God Don’t Like Ugly (21 page)

“Yeah. But he hasn’t had to show it to me in a long time.”

I could feel Rhoda staring at the side of my face. “I see,” she said hoarsely.

We didn’t talk for another five minutes, and I’m glad we didn’t. A portion of Dr. King’s “I Have a Dream” speech was being broadcast. I didn’t have to look, but I knew she was crying just like I was. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her wipe away her tears.

“Muh’Dear loves to hear that speech,” I managed, blinking hard.

“I think everybody does,” she said stiffly.

We got quiet for another few minutes. Suddenly, Rhoda tapped my shoulder, and I turned to face her. “Y’all got any herbal tea?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I told her. I stood up and started backing out of the room.

“I’ll get it. You want a cup?” she said, rising. She grabbed my arm and pulled me back to the couch and pushed me down.

“Yeah,” I muttered, puzzled. Rhoda liked to be waited on when she visited. It was not like her to volunteer to do anything when there were no grown folks around for her to impress. I didn’t question her. I was still overwhelmed by what we had just seen and heard on TV. Besides, I was tired and didn’t want to be running back and forth to get refreshments anyway. I was glad she offered to do it.

She was gone for at least twenty minutes. The kitchen was less than a minute away, and the tea was the instant kind. All she had to do was heat some water. Just as I was about to go look for her, she returned, holding a tray with two cups of steaming tea.

“What took you so long? I was getting scared,” I told her, as she handed me my cup.

Instead of answering, she just shrugged and set the tray on the coffee table, then started drinking her tea. We sat in silence for another two minutes watching TV.

“He’s dead. He is actually and truly dead,” Rhoda whispered. I assumed she was talking about Martin Luther King. I patted her knee and watched as she stared at her cup.
“Dead, dead, dead,”
she chanted.

“I was planning to do my next book report on him,” I said in a hollow voice.

“I meant Buttwright,” she informed me. “He’s gone.”

“What did you say?” I turned my head so fast and hard my neck cracked, and I spilled tea on my lap. I had never seen such coldness in Rhoda’s eyes before, not even the day she saw the former policeman in the restaurant. I got a chill, and a sharp pain shot through my chest like a blazing sword. “What do you mean by that? Mr. Boatwright’s gone where?”

Rhoda nodded slowly. With a strange look on her face, she told me, “He’s…he’s finally gone to hell.”

I set my cup on the coffee table, wiped my lips with the back of my hand, and stood up. “What are you talking about?” I hollered. I could still hear the television, but I couldn’t understand anything being said. It was like my mind had drifted into another dimension. “Mr. Boatwright’s dead?”

Rhoda stood up too and looked me straight in the eyes, and told me, “Yep. I-just-killed-Buttwright.” I couldn’t believe my ears. We just stood there staring in one another’s eyes. Neither one of us even blinked.

Suddenly, I ran from the living room toward the stairs, with her close behind still holding her cup of tea. Mr. Boatwright’s door was closed. I knocked so hard my knuckles hurt.

“Oh, he won’t answer,” Rhoda told me casually. She gently pushed me aside and opened the door and we went in. “See there. I told you so.” She motioned with her head toward Mr. Boatwright on his bed.

He lay on his back with the bedcovers pulled up to his neck. He appeared to be asleep, but he was not snoring like he always did. Nor did I see any movement. Suddenly his eyes opened.

“See—he’s alive! He opened his eyes! Mr. Boatwright, get up!” I hollered with relief, and shook him so hard he almost rolled to the floor.

“That’s just a reflex,” Rhoda informed me, waving her hand like she was dismissing the whole situation. “One time a dead man sat up on the slab even after he had been dead for two days. I saw it with my own eyes,” she added.

I looked from Mr. Boatwright to her, then back to him.

“How do you know he’s really dead?” I mouthed, trembling. I shook Mr. Boatwright again. He still did not move.

“My daddy’s the undertaker, girl. Remember? I know a dead person when I see one,” she said evenly.

I shook Mr. Boatwright until my arms got tired. There was no doubt about it. The man was dead.

I stood up straight and sucked in my breath, turned to Rhoda, and said, “Girl,
what have you gotten yourself into?
”

“R
hoda, Mr. Boatwright
is
dead!” I hollered. Not only was the room ominously quiet, there was nothing going on outside on the street like it usually was particularly at this hour. No loud cars, no voices, no barking dogs, nothing. It was like Rhoda and I were the only things making a sound in the night.

“See. I told you,” Rhoda mouthed.

“And
you
killed him?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded slowly, closing her eyes for a moment.

