Witch Ball (7 page)

I could hear him talking before I rang the bell. He was yelling something about hiding things, lying, committing acts that were sinful, against God.

"A woman shall not wear a man's garment, nor shall a man put on a woman's cloak, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord your God," he screamed at her. I recognized this bit of wisdom, or warning, or whatever, from Deuteronomy. (Who knew that Vacation Bible School would stick with me for years?)

Aunt Fleur didn't respond for a long time. At first I couldn't hear anything. But then her words began to rise up from somewhere deep inside her. Her voice, too, deepened. I wasn't even sure it was Fleur who was speaking. "LIES, HYRUM? HOW DARE YOU? YOU, MORE THAN ANYONE, SHOULD ATONE FOR YOUR SINS!"

I heard the back door slam. Granpa's old pickup sputtered to a start, almost as if the ancient Ford was as angry as he was. He gunned the engine and rounded the corner without braking at the stop sign.

I sat on the porch swing for several minutes before ringing the
door bell to give her, and I guess me, too, a chance to calm down.

When Fleur answered the door she was weeping slightly. Dark streaks of mascara had created small streams down her cheeks. Her wig was slightly askew. I followed her and sat down quietly on an overstuffed chair in the living room. The floral upholstery pattern was printed with curvy green vines and purple flowers. It would have been a good fabric for a Hawaiian shirt.

"I heard Granpa yelling at you," I said. "Why was he so angry?"

"Old issues.
He never could accept me, even when we were children." She pulled at some metallic threads on her caftan. I had never seen her look quite so miserable.

"He sounds like he is a lot like your father. He couldn't accept your love of James."

She gave me a closed-mouth smile. The sadness around her eyes did not change. "Yes, I was an embarrassment to them both."

"Well, I'm sure my
granpa did some embarrassing things when he was young. Maybe you should throw some shade back at him."

"That's not really my style. Anyway, I still love him, no matter how he feels about me."

This struck me as terribly tragic. Families should stick together, accept and forgive one another's flaws. My parents act like I am in constant danger from some unnamed peril. I consider their strictness a sign that they love me. Then again, they don't appear to have any love for each other. Still, they stay together.

"Didn't he ever do stuff that made you ashamed?"

"I guess so. When we were kids Hyrum found a two-headed snake. It was just a garter snake, but really disturbing. Both heads had voracious appetites. Everyone said it would die, but it kept living."

"That doesn't sound like something that should make you ashamed."

"Well, Truly," she lowered her eyes, "he said it was like me, two-sided and peculiar. Even named it Florenz..."

I could see that even after so many years this still caused her pain. She had wiped away the mascara stains with the back of her hand. Her face, without makeup, was paler that I had realized.

"So, did he ever apologize?"

"No. The snake lived even though no one expected that. At first Hyrum enjoyed the attention. He charged the neighborhood kids a nickel to look at it. Some kids came from as far as three blocks away."

"A nickel! That sounds too cheap to me."

"It wasn't cheap then. An ice
cream cone was a nickel, and a Coke from the vending machine, too. Then the price of a bottle of Coke went up by one cent. The machines had a little box added just to collect the pennies. So Hyrum started charging six cents for a look at the snake."

I had no idea that my grandpa was such a good businessman. I wonder what else I don't know about my
family?

"Well, evidently the news of this snake had traveled further than our neighborhood. One day, a Pentecostal minister showed up at the door, wanting to buy the snake.
Offered twenty dollars, even though it was harmless."

"Why would he want a snake?"

"They were a snake-handling congregation. It was part of their belief system to dance with poisonous snakes during service. But a two-headed snake, poisonous or not, that was special. He said only the devil could have created it. He wanted that snake badly."

"I've never heard of that." Like I said before, almost everyone around here is Baptist. They like to dunk people in big vats of water, but they don't try to drown them. The idea of playing with poisonous snakes makes no sense to me.

"So, did he sell the snake?"

"No. Something struck him as wrong with the offer. He said, 'I
ain't lettin' no strangers make fun of Florenz. He is a freak, but he's my freak.' After that he stopped selling looks, even to the kids."

"He just kept the snake as a pet?"

"Not for long. One day, Hyrum cut off one of the heads with a kitchen knife. Thought he could make it normal. The snake died right away. It couldn't live without its twin head."

 

 

 

 

 

 

T
he atmosphere of Columbus had darkened. The mystery of Coach Russell's death hung like a veil over the city. Columbus police seemed to have no leads, or none that they released to the one TV station and newspapers. The few things that they did divulge made little sense.

A murder needs a motive. The house had not been ransacked, and there was no indication of forced entry. They discovered no signs that anything had been taken, so burglary was ruled out. There seemed to be no explanation for a crime of such passion.

There was the possibility that the coach was having an affair. A "love nest" would have been a good incentive for having a separate house away from his wife. If this were true, then he had been a genius at keeping it secret—not an easy thing to do in this town. Even so, few women have the strength to strangle an adult man. Could it have been a jealous husband?

The coach's secret house on the north side of town was the subject of much interest. Some of the track team members admitted to spending a lot of time there, but were close-mouthed about what was so appealing that they often stayed the night. Interestingly, their parents knew almost nothing about what went on at these "slumber parties
." They had never asked for many details because the coach was so revered in the community.

I tried to question Eric about it in the round-about way I learned from my mom.

"That must have been a lot of fun," I said, "all those parties. I'll bet you met a lot of girls." This was not an answer that I really wanted to hear, but it was a small step into learning more about him.

"Huh?" he said. These days he gave
the impression that there was a mist fogging up his brain, always distracted. "No girls there, those parties were for boys only."

That didn't sound like fun to me. "So, what went on? Watching football? Did he let you guys drink?"

