Tulsa Burning (6 page)

"Really, though, truth be told, there's something else good about living with the sheriff. I got me a job."

"Congratulations," said Isaac. "You'll be buying your own motorcar next."

I laughed. "No, I promised Elmer Keller at the blacksmith shop."

Mrs. Mitchell came back, gave me the tea, and settled on the settee, smoothing her cotton dress across her lap. "Oh, I'm pleased
for you, Noble!" she said. "Where are you working?"

"At the Café. I'm washing dishes."

"The Café?" Mrs. Mitchell stood up, and her face seemed uneasy.

"Yes. I'm working for Daisy and Sim Harrison. They're paying me twenty cents for every hour I work. Ain't that amazing?"

Mrs. Mitchell had a strange look on her face. "It is amazing, Noble, but I thought you were going to work on not using 'ain't,'"
she said.

"I am," I said. "I'll work on not saying 'ain't,' and I'll wash me a heap of dishes, every dish Lester puts in my stack."

"Lester?" said Isaac.

"Yeah, he's the cook they hired. He's colored, but he ain't—isn't—very nice. They say he can cook right well, though."

Isaac looked at his mother, "You knew Lester was back, didn't you, Mama?" he said. "I could see something bothered you about
Nobe working at the Café. I wish you had told me."

"I knew," said Mrs. Mitchell, and her face was troubled. "I've been putting off telling you." She sat down and turned to me.
"Lester is indeed an unpleasant man, but he is Isaac's father and was once my husband. He comes back into our lives from time
to time." She sighed. "I don't know why, because he has nothing but contempt for me and has done nothing for Isaac since he
was little more than a baby." She smiled a forced little smile. "It would probably be best if you did not mention us to him,
either. He would make your life harder, just because we are your friends."

I nodded. "I've had me lots of practice being around unpleasant folks. My pa wasn't exactly no Sunday school teacher. I reckon
I can put up with Lester and maybe even the sheriff." I made my hands into fists. "I do hate that Sheriff Leonard, though.
Hate him with a powerful, burning hate."

"No, Noble," Mrs. Mitchell leaned toward me. "Try not to hate. It's an emotion that eats away at those who allow it in their
heart. Hatred does more harm to those who feel it than it does to those who are hated."

I looked down at flowers in the linoleum that covered the floor. "I'd do most anything for you, Mrs. Mitchell," I said, "but
I can't stop hating the sheriff." I shook my head and bit at my lip. "That man killed my dog, shot Rex just to show how powerful
he was. I hate him, all right, and I reckon I'm bound to get even."

"Oh, no," said Isaac, "not Rex! What happened?"

I told them all about it. "I buried him, though," I said when the story was done. "I couldn't just leave him there, like he
said to do, not even if he had shot me." I looked at Mrs. Mitchell. "See why I hate him?" I said, and my voice almost broke
into a sob.

Mrs. Mitchell reached out to pat my hand. "Oh, Noble," was all she said.

The room was quiet for a while. Then Isaac stood and walked to the side of the living room. "Look," he said. "See the Victrola
I brought Mama." I'd seen it before, but I didn't let on because I knew Isaac was reaching for something we could discuss
without anyone hurting. He started turning the handle, and music came out. Some fellow was singing about a place called Tipperary
and about how it's a long long ways away.

After we had listened for a spell, I got up and said I ought to go. "I don't want to rile the sheriff by getting in late,"
I added. Then I looked at Isaac. "You can stay with your mama a while and give me a driving lesson later." I started toward
the door, but Isaac stood up too.

"No, I've got to be getting back to Tulsa. We'll go together."

When we were outside, Isaac said, "Let me drive first. I want to talk to you. Then you can take the wheel."

Inside the automobile, I leaned back against the seat and rolled down the window. The May night air was cool and sweet with
alfalfa growing nearby. I loved the feeling of the soft wind against my skin.

As soon as he had the engine going, Isaac started to talk. "Mama wouldn't like me telling you this," he said, "but for some
reason, I feel like I want to tell you about Lester."

"Tell me," I said.

"Well, they lived in Atlanta. That's where I was born, and so was my brother, Daniel."

