The Land (12 page)

I looked hard at him now. “It was easy enough for you to whip me in front of everybody.”

“You think it was? Well, it wasn't.” He breathed hard, in a sigh. “All your life I've protected you. Don't you know that? But I just can't protect you in the same way I do Robert, George, and Hammond. I know how white men treat colored men, how white folks treat colored folks, and I know maybe I've been wrong in not making you understand earlier that the way I treat you is not the way every white man is going to treat you.”

“I expect I know that already.”

“Maybe you know it, but I've always been around to protect you. I know there were some things I've been wrong about in the way I've brought up you and Cassie, but I've tried to do the best I could by you. I've whipped you for doing wrong before. They were always whippings meant to teach you something, make you remember not to do it again. Difference today was I not only wanted you to remember that whipping, but to think on the fact that no matter how bad that strap hurt you today, what can come to you if you go hitting another white man, not just your brother and his friends, will be worse than that. Son, hitting a white man could cost you your life, and it won't necessarily be an easy death. I've seen men lynched. I've seen men quartered. I've seen men burned.” He shook his head. “I'd rather whip you every day of your life and have you hate me every day for the rest of it than see that happen to you.”

There was silence again between us, and neither of us hurried to break it. Finally, I said quietly, “Robert was wrong.”

“To your thinking.”

“He was wrong.” I wasn't changing my mind about that.

“Maybe. But don't you see it doesn't matter? Wrong or not, he's white. The way it is, he's of age now, and that's all that matters.”

“I've had fights with Robert before.”

“That was as children. Children, no matter what color, are allowed to have their squabbles. That's overlooked. Now, though, Robert's of age, and you can't go around hitting him anytime you feel like it. You should've already known that. A black daddy would have made sure his son understood that before now. I expect I put off too long seeing that you understood it.”

I threw my last stone into the water and turned to question him. “But why in front of the Waverlys? Why'd you have to whip me in front of
them
?”

My daddy's eyes met mine in the lantern light. “Because they were here, and the thing is, with their being here, there was nothing else I could do but whip you. I didn't chastise you, then maybe they'd figure they'd take care of you themselves . . . now or down the road. But whether they were here or not, it was time I did what I did just the same.”

“Something you wouldn't've done if I was white.”

My daddy acceded to that. “I wouldn't have had to. I'm going to tell you something, Paul. I know I've had to bring you up differently from your brothers—you and your sister both—but that's because no matter how much I've tried to bring you all up as much the same as possible, the rest of the country isn't about to accept you as the same. You're a boy of color, and if folks know that, that's how they're going to see you. What I've tried to do is give you something to build on, an education and a trade. But for the rest of it—getting through this world alive—you're going to have to use your head. You've got a good mind, son. You're smart. Maybe too smart. You've got yourself a mind like a steel trap, and that kind of mind for a colored boy could get you in a whole lot of trouble. You're my son, but I don't care how white you look, most white folks in these parts will call you and every other person of color ‘nigger,' and to them that's all you are. They don't care how white you look, you sass a white man, you hit a white man, they'll kill you.”

I turned away.

“They'll do it,” he assured me, “and even if you lived here on this land all your life, white folks come after you, I don't know if even I could stop them from killing you, that's what they had in mind.” My daddy put his hand on my shoulder and I winced. If my daddy noticed, he didn't mention it. “Paul, listen and hear what I'm saying. Look at me, boy.”

Reluctantly, I did so.

“This here is a white man's country, and long as you stay colored, you'll never get anyplace using your fists. All using your fists'll get you, leastways against a white man, is hanged or worse, if you can think on that. So you best be thinking on putting that steel-trap mind of yours to work. Use your head, Paul-Edward, not your fists. You hear me, boy?”

I stood then without answering and moved away. My daddy got up as well. “You go ahead, you stay angry if you want, but you remember what I said.” He waited as if expecting me to say something. I didn't. My daddy hesitated. Then he said, “I was going to give this to you tomorrow, on Christmas Day, but I'm figuring I'd best give it to you now.” He pulled a ring from his finger and I knew right away which ring it was. It was made of gold and had one stone at its center. “I've given each of my boys a ring, and this one's for you. It's got meaning to it for me, and I want you to have it now.”

“What meaning?” I asked.

“It was my daddy's ring.” He held it out to me, but I didn't move to take it. My daddy then took my hand and dropped the ring into my palm.

I looked at my daddy and remained silent.

My daddy accepted the silence with a nod. “You keep the lantern and get on home to your mama and let her see to your back. It'll be Christmas soon.”

“I don't need your lantern.”

“I expect you do. It'll light your way. And remember, Paul, your head, not your fists.” My daddy walked away then, and when he was gone, I started to throw the ring as hard as I could after him. But I thought better of it. I gazed upon the ring. I had seen the ring on my daddy's hand, and it had been worn by his daddy. Now it was mine. I didn't want to think on what that meant, not with my back seared through like it was. For a long while I sat by that creek holding that ring and thinking on what had happened. Finally I slipped the ring into my pocket and blew out the lantern light. I saw Christmas in alone.

 

It was morning when I went to my mama's house. I was aching all over, and my back was stiff. I could hardly walk. The dawn had just broken, but Cassie was sitting there on the front steps waiting for me. She wore her nightgown still, and she had a shawl around her shoulders. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she was shivering. “So you thought you'd make your mama worry about you all night, huh?” she asked as I approached.

I shrugged off the question and put one to her instead. “How long you been sitting out here?”

“Too long. What's the matter with you, staying away all night? Especially after what I heard happened over at that barn yesterday. Don't you think your mama was worried?”

