Buddy (8 page)

16

I can't believe it when I look around and it's time for school to start up. Mama's going through all my school clothes and fussing about how they don't fit and what are we going to do. Daddy says we forgot about the glasses I'm supposed to get, and I promise to sit on the front row.

Tanya's sitting around with her thumb in her mouth because she's starting kindergarten for the first time and she's scared.

“It'll be okay,” I tell her. “Just don't sing unless everybody else does.”

Daddy takes me aside the last Saturday of the summer and he says, “How much you got saved, son?”

I say, “I've been spending my money on Buddy.”

“You ain't spent it all on that dog, have you?”

“I've got fifty dollars,” I say.

Daddy nods his head real slow. “That ain't much,” he says.

“I know.”

“But it might be just enough if I pitch in half,” he says. Then he smiles. “Come on. Let's go shopping.”

I can't believe it. Daddy takes me to the secondhand store down on Esplanade and the lady there says they got a whole stack of bikes in the back. We go back there and they've got red ones and blue ones and purple ones and orange ones.

Daddy makes me ride them around to try them out. “Which one fits you best?” he asks, and I say, “The red one.”

We push it up to the front and the lady says, “That'll be eighty dollars on the nose.”

Daddy slides two twenties on the counter, and so do I.

She starts counting it out, and Daddy says, “You're sure that bike is exactly eighty dollars? He's been mowing lawns all summer to get that money.”

The lady looks at me. “What section did you take that bike out of?” she says.

“The very end,” I say.

“Why you didn't say so to start?” she says. “That's the sale section. Those bikes are only sixty dollars.” And then she gives me back a twenty.

We're putting that bike in the car and Daddy's tee-heeing and I'm grinning so big I think my face is going to split open.

“Sale section,” Daddy says. “What do you think about that!”

When we get home, all you-know-what's broke loose.

Baby Terrell's bawling and he's bleeding. Mama's screaming. Tanya's crying. Granpa T's yelling.

Daddy jumps out of the car. He goes running up the steps.

“That dog!” Mama's screaming.

She's holding Baby Terrell and looking at where he's bleeding on his forehead and on his foot. “That dog!” she screams again.

“What about the dog?” Daddy says.

“He bit the baby,” Granpa T says.

I stop right where I am, pushing my new bike through the gate.

“Buddy bit Baby Terrell?” I say.

“Sorry, son,” Granpa T says. “We can't have that.”

“What do you mean?” I drop the bike and run back to the shed.

The door's shut and somebody's nailed Buddy's sign board across it. I hear Buddy inside, whimpering and crying.

“Buddy,” I say through the door, “what happened? What happened, boy?”

Then Daddy's calling from the house. “Come in here, Li'l T,” he's saying.

I go inside. Mama's washing Baby Terrell off in the sink. He's covered in dirt and blood. She's hugging him up every once in a while and kissing the top of his head.

“What happened?” I ask again.

“The dog bit the baby,” Daddy says.

“He's out of here,” Mama says. “He's gone tonight. I don't care where you take that dog. I don't care what you do with him. Shoot him. You hear what I'm saying? Get the gun out from under the mattress and shoot his brains out!”

Daddy puts his hand on Mama's arm. “Take it easy, now,” he says.

“I say shoot him!” she says again, and I see she's got big old tears rolling down her cheeks. She's got dirt and blood smeared all across her apron.

Tanya's sitting on the floor in the corner, crying and sticking her thumb in her mouth. She's got on one of Mama's aprons and red shoes with glitter all over them.

“Just shoot him,” Mama's saying over and over.

Then all a sudden, Tanya stands up and yells like she's in a whole different room, “But—it—ain't—his—fault!”

Everybody stops. Everybody looks at Tanya.

“What are you saying?” Granpa T says.

Tanya flops back down on the floor and sticks her thumb in her mouth and cries so hard her whole body's jerking around.

“What are you saying, baby girl?” Daddy says.

She takes her thumb out and looks up at Daddy and says, “You can't shoot him. You can't shoot Buddy.”

“He bit the baby—”

“Baby Terrell was about to stick his hand in a rat's nest!” Tanya yells with her eyes all squinched up. “And Buddy stopped him.”

Mama spins around like she's on the dance floor. Water goes flying across the kitchen. “What did you say?”

“We were playing with Buddy in the shed.” Tanya's talking fast as she can. “I was singing and Baby Terrell was making a pie with the dirt. I gave him Buddy's bowl and he started spooning dirt into it. Buddy came over to see what was happening with his bowl. Baby Terrell took his spoon and whopped Buddy on the head. Buddy went ‘Elp!' and slid back away. Baby Terrell laughed and crawled after Buddy and whopped him again and Buddy said ‘Elp!' again and stood up and headed toward the door.”

