Whistling Past the Graveyard (7 page)

After I made it to the highway, I was gonna have to have a good story solid in my head. So while I waited, I played with some ideas.
Me and James was orphans. We’d been living with our old grandpa in a shack near the river, but he died of . . . of . . . being old. Now we was going to live with an aunt in Nashville, but there wasn’t no money for bus fare.
Me and James’s parents left us at a gas station because they didn’t have any money to feed us. They told us to go to a church, and the church people could send us to live with our aunt in Nashville.
Me and James had a sick momma. She died. We were supposed to go to Nashville on the bus, but somebody stole the bus fare Momma had left us so we could go live with her sister. That’s why we had to hitchhike.
Me and James was running away from a daddy who beat us to go live with our nice aunt in Nashville.
James had been kidnapped by some white people (which was a whole lot more believable than a colored person taking him . . . and it’d keep Eula out of it). I stole him from the kidnappers when they stopped for a picnic lunch. Then I hid in the woods with him until they gave up looking for him and went on. I was going to Nashville to live with my momma, but James needed to be taken back to Cayuga Springs to his people. That one seemed best.
Finally it was time. I could hear Wallace snorin’ steady through the wall. I put on my socks and shoes, then got up real quiet and put my ear to the wall that met with Eula’s bedroom. Wallace’s snores vibrated against my ear like a bee. I wondered how a hateful man like that could fall asleep so peaceful under a picture of Jesus.
I tiptoed to the window and tried to wiggle the rusted latch, but it still wouldn’t budge—I’d hoped my spit might have soaked in and loosened it.
I felt a hornet’s wing flutter of panic just under my heart and I started breathing too fast. Sweat popped out on my top lip and I was near to comin’ out of my skin. The feeling was worse than when I’d by accident got locked in the trunk of Mamie’s car.
My feet wanted to run. My mouth wanted to scream.
I pinched my eyes shut and gritted my teeth—couldn’t let Wallace hear me, couldn’t show my hand, no matter what.
Eula thought it would all be okay if I just stayed. But I’d seen that crazy look on Wallace’s face when he’d yanked me from the truck. That kind of crazy liked to hide behind a mask and you never knew when it was gonna come out.
I went back to working on the window, but the dang thing was gonna be stuck till the devil served popsicles.
Looking out at all that dark, I tried to get a fix on what I’d do once the window was open. Eula had been right about one thing: country dark was different than town dark. It swallowed up everything, hiding all sorts of awful things—catamounts with their bloodcurdlin’ wildcat cries and sharp claws, swamps filled with snakes, bears, bats . . . I hated bats.
But I was beginning to hate Wallace more. Truth be told, I was more scared of him, too.
What if I broke the window? Could I do it without waking Wallace and Eula . . . even worse, waking baby James? More than anything, I needed him to keep quiet.
If I hit the glass with my elbow wrapped in that knit blanket, maybe it wouldn’t make so much noise. I knew I was only gonna get one chance. Once Wallace knew I was trying to escape, he’d probably tie me up. A man like that might keep me tied up forever—like a dog. Tears got in my eyes. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t. I would get out of here if I had to chew my way through the walls.
I grabbed the blanket from the cradle, my hands shaking like they did before I did a dare.
One chance. That’s all I was gonna get.
I unfolded the blanket until it was just in half. I bent my elbow on my right arm and put the blanket over it. It fell off twice before I got it over and held tight underneath with a hand extra-clumsy from nervousness.
I pulled my elbow back, took a deep breath, and held it. With my eyes squeezed shut, I said a prayer to baby Jesus and hit the window with my blanket-padded elbow.
