Shaking the Sugar Tree (20 page)

“I don’t recall involving my son in it.”

“You’re parading it around in front of him.”

“Why are you guys so obsessed with my penis?”

“What else is there to talk about?” Papaw asked.

“Would you stop saying that word?” Mama demanded.

“Well, could we, for a change of pace, talk about Shelly’s vagina, then?” I asked.

The boys erupted with fresh laughter at the mention of the word vagina.

“It’s like a massive onramp to the freeway of love,” Papaw observed. “Fasten your seat belts! We’re going in!”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Mama exclaimed. “I will not have you talking that way in this house, Wiley Cantrell! I am sick to death of you! And you too, Daddy!”

“Vagina!” I exclaimed. “Vagina, vagina, vagina! It’s a medical term used to describe female genitalia. That’s all it is, Mama.”

Jackson pushed his plate back and stood suddenly.

“I believe I would like to excuse myself,” he said quietly.

All eyes turned to him.

There was silence.

“Now look what you’ve done,” Shelly said.

It wasn’t clear to whom she was referring.

“The fag boy is upset now,” Papaw said.

“Don’t call him that,” Mama said. “And it’s your fault, Daddy. The way you talk. It’s disgusting.”

Shelly stood also, picking up her plate. “I’ll go with you, Jack. We can sit in the living room. I’m tired of this nonsense.”

“Sit down,” Mama ordered.

“Sit down,” Bill said, looking up to Shelly with a hard expression in his eyes.

“She’s right, Billy,” Mama said. “There’s a time and a place for everything, and this is not the time or the place.”

“You’re the one who called me with your panties in a wad about them skinny-dipping, Mama,” Bill pointed out, glaring at her.

Shelly sat.

“We have company,” Mama said. “Please, Mr. Ledbetter, sit down. We’re not always like this. We get a little spirited sometimes.”

Jackson sat down rather reluctantly, looked at me, and grimaced.

There was a long silence as we resumed eating.

Bill was still very angry, though, and it wasn’t long before he put his fork down and gave me a cold, hard stare.

“You want to know the truth?” he asked quietly.

When we started talking about “the truth,” the shit was about to splatter.

“I’m about a cunt hair away from hiring a lawyer and having you declared an unfit parent,” Bill said.

“Oh, Jesus,” Shelly said, sitting back in her chair and throwing up her hands.

“A cunt hair!” Papaw exclaimed, slapping the table. “Oh, Martha, your boys kill me. I’m about a cunt hair away from pissing my pants.”

“It smells like you already did,” Mary observed.

I put my fork down and waited, knowing we had finally arrived at our destination.

“I’m talking about that dump you live in, Wiley,” Bill said. “That crap job you have. Food stamps. Housing assistance. Won’t cut your hair so you can get a real job. Exposing Noah to this lifestyle of yours, filling his head with your poison, and only God knows what kind of people you have hanging around your house, bunch of communist hippie liberal bastards. Don’t you think it’s time to start thinking about Noah’s best interests?”

“Like you guys care about Noah’s best interests,” I said.

“Oh, that’s right,” Bill said. “You’re the only one who cares about the poor little deaf boy.”

He let this lay there for a while, anger burning in his eyes.

“You guys don’t exactly kill yourselves when it comes to helping me take care of him,” I said. “You guys love him so much that you haven’t bothered to learn sign language. Now suddenly you’re worried about his best interests. I find that hard to believe.”

There was another silence.

What are you talking about?
Noah asked.

Nothing,
I signed back to him.

“Why do you guys have to run me down?” I asked. “Don’t you think it’s hard enough for me having to take care of a child like him? I’m not a bad father. We’re poor, but it ain’t a crime to be poor.”

“Why don’t you put that down on a Hallmark card and sell it to them?” Bill suggested. “Or are you afraid you might make some money at it?”

We locked eyes across the table.

“A cunt hair,” he said quietly.

Papaw started laughing again.

“I go skinny-dipping with my boyfriend and you’ve decided I’m an unfit parent?” I said. “Do you have any evidence that I abuse my child, that I neglect him or any of his needs? You think you can just walk in to see a judge and have me declared an unfit parent because I’m gay? What kind of fantasy world are you living in, Billy?”

