Buddy (15 page)

“I got company.”

“Your mama says that's okay?”

“She can say what she wants. I don't care.”

We're standing there at the gate just looking at each other. Then he looks up at the house. “So you're living here now?”

“No. I told you. We're just here on the weekend. Then we go back to Mississippi.”

“You fixed the roof,” he says.

“Daddy mostly did that.”

“You got electricity?”

I laugh. “You're the fool now.”

He looks up the street. “I got to go.” He hikes up his pants and he eases off.

I sit down on the porch. I look at all the houses up and down my street. There ain't nobody living in any of them. I wonder where that boy Rusty is now. And where is that boy I never talked to that was always reading books. And that girl who was taller than me but who was nice. And my teacher. And all the other kids and all the other teachers. Of all those people, I'm thinking, why is J-Boy the only one who's made it back?

29

When it gets to be almost Easter, Mama says, “You aren't going to New Orleans for Easter Sunday, are you?”

“I'm going to church on Easter,” Daddy says, “but I'm going to my church in New Orleans. Me and Li'l T, we'll take a break long enough to go to church.”

Mama's standing with her hands on her hips.

“Do you want to come with us?” Daddy says.

“And what am I going to do with a toddler baby in a house full of rusty nails and holes?”

Daddy shrugs up his shoulders. “Suit yourself,” he says.

“I think you're crazy,” Mama says, “living in an empty city in a rotten house with a half-wild dog and a boy no more than thirteen years old.”

Daddy looks at me. “Do you think I'm crazy, Li'l T?”

I shake my head.

Mama stomps off to the kitchen.

Daddy sits there watching her walk off. Then he looks at me. “Sometimes, Li'l T,” he says, “you just got to do what you got to do, even if it don't make sense to anybody but you.”

“It makes sense to me, Daddy.”

Daddy shakes his head. “But not to your mama.”

When we pull up on Easter weekend, Rover jumps out of the car and shoots straight for the back, barking up a storm.

Daddy laughs. “He's already after a rat.”

We unlock the front door, Daddy walks in, and all a sudden he starts up saying things I can't write down in this story. I'm right behind him but he holds out his hand to keep me back.

“Don't look, Li'l T,” he says, but I look anyway.

There's a man laying on one of our air mattresses. There's food trash laying all around him. There are needles and plastic tubes and spoons. There are candles all burned down. There are rags piled up in one corner. There are six empty wine bottles lined up under the window.

“Is he dead?” I say.

Daddy inches over to him and pokes him with his toe. The man opens his eyes. He looks up at Daddy.

“Get out of my house,” Daddy says.

The man stands up and I see he's not a man, not quite.

“And take all this—stuff—with you.”

The boy don't say anything. He's just looking at us. Then he looks down at everything laying around the room. “I don't want it,” he says. Then he stumbles out the door.

Daddy's following right behind him. The boy gets to the steps and Daddy hollers after him, “If I ever see you in my house again, I'll kill you. You hear what I'm saying?”

The boy waves his hand at us like we're mosquitoes or something. He grabs hold of the fence so he won't fall and then he heads on down the street.

We're standing there watching him go. “That's the dregs, Li'l T,” Daddy says. “Now we have to clean up after him.”

Except Daddy won't let me touch anything. He says I'm too young. He tells me to go on to work in the kitchen. We've got to haul out those cabinets this weekend. I go in the kitchen. I see the kitchen door has been broke open and there's another nest with our other mattress and all the same stuff.

I holler to Daddy, “There was two of them.”

Daddy comes and looks. “You suppose this one was just a boy, too?” he says. He pokes his toe in the rags. “What are we coming to, Li'l T, if our children are living like this?”

I look up and Rover is standing there in the back door with a shoe in his mouth and grinning like he thinks it's a rat.

“Drop it,” I say, and he does.

I rub him all up. I tell him he's a good dog and throw the shoe back out in the yard. “Now go find a real rat,” I say, and slap him on the behind.

He hops off down the steps, sniffing and jumping and barking and wagging his tail like there's no tomorrow.

I stand there on the back stoop, looking across the backyards with all their crushed fences and collapsed sheds and upside down cars. It's so quiet on the street, I can hear music playing a long way off. And then I hear a bird, the first one I've heard in New Orleans since the storm. From somewhere in somebody's backyard, he's singing and singing. I don't look for him. I just close my eyes and listen.

