without waking me up. . . .”

“Arnita was a little upset,” she said, “but I was okay. I could tell your mom didn’t want me to stay.”

People I barely knew were coming up to hug and congratulate us for being alive. I’d always thought of Buena Vista Drive as a friendless place, but among the crowd were dozens of neighbors, parents of kids from the school bus, two of Janie’s teachers, and the pastor of a Methodist church Mom and Dad had attended once.

I saw Mrs. Beecham talking to Mom, actually patting Mom’s arm. I was surprised Mom would let her do that. She didn’t normally like to be touched.

Dad stepped over the rope and headed toward the hole. Mom hurried after him.

I said, “I need to go with them.”

“Musgrove,” said Ella Beecham, “what did you do to your house?”

“I knew you’d blame me. Wait here, I’ll be back.”

Arnita squeezed my hand. “Go on. We’ll be here.”

At the edge of the hole was a cluster of firemen, cops, gas company men. One man detached himself from the group and came over to us. He was old — maybe forty — his face craggy from a case of long-ago acne. He was solid, built low to the ground. He wore khaki pants and a white shirt with sleeves rolled up.

“Mr. Musgrove, Miz Musgrove,” he said, with a nod for me.

“Do I know you?” said Dad.

He extended his hand. “We talked on the phone. Detective Sergeant Jeff Magill, Hinds County sheriff’s office?”

“Oh yeah, surely, right.” Dad shook his hand. “Well, as you can see we’ve lost our home.”

“I just need to visit with you a little while, get some information for my report. I’m sure you know all about writing reports, the business you’re in. Chemicals, isn’t that what you said?”

Dad nodded. “TriDex.”

“We know what bugs you,” said Magill with his nonhumorous smile.

Dad winced. “That’s the one.”

The name was familiar. Wasn’t there a Sergeant Magill involved in Arnita’s accident? I decided to keep my mouth shut.

“Were you storing any chemicals in your house, Mr. Musgrove?”

“I may have had some samples in the carport. Pesticides, mostly.”

Mom stirred. “My husband wasn’t here when it happened,” she announced. “He was at the hospital with our daughter, Jane. Daniel and I are the ones who were here.”

This was a bold thrust from Mom — a lie wide enough to drive a battleship through, completely disprovable ten different ways, including the fact that it was Dad who reported the “leak” to Mississippi Gas and Mom who’d never left Janie’s side at the hospital. I couldn’t imagine what she hoped to gain by telling this whopper.

I focused my gaze on Jeff Magill’s scuffed loafers.

He seemed not to have heard Mom’s remark. “You sure none of those chemicals was explosive?”

Dad said, “I’m in the ag division. We don’t handle those lines.”

“Because ordinarily, a gas leak will blow out your windows. Not level a house to the ground.”

Mom spoke up: “It was a bad leak. You never smelled so much gas in your life.”

He peered at her. “Ma’am? I’ll be with you shortly.”

Mom didn’t care for his tone. “But I told you, Lee wasn’t even here. Shouldn’t you be asking me the questions?”

“Oh I will,” he said politely. “Just as soon as I’m done with Mr. Musgrove.”

My heart banged away in my chest. Why was Mom acting so guilty? I wasn’t sure whether blowing up your own house was an actual crime, but if she wasn’t careful, somebody was going to jail. Maybe she thought she was protecting Dad or the insurance money, but I was certain this lie was a bad idea. I knew better than anybody how a harmless little lie could turn into a Lie, and take over your life.

Dad seemed unable to act. That left it up to me.

I said, “Mom, you weren’t here. You were at the hospital. You know Dad was here with me and Jacko. Did you take your medication today?”

Mom glared as if I’d just shown everybody a picture of her in her underwear. “What medication? What are you talking about?”

Jeff Magill’s eyebrows went up. “Y’all want me to step aside while you get your stories straightened out?”

“Come on, Mom, you’re supposed to tell him the truth. He’s the police.”

“I know who he is,” she said through clenched teeth. “You know perfectly well your father was at the hospital, and you and I were here.” Her smile for Magill showed the strain. “The child bumped his head in the explosion. They said he might have a mild concussion.”

“Aw now, Peggy Jean, honey, that’s not so,” Dad said gently. He’d caught on to what I was doing, and decided to help me. “She’s been down at that hospital all night with our daughter,” he told Magill. “She’s worn-out. This thing is a shock. She needs to lie down.”

