Tulsa Burning (3 page)

I shook my head. "No money." I mouthed the words, too ashamed to say them out loud.

"You come with me," Daisy said, and I steadied myself, then followed her through the swinging doors into the kitchen. She
pointed at a small table with a chair. "Set yourself down," she said, and she dipped up a bowl of stew for me.

I reckon no food ever tasted so good to me, but I hated to be given a handout. When I left, I muttered a quick "thanks," without
even looking at Daisy Harrison.

I got out of the door quick and moved down the street, cussing my pa. I didn't stop until I was in front of the drugstore,
which was closed. Trying to figure what to do next, I leaned on the building, my shoulder against the pay phone. It wasn't
long till a man I didn't know stopped his automobile and come toward me. "Would you mind moving, so's I can make a call?"
the stranger asked me.

I took a few steps, but I watched as the man dropped coins into the slot. He tried to make a call then, but he ended up pounding
on the phone. "Dang thing stole my money," he yelled to nobody in particular. "Reckon it's busted."

I never had really put no thought into how a telephone like that worked. I started to wonder where the money went. I could
see the box. The money couldn't go through them little telephone lines. No, the money had to still be in that box. When the
stranger put up that receiver, I went back to that telephone box, and I studied the keyholes.

I never could have been a telephone thief if what happened next had not happened. Lo and behold, a man in a telephone truck
drove up just then. I moved on down the street a little so he wouldn't notice me, but I leaned against a door watching him.
He took the money out of that pay telephone. Then he took it off the wall, put it on his truck, got a new one, and put it
on.

When the man went into the Café to eat, I took the phone off his truck, and I run with it. I was scared to death, and I kept
looking back over my shoulder. The phone was pretty heavy, and I knowed I couldn't run far. I headed for some trees that grow
around a little creek just back of Main Street. There I dropped down on the brown grass and went to studying that phone.

It had two locks on it, one back on the side and one in the front. The amazing thing was that in the side lock I found a key,
a little strip of metal with sort of waves in it. I turned my attention to the front lock, and I got a good idea. In my pocket,
I had a piece of gum. Cinda had give it to me the day before at school, and I was saving it for when hunger got too much,
and I just had to have some taste besides my own spit in my mouth.

I took out the stick of gum, just wet it a little in my mouth, and eased it into the lock. Ever so careful, I pulled the gum
out of the lock, and I had a great impression of the key. I'd take that key to the blacksmith's shop in town and ask to use
his tools to make me a real key.

Then I started to worry about the phone man. When he missed the phone, what if he remembered me watching him? He could ask
around town and learn my name. Besides, he might figure out what I was doing. He might even take away Wekiwa's one pay phone.

The man might still be in the Café. I had to see if I could return that phone, minus the key. Maybe he would think the key
fell out, or maybe he had even forgot that he left it in. Even though it was freezing cold, I took off my worn-out coat and
wrapped it around the phone. I knowed if the phone man saw me with the bundle, he'd figure right off what it was. The coat,
though, would keep other folks from knowing.

First, I stored my gum key on a rock. Then I run back into town. When I got to the street where the truck was parked, I leaned
around the corner of a building to look. The truck was still there. I didn't run, just walked along, natural, with my bundle
under my arm.

I only passed one woman on the sidewalk. She didn't pay me no mind, just hurried by with her head down. No one else seemed
to be around. I moved toward the truck. I had just replaced the phone when someone yelled, "Hey!"

I jumped. The telephone man was coming off the sidewalk toward me. "What are you doing, kid?" he demanded.

Had he seen me with the phone? My heart was pounding, and I thought maybe my mouth was too dry to talk, but I got something
out. "I was just looking at this here truck," I said. "Are you the fellow that gets to drive it? That sure must be a grand
job." I reached out and sort of stroked the truck, amazed at what a good liar I could be.

He laughed. "I am," he said, "but it ain't as much fun as you make it sound." He got in then and drove away, leaving me there
too weak to move on.

Five times last winter I used them keys. I figured it wouldn't be smart to take all the money. The phone company man was bound
to get suspicious if there wasn't no money a'tall in the box when he come to collect. Besides, I was always hoping I wouldn't
need to use the keys to keep me and Ma from starving again.