Tanya stops long enough to suck in three big breaths, then she starts up again. “Baby Terrell went crawling across the floor toward Buddy. He was crawling past the paint cans. He saw something, and he stopped, and he crawled over and started to climb up. He was reaching. And then Buddy came barking back into the shed. He grabbed Baby Terrell's foot and he pulled him off the cans and Baby Terrell fell and hit his head and he started screaming and—”

She just stops. Her eyes stay squinched up.

“There's a rat's nest out there?” Daddy says to me.

“I heard something,” I say.

“I saw them,” Tanya says, and her eyes pop open. “When Baby Terrell fell he knocked the paint cans down and two big old rats went racing across the floor right in front of me and under the wall. And Buddy was limping after them and barking up a storm, and Baby Terrell was bleeding and—”

Then Tanya starts crying again and shaking and laying on the floor. Those red shoes are falling off her feet.

Mama looks at Tanya. Daddy looks at Mama. Granpa T looks at Daddy.

“Why didn't you tell me that to start?” Mama says.

Tanya don't answer. She curls up in a ball and starts hiccupping.

“Why were you just yelling, ‘He bit the baby! He bit the baby!'?”

Baby Terrell's sitting in the sink splashing in the water. Granpa T walks over and takes him out.

“He needs a diaper,” Mama says.

“I reckon I know that,” Granpa T says, and walks out carrying the baby and talking in his ear. Baby Terrell starts laughing.

Mama looks at Daddy. Then she looks at me. “I changed my mind,” she says. “Don't shoot him.”

Then she rips off her apron, stomps up the stairs, and slams the door to her room.

Tanya sits up. She's hiccupping so hard she can't hardly slip her shoes back on.

“What were you doing all that time?” Daddy says. “Singing?”

Tanya covers her face with her hands.

“You were just watching and making up a song about what you were seeing, weren't you?”

Tanya presses her fingers against her eyes.

“And when it didn't work out, you blamed Buddy?” Daddy says.

Tanya almost nods.

“That ain't right,” Daddy says.

“Don't hit her with the stick,” I say. “She's too little.”

Daddy looks at me a second, then he says, “I guess I'll go take that board off the door. Ain't no use in keeping him penned up. We'll get the rats tomorrow.”

When he leaves out, I sit down beside Tanya on the kitchen floor.

“I'm glad you told the truth,” I say.

We're listening to Daddy's hammer prying off that old board and Buddy barking and barking. Tanya's sniffing and rubbing her nose like she wants to rub it off.

“You want to see my new bike?” I say.

“Can I ride it?”

“You ain't big enough,” I say.

She follows me out to the front yard, and I pick up the bike where I dropped it. We're standing there looking at the red bike when Buddy comes limping around from the back. He comes up and sniffs me and pokes his nose in my hand. Then he goes to sniff Tanya.

“I'm sorry, Buddy,” she says. “I know you're Li'l T's dog, but I love you, too.”

He bends down and licks those red shoes on her feet, and all a sudden I'm wondering if Buddy loves her back.

17

I wish it wouldn't happen but it always does. No matter what, along comes August and off we go to school. I don't see J-Boy anywhere, so I don't have to worry about him anymore. Now it's that boy Rusty sitting next to me instead. I tell him I have a dog, and he says he wishes he had one, and I say why don't you come by my house someday and see mine, and he says okay. I ask him does he like to draw, and he shrugs his shoulders and says maybe.

We've been in school only a week when Daddy comes home from work Saturday evening and Granpa T meets him on the steps.

“Did you hear about this storm?” Granpa T says.

“What kind of storm?” Daddy says.

“It's a hurricane,” Granpa T says. “They call it Katrina. They say it's a bad one.”

“They're all bad,” Daddy says.

“The mayor says we ought to leave,” Granpa T says.

“He always says that,” Daddy says. “Remember last time?”

Last time we didn't have Baby Terrell yet. He was still just a big old bump in Mama's stomach. Last time when the mayor said, “Get out of town,” we all piled in the car and drove to Mississippi where Granpa T's people stay. Aunt Joyce, Granpa T's niece, let us stay in the spare room in her house. Mama and Daddy, me and Tanya, and Granpa T—all in the same room. We were all sound asleep when Mama started moaning in the middle of the night. Daddy said, “Oh, Lord,” and pretty soon the whole house was awake except Granpa T and he was doing his going away trick that ain't really sleeping.