“Wasn't thinking about her.”

“Well, that's right plain. Howard and I got here last night, and Mama was sitting here all by herself, just sitting there in that rocker inside with her Christmas dinner cooking, waiting on you.”

“Where is Howard, anyway?” I asked, glancing toward the house.

“Where he's supposed to be!” snapped Cassie. “In bed asleep.”

“You ought to be in there with him.”

“Well, I'd like to be, but how I'm supposed to sleep with you out wandering those woods on Christmas Eve? I started to come looking for you myself, because I knew where you'd most likely be, but Howard and Mama wouldn't let me go stumbling off in those woods.”

“I wouldn't think so. Aren't you supposed to be having a baby?”

“You know I am, and don't go changing the subject. I can still whip your little bottom.”

I smiled and sat down on the step beside her.

“How you feel?”

“I'm all right.”

“You look terrible. You were walking like an old man.”

“Thanks. I feel like one.”

Cassie pushed my hair back from my forehead. “From what I heard, our daddy used a strap. He couldn't've done this here. Whose fist landed this punch?”

“Tell the truth, I got whipped on so much yesterday, I've got no idea.”

“How's your back?”

“Raw.”

“We'd better get some salve on it. Course, it would've been better going on last night.”

“Too bad our daddy didn't have Willie Thomas bring out a jar while he was whipping me. Willie could have put some on me same time he was rubbing down Appaloosa with it.”

“Yeah,” said Cassie with a grin. “Our daddy should've thought of that.”

I managed another smile myself, then said, “Cassie, you know why our daddy whipped me, don't you?”

“I heard.”

“He said it was for my own good.”

“Could be he was right.”

“How can you say that? Him whipping me like that?”

“Time had come,” said Cassie matter-of-factly. “Time had come for you to get an understanding of who you are. Time came for me when I first went to Atlanta, like I told you.”

“That still doesn't excuse what he done. Him or Robert either, and I won't forget.”

“Well, that's good.” I heard the door creak behind us. I turned and saw my mama standing in the doorway. “That's good you won't forget it.”

I got up slowly to face her.

“So you decided to come home, huh?”

“Sorry I worried you.”

My mama looked at me long, studying me. “Come on in this house and let me get some salve on your back.” She then turned to go back inside.

“That's all you going to say about what happened?” I demanded. “Don't you feel anything about what he did?”

My mama turned to face me again, and her look, followed by her words, I'll never forget. “Yes, Paul, I got something to say about what happened. Fact, I got plenty to say. I'm glad your daddy done it. High time he did too. I been telling you and telling you those brothers of yours are white and you ain't. I been telling you that the day was gonna come when things wouldn't be the same between you and them. I been telling you to watch out for yourself and get yourself something of your own. I been telling you, but you ain't been listening. You wanted to believe in them. I been telling you and telling you, and you been resenting me for it, been resenting me for everything that had to do with your making. I been telling you and telling you. Now the day's come. Merry Christmas.”

My mama glared at me, and I could feel her anger. But I knew that anger wasn't all aimed at me. She had tried to protect me, and it was true—I hadn't wanted to listen. She had tried to protect me; now she was suffering right along with me. I could see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice. I stared at her, and I felt the tears coming for the first time. My mama's eyes softened as she stood there looking at me, and when she spoke again, her voice had softened too. “Come on in this house, Paul-Edward,” she said as she held the door open for me. “Come on, and let me see to your back.”

 

I slept most of Christmas morning, and so did Cassie. I woke to the sounds of my mama finishing up her Christmas dinner, to the smells of roasted ham and a chicken baking, and to the soft talk of Howard's voice and his genial laughter as he kept my mama company. I was miserably sore and aching, but I rose to join them, and later when Cassie was up, my mama put aside her cooking, and we all joined hands and each of us said our Christmas prayers of thanksgiving. Afterward, we gave our presents to one another. My mama gave me my daddy's watch from the box. “Your daddy told me he gave you his ring. You got his ring now,” she said, “you might as well have his watch.” She kissed me, then hugged me tenderly and squeezed my hand that held the watch. I put the watch away with the ring.

Now, most Christmases Cassie and I spent part of the day up at my daddy's house, but not this Christmas. This day Cassie and I, along with Howard, stayed at my mama's house. My mama, though, went to my daddy's house to finish cooking dinner up there and serve it to my daddy and my brothers and the Waverlys. She said it was her job. Cassie wanted to go with her to help, but my mama wouldn't let her. “It's my job,” she said, “not yours. You don't ever have to work in your daddy's house again.” Later on, when my mama returned, we had our own Christmas dinner, Cassie and Howard, our mama, and me. I figured this was all the family I had now.

But George and Hammond wouldn't let me be. The next day after the Waverlys were gone, they came down to my mama's house to talk to me. “It's a shame things got so messed up,” said Hammond.

“Bound to happen,” surmised George. “Tell me something, Paul. If you had to hit a white boy, why didn't you use the good sense to just hit Robert and not the Waverlys? Maybe our daddy wouldn't've whipped you so bad.”

I looked at George. “Would you have just hit Robert?”

“Course not,” he answered. “I would've beaten all the little rascals black and blue, but there's the rub of it. It wouldn't have mattered about me. I'm so-called white.”

“Spite of everything, Paul,” said Hammond, “Robert's real sorry, you know.”

“Makes no difference,” I said.

“S'pose not. But would it make a difference to you if you knew our daddy wore Robert out right after the Waverlys left?”

“He did?”

“Now, he said the whipping was for letting those fools ride that horse,” said George.

“But we know it was for more than that,” interjected Hammond. “That's got to mean something to you.”