"Where'd you get the money for all this?" Ma asked me when I brought the groceries home that first time.

I let on like I didn't hear her, just kept setting food from the box onto the table. I had hitched the horses to the wagon,
and without telling Ma where, I drove into town to buy the meat, potatoes, cans of corn, peas, carrots, and green beans. "I
was thinking maybe you could make some stew," I said. "Stew tastes real good when it's cold as blazes outside."

Ma took the package of meat and stroked the white paper covering it. Then she untied the string, took off the paper, and held
the meat up in front of her to admire. "Stew sure does sound good," she said, and she moved to take down the big kettle that
hung over the wood stove. But she stopped still, holding the kettle above her head. "Son, I want to know how you come up with
the money for these goods!"

I just shrugged. "What difference does it make how I done it. It's done, and I don't see as how I got to talk about it." Ma's
face looked all hurt and fearful, and I softened. "Well," I said, "don't make me talk about it now, Ma. I'll tell you sometime."

It wasn't no easy thing, facing Ma after I had stolen money, but it was even harder going to Mrs. Mitchell's place. I had
to take her milk, though. I waited till after I had my stomach full of Ma's stew. The wind had died down, but it was still
plenty cold. I didn't hitch up the horses, though. Somehow, I thought that it was right, me walking in the cold. I reckon
I was hoping somehow that it would make me feel better, sort of like I was paying for the stealing by being cold.

I tried whistling to sort of keep my mind off things, but when I got close to Mrs. Mitchell's house, I couldn't keep the whistling
up. I took to hoping she wouldn't be home. If she was gone, I could go inside and leave the milk. She could pay me the twenty
cents later. She was there, though. I could see a lantern's light, and the automobile Isaac had bought her a few months before
was parked near the door.

"I'm coming," she called as soon as I knocked. "Oh, Noble," she said when she opened the door, "come right in out of the cold.
You are such a good boy, bringing my milk through the cold night. You could have waited until tomorrow."

I'd been feeling pretty low already, but her saying I was good made me just plumb miserable. I stepped inside and set the
milk jar on the kitchen table. "No, ma'am," I said. "I sure enough am not good, and I ain't Noble either, and you shouldn't
call me that." I stepped back toward the door.

"Noble is your name, and Noble you are," she said, and she peered at my face real close like. "I know a thing or two about
boys, the good ones and the ones too troubled to be good. I raised one of the good ones myself." She waved her hand in the
direction of the fireplace mantel and the big picture of Isaac. "I've taught a great many boys, many of them good and some
of the troubled ones too. Boys are the same, white or colored. I know a good boy when I see one, and you, Noble Chase, are
undoubtedly one of the good ones. What, I am wondering, would make you think otherwise?"

"It's nothing, I reckon," I said. "But it ain't easy deciding what's good and what ain't." I shrugged. "The world ain't a
very good place as I see it, awful cold and hungry."

"Are you hungry, child? Gracious! I should have asked already. I have a big piece of ham left over from my supper, and I baked
bread yesterday." She moved toward her small icebox.

"No." I took another backward step toward the door. "I ain't hungry a'tall. I just had me two big bowls of stew."

"You're sure?"

I nodded my head, turned, and reached for the door handle. "I'm awful sorry, Mrs. Mitchell," I muttered.

"For what?"

For a second I couldn't answer. I couldn't tell her what I done. Then I thought of something to say. "I keep forgetting and
saying 'ain't,' and you asked me not to use the word. I'm awful sorry."

She smiled at me. "It's all right. I've no doubt that you will learn, Noble. I've no doubt that you will grow up to be well
educated."

"I don't know, but thank you, ma'am." I stepped out into the night.

"You will be good too," Mrs. Mitchell added. "Just as you are right now."

I didn't have nothing to say, just let on like I didn't hear her and headed off into the cold night. When last winter was
over, I told myself I wouldn't never use them black keys again, but I didn't throw them away, just stuck them way back on
my shelf. Finally, in the spring Pa sold a calf, and Ma got the money hid away before he could drink it up. Now I was putting
them keys in my pocket, thinking I might use them if I had to escape from Sheriff Leonard's place.