By morning we had a baby brother and the storm was somewhere in north Alabama. Daddy said we got to go home because he's got to work and I got to go to school. So we left Mama and Tanya and the baby in Mississippi with Aunt Joyce and got on the road with everybody in the whole city of New Orleans trying to get back. The sky was bluer than I'd ever seen and the sun was so hot I thought it was going to make the paint curl up off the roof of the car.

“I remember last time,” Granpa T says, “and all I can say is, thank the Lord she ain't pregnant again.”

“I mean the way everybody got all excited,” Daddy says, “and then nothing happened. Those storms don't hit New Orleans. They always turn at the end.”

“Don't let the devil hear you say that,” Granpa T says, and he goes inside.

Sunday morning we go to church and the preacher looks at me and says, “I heard about what that dog did.”

I say, “He's a good dog, Brother James. He takes care of things. He's walking real good now. He even climbs up a few steps. I'm going to make him a pirate leg and he'll do even better.”

“You're the instrument of God,” Brother James says. “God was waiting for your car so that dog could have a happy life.”

“With only three legs?” I say.

“There's always a price,” Brother James says, and shakes his head. “Happiness always comes with a price.”

When he calls us to prayer, he talks about Buddy. He talks about how everybody came together and saved God's creature and how helping each other is what God meant us to do.

And then he starts praying louder. He raises up his voice and he says, “A storm is coming, Lord. A storm is coming.”

At first I think he's talking about evil as usual, but this time he's talking about rain and wind.

“The mayor came on the TV this morning,” Brother James prays. “He came on the TV and he said, ‘You got to leave.' He said it's mandatory. And, Lord, what does mandatory mean? It means you got to. Lord, we got to leave our homes.

“Lord, there's some of us who have a way. We've got cars or we've got people who've got cars. Lord, give us the strength to gather our families and put them in the cars and take them to safety.

“But, Lord, there's some of us who don't have a way. Some of us are too old and some of us are too young and some of us are too poor. Lord, help us to reach out to our brothers and sisters who don't have a way. Help us to put them in our cars with us. Help us to take them to the Superdome if they need a ride. Help us, Lord, to help each other—just like we helped old Buddy—so we can gather together again next Sunday and raise our voices in praise and joy just like we're doing today. Hallelujah!”

And the choir starts singing, and Mama casts her eye on Daddy and Daddy looks back at her and raises up his eyebrows, and I know we're leaving again.

Mama starts packing the minute we get home. She starts with Baby Terrell's stuff. She pulls out all his diapers and bottles and toys and stroller and port-a-crib, and then Daddy says, “We can't take all that, woman.” And Mama makes a face like she's sucking a lemon but she puts back the toys and the stroller and the port-a-crib.

“Who're we going to take with us?” I say to her. “Like Brother James says?”

Mama stops stuffing a bag and looks at me. “You haven't got the sense you were born with, boy. Where are we going to put somebody else? Tie them on the roof?” She shakes her head and snatches up Baby Terrell right before he pulls over the lamp. “Go get a suitcase,” she says. “Pack two nights of clothes. Help Tanya pack, too.”

Daddy's in the kitchen filling up a cooler and Granpa T's shifting around in his room putting things in a paper sack.

“Maybe we ought to take Mrs. Washington to the Superdome,” I say to him.

“We'd have to drag her out,” Granpa T says. “And anyway, how's she going to make do with all those strangers and she's half blind?”

He sets his sack on the table and I look inside. There's a box of pictures, his Bible, his pills, and two pair of undershorts.

“You're packing light,” I say.

“We ain't going to be gone long.”

Tanya's sitting on the sofa with her doll, about to cry.

“Do what your mama told you to do,” Granpa T says. “Go help your sister pack.”

So I drag Tanya upstairs and make her pick out some clothes. We're fighting about whether she can pack her ballerina skirt and those red shoes when I hear Daddy calling me.

“Li'l T,” he's yelling. “Go get Buddy and bring him inside.”

I go running down the stairs. “Why inside?” I say.

“Can't leave him outside,” Daddy says.

“Leave?” I say.

“We can't take Buddy with us,” Daddy says. “There ain't room in the car.”

All a sudden, I can't move. I'm standing there like a statue. My fingertips are throbbing and my feet feel like rocks.

“Then I won't go,” I say.

Daddy stops still and stares at me.

“I'll stay here with Buddy. I'll look after the house. Y'all won't be gone long. Maybe I'll go stay with Mrs. Washington.”

“I said bring Buddy inside.” Daddy's looking at me like he's one inch away from getting that stick up by the shed. “Now,” he says, and turns around and walks off.