Easter morning, we wake up early in our camp in our house. Daddy says we got to go to the sunrise service even if there ain't no sunrise to see inside the building. We don't dress up. Daddy says people in New Orleans don't worry about that stuff now. I'm following him out the front door when I realize the Easter Bunny didn't come. I'm wondering if maybe there's a basket for me at the apartment. And then I hope not. I hope the Easter Bunny knows I'm too old for that stuff now.

Me and Daddy walk real quiet into the church. It's darkish in there but that church is full of people. Daddy puts his hand on my shoulder and guides me to a seat near the front just like where we used to sit.

I hear the people all around me breathing.

Then the light starts to come in through the windows. It's coming in slow and steady. The sun is rising and we're all sitting there waiting.

All a sudden I hear a big rustle and a bunch of people at the front of the church stand up.

Then I hear a voice lift up in song. It's Brother James. And then the people behind him join in. And the church fills up with light and we all stand up. All of us. And I look around.

It's all different kinds of people. Some faces I know, but there are lots of faces I ain't never seen. Black faces. White faces. Young faces. A few old faces.

“Who are all these people?” I whisper to Daddy.

“They're our neighbors,” he says.

“But I thought nobody was here.”

“You thought wrong,” he says, and we start singing, too.

When that service is over, everybody comes pouring out the door, hugging and kissing and praising God right and left.

There's a man standing off in the shade of the porch wearing army clothes. Daddy goes up to him and shakes his hand and pats him on the shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” Daddy says. “She was a fine woman. A good woman.”

Then I know that's Mrs. Washington's nephew. He's back from Iraq but she ain't there to see him.

Now he's nodding his head and pressing his fingers in his eyes. “I miss her,” he says real quiet.

“It's like that sometimes,” Daddy says, and pats his shoulder again.

Then up comes Mr. Nelson. “Whoo-eee!” he says, and stops right in front of me. “This ain't Li'l T!” he says.

“Sure is,” Daddy says, and they're shaking hands and hugging and talking about how Houston's a fine place, but it ain't New Orleans, and Daddy's glad to be working but he wants to come home something awful. And Mr. Nelson's house only had three feet of water but it was ruined. And—God be praised—the church is okay. And where's our family anyway? And how is old Mr. Roberts? And then they're quiet and Mr. Nelson says, “May he rest in peace.”

Then Mr. Nelson looks at me and says all over again, “I know this ain't Li'l T!”

“It sure is,” Daddy says again.

“What are you feeding him, T Junior?” Mr. Nelson says. “He's done shot up like a weed.”

“He's got a good start,” Daddy says, “but he's got a ways to go.”

“You're going to be like your grandpa, boy,” Mr. Nelson says, “tall and skinny.”

“I'm tall!” Daddy says.

“But you ain't skinny!” Mr. Nelson says, and now everybody's laughing and slapping each other on the arm, and then Mr. Nelson turns to me and says, “How about that three-legged dog? Where is he at?”

And all a sudden I feel like it ain't spring anymore.

Daddy looks at me and puts his hand on my shoulder. Mr. Nelson ain't laughing now.

“We had to leave the dog behind,” Daddy says. “He's gone.”

“But he ain't dead,” I say, looking down at my shoes. “He's alive somewhere. We just don't know where.”

“I'm sorry, son,” Mr. Nelson says. He shakes his head. “So much is gone. I'm sorry I asked.”

30

Before we know it, school is over. Mrs. Watson's giving me a hug and saying she's so proud of me and I've got a lot of potential and all kinds of stuff like teachers always say. I'm just thinking what am I going to do this summer, sitting in that apartment all day every day.

The whole family goes to a party where the kindergarteners graduate to first grade. All Tanya's friends are wearing big bows in their hair and holding hands. The teacher gives Tanya a piece of paper with a giant smiley face on it saying she's an honor student—in kindergarten.

Daddy and Mama want to be happy but they can't because Daddy's job clearing out all those broke trees is over. What they can do, they've done.

When we get home that night, Daddy and Mama sit together at the table in that little apartment. They got the newspaper spread out in front of them and every once in a while they make a circle around a notice for a job. Daddy's shaking his head. Mama's wrapping her hands together.

“What are we going to do now?” she says.

Daddy folds up the newspaper. He sits back. He crosses his arms over his chest. He looks Mama in the face. “We're going to go home,” he says.

And so we do.

We can't move into the house to start. It ain't close to ready. No rain can get in because we fixed the roof where the pecan tree came through. A bunch of men from the church helped us get the front porch straightened out, and we got it mostly mucked out. But it ain't got hardly no inside walls, and the outside walls are just the weatherboard nailed on the studs. Mama won't even come look at it much less live in it, especially once she hears about the squatters.