“How?”

“I put that pillow there over his face and held it down,” she confessed.

My ears were ringing. The fact that Rhoda was so casual was making me sick. I could feel the bile rising in my throat. I moved a few feet away from her, but she moved so close to me I could feel her breath on my face.

“Why, Rhoda? Why did you kill Mr. Boatwright?” I gasped.

“Why? What do you mean why? Because of what he was doin’ to you, that’s why,” she exclaimed.

“But did you have to
kill
him?” I waved my arms to keep from grabbing her and shaking her.

“What else could I do?” she asked with an incredulous look.

“Oh God! What are we going to do? Oh God…oh God!” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and looked around the room. “We better call the police. We’ll tell them it was self-defense, but you’re going to go to jail for a little while no matter what—”

“For what?” Rhoda gasped. She leaned back and looked at me with her eyes stretched open.

“For what? What—girl—
you just killed a man!
You killed Mr. Boatwright.”

“Did you see me kill him?” Rhoda drank more of her tea.

“You told me—”

“He was probably drunk. You can still smell that cheap wine on him. Maybe he got tangled up in his blankets and smothered accidentally. I heard about a drunk man that died ’cause he choked on his own tongue. Freak accidents happen all the time. I just happened to come say good night to the man and found him…like this.” Rhoda made a sweeping gesture with her hand. We looked at one another for a brief moment.

“Is that what happened? Please tell me that’s what really happened,” I pleaded.

“It could have,” she shrugged. “I could say that’s the way it happened.”

“But it’s not the way it happened, is it, Rhoda? You did kill Mr. Boatwright, didn’t you?”

She didn’t hesitate, she just shrugged and nodded. I was surprised when a sad look suddenly appeared on her face.

“Oh no…no,” I moaned. I covered my face with my hand because I didn’t want to look at her at that moment. I was startled when she pulled my hand away from my face.

“You can’t tell anybody what happened, Annette.”

“Well…what do we do now?” I asked feebly, wringing my sweaty hands.

“Nothin’.”

“Nothing?” I wailed. I couldn’t even feel my feet or my legs. But I was sweating from head to toe.

Rhoda looked around the cluttered bedroom and shook her head, then went back downstairs. I looked at Mr. Boatwright again. I shook him one last time and got no response. Finally, I closed his eyes with my fingers.

I went to his bedroom window and looked up at the sky. My head was throbbing so hard I could hear bells ringing that were not there. “God, you listen here…You
know
what happened here tonight…So You know…I didn’t have anything to do with it,” I whispered. “Don’t chastise me for something I didn’t do,” I prayed.

I returned to the living room and sat next to Rhoda on the couch. For five minutes we did not talk; we just stared at the TV screen. Every time I heard a car I ran to the window and snatched the curtains back. Each time, I reluctantly returned to sit next to Rhoda, making sure not to touch her. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew that I didn’t want to touch a person who had just committed murder.

“Stop shakin’ so hard. People get murdered all the time, girl,” Rhoda said firmly, rubbing the side of my arm.

“Yeah, but not in my own house.”

We watched TV in silence for another ten minutes.

I could not focus on anything but Mr. Boatwright. “Rhoda, I don’t know if I can go through with this…not tell anybody what you did.” I heard a car door slam, and I jumped off the couch and stood in front of her.

Rhoda stood up with her face close to mine. I moved away so we wouldn’t have to touch.

“But you can’t tell anybody, now can you? He was old. Real old. He was goin’ to die soon anyway, I bet.” The way Rhoda stumbled over her words, I think she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince me.

“Well what do we do now? We have to call somebody.” I could not stop shaking no matter how hard I tried.

“We aren’t goin’ to do anything. Your mama’s goin’ to come home and see us sittin’ here cryin’ like babies over Martin Luther King, then she’ll go hunt up Buttwright and find him dead in bed.”

“She’ll ask us what happened. The police will come. They’ll do an autopsy—”

“Let them do all the autopsies they want. Just like I told you, he just stopped breathin’. That’s what they’ll say.”

Muh’Dear was surprised to come home and find Rhoda still at our house close to midnight sitting stock-still on our living room couch with a blank expression on her face.

“Rhoda, you all right, child?” Muh’Dear asked tiredly as she unbuttoned her coat. She was so used to seeing a dramatic and animated Rhoda. “Your mama and daddy know where you at?” A flat ponytail was matted to the side of Muh’Dear’s face.

“Oh yes, Ma’am. My mama told me I could stay here ’til you got home so Annette wouldn’t be by herself.”

