Finding My Thunder (34 page)

"From
this day on," I said.

He
cried and rocked me. "Will you marry me?" he said working to get
calm.

"Of
course," I said.

He
nodded. "Still got my ring," and he picked up the hand that wore the
ring and kissed my fingers. Then his face crumpled in, his beautiful too thin
lined and desperate face, and he grabbed me to him and cried.
"He…he…."

I
cried some more with him. "It's over," I said. "It's over. He
can't come home he'll be arrested. He can't ever come home."

"I
would have brought him, but I didn't want to put you through it," he said.
"Hilly…I…when I couldn't kill him…I could stop. I didn't know. I found the
strength to stop. I don't know if you can understand…but being able to
stop…it's like…I'm still in there, you know? Like maybe…one day I can be
worthy…again."

"You
are worthy," I said. "You're a hero. You're my hero."

"Hilly,"
he whispered, and I struggled onto my feet, and I took his hand, and it was no
easy thing him getting on his feet with that leg. And I led him into my new bedroom,
and I knew God was with me when I saw Seth finally asleep, and as quiet as two
people could ever be, I pushed his army shirt off of his shoulders and laid it on
a chair, then he slowly lifted off his t-shirt and laid it on the army shirt,
and I saw him, his flesh, and I went to him, he was thinner, and he'd been a
long time in a sick bed, but he was still my Danny, still beautiful. I touched
his chest and by the dim night-light I ran my hands over him looking for every
mark, every scar, until he put his hands on the sides of my face and pushed my
heavy hair back and lifted my face and we looked at one another, in the eyes
mostly, like we did, which should have been hard to do, but even now with so
much time apart it was not hard to do, it's like we had to do it, had to see
what was in there, all this time, too much time, and I needed to see the rest,
and he kept my hand and we went to the bed, and he took off one boot, then
stood and opened his jeans and pushed them down his legs, and pulled out his
good leg, and already I could see the hard plastic of the leg strapped to his
thigh, and I went down on my knees over this leg, and I fell on it, and it was more
crying then, I couldn't stop, but I tried to be silent, except for the gasping,
and he was over me, sad, but not like he'd been, a strength in him, like he'd
come to terms. I looked up at him, and he pushed back my wet hair, and he wiped
at my face and pushed my hair behind my shoulders, his hands under my chin,
wiping my cheeks. "You should see the other guy," he whispered.

And
I smiled, but it didn't last, I threw myself against him as I raised, and we
fell onto the bed, and he kissed me, and it started so sweet, and I groaned
with relief, and he groaned with all of the things he must have felt, and I
kissed his face, and his hands stayed on my face as if he wanted to feel my
expressions, feel my tears.

After
a while I sat up then and he showed me how he unstrapped the leg, and when he
removed it with the pant leg still on the bottom part and his boot, and there was
his stub, and that was better somehow, like it wasn't hiding anymore in that hideous
thing, and there was his flesh, red some, and his leg gone, his leg that I loved,
a part of him, so much of his body…and I knew he nearly died, he nearly died, and
this, and all it meant, all the months and months in the hospital, the pain,
the recovery. The cruelty of this. I hated this war. I hated war. I wanted this
leg back. I was mourning this leg.

I
knelt on the floor, between his thighs, and I laid my face on the stump and I
felt the life still there, and I moved to place kisses where it ended, and I
felt where it ended, and I ran my hands over it, and I laid my face there, my
hair all over him, wet and sticky, like my face and the endless tears.

Finally
he lifted me. "Is it disgusting?"

"No,"
I hissed. "How can you say that? War is disgusting. What you had to go through
is disgusting."

"I don't want
you to be angry. And I don't want pity. Is that what you're feeling?"

"No,
no. But I hurt…I hurt…." More tears. "You know…I told you…when you hurt…."

"It's
the same for me," he said. "It's no less for me."

"You
didn't write…all this time…I couldn't see you…I didn't know….I knew you were
hurting…I couldn't touch you…it's been so hard."

"Robert
told me about the hospital…that you…all those months…."

"It
doesn't matter. None of that matters. I was catered too. It's nothing compared to
this. I have Seth. I'm so blessed. But you…you…." More tears.

"Hey…let's
not have a contest," he said and he laughed a little and it was the first time
I could even think….