It didn’t break. But I heard something that sounded like little pebbles falling onto the outside sill. I bumped it again, kinda easy, and heard more pebbles. Looking out, I could see little, dark chunks of glazing on the sill. Mamie had had to hire a man to put new glazing on our garage windows; she said if she hadn’t, the glass woulda popped right out!
I dropped the blanket and pushed all around the edges of the glass. One corner moved.
Ho-ly cow.
I pushed it just a little harder and more glazing broke loose. I could feel the wind seepin’ in right under the glass. It didn’t take long before the entire bottom of the glass moved just a little when I pushed it. I couldn’t tell how much glazing still held it, and I couldn’t figure out how in the heck I was gonna get it out and not have it crash onto the ground outside. But I was gonna get out! If I heard Wallace coming, I’d just jump out and run—I couldn’t do James any good by staying once Wallace was onto me.
I pressed against the glass, a little harder . . . a little harder . . . a little harder. Then it moved—too much!
Before I could even suck in a breath, it was falling to the ground and my hands were sticking out in the night, shaking hands with the wind. The glass landed with just a sharp clink and a soft thud.
For a minute I held still, not even breathing, listening for angry bear steps heading my way. But all I heard was Wallace snoring (thank you, baby Jesus). I closed my eyes and finally breathed. I stuck my head out the window frame. The pane was laying on the ground in two triangles.
The window was high enough from the ground that I would have to slide out backwards and lower myself from the sill. But how was I gonna get baby James out? The opening was too small for both of us, especially since he couldn’t hang on by hisself.
For a second, I thought about leaving him there in the corner in his basket. Just drop down and make a run for it. Once I got to Momma, she could call the police and report a kidnapping. Trouble was, I couldn’t tell anybody how to find this place. The second problem was that Eula would get punished. I kept thinking of that man, Shorty, who’d been dragged behind a car. And not long ago I’d heard about a colored church being set on fire with people inside. If people would burn down a church and drag a man until his arm came off, what might happen to Eula?
James had to come.
If I picked him up out of that basket, he’d probably wake up. If he woke up, he’d most likely start squallin’. Even Wallace juiced up couldn’t sleep through that.
I studied for a minute.That basket was just big enough to hold him, soft and oval with a handle on either side that Eula used to carry him around. I got me an idea.
Sliding the knit blanket through the handles, I lifted the basket, testing to see if it’d hold. It did. I balanced the basket on the window frame, praying the whole time for James to keep on sleeping.
An owl hooted close by and I about jumped out of my skin—and almost dropped James out the window.
After swallowing my stomach back to where it was supposed to be, I lowered James and his basket to the ground. Then I slid through the window, letting myself down real slow and careful so I wouldn’t step on him or the glass.
My toes touched the ground, but I could barely feel them because my whole body was tingly with nervousness. I pulled the blanket out of the handles, picked up the basket, and, although I wanted to run flat out, I tiptoed around the house, glad for the noise of the wind. Once I got past the old truck, I held the basket handles against my chest and took off, trying to run without jigglin’ James’s liver right out.
I ran as far as I could without my lungs burstin’—which wasn’t all that far ’cause James and his basket took away all my speed. Then I slowed to a walk. I wanted to stop and get my breath. I couldn’t risk it. I had to keep moving. I had to get to the highway before Wallace woke up.