“Stop that! There’s nothing wrong with me!” she flared.

“Miz Musgrove, I understand you’re upset, I know losing your home must be hard,” Magill said. “I just need to get this information for my report.”

“The boy and I came in and found the house full of fumes,” Dad said. “We got Jack Otis out — that’s her uncle, he’s crippled — and I called the gas company. They said get out of the house. We did, and it blew. It was so loud, it gave the old man a stroke. We’ve been at the hospital with him ever since. That’s where I was when I called you.”

Magill turned to me. “You’re Dan?”

“Yes sir. Daniel.”

“Is that what happened, Dan?”

“Yes sir,” I said. “Sorry, Mom.”

“I don’t know why I even bother,” she muttered.

“Any idea what might have ignited the gas, Mr. Musgrove?” Jeff Magill said casually, as if asking him to guess tomorrow’s weather.

“I have no idea,” Dad said. “I reckon it wouldn’t take more than a spark, huh?”

“I reckon not. You having any kind of financial problems?”

“Nope. I ain’t rich, but we get along okay.”

“Everything all right with your job, your family, like that?”

“Couldn’t be better.” It would take only one phone call to find out he’d lost his job, but Dad seemed bent on bluffing his way through this. “Well, of course we — I worry about —”

Mom caught him indicating her with his eyes. “Why would you worry about me?”

A pained smile from Dad. “Not you, sweetheart.”

“Stop pretending there’s something wrong with me!”

“Nothing wrong with you, Peggy,” said Dad. “Everything’s fine. Calm down. We can get another house.”

“I assume you had insurance,” Magill said.

“Actually, this house didn’t belong to me,” Dad said. “I didn’t own it. My company holds the title. It’s one of our fringe benefits. I imagine they carried a policy on it.”

“But it’s not in your name?”

“Nope. Alls I got is a little State Farm policy on the contents.” Dad was cool under the steady gaze of Magill.

A spindly red-haired man came over to introduce himself as Bert Hinkle, the fire inspector from Minor. “Folks, I’d have to say y’all are mighty lucky to come out of that alive.”

“I agree one hundred percent,” said Dad.

Jeff Magill said, “What you thinking, Bert?”

“Obvious there was a break in the line, but I can’t say why. Musta been a leak somewheres, I’d guess the kitchen. Mis’sippi Gas says they had normal pressure, and I hadn’t seen any other indications. I got no clear source of ignition. Probably a spark from a thermostat, or some appliance. I’d have to say accidental, origin unexplained.”

“Well that’s what we’ve got, then,” Magill said. “I’ll make my report.”

Dad kept his poker face. He didn’t yell “Bingo!” or allow himself to look relieved.

I searched the ground for some recognizable fragment I could take as a souvenir. It all seemed to be splinters of Sheetrock, bits of foil-backed paper, rubbly brick — not a single object you could look at and say, that’s a pencil, that’s a fork, that’s one spoke off a beloved green Schwinn ten-speed . . .

I walked back to the rope line to find Arnita and Mrs. Wagner shaking their heads over the miracle of our survival. I told Arnita I didn’t care if the whole world blew up, I still wanted to take her to Sonny and Cher on Saturday night. Mrs. Beecham, having recently thought I was dead, was forced to give her permission.

I saw Mom waving me to come rescue her from the mob of well-wishers. “We’ll pick you up at six-thirty,” I told Arnita. “You be ready.”

She smiled and said she would.

I waded into the crowd. “Hey Mom, Dad says we need to get going.”

“Okay honey, I’m coming.” She turned for one last round of hugs. “Bless you, sugar, let me go now, we gotta get back to the hospital. We’ve got two in there to look after now.”

A man in a pickup truck followed us up the hill to our car so he could have our parking spot. It pleased Dad to make him wait, and wait some more, until Dad was good and ready to pull out.

We were halfway to town when Mom said, “I guess that went all right.”

“Yep, thanks to Mr. Largemouth Bass taking the bait.” Dad stuck his thumb back at me.

“You can say that again.” Mom grinned.

I sat up. “What are y’all talking about?”

“We knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your mouth shut,” said Mom. “You’ve been contradicting us since you learned to talk. The first word you ever said was ‘no.’”

I got that cold awful feeling that comes from discovering your parents are not quite as ignorant as you have always assumed. “Wait. You guys were doing that together?”