And
I laughed a little. He could always make me do that…at the worst times.

"You're
home," I said, and I kissed his sweet mouth and it was so gentle.

Then
he helped me get my flannel shirt off and the undershirt beneath. Then the bra.

"Whoa,"
he said in appreciation of my new bigger boobs. "These are…even more gorgeous,"
he said in true awe.

I
lost no time in getting off my jeans, hoping he'd also be dazzled by the five
extra pounds I had going on there. Right away he did seem appreciative.
"Oh my God," he said, no hold back. He was like a starved man.

"You
are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he said and he started to
kiss me everywhere and I said, "Oh my God I remember this." And I
did, right away, his warm wet mouth that pulled the blood right under my skin
and made me crazy.

He
maneuvered us around so he was sitting with his back on the pillows and he had
me over his lap. "Can you…I mean…do you want to?"

"I'm
fine. I want to," I said.

"Sit
on it," he told me, his voice thin and breathy, and I did and almost
instantly he came.

"Oh
shit," he said, and his hips lifted, and his face looked like he was stuck
in ecstasy. As he came down he started to apologize.

"Don't
you dare," I said, and he pulled me in to his arms and we held each other there.
And we cried some more, but not like at first, and we slept some, and kissed some,
and touched some, and felt the first painful thaw of our life together, the
first rays of light and warmth and real.

My
lover.

Finding My Thunder 55

After
minor haggling to get enrolled, I graduated from technical school with my high
school diploma. Danny also studied welding and machines at a technical college
in Memphis using the G. I. Bill. He and Robert worked for Allie in between all of
that until he graduated and we opened our own shop in Ludicrous. That's about the
time we had our little girl Elizabeth.

I
was pregnant with our third child the summer of nineteen-seventy-four and we
were having a fall birthday party for our Elizabeth in the backyard. Dickens,
or Rick as we were now instructed to call him, was giving Seth and Elizabeth,
and Robert's three year old Dave-Bird and Tad and Debra's two year old Leon a
ride in the wagon attached to the riding lawn mower. I heard Danny call out
that he should take it slow and Rick knew that, so he just ignored Danny and
kept going in a slow circle.

Danny
and Tad and Robert were barbequing. Debra was in the kitchen with Danny's mom
mixing up punch and working on the side dishes for the meal. Paul didn't come to
these affairs, but the rest of the family did, and Annie and Rita and Danny's
two youngest siblings spent as much time in our house as they did their own.

Work-wise,
Robert had stayed with Allie, but Tad ended up working with us, with Danny
mostly. Robert hadn't changed much over the years, but he did marry the mother
of his child, and he finally bought a house in Redfern and moved out of the commune.
He was a pot smoking solid citizen.

Naomi
had baked our daughter Elizabeth's birthday cake. I was walking slowly with her
to retrieve it and carry it back to the party. We were ambling cause Danny and
me had just gotten to the place in our renovations where we could get serious next
spring about the landscaping. Naomi had so much to tell me about the way things
used to be when my great grandmother Susan had this yard kept as a showplace.
We'd made it as far as the Cannas garden.

There
had been some digging there by one of Sooner's puppies all grown up. He was a
brown ball of energy just starting to age enough to calm down. We called him
Bosco
. "I'm going to have Danny turn this over,"
I was telling my grandmother, "and put in some Cannas this year."

I
was doing this for her. It was time. Inside I had done some things to honor Mama.
Danny had built shelves for her records, and I had handled her clothing with
care. Her skirt became a throw pillow on my and Danny's bed, that island of decadence
we shared our very rich private love life upon. But Eugene, it was always this
garden, and to leave it wrecked…it was time to do something about that.

"I
would leave this place undisturbed," Naomi said, her arm threaded through mine.

That
surprised me some. She loved everything we did in the yard.

"It's…,"
she breathed in then and let it out and it sounded shaky.

"What
is it?" I asked, flipping my long braid over my shoulder.

"I
been thinking…it's a joyous day…it's Elizabeth's birthday and I don't want to rake
it all up with this…but if something happens to me…I'm the only one knows about
him."

"About
Eugene?" I asked, tilting my head so I could better look into her face.