Brother James fixes up a place for her with a widow two streets over. That widow's old and she needs somebody to look after her. Mama can do that while she's chasing Baby Terrell. Mama says maybe the widow will let her use the kitchen to make a few pralines again. And if she's going to be cooking for the widow, maybe she can cook up a few lunches to sell to the people working on the houses.

The problem is that the widow's only got one extra bedroom. Daddy's got to sleep in the old house or on the street. I say I'll sleep with him in the house. Mama says over her dead body. She says it ain't safe. Daddy says it's us being there that's going to make it safe, and besides we like camping out.

He's tee-heeing about that, but Mama ain't laughing at all. After a while, though, she nods her head. “Okay,” she says. “I guess you're going to do what you're going to do.”

So Mama and Tanya and Baby Terrell move into the old lady's extra room, and Daddy and Rover and me move into the old house full-time. Rover thinks he's in heaven getting to chase rats every day. The good thing is, he don't line them up on the porch anymore, and I've just about taught him not to jump all over me, especially when he's got one hanging in his mouth.

Daddy ain't got no regular job, but he's picking up day work gutting houses and clearing lots. He works on the old house whenever he can scrape up enough money to buy some boards or nails or whatever else he needs. He gives me projects every day when he's gone. I'm getting good at ripping stuff out. Next he's going to teach me how to hang Sheetrock.

Summer is almost halfway over, and truth be told, that house don't look much different.

Daddy's starting to sit with his head in his hands again. He's starting to get those lines in his face.

Then one afternoon I look up from where I'm nailing down a loose board on the front porch and here comes Mama with Tanya and Baby Terrell. They ain't never been by before, not the whole time since we've been back. Tanya's wearing her crown and holding Baby Terrell by the hand. Mama's pulling an old, rusty wagon. Inside that wagon are two great big cooking pots and a cardboard box full of paper bowls, napkins, and plastic forks with a great big old loaf of white bread laid over the top. Stuck on the side of the box with tape is a sign that says,
MAMA'S HOME COOKING.
I can tell Tanya colored it because the
S
is backward.

“There's two servings still left,” Mama says, “and I won't charge you.”

She puts down the handle of the wagon and picks up Baby Terrell. Tanya grabs hold of her skirt.

Then Mama just stands in the yard and looks. I see her eyes going up to the big
X
above the front porch roof. She looks at me and she looks at that
X
and I know what she's thinking.

Tanya's lifting up her thumb toward her mouth.

“Don't stick that in your mouth,” I say.

Tanya jumps and stares at me. “You ain't my daddy,” she says.

I lift up my hand like I'm going to wallop her, and Mama says, “Li'l T, I thought you were older than that.”

I let my hand down. I feel ashamed and I feel sad.

Then I look up at the house with them. I ain't noticed before how the yard is all full of weeds and they're almost tall as me. I ain't seen the way the grass is growing up through cracks in the sidewalk and practically covering it up. I ain't noticed the way the paint is peeling off in great big old chunks the size of my hand all the way up the side of the house to where that water mark is still a dirty, black line. It's been a long time since I noticed that the bushes up by the porch are just dried-up brown sticks or that the stump of the pecan tree is all covered over with cat's claw vine and morning glory.

Then along comes Rover galloping like a racehorse around the corner of the house. He skids to a stop in front of us with his tongue flopping out and his tail going a mile a minute. He ain't seen Mama and them since we started camping in the old house. He bounces around on his feet and barks. Mama almost smiles.

“That dog's grown,” she says.

Baby Terrell's trying to jump out of her arms. She's holding on to him the best she can. “You can't get down,” she says. “It's too dangerous.”

“No!” he shouts, and we all stop in our tracks and look at him.

“Did he say
no
?” I say.

Mama's looking at him like she's proud. “Did you say
no
?” she says. “Did you say that, Baby Terrell?”

He's flopping himself hard. “No!” he yells again. “No! No! No!”

Then we're all laughing and Mama finally puts him on the ground. “I guess if you can talk, I better let you walk. Li'l T, don't let him out of your sight. I'm going to have a look at this old house. I guess I have to.”

Mama goes inside, and Daddy's hammer stops. She stays inside a long, long time. I eat a bowl of red beans and rice and three pieces of bread. I throw a stick for Rover. He runs to pick it up and brings it back. Baby Terrell claps his hands. We do it all again. Tanya's sitting on the steps. She's sitting on her hands so her thumb won't accidentally slide into her mouth. Rover goes running up to her and jumps on her and her crown almost falls off.