"You have a brother?"

"Had a brother. He died when he was four. I was two years younger. I wish I had been old enough to remember him. Mama and
Lester were in school. He was almost finished and planning to go to medical school. I guess the man was brilliant once before
his mind got eaten away." Isaac stopped, but I wanted to hear more.

"What happened?" I said, real quick.

"Well, Mama always looked up to Booker T Washington. He was a colored man who believed education and hard work were the answer
to our race's problems. Lester, though, took classes from a professor named Du Bois, who believed colored people had to speak
out and fight for our rights. Lester started doing things Mama didn't approve of." He paused and took a deep breath. "She
worked for a white family, and Lester would take care of us while she did. One day he left me with a neighbor and took Daniel
out with him. There was a big construction job going on. Lester and his friends went down to the site to talk to the colored
men, to urge them not to work for less than half what the white workers were being paid. Mama said the neighbor begged him
to leave Daniel with her too, but Lester said, 'This is Daniel. He will be just fine in the lion's den.'" Isaac shook his
head. "It didn't work like that, though. Things got ugly. White men started throwing rocks. Lester had Daniel in his arms,
trying to shield him. A rock hit Daniel's head, though, and it killed him, right there."

"Gosh," I said, "that's awful."

"Yeah. Mama blamed Lester for taking Daniel there. I imagine Lester blamed himself too, but all it did was turn him to alcohol
and make him full of hate. They lived together for a while after that, but finally Mama couldn't stand it anymore. She took
me, and we moved in with the people she worked for. They helped her finish school. She went back to using her maiden name,
Mitchell, but with Mrs. because of having me. I've always used it too, but my real name is Cotton. He's no good, but Lester
is my father, and I'm his son. Nothing can change that."

For a minute I didn't say nothing, but then I started talking about my father. "My pa wasn't no good either," I said. "He
was a drunk and as mean as they come." I shrugged my shoulders. "But you know that. Everybody knows that!"

"Alcohol is one of Lester's demons too. I'd guess he's on the wagon now. That's when he usually shows up, during a dry spell."
He sighed. "But alcohol is not his only problem, not even his biggest problem. There's hate too. That's what makes him so
twisted. Lester's eaten up with hatred. He hates the entire white race, so be careful around him, Nobe."

"Thanks. I'll be careful." I looked out the window for a minute in silence, but then Isaac pulled the automobile off the road.
We were in front of our old place, but it was too dark for me to really see anything. Still, though, the picture come busting
into my mind. Pa was there in his old overalls. This time he was walking off through the pasture, and I could see little Nobe
trotting after him, trying to catch up.

"Get out," Isaac said, "and come around here to try your hand at motorcar driving."

"I will," I said. "I want to in the worst way, but Isaac, you're a lot smarter than me, and since we both ended up with pas
that ain't no good, maybe you can explain something to me."

"What?" said Isaac, "I'll tell you anything I can."

"Well, it's this. Why did I always hope Pa would love me?" My voice broke, and I swallowed back tears. "Pa treated me awful
bad, and I guess most times I hated him for every time he ever hit me, and I hated him for every time he ever went off on
a toot and left me and Ma hungry. Most of the time I hated him real good, but there was always times when I wished he would
love me. I wished it until the day he died. I still wish he had. I wish he could of loved me just a little. What I want to
know is why? Why didn't I just give up that silly wish a long time ago? That's what I want to know."

It was too dark for me to see Isaac's face, but I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was pretty near to crying too.
"Well, Nobe," he said, "that story about fathers and sons is a real old one. It's even in the Bible about two brothers named
Jacob and Esau. They both wanted their father's blessing real bad. I guess children always want their parent's love, but there's
something about fathers and sons that's a little different. I guess boys just yearn to know their fathers care and are proud
of us. I know I do."

"You do? You want to know that Lester fellow cares about you?"

"Yes. Oh, I would never say it to Mama, but yes, I'd like to hear him say, 'You did well, boy.'"

"He ain't never said it, huh?"

"No. He hasn't said anything to me in years. I suppose if he were to say anything now it would be something like, 'Trying
to make yourself white, ain't you?'"

