Read Online They Tell Me of a Home: A Novel by Daniel Black - Free Book Online

nothin’ neva right and she always complainin’’bout how hard it is to git good help. She too cheap to pay anybody. Lawd, soon’s I got dere, here she come talkin’’ bout—”
    “Stop it, Willie James. Stop it! What the hell is wrong with you? I asked you about Sister!” I was standing, ready to fight if it came to that.
    “I don’t know nothin’’bout Sister,” Willie James mimicked. “Don’t ask me again!”
    “Your own sister dies and you tellin’ me you don’t know anything about it? Oh, come on, man! I ain’t no fool.”
    “I done told you I don’t know nothin’.” Willie James began to walk toward the bathroom, but I wasn’t giving up that easily.
    “Willie James, what the hell is wrong with you?” I walked up on him, peering into his eyes deeply. “Don’t you think I deserve to know?”
    “I don’t think you deserve shit,” Willie James whined resentfully.
    I couldn’t take it any longer. I punched him in the stomach, and
the war was on. We were scrapping in Momma’s kitchen. Willie James put me in a headlock and slung me onto the kitchen floor. I raised my right foot and kicked his shoulder like I was trying to break down a door. Instead of hurting him, I only infuriated him. Willie James grabbed the broom and began to beat me like an old dirty, dusty rug. He was clearly overpowering me, but I grabbed the end of the broom and plunged it up against his throat. We continued fighting until I was simply exhausted. Willie James stood over me with that do-you-want-some-more-of-me expression and, since I didn’t, I said very softly, “Sorry.”
    “You damn right,” he said furiously, and proceeded to the bathroom.
    I peeled myself from the kitchen floor and noticed Momma had not moved the entire time. She simply watched us in excitement to see which son would overcome the other.
    “Momma, what’s wrong with y’all?” I asked helplessly.
    “We the same thang we always been,” she insisted.
    Having no response, I dragged myself to the back bedroom and fell across the bed in tears. I had never felt so nihilistic in my entire life. Traditionally, Momma and Willie James weren’t allies, but I guess things do change over the years. She had the ability to consume people, and Willie James had fallen victim to her venom. Like the time Grandma got sick, it was Momma who decided she should stay with us. People praised Momma for being the committed daughter, the one who honored her mother enough to take care of the latter in her old age. Yet even back then, I knew Momma’s actions were not centered in love for Grandma. Momma treated her like an old sofa she couldn’t figure out how to get rid of. She told Grandma when she could move, eat, shit, and when to keep her mouth closed. However, in public, Momma acted like she was bearing the burden of her mother with love. People would ask, “Marion, how ya’ momma doin’?” and Momma would fake exasperation and say, “Momma’s doin’ pretty good. I tries to make sho’ she got ever’thing she needs.” People would
then extend their hearts in sympathy, admiring Momma’s commitment to an ailing mother. I wanted to tell everybody what was going on for real, but Momma would have destroyed me had I exposed her charade.
    I rolled over on the bed and gazed at the wall. That’s when I noticed the butterfly picture was gone. The nail on which it hung was still in place, but the painting had been removed. Of course I knew who had moved it, but I didn’t know why. No need to ask that question, though. “No one around here knows anything,” I mumbled.
    Momma called me to come eat, but I didn’t want any fish. I wanted her to tell me what happened to my baby sister. I lay there and acted like I didn’t hear her and decided to write George a letter. Fumbling quietly until I found pen and paper in my bag, I wrote desperately:

    Dear George,
    This is more than I bargained for. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. People in Arkansas have