Muh’Dear looked around the room and asked, “Where is Brother Boatwright? At Scary Mary’s, with Johnny, or is he at that special church service for Dr. King singin’ one of his hymns?”

“No Ma’am. He’s in the bed,” I said quickly. “He wasn’t feeling too good.”

“He wasn’t lookin’ too good either,” Rhoda commented.

“Let him rest. I have some rhubarb I was goin’ to let him sample tonight.” Muh’Dear sighed. “If y’all don’t mind, I’m goin’ to turn in.” Muh’Dear’s voice trailed off. We sat still until we heard her bedroom door slam.

“Oh God. She won’t find him until tomorrow,” Rhoda said, rising. “I guess I better get on home now,” she added, sounding nervous for the first time since Mr. Boatwright’s murder.

I stood up, too. “I’ll call you as soon as she finds him,” I managed. “OK?”

“OK. If you cry—” She paused and stabbed my chest with her finger for more emphasis. “Cry when she tells you. Don’t faint or anythin’ drastic like that. He wasn’t a blood relative, so everybody is goin’ to expect your grief to be limited. Do you hear me?”

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled, nodding my aching head. “I’ll try.”

“What do you mean, you’ll try?”

“It’ll be hard,” I told her, rubbing the spot on my chest where she’d jabbed me.

“You make it sound like a game. A man is dead because you killed him.”

“Well, you’re finally free, Annette. Isn’t that what you wanted more than anythin’ in the world?”

“That’s what
you
wanted. I just wanted him to stop molesting me.”

Rhoda let out a long sigh of disgust and glared at me.

“You drag me into your mess and beg me to help you and I did. Oh it took me a while, but I did. Would it make you happy to see me in jail? And what about your mama? If I go to jail, I will have to tell the whole world
why
I killed Buttwright. You know what a scandal that would cause? Whose goin’ to want your mama workin’ for them when they find out she moved a rapist into her house?”

“Muh’Dear didn’t know what he really was,” I reminded, my hand in the air.

“It won’t matter that she didn’t know. She’ll still be part of this mess.”

“I hadn’t thought about all that.” I sobbed. I took a deep breath and looked in Rhoda’s hard, angry face.

Suddenly, she seemed to soften right before my eyes. “Just remember, now you can live a normal life like me.” She smiled, caressing my face. Her touch felt as cold as ice.

I nodded so hard my neck hurt. “I’m just so scared, Rhoda,” I choked out.

“This’ll be our secret ’til the day we die. Nobody but me and you will ever have to know,” Rhoda said, talking in a slow, controlled manner.

“God’ll know,” I whispered. A pensive look appeared on Rhoda’s face. She blinked hard, but tears still formed in her eyes. “Rhoda?”

“What?”

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yeah…” she mumbled, lowering her head.

“God knows what you did to Mr. Boatwright,” I said firmly.

“I know He does.” She tried to sound casual about it, but I knew she was worried about what kind of payback we would have to deal with down the road. I know I was.

I
didn’t sleep at all the night Mr. Boatwright died. Instead, I moved back and forth from my bed to my bedroom window. On the bed I just sat with my hands on my lap with Rhoda’s confession repeatedly going through my head. My fear of getting caught was so intense I had to run to the bathroom three different times to throw up. Each time I forced myself to go to Mr. Boatwright’s room to check on him. Now his body was cold, and he was starting to turn gray. The light was still on, and I left it that way. When I got tired and numb from sitting on the bed in the same position so long, I stood in front of my window looking up toward the sky trying to picture God and figure out what He planned to do to me for my part in Mr. Boatwright’s murder.

“I noticed Brother Boatwright’s light still on around 2
A.M
. when I went to the toilet. It’s still on,” Muh’Dear commented as we ate breakfast the next morning. I had gotten up and prepared grits and coffee.

“Uh…he’s left his light on all night before,” I said quickly. “The assassination really upset him.”

Muh’Dear nodded and sipped her coffee. “Oh, it’s got everybody upset. Even Judge Lawson can barely get out the bed. Oh well, since Brother Boatwright the one that pay the light bill, he can keep his bedroom light on much as he wants to.” She finished her coffee and rose. “I got to walk to work again, so I best start steppin’.” She left the kitchen and returned a few minutes later clutching her purse and buttoning her coat. I was still sitting at the kitchen table with half the food left on my plate untouched. “What’s the matter with you, girl?” Muh’Dear asked. She stopped buttoning her coat and walked over to me and looked in my face.

“Ma’am?” Since I had not gone to bed the night before, I still had on the same clothes from the day before and hadn’t taken a bath or even washed my face.