In the darkness, the woods beside the lane might as well have been brick walls; everything was wove so tight together that a person couldn’t squeeze through without takin’ off a good layer of skin. So I walked on one of the ruts made by the truck tires. For a good while all of the night noises had been covered up with me trying to catch my breath, but before long I was hearing everything—tiny animals running through the brush, scared by me as much as they scared me right back; a tree giving off a squeaky groan when the wind blew harder. Daddy said trees making that sound could fall right down any minute. I couldn’t tell where that particular squeaky tree was, so I just kept walking, hoping to be out of the way when it fell.

Lucky, I didn’t hear any bears.
But a catamount don’t make noise when it’s movin’. I gripped the handles tighter and tried to go faster, ignoring the knife stabbin’ me between my shoulder blades and the stitch in my side.
If I didn’t make the highway by sunup, I wasn’t sure what I would do. If I kept to the road, all Wallace had to do was get in his truck and he’d be on us. If I hid, waiting for dark, baby James would starve for sure. Out here, if he started crying, we’d be easier to find than the sun in the sky—you could hear a catamount cry for miles, I reckon you could hear baby James even farther.
A big gust of wind swished past, blowing my hair into the corners of my eyes. I shook my head, but I was sweating so bad it stuck like glue. I put the basket down to push the hair away. The big knot of pain between my shoulder blades didn’t let up one bit. I decided to try carrying the basket on one side, like Eula did. I looked up, trying to see the tiny flecks of the moon through the trees. It was gone. I hoped it was just covered up with clouds and not gone because morning was about to happen.
Then I heard it, thunder rollin’ across the sky. The wind kicked up and settled, and kicked up again.
I picked the basket up with my right hand and started walking. I had to lean to my left to keep balance. The basket bounced against my right leg something awful. Afraid I’d bounce that baby wide-awake, I moved the basket across my stomach and wrapped my arms around the whole thing, which seemed to hurt less than bending my elbows and holding it by the handles.
Suddenly the walls on both sides of me opened up and my feet hit the gravelly road. Somehow I’d made the curve and not noticed. I turned right, back the way I’d come with Eula in the truck, toward the chip and tar road—even though that way passed through the swamp. I didn’t know what was to the left and I couldn’t just run all over the place lugging baby James. I was tuckered out already.
I’d taken about two steps when the first, fat raindrop hit me in the face.

8

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histling past the graveyard. That’s what Daddy called it when you did something to keep your mind off your most worstest fear. Ghosts and zombies had nothin’ on Wallace the Bear, so I wished I could whistle. Maybe by the time I finished my song, I’d be through the storm, away from Wallace, safe on the highway, picked up by some nice preacher on his way to Nashville to give a Sunday sermon.

But I couldn’t whistle, even though both Daddy and Patti Lynn had tried to teach me. So I always had to do my whistling in my head. And the storm that let loose was the worst ever in the history of the world.

The easy wind got wild. Dirt and twigs hit me like hot pepper, stinging my skin, especially my raw shins. When the lightning flashed, I could see the wind bend the trees nearly halfway to the ground, then toss them back. Long grapevines reached out from where they hung from branches, whipping me as I passed. In the places where kudzu covered the trees, they looked like giant monsters waving their arms and ducking their heads to eat whatever animal, or little girl, passed by. The wind shoved me this way and that, so I when I leaned against it, it just switched around and pushed me from another direction.

Then the rain really started. It came so hard that even with my head bent down I had to squint my eyes. James busted out crying, the sound snatched up by the wind and carried who knows where, probably right to Wallace’s bedroom. James did sound a little like a catamount, so maybe Wallace wouldn’t pay any attention (please, please, baby Jesus).

I kept moving forward, my shoes squishing with every sloppy step. A loud crack sounded over the storm, the sound of a splintering tree trunk. The tree crashed against others, a dinosaur in the woods. I stopped dead and squeezed baby James tight, waiting for it to hit, hoping it wouldn’t be on us.
It wasn’t, but it was close enough the ground shook under my feet.

I wished I’d left James in the bedroom; at least then he’d be dry and warm and he wouldn’t starve to death. I hadn’t even got to the swamp yet. Carrying James, I was moving like a turtle, not the jackrabbit Daddy always said I was.

The good thing about storms this strong was they didn’t last long. It might rain for the rest of the night, but I could walk in the rain; heck, I couldn’t get any wetter. Right now I was just glad not to be squished under a fallen tree.

I started to shiver. I hoped James wasn’t too cold. He kept crying and was wiggly, making me hold the basket so tight I worried I was hurting him. Maybe if I sang to him, he’d be less scared. I didn’t know any baby songs, so I sang “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” My voice sounded funny in the wild wind, but I think James liked it ’cause he quieted some.

Before long, the lightning flashes were less blinding and less often and the thunder moved off. The wind stopped swatting at the trees, but the rain still come down hard. When I started to feel so tired and hopeless that I wanted to just stop right where I was, I thought about being locked in a room, with Wallace and his craziness just outside the door.