"Yeah, there was some beer. Other stuff, too—gifts like CDs and video games"

I could see he was uncomfortable with this conversation. That was easy to change. "Eric, let's go down to the river this afternoon. We could stop for milk shakes and drink them there." He was good with this.

As we walked toward the benches next to the river, I was surprised to see Granpa's truck parked facing the boat launch. Through the rear window I could make out two people in the cab.

"Oh, look, there's my Maw
Maw," said Eric.

"Where?"

"There, with Mr. Hyrum, in the truck."

I stopped abruptly, forcing some gravel into the toes of my sandals. I almost dropped my shake.

"You know my Granpa?"

"Who?"
Now we were both confused.

"
Grandpa Hyrum. Are you telling me you know him?"

"Yeah, he and Maw
Maw Clementine are old friends. He's been coming around as long as I can remember. But I didn't know he was your grandpa." He took a long drink from his shake. "Maw Maw said he was good to my mama, too. Used to call himself her 'secret friend.' I think all that changed when she married my dad. I don't really know. I wasn't even born yet."

I didn't get how Grandpa could have a friend that I knew nothing about, and a black one at that. I felt like the gravel between my toes had somehow turned my wits gritty.

"So your Maw Maw and my Granpa are
old
friends?"

He shrugged. "I guess so. Maw
Maw said he bought the stone for my Mama's grave."

Granpa
and Clementine appeared to be deep in conversation. I decided it was a bad idea to speak to them. I suppose I was a bit uncomfortable, like I was intruding on something personal, not for my eyes. We kept walking. I'm pretty sure they didn't see us.

"Eric, you want to hear something weird?" I didn't wait for him to answer. "My mom dated your dad in high school. My parents knew your mother, too."

"Yeah, this is a small town."

I decided to take a big risk. "I think there was some problem between our parents. I get the impression that they didn't like your father, maybe your mother, either."

"Well, I know my mother was pregnant when they married. Lots of people probably looked down on them for that."

That was so long ago. You'd think they would have gotten over it by now. Here memory and bigotry are hereditary. It is transferred from one generation to another. I wonder if my mom and dad dislike Eric because of something his parents did.

"Anyway, Truly, there's still prejudice around Columbus about a lot of stuff. Race, poverty, even sexual choices, can make someone hate you, someone who doesn't even know you. Remember the runaway slaves who made their journey along this very shore? Even then, there were a few brave souls who did not accept injustice. They risked great danger to help people they didn't know." He began twirling his straw around in the cup. I thought he was finished talking, then he said, "Do you understand how rare that was? To speak up when the truth could get you killed?"

"I know. It takes guts to fight the opinions of everyone else." I was really thinking that people who didn't know my Aunt Fleur had decided that she was a witch. Maybe my
Grandpa was more of a free thinker than I gave him credit for. Maybe he had other black friends, but kept them secret. If so, then he should be more understanding of Fleur. After all, she is his flesh and blood.

 

 

 

 

 

 

T
he Columbus
Police Department was fast becoming the butt of a lot of jokes. Only one murder in the last several years, and they couldn't even solve that.

Dad kept saying that we should create a
new city motto aimed at criminals—"Come to Columbus, Mississippi, where you can get away with murder." My mom didn't think it was very funny.

Everyone who knew Coach was re-interviewed. The entire track team was questioned, separately. Maybe the police had a
lead, however, nothing new was reported in the media.

Sue Ellen Russell became a sort of celebrity around town. She was always accompanied by her housekeeper, Roxanne, a horsy-looking woman who towered over her employer like a giant. Roxy's long, low
ponytail did nothing to diminish the equine impression. She had a habit of answering questions that were put to Sue Ellen. It was hard to understand the relationship, and which one was on top. Sue Ellen gave too many interviews, stressing over and over again her dead husband's saintly qualities. She always included how he mentored the boys, even giving them expensive gifts. She appeared to enjoy the attention more than she missed her husband.

I suppose the local press had to focus on something. This was the biggest story around
Columbus since the mayor's sons were arrested on drug charges. That story fizzled out, or was squashed. Apparently, there weren't any new leads in the murder, so Sue Ellen sort of became the story.

I was dying to know about my
Granpa's "friendship" with Clementine. They seemed an odd match. Strange, too, that I knew nothing about it. Friends are people you bring around to the family, or do something with, or have interests in common. I know he loves to hunt and fish. Somehow, I can't see that old lady in camouflage clothes and carrying a gun or a fishing pole.

Maybe they go to church together. He loves that, too. That's not likely, either. Although everyone around here is very "
Jesusy," the races do not even mix in the house of the Lord.

That evening I decided to
gently
broach the subject with my parents.

"Mom, remember telling me about Clementine, Eric's grandmother, the one who used to work for your family?"

She sat in front of the TV, filing her nails. Dad was dozing in his Barcalounger. The ice in his martini had melted and the glass looked like a small fish bowl. Two olives lay at the bottom like dead green fish with their red tongues limply hanging out. I saw him open one eye with a squint.

"I remember." Mom began to file her nails with fast, strong strokes. I was afraid she might file
them down to the quick and draw blood. "I told you I didn't know much about it."

Dad's eyes opened all the way.

"Do you know that they are good friends even now?"

"That's ridiculous. Mother fired her when I was a child."

"Well, that may be true. Anyway, I saw them together, sitting in his truck, out by the river."

"Gertrude! You are mistaken! He hasn't seen her in years!"

Dad sat up, but didn't say anything.

"I think I recognize the pick-up. I know every dent and
ding on it. He has a bumper sticker from Ronald Reagan's 1984 campaign. How could I not identify my own grandfather, or his old truck?"

She didn't have an answer for that. "I don't know, Gertrude. Maybe they have some business together."