“More than a few judges go to First Baptist, Wiley,” he pointed out. “You’re not going to raise this child with a bunch of queers hanging around.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll show you what I’m going to do about it.”

“Jackson is the first man I’ve dated in four years. There’s not exactly a ‘bunch of queers,’ Billy. And I have every right to date, like any other parent.”

“If you want to date women like a normal person, go right ahead, but stay away from the queers.”

“I don’t appreciate being called a queer,” Jackson said.

“He didn’t mean it that way,” Mama said.

“I have nothing against you and I don’t mean to be rude,” Bill said, looking at Jackson. “But this is the South and we have our own ways of doing things down here. We’re not going to sit back in silence while people like Wiley ram their homosexuality down our throats.”

“God knows I ain’t about to put my homosexuality in your mouth, Billy,” I said.

“Good one, Wiley,” Papaw said approvingly.

“You’re exposing Noah to a shameful, dangerous lifestyle,” Bill said, getting angry. “It’s well-known that gay parents abuse their children so they’ll become gay like them.”

“What a load of hot, stinking shit!” I exclaimed.

“Wiley Cantrell!” Mama gasped.

“I heard that on the radio,” Bill said in his defense.

“American Family Radio, yeah,” I said, referring to the radio programs of the American Family Alliance based in Tupelo. “They’re listed as a hate group because of their antigay propaganda, Billy. Propaganda, let me point out, that has been refuted time and time again and has no basis in fact. Which is why we’re going to protest them again and we’ll keep protesting until they stop lying about us.”

“You can’t go on the air and tell a bunch of lies,” Bill countered. “There must be something to it.”

“I am not talking to you again about the bastards at American Family Radio,” I said.

“The Bible is clear about homosexuality,” Bill said.

“The Bible was written thousands of years ago by a bunch of inbred goat-herders living in the desert who sold their daughters for three cows,” I pointed out.

“Is nothing sacred to you, Wiley?” he asked. “The Bible is the inspired word of God!”

“I wouldn’t get out of bed and piss for the Bible, Billy,” I said. “I wouldn’t wipe my ass with it and I’m certainly not going to base my life on a book filled with murder and rape and racism and stupidity, which is all the Bible is.”

It got really quiet.

Bill stood slowly, weaving slightly because he was half-drunk. He put his hands on the table to steady himself.

“I can’t accept this,” he announced. “You’re my brother, Wiley, and I love you, and I support you, but I can’t accept this. I won’t accept this, and I don’t have to.”

“Accept what?” I asked.

“This homosexual lifestyle of yours. If you want to destroy yourself, go right ahead. But I’m not going to let you destroy Noah too. He deserves a real mom and a real dad, a happy life, a decent life, in a Christian home with Christian values. He doesn’t deserve a father like you.”

“Is that right?” I asked, standing up to face him. “He doesn’t deserve a father who stood by him when his mother went running? Who spends every single day taking care of him? Who has no life except taking care of him?”

“It’s like a goddamn soap opera with you two,” Papaw observed.

“If you can do better,” I went on, ignoring Papaw, “maybe you ought to try. Maybe you ought to see for yourself that it hasn’t been a fucking picnic. You can lick all the titties you want, but it’s not going to help you one bit when it comes to paying for the next set of hearing aids or whatever the Christ it is. And it’s always something. I don’t recall any of you ever bothering to help me pay for any of this shit. Not even once. I guess that’s because you love him so much more than I do, or maybe you thought he wasn’t going to live anyway so why bother with fucking hearing aids. You don’t have to tell me about fucking Christians. You’re all a bunch of goddamn hypocrites.”

“Boys,” Mama said.

“I am sick of this crap.” I said.

“Oh, sit down,” Papaw said. “Both of you. Fucking moody bastards.”

I was shaking at this point. I headed for the hall leading into the living room, intending to keep walking straight out the front door.

Bill put himself in my way.

“You are not walking off!” he informed me. “We’re going to finish this!”

“Why don’t you suck my big fat dick, Billy?” I asked.

A dark cloud went over his eyes and the next thing I knew he was swinging and I was taking it squarely on the jaw. I went down like a sack of sweet potatoes, caught my head on the edge of Mama’s trash can, and saw additional stars as I flopped about and finally hit the floor.

“Billy!” Mama yelled.