"Come along, son," Ma called from the next room. "Dudley will be getting impatient."

Dudley! So Ma had taken to using the sheriff's first name. What would be next? The idea made me sick, but the name made me
smile. Dudley! I hadn't never heard his given name before. Dudley! That was awful close to Dud. That's what I'd call him in
my mind and under my breath. Sheriff Leonard was a Dud of a man, well known for bullying poor people, especially the colored
folks. No wonder Mrs. Mitchell warned me to be careful.

I rolled my clothes into a bundle with my marble jar and horseshoe in the middle of it. Then I looked around one last time
at the little room I'd always slept in. Ma waited near the front door. "Hurry," she said. "We can't be taking advantage of
the sheriff's kindness."

"We sure enough cannot, because there ain't no such thing as that man's kindness." I moved toward the door. "He'll expect
to be repaid, Ma, and you know it as sure as I do."

That made her as mad as a wet hen, and she whirled to look back at me. "Nobe," she said, but she got interrupted by a shout
from outside.

"Vivian, will you get that kid of yours out here! We got to get a move on. I ain't got all day to fritter away. I got law
work to see to."

Ma scurried for the door. "We're coming, Dudley, right this very minute."

Sheriff Leonard had left the front-porch rocking chair. He set behind the steering wheel of his automobile, his door still
open. The minute I set foot on the porch, Rex come running to me. I bent to stroke the dog's back. "Come on, boy," I said,
"we've got to go for a ride."

"Don't be thinking you'uns is bringing that mangy critter," the sheriff called.

I froze there beside my dog. "Please, Ma," I begged, "I can't leave Rex."

She looked at me, then back out toward the sheriff. She sighed. "Dudley," she called, "the dog means a powerful lot to the
boy."

The sheriff heaved his great bulk real quick like from the automobile. "You heard me, woman. I said the dog ain't going!"

"Then don't be waiting for me." I got up, stepped off the porch, and headed toward the barn. Rex trotted beside me.

"Suit your own self then," shouted the sheriff. "I wasn't crazy about having no scruffy kid like you around anyways, but don't
be thinking as you'll hang around this house. Charlie Carson's likely done got plans to put his brother-in-law on the place."

"Nobe, honey," Ma called, "be reasonable." I looked back to see her twisting her hands together. "The new folks will likely
feed Rex," she said, "and you know yourself that dog will be happier right here than in town."

Ignoring them both, I just kept walking. "Dudley, please," Ma said, "I can't leave the boy out here all alone with nothing."

I didn't turn and look, so I never saw the sheriff take his gun from the holster he wore. I did hear my ma scream, but by
then the bullet had found its target. Rex fell down to the ground. For a second, I was too addled to realize what had happened.
Then I moaned and dropped down beside my dog.

"Rex," I pleaded, "don't be dead. You can't be dead, boy." Rex did not move. His eyes stared straight ahead. I put my hand
on Rex's side and felt no breath coming out of him. I could feel hot tears gathering up behind my eyes, but I fought them
back. I would not cry! I just wouldn't! I hated them both, my ma just the same as the sheriff. I wouldn't never let either
of them see me cry!

Ma pulled on my arm. "I'm sorry, son, so sorry, but we're obliged to go."

"I'm going to bury him, Ma. You can go on with the sheriff if you want to, or maybe 'Dudley' will just decide to shoot me
too. Don't matter. I'm not leaving until I bury my dog." Without ever looking at her, I got up, went to the barn, and come
back with a shovel.

"Please, Dudley. The boy's been hurt a great lot." Ma's words carried to my ears as I carried Rex and the shovel toward the
cottonwood tree. I hated the syrupy sweet tone in her voice, pleading with the man who just got done shooting my dog.

Don't think about the sheriff now, I told myself. Hate was a bitter taste in my mouth, but I knowed I couldn't fight the man
and his badge. There wouldn't be no way of beating him. Not now, but the day would come. It had to! That was the minute I
started living for revenge! I put all my energy into digging the hole. When the grave was dug and Rex was covered, I went
to the big black automobile. Ma and "Dudley" had been standing under the shade of an oak tree. They come and got into the
car. It didn't surprise me none that Ma got up front with him.