"I reckon someday I'll forget about Pa," I said.

"No, Nobe, I don't like to say it, but I don't think you're likely to forget. You aren't that kind of person. It will be a
hole inside you, I think, all your life. But maybe good will come of that hole. Maybe you will work to fill it up with good
things you do for other folks."

After that I got under the wheel. Isaac showed me how to start the car, and off we went down that bumpy road. A couple of
times I like to have run right off the road. Isaac didn't yell none, even when he had to grab the wheel.

When we got to town, we didn't go straight to the sheriff's house. We drove around some, and I got pretty good at going around
corners. I didn't run up on the sidewalk even once.

"You might not be ready for city driving yet, but you've done really well on your first lesson. I'll come and give you another
one soon," Isaac said when I got out at the sheriff's place.

All that evening, when I was laying on my cot up on the third floor of that house, I was thinking about what Isaac said about
the holes. He didn't say so, but I knew he had that same hole inside him. I finally decided I was maybe better off than Isaac
because my business with Pa was done and over with. I knew for sure that I wasn't ever going to get Pa's blessing. If Isaac
was right about me doing good things to fill up my hole, I could just get started filling it. Isaac, he was still hoping.
Old Lester was no good at all. Wouldn't most people, white or colored, want nothing to do with him, but there was Isaac Mitchell
with a fine education from a real college, a good job, and the fanciest motorcar I ever seen, but there he was still wanting
old Lester's blessing.

I finally went to sleep while I was listening to a birdcall in the night. It was the same bird noise I used to hear at our
place on spring nights. Most folks said it was a whippoorwill, but Pa always said it was a poorwill. He said we was too poor
to have us a whippoorwill, and that our bird was its cousin, the poor relation named poorwill. I figured, laying there on
the sheriff's cot, that the bird had followed me into town because he didn't want me to forget I was poor now that my stomach
was full.

Ma woke me up early. "You need to help me with breakfast," she said. "The cook only comes in for supper. I'm supposed to fix
morning and noon meals. You can help me this morning." Ma was real nervous. She kept pushing up on the piece of hair that
slipped out of the knot she had put it up in. It pained me to see Ma so nervous because I knew it was Sheriff Leonard that
made her that way. I wondered what it was that scared her most. Was she fretting because she might displease him, or was she
afraid she might please him too much?

"Mighty fine breakfast, Viv," he said when he was wiping the egg off his face. His bug eyes had been following Ma all over
the kitchen while he ate, and I wanted to pick up his plate and push the eggs right into his eyes. He was eating at the little
table in the kitchen because his wife didn't wake up early for her breakfast, and of course, the sheriff had to get out and
about to keep order in Wekiwa and the surrounding countryside. I smiled when I thought about it—Sheriff Dudley Leonard, the
man of justice.

Ma let out a little sigh of relief when the sheriff left. "Things is working out good," she said. "Mavis Leonard is sure taking
a shine to you, Nobe. She just might do some fine things for you, son."

I couldn't think about nothing except how much I hated that man. "Sheriff Leonard is as sorry as white dog manure," I said,
and I turned my back to Ma. It was one of Ma's own sayings, sorry as white dog manure. When I was younger I thought she was
throwing off on white dogs, saying they was worthless, but later I figured it was the manure that was white because it had
been laying around a long time. I was glad it wasn't white dogs, on account of Rex being white.

"Nobe," Ma said, "I wish you'd soften your heart some toward the sheriff. We've got food in our stomach and a fine house to
live in. He's been mighty good to us."

"I don't call killing my dog being mighty good," I said, and I went out the back door, slamming it after me.

"Make sure you get every weed out of them front flower beds today, boy," he had told me at breakfast. "Mrs. Leonard is mighty
partial to them little petunias that grow there. I paid good money to get old Roscoe Jones to plant them in April, and she's
real proud to have them up so early in the year."

"It's been right warm this spring, ain't it?" Ma said. "Nobe is good with flowers. He'll get every little thing out that ain't
suppose to be in that petunia bed."

I just stared at Ma. I had never known her to out-and-out lie before. Me good with flowers! What would make her say such a
thing? We didn't ever have no flowers at our place.