Mary screamed.

“Daddy!” Noah cried.

I struggled to get to my hands and knees to show him that I wasn’t dead, not by a long shot.

“Come on,” I said, getting to my feet.

Bill, nostrils flaring, stormed out of the kitchen and disappeared.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Mama exclaimed.

“I’m gonna get that bastard,” I vowed, stalking after him.

“Give him a good what for, Wiley!” Papaw called excitedly.

I ignored the shouting and screaming behind me. Bill was bigger and taller than I was, but I didn’t care. I was going to show that prick a thing or two if it killed me. At the very least, I was going to show him that I was just as much of a man as he was.

I banged through the door on the porch and found him reaching into the back of his truck for a beer. I threw myself at him, wild, uncontrolled, furious, out of my mind. I pounded at his back with my fists.

It took him about all of ten seconds to have me flat on my back on the boards of the porch while he perched on my chest, holding my wrists so I couldn’t strike him. I threw my weight around, trying to dislodge him off my chest, shouting at him to get off.

He merely glared at me the way he did when we were little and we both knew that he had nothing to worry about from me.

At length, I stopped.

Tears sprang to my eyes. A huge blackness seemed to fall down from the sky on top of me, smothering me with the pointlessness of it all. Nothing I ever did would please these people.

He got off and held out his hand, which I ignored.

The door opened and everyone emerged.

Noah crouched down at my side, a frantic look in his eyes.

“You better tend to him, Mama,” Bill said.

I wiped at my jaw. My hand came away wet with blood.

Noah turned around and charged at Bill, throwing himself against my brother as I had, pounding at him with his tiny, enraged, but useless fists.

Bill seemed surprised.

“Bad!” Noah shouted over and over. “Bad! Bad! Bad!”

I got to my feet.

Shelly grabbed Noah, startling him. He whirled from her arms, shrinking away from her, not wanting her to touch him. Then he opened his mouth and began to wail, hugging his arms to his chest, screaming an agonized “Aaaahhhhhhhh!” like he used to do when he was little.

It was a sudden, shocking display of fear and grief.

I gathered him to me, and he shrieked and moaned and wailed like he was dying. I sat down in a wooden rocker on the porch, took him on my lap, held him, rubbed his back.

“Hush, baby,” I said. “Daddy’s all right. Daddy’s fine. Ssshhhh.”

“Hmmmmm!” he keened in the back of his throat in between frantic efforts to catch his breath.

“It’s okay,” I said, running my fingers through his hair.

“Billy, what in Sam Hill is wrong with you?” Mama demanded.

“Why is Noah crying?” Eli asked.

“Boys, go back inside!” Shelly ordered in a tight, bewildered voice.

Noah grabbed his hair with his small fists and pulled as if he meant to yank every last bit of it out.

“Wiley, watch him!” Mama exclaimed.

“Stop it,” I said, grabbing his hands.

He threw his head forward, banging it against the bottom of my jaw. Fresh pain raced into my brain. He banged his head again, slamming it into my collarbone.

I squeezed him to my chest so he couldn’t move.

“Haaaahhhhhh!” he screeched in angry frustration, trying to get away from me.

“Jesus!” Bill exclaimed.

“Go away!” Mama said to him. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

“I forgot about
Papa Wiley and the Crack Baby Show
,” he said, going to his truck to get a beer.

I sang into Noah’s ear very softly. He settled his ear against my throat, listening to the vibrations.

“Ooohhhhhh,” he moaned quietly. He made a noise that sounded like a braying donkey. Then he said “hah,” which sounded like “hand.” They were his own private noises, his way of expressing grief.

During this time, Jackson had gotten a first-aid kit from his Jeep and a wet washcloth. He stood by the rocker now, wiping at my busted lip with the cloth, frowning at me and not speaking.

“We’re actually a pretty nice family,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Assault and battery is a nice family?” he said, the anger in his voice evident. “I think you should call the police.”

“Oh please,” I said.

“That’s how they are,” Mama said, as if this explained me and Billy and the way we behaved.

“He’s mad and this is what he does when he’s mad,” I said. “And now he’s going to think about it, and then we’ll talk about it, and we’ll figure it out, and he won’t be mad anymore, and that’s how we do things. So just leave it.”