“Bad dog,” she says. “Go away,” she says, but she's laughing.

“Say
down
,” I tell her. “He don't understand
go away
.”

She's too busy straightening up her crown to pay any attention.

“Ba, ba, ba, ba, ba,” Baby Terrell says.

Then I look up and there's Mama, standing in the front door. She's standing there looking at us sitting on the steps. She looks at Tanya and she looks at me and she looks at Baby Terrell. We're looking back at her.

“What are you staring at?” she says all a sudden.

“Your face is all wet,” Tanya says.

Mama reaches up and rubs her hand across her cheeks.

“Now it's dirty,” Tanya says.

Mama closes her eyes and takes a big breath. “And you think that's funny, I guess.”

Tanya shakes her head real slow.

“It's okay, Mama,” I say. “It's going to be all right.”

“You aren't old enough to tell me that,” she snaps back at me. “Besides I've got something to tell you. Me and Tanya are going to take that wagon and walk to the store. I've got enough cash in my pocket right here to buy us a couple jugs of bleach and some scrub brushes. You're going to watch Baby Terrell. When we get back, we're going to set up Tanya and Baby Terrell in the front room where he can't get loose. And then you and me are going to start washing the wood. I figure if I don't start helping out, this house isn't ever going to be done. Come on, Tanya. You're going to carry the brushes.”

Mama don't like working with that bleach. Daddy teases her and says she's going to turn white. She says if she does it'll only be in spots and that'll make her a leopard and he better watch out if he gets too close.

Daddy laughs out loud and Mama smiles a little, and I just keep on scrubbing.

Daddy's got an electrician lined up to come fix the wires as soon as it's all washed. A man from the church is going to help with the pipes. Then we can start hanging the Sheetrock. Things are finally moving along.

One day I'm taking a break from scrubbing and sitting outside watching Baby Terrell with Tanya when I look up and there's Brother James, standing just inside the gate.

“Your mama and daddy inside?” he says.

“Yes, sir.”

“Go get them. I've got something to tell y'all. I'll watch the baby.”

I go inside. The house is dark and quiet. Little spots of dust are floating in the air where the sun's coming through the cracks. Then I hear their voices. They're upstairs. I climb up the creaky stairs. When I get there, they ain't scrubbing. They're standing in their bedroom except it ain't got any walls. They're hugging.

“Brother James is here,” I say. “He says go get you.”

“Brother James?” Daddy says.

Mama rubs her hand across her face. “How do I look?” she says.

“Strong,” Daddy says.

We walk out on the porch and Brother James is bouncing Baby Terrell up and down on his knee like Granpa T used to do. Baby Terrell's laughing and squealing and Tanya is squinched over to one side, smiling and sitting on her hands.

Everybody says their hellos and finds a shady place to sit.

“Y'all get to watch much TV?” Brother James says.

Daddy laughs a little. “Ain't got no electricity, Brother James. Can't watch much TV that way.”

“True.” Brother James nods. “Then y'all probably didn't see that show last night.”

We're all shaking our heads.

“It was about Katrina.”

We all make faces.

“It was about the rescuers. The ones who saved the dogs.”

I sit up.

“There must have been a hundred different groups that came in and saved those animals. They were telling about how they found cats and birds and dogs—especially dogs—all left behind. They said at first they thought the people had just abandoned their pets. They thought the people just didn't love them.”

“But our car was too little!” I say. “We thought we'd be right back!”

“They figured it out,” Brother James says, and nods. “They're smart people. They figured it out.”

We're all sitting there real quiet just looking at the dead yard. Rover is poking his nose in the stick bushes and piles of trash. His tail is going back and forth like it's attached to an engine. He bends down on his front legs and whines a little.

“He sees a rat,” Brother James says.

“He finds a lot of them,” Daddy says.

We all nod.

I'm watching Rover but now I'm thinking about Buddy. Buddy didn't bother about rats. And he didn't jump on people. He didn't tear around the yard like he was crazy. He barked the squirrels away, and then he laid in the cool of the tree until I came to talk to him. That's what Buddy did. He laid still. And he listened to me.

“I guess,” Brother James goes on, “since y'all didn't see the show, you didn't see about that shelter out in California somewhere.”

We shake our heads and keep on watching Rover. I wish he would either catch that rat or leave it alone.