She
was looking at that garden, at its bumpy soil, its fresh pits from the dog, the
dead grass and weeds from years past.

"This
is a grave," she said. "There is a baby buried here."

"What
baby?" I said this, and all at once, I knew.

And
as she spoke, a story unfolded in my mind, its fragile pieces, like kites I'd pulled
from the sky to lay in a pattern on the grass. They were fitting together at long
last—

There was a girl, and she did grow up in the
big house in the front of the yard, raised by the grandmother who had saved her
from her desperate fate when she was only two. And she was so pretty and sweet,
and she brought joy to a house that had sat perfect and silent and childless
for too long.

There was also a boy, and he did grow up on
the same stretch of ground, in the back of the property. His avenue was an
alley.

And he was also prized by the couple in
back, the man and his wife unable to have children of their own, and oh how
they did love him and raise him with deliberate care, celebrating everything he
was. He brought them happiness.

But as he grew, for all the splendor his
parents made him believe about himself, there was a hand over him, and it cast
a shadow. He did not fit with those less fortunate than him, less secure, less
celebrated, less accepted.

Nor was he welcomed in the big house up
front.

Oh he could work the yard and visit as he leaned
on the rake and drank the iced tea in the big crystal glass. But he could not visit
the girl for too long…he could not call on her as he grew…he could not reveal what
he felt.

And as she grew she was different than those
around her, with her old parents and the haunting truth that though she lived
in her mother's past, her mother didn't want her.

And he did like to see her, look at her and
wave and smile, and most of the time in the summer growing up he took his toys,
one or two things, and he went to find her and stood out back and called her
name, "Oh
Renata
."

And her grandmother Susan would call for her
then and he would hear her shiny leather shoes come tapping across the kitchen
floor and the wooden lean-to, then the screen would push wide and he would be
waiting and his heart would flutter some when he'd first see her, and she'd always
have that smile, and they would play, sometimes for hours, and she would boss
him in all their games, but he didn't care she was just so interesting and
funny by turns, and he just liked being with her, something inside, it knew he
belonged where she was.

Then as he got older, it got even stronger,
the delight he felt around her, the interest, the need to see her, hear what
she'd say and how she thought, the joy of showing off for her, his growing
strength, how high he could climb the tree. And she did think he was fine even
if she could be mean sometimes. He didn't care. He belonged to her.

Then it turned to music, and there they
found a sameness, a oneness, and television shows, and sharing cigarettes
hoping not to get found out, and that magazine she found and all the giggles,
and him stealing that kiss and her blush, and what he was finding out about
himself, and about her.

Oh they talked—And here's what I think of
this house, yours, mine, our parents, here's what I think, me too, and this
town, and all the towns, and the south, and the country, and the world.

Here's what I'm going to do…going to
be…going to learn…going to see…going to have…going to stand for….

And then it got busy, and school, and work
for him, and school, and clubs for her, and parties, and
activities,and
outings.

And he went to Temple and they worked some
more, him and William keeping the grass, the grounds, visiting the sick and his
mother volunteering him to do everything needed done in Snyder-town it seemed
sometimes, and his dad didn't complain, was happy too, but then he got sick,
and couldn't help no more.

And the girl was a young woman and he was
about crazy, and mothers pushed their daughters his way and it made him so angry
cause they weren't her, the one he belonged to, the one who didn't know she belonged
to him.

And then Grunier came along, the white
mister in uniform.

He could see right off this man wasn't good
enough, kind enough, human enough.

Lonnie was his name, but he was to say,
Mister Lonnie.

And his mother said, "Stay away from
there
Son, get the grass cut and leave…you need to go up
north with your uncle Leonard, he can get you a job at the factory, one hundred
twenty-five a week."

But he wouldn't hear. He wouldn't go.

He wouldn't leave her. Not even when she
married Mister Lonnie. And he did lay drunk for three days over in Snyder-town
and folks did say, "Naomi's boy…."

And he did go north and he took that job,
and right away he could see…he was nothing. He was no one. But he did work, the
beloved son, who had read too many books, who got too many looks, and that
broom just felt wrong in his hand.

From back home he heard that Mister went
away, in the war now, General Patton marching his boots toward Germany. And
William was dying.

So he went home to bury his father and there
she was, not his mother, but her,
Renata
Grunier they
called her now. He couldn't see anything else.