I go outside and Buddy's laying on his blanket. He lifts up his nose when he sees me, and his tail goes
thump
. I sit down and rest my elbows on my knees. Then I bend down my head and hold it in my two hands.

I ain't touching Buddy or even looking at him. But I can feel him. It's like the whole shed is filled up with him being there. He moves his feet and his claws scratch a little on the floor. His tail thumps against the wall. I hear him breathing—not panting but not real quiet either. I know the tip of his tongue is hanging out the side of his mouth. I know his whole body is moving just the slightest bit with each breath. Then I hear his teeth click together when he closes his mouth and the rustle of the blanket as he lays his head down. I know he's looking at me with his big, soft eyes just like he always does.

I can't leave Buddy.

I can't not leave Buddy.

I lift up my head and see his eyes turned up to look at me. He waits a second then he gets up and limps over to where I'm sitting. He pokes his nose at my hand where it's holding up my head. He licks my ear.

I know they're all running around like crazy inside. I know I could just walk out the gate and Buddy would follow me and they wouldn't ever see. I could go wherever I wanted. We could find a shed somewhere and hide. I'd take his blanket and at night we'd sleep on it together. When I was sure everybody was gone, we'd sneak back. His food and his bowls would be waiting. I'd break in the house and make soup. Once the storm passed, I'd check on Mrs. Washington and make sure she was okay. I'd bring her some of the soup. Buddy would lay on her front porch and we'd sit in her swing and she'd give me a cold drink and I'd read her letters to her and maybe I'd cut her grass for free. When I came back home, I'd go up on the roof and fix the hole where a pecan branch broke off in the storm.

Now Buddy's licking my cheek like it's a Popsicle. I take his face in my hands and he licks my whole face.

When they got home, the house would be fixed and Mrs. Washington would be safe and they'd say—

All a sudden Granpa T shows up at the door. “You coming, son?” he says.

“I can't leave Buddy,” I say, and a little hiccup comes out.

Granpa T sits down beside me. “Why do you love that ugly, old dog so much?”

“I just do.”

“I loved my chicken.” Granpa T's rubbing my back. “Can you imagine that? Loving a chicken?”

I don't say nothing.

Granpa T stands up. “You ain't got no choice, son,” he says. “I'll carry the dog food.”

He grabs up the bag and heads toward the house. I don't move. He turns around. “We're all waiting,” he says, and goes on inside.

I stand up and lead Buddy out of the shed. He's following me, but his tail ain't wagging.

“Two days,” I'm telling him. “It's only two days.”

He stops still at the bottom of the steps.

“You can do it,” I say. “You're strong enough.”

He hops up the steps one at a time. I hold the door open for him. It's the first time he's ever been inside. He bends down and starts sniffing at the rug like he ain't sure this is where he's supposed to be.

“I don't like a dog in my house,” Mama says.

“It ain't your house,” Granpa T says.

“We're putting him in the big bathroom upstairs,” Daddy says. “We'll shut him up.”

It's hard for Buddy to make it up the stairs. Finally, Daddy reaches down and picks him up. “He's a lot heavier,” Daddy says. “You're feeding him too much.”

We're all standing in the bathroom. Buddy's walking around, sniffing at the corners and poking his nose at the trash can. Granpa T's running a bathtub full of water. Daddy's setting up the food bag in the corner and cutting a hole in the bottom so Buddy can eat straight out the bag.

“Where is he going to pee, Daddy?” I say. “Where is he going to do his business?”

“He'll figure it out,” Daddy says.

Then Buddy starts kind of running around the bathroom in little circles. He's making whimpery sounds. His tail's going down between his hind legs. He knows we're leaving him. He knows what it feels like.

Granpa T turns off the water and Buddy runs over and licks out a little. He's got enough water to last forever it looks like. He runs over and takes a bite of his food. He comes over and pokes his nose at my hand. His big old brown eyes are looking up at me like he's wondering if this is for true, like he can't believe I'd do this to him.

I start toward the door and he's right beside me. He's glued up so close I'm almost tripping on him.

“Make him stay,” Daddy says.

I walk to the back of the bathroom and Buddy walks with me.

“Sit, Buddy,” I say, and he sits.

“Stay,” I say, and start backing up toward the door. All a sudden, Daddy grabs my arm and snatches me out the room. Daddy slams the door and we hear Buddy running across the tile. Then we hear him scratching on the door.

“You're going to have to paint that door when we get back,” Daddy says.

Then Buddy starts to howl. I ain't never heard that sound before.