“You just sittin’ there daydreamin’, ignorin’ all that good food. What’s on your mind?” She moved back a step and placed a hand on her hip. “If it’s boys, get ’em off right now,” she warned.

“It’s nothing, Muh’Dear.”

“Well whatever it is, you better watch your step.” Muh’Dear moved closer to me and leaned over and kissed my forehead, then smiled, “When Brother Boatwright wake up tell him I’m sorry I ain’t been around to say nothin’ to him in the mornin’ lately. I’ll be walkin’ to and from work ’til this riot mess is over with and the buses get back on route.”

“Can I go to Rhoda’s house later on, Muh’Dear?” I begged.

She started shaking her head right away. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Them Nelsons got enough on they hands with that Johnny and Lola livin’ there now.” Muh’Dear started to leave but turned around fumbling with her purse. She opened it and removed two five-dollar bills and dropped them on the table next to my plate. “Go over to the Food Bucket today and pick up some poke salad greens, neckbones, and whatever else Brother Boatwright wants to cook for supper.”

I slid the money into my blouse pocket. “I’ll stay in Rhoda’s room watching her TV. Maybe I can get her to drive me to the market, too,” I said, blinking hard at Muh’Dear as she gave me an exasperated look.

“I don’t want you to leave Brother Boatwright alone today at a time like this. Rhoda’s mama and daddy there to keep one another company. Plus Lola and that stooge Johnny. You tell Rhoda to come over here. That way you and her both can keep Brother Boatwright company.”

As soon as Muh’Dear left, I called Rhoda. “She didn’t find him yet! I can’t come to your house today, but she said you can come over here.”

“OK. Let me finish my perm.” Rhoda agreed tiredly.

She arrived a half hour later with a pan of freshly made candy for me. Before she sat down, she ran up to Mr. Boatwright’s room and felt his forehead. I was right behind her.

She looked around the room, then ran to his dresser and snatched open the top drawer. “Where is that gun he used to pull on you?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen it in a long time.”

Rhoda searched until she located the gun in the drawer of his nightstand. She sucked in her breath and looked at it for several minutes. Then she glanced at me and nodded, “It’s a fake! All this time he was threatenin’ you with a fake gun!”

I moved over to her and looked at the gun as she held it up in front of my face. “How do you know it’s not real?” I asked in a scratchy voice, unable to take my eyes off the gun.

“Because I know guns like I know the back of my hand. Uncle Johnny’s got a gun. My daddy’s got three. Uncle Carmine’s got a roomful. If anybody knows a real gun when they see one, it’s me.”

I touched the gun. Without another word Rhoda placed it in my trembling hand, and I inspected it thoroughly. “It is fake,” I mumbled, looking in Rhoda’s eyes.

We left Mr. Boatwright’s room and went downstairs, where we sat on the living-room couch most of the day going over the situation and staring at the TV between pauses in our conversation. “I can’t believe he’s dead,” I kept saying. “Well he is, and there is nothin’ we can do to change things,” Rhoda repeatedly told me. Around 2
P.M
. we moved to the kitchen and finished what was left of the tea.

“What do we do now? There’s nothin’ but news programs on TV, and I’m gettin’ real bored,” Rhoda said, stretching and looking around the kitchen.

“I almost forgot. Can you drive me to the Food Bucket to pick up a few things for Mr. Boatwright to…”

“Sure,” Rhoda said, rising. She touched my shoulder, and said firmly, “He’s dead, and he won’t be cookin’ or doin’ anythin’ else anymore.” Rhoda brushed off her silk blouse and let out a low whistle. “That Food Bucket is such a dump.”

“I don’t have enough money to go to Kroger’s or the A&P,” I wailed, rising.

“I’ll pay for it,” Rhoda indicated.

She drove me to the A&P, and we were back in my kitchen within an hour staring at a pizza we had picked up but now couldn’t eat.

“We’re goin’ to have to act normal. We’re actin’ like zombies,” Rhoda told me.

“I’m not hungry,” I mumbled. The food I’d picked up from the market was still in the bag on the counter. Around four, Rhoda’s mother called.

“I have to go home to help Aunt Lola do the laundry,” Rhoda breathed. She placed the phone back into its cradle and just stood in front of me staring at the pizza container. “I shouldn’t have told you, huh?” she said softly, her voice cracking.

“Shouldn’t have told me what?” I asked, not looking at her.

“What I did to Buttwright. You would never have known, and you wouldn’t be feelin’ the way you are now.”

“But you’re feeling sick, too. You didn’t even touch that pizza,” I told her, searching her eyes.