In my miserableness I almost wished I was back home getting myself hauled off to reform school.Truth be told, Mamie’s house probably wasn’t all that different from reform school, all chores and punishment and wadded-up disappointment—just without the locked doors. Sometimes I thought that Mamie thought if she smiled at me once, I’d let loose all the bad behavior I had stored up in me—which according to Mamie was considerable. I never got anything I wanted ’cause everything I asked for was “trashy” or “foolish” or “a waste of your daddy’s hard-earned money.”

Mamie’s. Reform school. It didn’t really matter. But Momma’s in Nashville, that was gonna be different.
I started doing a different kind of whistling in my head; thinking how Christmas was gonna be in Nashville. Daddy would come there instead of going to Mamie’s (and Mamie wouldn’t be invited; she could sit in Cayuga Springs in her perfect quiet, looking at her perfect Christmas tree without my handmade ornaments from school messing up the back side anymore). Momma and I would make cookies in the shapes of reindeer and stars, and I wouldn’t get hollered at for getting sugar all over the floor. I’d get Sea-Monkeys and Sparkle Paints and a Barbie House (I didn’t really like Barbies, but the house with all of its fold-together cardboard modern furniture was neat) and a record player with records by Elvis and and the Beach Boys and Martha and the Vandellas. Mamie was particular determined that I didn’t listen to none of that negra music, but I liked it a lot when me and Patti Lynn listened to Cathy’s records.
Thinking ’bout Christmas in Nashville helped for a while. Then James let loose and no amount of jigglin’ or singin’ made any difference.
“Sorry, but there’s no food,” I kept telling him, but either he didn’t hear or didn’t understand. “I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . . sorry . . . sorry.” I kept mumbling it over and over. My feet kept moving but my mind kinda went to sleep.
I’m not sure how much time went by, but suddenly I realized the rain had stopped and James wasn’t crying. I worried he wasn’t alive anymore, had maybe starved clean to death. But I was too scared to look, so I just kept walking.
With my mind awake again, I noticed the ground under my feet had turned to chip and tar. The trees and brush that had made a tunnel of the road had disappeared. Naked trees, black on the dark gray sky with ghosts of moss dancing under their broken branches. Water licked right up to the edge of the road.
The swamp.
All sorts of things ran around in my head and I couldn’t stop them: swamp monsters, water moccasins, gators. My skin puckered up with a fresh crop of goose bumps and I tried to make myself small and quiet.
I loved Vincent Price movies, but after this I was never gonna spend a quarter to see another one. Being scared for real was way worse than being movie scared.
How long had it taken Eula to drive past the brown water and bare trees? It didn’t matter. It’d take me a lot longer, especially since I was dog tired.
Then I heard it. Birds chirpin’ for the morning. I hadn’t noticed, but a soft gray light was creepin’ in. Silver mist rose off the water—just like in all of the scary movies I’d ever seen. I wished with all my heart we was out of this swamp.
Light got brighter. The sky streaked pink and orange in front of me. I looked over my shoulder and saw the sky behind me had blued up some but still showed a couple of bright stars. James started crying again. I was almost glad . . . at least he was alive.
I was getting hungry myself and started thinking about a nice big bowl of Sugar Frosted Flakes. I told my growling stomach to shut up. It didn’t listen—probably couldn’t hear over James’s caterwaulin’. My arms started to cramp and shake and I could feel a blister rubbed on my left heel by my wet socks. I had to rest for just a minute.
Water was everywhere, so I sat right down where I was, Indianstyle on the puddly road. I figured in the middle was farther for the snakes to crawl and I’d see ’em coming. It took a couple of seconds to unbend my arms. Once they got loosened, baby James kicked and the basket jumped and rolled over onto the road.
The basket had been folded so tight for so long, he didn’t tumble out.
I set the basket upright and spread it open. His face was red as an August sunburn. His mouth was open to his gummy gums and his eyes squeezed shut. I thought he’d stopped breathing when he finally sucked in a big gulp of air, then screamed bloody murder.
I was just reaching in the basket to get him out when I heard a rough rumble.
Not thunder.
A truck was coming—and there was nowhere to hide.