And he did take his mother home that day
they put his father in the ground, and Naomi did lay down and her ladies were
there tending that house, and he walked to the big house, past the Cannas there
that he had started and kept every year. They came up on their own now, barely
knowing he was gone, and he was here.

And he did walk to that screened door where
she did live in that big house all alone now and it was dark, and he did go
inside, and she stood in there, in the kitchen, leaning against the counter,
her back straight, her dress prim, her hands behind her gripping the edge of
the sink. "What you doing?" she asked, her eyes big even in that
dark.

But he did not wait, he did not slow, he
went to her swift and wrapped his arms around and his full lips did find their
place on hers at last, and he did bend his knees as he gave her himself. Her
hands came slow and touched light, then his arms wrapped around and he did crush
her to him, the hunger, the want in him like a beast now, a panting, demanding
beast.

And he moved her to the table and he fell on
her and she was with him in it, begging him, begging him, and kissing, and the
deep sounds, and his ears filled with the stomping heart, and he got himself
free, and he got himself in, and they moved the table all over that floor as he
thrust into her, and gave her himself, and she screamed his name, screamed it,
"Eugene, Eugene, Eugene."

His mother was not far behind. He heard the
door as his senses came, and he helped
Renata
to sit
up and he helped her right her torn dress.

And his mother was the one undone. The
calmer he got the crazier she got.
Renata
and him,
sister and brother, and
Renata
married, and who did
he think he was…they would kill him for this. He would die.

He was already dead, didn't she know? He
loved this woman, he had always loved her. He had known she was a part of him,
he had known it was more than any other woman. But they'd never been told they
shared blood…if they did. Naomi had been told by a woman there, one of the
women…a junkie…who slept with and for…the man who had fathered them. Him and
his beloved belonged to Lottie.

Why did she say it? Did he belong to her…the
slattern who wanted to get rid of him seeing the two women came from money? Or
was it true…did he favor his black father and
Renata
take after Lottie?

Susan and Naomi had not questioned it, they
had taken the babies, they had no proof, just conscience. They had saved the
two, the little white mother who fed the black orphan in the box, who had
always been his reason for life.

And these two women took those children
home, Susan indebted to Naomi for all she put up with from her demented husband
growing more and more mentally sick as he aged, and he had attacked Naomi, hurt
her, but she'd stayed and with Susan they wrestled the mister unto the grave.

And the children were a gift to the two who
respected one another, so much that Susan saw to Naomi's security when she
died, giving her a house, even if she dared not give her property in a
neighborhood where home owners did not look like her.

What was not foreseen…their tie…Eugene and
Renata
…their love…so potent…so confused…it jumped the fence
when they were small.

And he went north, but he didn't stay, he
came home and the fissure in his heart had deepened, and he was a drinking man
now, and he did watch that house and it did fester, the jealous eye, the jilted
eye.

Renata
wouldn't see him, wouldn't talk, and Mister
Lonnie came home soon, he'd had a break down, and it was in and out of the
hospital then, back and forth, and one night he could take no more, shuffling
around cutting the grass, Naomi's colored boy working in the yard, he could
take no more, and the mister was gone, and she answered the door and he begged
and he cried and demanded too, and it happened again, and again, and again.

And his mother Naomi begged, and he went
north and one day in the street, bottle wrapped in paper in his hand, he went
across the busy street, and he did not look, he would not look…and the screech
and the impact and his beautiful, broken body in the air…to land on the
asphalt…the screams and the calls, and the loss. And his mother…my Naomi….

Mister Lonnie came home, back and forth. And
Renata's
stomach grew, and Naomi took her to Corning
and the baby, and the heartbeat, and the day the pains came, she was home by
herself, and Naomi came by the house, but
Renata
didn't answer the door.

So Naomi looked in windows, and she got in
the front door, and she called and called but nothing, and up the stairs she
ran, then down the stairs she ran. And deeper, down the basement stairs, and
the furnace door open, and the small flame there burning bright, and on the
floor
Renata
, pink slip and wet and blood and a
little form beside, the cord not cut and him not breathing, this little Negro
baby boy.
Renata
said they must save him, put him in
the furnace so no one will know, and the panic in Naomi.