I think Rhoda was feeling the way she was because of how I was feeling more than she was about killing Mr. Boatwright.

“I can’t stay in this house by myself with a dead man,” I wailed. Rising, I grabbed her wrists. “Call your mama back and ask if you can do the laundry later,” I begged.

Rhoda shook her head. “We have to act normal so nobody will get suspicious and start askin’ questions. Don’t be afraid to be in the house alone with him.” She smiled and shook her head slowly. “He can’t hurt you now.”

“But he’s dead! I’m scared of dead people.”

“Girl, I’m always in my house alone with dead people. Sometimes two and three at a time.”

“But I’m scared—”

“Then come to my house. You can help do the laundry, then we can watch TV in my room. Buttwright’s not around to tell your mama, so she won’t know you came over. Besides, I got some new paperbacks I’m ready to pass on to you,” Rhoda said impatiently.

“I can’t. Muh’Dear might call or come home early. She told me to stay in the house.”

“All right. I’ll bring some more tea when I come back,” she promised. She called an hour later.

“When are you coming back?” I asked, sobbing. My hand was shaking so hard I could hardly hold the telephone. The longer Mr. Boatwright remained undiscovered, the more nervous I became. Every little noise made me almost jump out of my skin. There was a knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat.

“I have to help Aunt Lola finish the laundry, then go to this political gatherin’ with my folks that I just found out about. I can’t see you again until tomorrow.”

“Oh no,” I mumbled. A long silence followed.

“Did you hear what I said? I gotta go somewhere with my folks.”

“Yeah, I heard you. What time will you be home, Rhoda?”

“I don’t know. If it’s not too late, I’ll call you.”

Three hours later, Muh’Dear wandered in, dropping her coat on the kitchen floor. Before saying a word, she lifted the lid off the pot I’d cooked the greens and neckbones in, grabbed a fork off the counter, and started fishing greens out.

“Brother Boatwright in the bed already?” she asked with her mouth full. It was odd for him to be in bed two nights in a row when she got home. “He sick?” She talked with her back to me.

“Um…he didn’t get out the bed at all today,” I told Muh’Dear. She whirled around and looked at me for what felt like an eternity, still chewing. “He is an old man, now, Muh’Dear. He needs all the rest he can get…”

I can’t say how I really felt about what had happened to Mr. Boatwright at that moment. My feelings changed from one minute to the next. I was relieved that my abuse had ended, but I was afraid that sooner or later somebody would find out Rhoda had killed old Mr. Boatwright and that I knew about it all along. As strange as it may sound, I missed that old goat. He had become a part of my life, and in many ways he had replaced the father who had abandoned me. For those reasons, I felt like hell. One fear I had was, what if another man entered my life and took up where Mr. Boatwright left off? Would Rhoda kill him, too?

“I guess you right. Let him rest, bless his heart.” Muh’Dear swallowed, yawned, stretched her arms, then leaned down and picked her coat up from the floor. “I’ll check to see if he need anythin’ in the mornin’ before I leave.”

I spent another night just sitting up. This time in front of the TV in the living room instead of my room looking out the window at the sky trying to bargain with God. The television didn’t hold my attention, but I kept it on anyway. Every time I heard a car outside, I ran to the window to see if it was Rhoda.

I was desperate for something to happen, and it had to happen soon. I did manage to doze off for a brief moment around eleven but woke up as soon as I started having a dark dream about Mr. Boatwright chasing me with his fake leg.

Another hour went by before I heard another car. Rhoda and her folks had finally returned. I watched them get out and as soon as I saw Rhoda go in the house I called. “Muh’Dear didn’t find Mr. Boatwright yet,” I told her. Even though there was nobody in the room to hear my end of the conversation, I was holding the telephone receiver close to my face, and I was whispering.

“Hmmm…Uh…I can’t talk about that right now.” Rhoda lowered her voice and continued, “We’ll figure out somethin’ in the mornin’.”

“It can’t wait until morning. I’m about to have a complete nervous breakdown, girl,” I hissed, looking over my shoulder. My head was pounding, my ears were ringing, and my stomach was in knots. This mess was making me sick. I held the phone away from my face and just looked at it. “Rhoda, I’ve got to do something soon, or I’ll go crazy.” A frightening silence followed.

“What are you goin’ to do?” Rhoda asked.

“I’m goin’ to go tell my mama that Mr. Boatwright died.”

“And?”

“And what?” I asked.

“And that he died in his sleep?” Rhoda wailed.

“O…K,” I managed.

“That is what happened, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Rhoda. That is what happened,” I agreed.