the water boy, stop along the line when he sees the truck bringing the noon lunch of fatback and black-eyed peas, pull to a stop beside him.
He hears himself shout, 'Got to let 'em down, Captain' to the wrinkled, leather skinned redneck on a knoll above him, who shouts back permission to defecate. 'Awright boy, let 'em down.'
He hears again the stentorian voice of the Captain yell, 'Awright yuh bastids, line up single file for eats.'
He sees himself go across the road just far enough into bushes so that his chest is visible. He squats, strips off his shirt, hangs it stretched out on brambles. The instant the Captain's eyes stray to the convicts lining up, he dashes fifty yards to a river, plunges in. He swims a hundred yards down stream to the rear of the crew.
He hears the distant muffled voice of the Captain shout, 'Awright Joe Henry, wipe yuh black ass' when he emerges from the river.
He goes to watch a truck from a stand of trees at the edge of a slight bend in the cleared and leveled road. He sees the cleanup squad of convicts, the guard and black trusty driver of the brush-loaded truck march around the bend toward the main crew. He leaves cover, worms himself beneath the mountain of brush on the truck bed. Minutes later, he lies in the stifling darkness listening to the hounds' banshee howls of frustration in the forest beyond the river.
After what seems like eons, he hears the driver start the truck, back it up, turn around and go toward a ravine to dump the load several miles away. He sees himself leap from the truck and roll into brush near railroad tracks. He sees himself hiding there with a thunderous heart until nightfall when he hops a freight train bound for Macon, Georgia and young Zenobia's sharecropper shack on the outskirts of the city.
And now a nightstand alarm clock bombs him awake. He jerks rigid from a fetal ball of trauma. The clock nearly slips from his sweat-greased hands as he picks it up to silence its din. As always when he awakens, he thinks of Marguerite Spingarn, remembers they have a late afternoon movie date.
I've got to stop seeing her for awhile, maybe even break off completely with her. She's too risky with Zen suspicious, he tells himself. He rises, goes to the bathroom across the hall. Diarrhea keeps him on the stool for long moments before he brushes his teeth and showers.
He returns to the bedroom and compulsively goes to the closet, removes from a boot toe a night club shot of himself with Marguerite. His hand is tremulous as he gazes at it. He groans, I have to see her today. I can't do without her.
He takes from the closet a freshly cleaned plaid suit of moss green, tan silk shirt, green silk tie and a pair of tan Stetson shoes. He dresses himself. Then he slips on plumbing boots and coveralls, buttoned to his Adam's Apple, over his natty outfit. He goes to the living room.
On his way to the kitchen, he pauses at the sofa to peck Zenobia's forehead and say, 'Good morning.' Junior says, 'Morning Pops.'
Zenobia grunts. She says, 'If you wait a while, you can drop me off at church.'
He says, 'Now Zen, if I do that I'll be late on the job at the factory I told you about.'
She stiff arms his belly. 'G'wan Mister Midnight Creeper, I'd rather go in a classy Packard then in a funky plumbing truck anyways.'
He goes to the kitchen, gulps down a glass of orange juice. He pecks Zenobia's forehead on his way to the front door.
As they watch Senior Joe drive away, Junior says, 'Mama, you look tired. You oughta take my nest egg in the bank like I been begging you, use it to let you loose from killing yourself for the white folks.'
She says, 'Hush up Lil Joe. You gonna need that money and more'n that to marry and start a family, soon I hope.' He is about to tell her about Delphine when she says, 'Don't court no pretty grief givers. Best to court a ugly chile 'cause she's maybe gonna sho 'nuff love you. Pretty peoples oughta hitch up with pretty peoples ... you sure ain't ugly, you
He hears himself shout, 'Got to let 'em down, Captain' to the wrinkled, leather skinned redneck on a knoll above him, who shouts back permission to defecate. 'Awright boy, let 'em down.'
He hears again the stentorian voice of the Captain yell, 'Awright yuh bastids, line up single file for eats.'
He sees himself go across the road just far enough into bushes so that his chest is visible. He squats, strips off his shirt, hangs it stretched out on brambles. The instant the Captain's eyes stray to the convicts lining up, he dashes fifty yards to a river, plunges in. He swims a hundred yards down stream to the rear of the crew.
He hears the distant muffled voice of the Captain shout, 'Awright Joe Henry, wipe yuh black ass' when he emerges from the river.
He goes to watch a truck from a stand of trees at the edge of a slight bend in the cleared and leveled road. He sees the cleanup squad of convicts, the guard and black trusty driver of the brush-loaded truck march around the bend toward the main crew. He leaves cover, worms himself beneath the mountain of brush on the truck bed. Minutes later, he lies in the stifling darkness listening to the hounds' banshee howls of frustration in the forest beyond the river.
After what seems like eons, he hears the driver start the truck, back it up, turn around and go toward a ravine to dump the load several miles away. He sees himself leap from the truck and roll into brush near railroad tracks. He sees himself hiding there with a thunderous heart until nightfall when he hops a freight train bound for Macon, Georgia and young Zenobia's sharecropper shack on the outskirts of the city.
And now a nightstand alarm clock bombs him awake. He jerks rigid from a fetal ball of trauma. The clock nearly slips from his sweat-greased hands as he picks it up to silence its din. As always when he awakens, he thinks of Marguerite Spingarn, remembers they have a late afternoon movie date.
I've got to stop seeing her for awhile, maybe even break off completely with her. She's too risky with Zen suspicious, he tells himself. He rises, goes to the bathroom across the hall. Diarrhea keeps him on the stool for long moments before he brushes his teeth and showers.
He returns to the bedroom and compulsively goes to the closet, removes from a boot toe a night club shot of himself with Marguerite. His hand is tremulous as he gazes at it. He groans, I have to see her today. I can't do without her.
He takes from the closet a freshly cleaned plaid suit of moss green, tan silk shirt, green silk tie and a pair of tan Stetson shoes. He dresses himself. Then he slips on plumbing boots and coveralls, buttoned to his Adam's Apple, over his natty outfit. He goes to the living room.
On his way to the kitchen, he pauses at the sofa to peck Zenobia's forehead and say, 'Good morning.' Junior says, 'Morning Pops.'
Zenobia grunts. She says, 'If you wait a while, you can drop me off at church.'
He says, 'Now Zen, if I do that I'll be late on the job at the factory I told you about.'
She stiff arms his belly. 'G'wan Mister Midnight Creeper, I'd rather go in a classy Packard then in a funky plumbing truck anyways.'
He goes to the kitchen, gulps down a glass of orange juice. He pecks Zenobia's forehead on his way to the front door.
As they watch Senior Joe drive away, Junior says, 'Mama, you look tired. You oughta take my nest egg in the bank like I been begging you, use it to let you loose from killing yourself for the white folks.'
She says, 'Hush up Lil Joe. You gonna need that money and more'n that to marry and start a family, soon I hope.' He is about to tell her about Delphine when she says, 'Don't court no pretty grief givers. Best to court a ugly chile 'cause she's maybe gonna sho 'nuff love you. Pretty peoples oughta hitch up with pretty peoples ... you sure ain't ugly, you
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