Sing, Unburied, Sing. A Novel

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Formymother,NorineElizabethDedeaux,wholovedmebeforeItookmyfirst

breath.Everysecondofmylife,sheshowsmeso.

Whoarewelookingfor,whoarewelookingfor?

It’sEquianowe’relookingfor.

Hashegonetothestream?Lethimcomeback.

Hashegonetothefarm?Lethimreturn.

It’sEquianowe’relookingfor.

—KwachantaboutthedisappearanceofEquiano,anAfricanboyThe

memoryisalivingthing—ittooisintransit.Butduringitsmoment,all

thatisrememberedjoins,andlives—theoldandtheyoung,thepastand

thepresent,thelivingandthedead.

—fromOneWriter’sBeginnings,byEudoraWeltyTheGulfshines,dullas

lead.ThecoastofTexasglintslikeametalrim.Ihavenohome

aslongassummerbubblingtoitshead

boilsforthatdaywhenintheLordGod’snamethecoalsoffireareheapedupon

theheadofallwhosegospelisthewhipandflame,ageafterage,the

uninstructingdead.

—from“TheGulf,”byDerekWalcott

Chapter1

Jojo

IliketothinkIknowwhatdeathis.Iliketothinkthatit’ssomethingIcouldlook

atstraight.WhenPoptellmeheneedmyhelpandIseethatblackknifeslidinto

thebeltofhispants,IfollowPopoutthehouse,trytokeepmybackstraight,my

shouldersevenasahanger;that’showPopwalks.Itrytolooklikethisisnormal

andboringsoPopwillthinkI’veearnedthesethirteenyears,soPopwillknowI’m

readytopullwhatneedstobepulled,separateinnardsfrommuscle,organsfrom

cavities.IwantPoptoknowIcangetbloody.Today’smybirthday.

Igrabthedoorsoitdon’tslam,easeitintothejamb.Idon’twantMamorKayla

towakeupwithnoneofusinthehouse.Betterforthemtosleep.Betterformy

littlesister,Kayla,tosleep,becauseonnightswhenLeonie’soutworking,shewake

upeveryhour,sitstraightupinthebed,andscream.BetterforGrandmaMamto

sleep,becausethechemodonedriedherupandhollowedheroutthewaythesun

andtheairdowateroaks.Popweavesinandoutofthetrees,straightandslimand

brownasayoungpinetree.Hespitsinthedryreddirt,andthewindmakesthe

trees wave. It’s cold. This spring is stubborn; most days, it won’t make way for

warmth.Thechillstayslikewaterinabad-drainingtub.Ileftmyhoodieonthe

floorinLeonie’sroom,whereIsleep,andmyT-shirtisthin,butIdon’trubmy

arms.IfIletthecoldgoadme,IknowwhenIseethegoat,I’llflinchorfrownwhen

Popcutsthethroat.AndPop,beingPop,willsee.

“Bettertoleavethebabyasleep,”Popsays.

Popbuiltourhousehimself,narrowinthefrontandlong,closetotheroadso

hecouldleavetherestofthepropertywooded.Heputhispigpenandhisgoatyard

and the chicken coop in small clearings in the trees. We have to walk past the

pigpentogettothegoats.Thedirtisblackandmuddywithshit,andeversince

PopwhippedmewhenIwassixforrunningaroundthepenwithnoshoeson,I’ve

neverbeenbarefootouthereagain.Youcouldgetworms,Pophadsaid.Laterthat

night,hetoldmestoriesabouthimand his sisters and brothers when they were

young,playingbarefootbecausealltheyhadwasonepairofshoeseachandthem

for church. They all got worms, and when they used the outhouse, they pulled

worms out of their butts. I don’t tell Pop, but that was more effective than the

whipping.

Poppickstheunluckygoat,tiesaropearounditsheadlikeanoose,leadsitout

thepen.Theothersbleatandrushhim,buttinghislegs,lickinghispants.

“Get!Get!” Pop says, and kicksthemaway.Ithinkthegoatsunderstand each

other;Icanseeitintheaggressivebuttsoftheirheads,inthewaytheybitePop’s

pantsandyank.Ithinktheyknowwhatthatlooseropetiedaroundthegoat’sneck

means. The white goat with black splashes on his fur dances from side to side,

resisting,likehecatchesawhiffofwhatheiswalkingtoward.Poppullshimpast

thepigs,whorushthefenceandgruntatPop,wantingfood,anddownthetrail

towardtheshed,whichisclosertothehouse.Leavesslapmyshoulders,andthey

scratchmedry,leavingthinwhitelinesscrawledonmyarms.

“Whyyouain’tgotmoreofthisclearedout,Pop?”

“Ain’tenoughspace,”Popsays.“Anddon’tnobodyneedtoseewhatIgotback

here.”

“Youcanheartheanimalsupfront.Fromtheroad.”

“And if anybody come back here trying to mess with my animals, I can hear

themcomingthroughthesetrees.”

“Youthinkanyoftheanimalswouldletthemselvesgettook?”

“No.Goatsismeanandpigsissmarterthanyouthink.Andtheyvicious,too.

Oneofthempigs’lltakeabiteoutofanybodytheyain’tusedtoeatingfrom.”

PopandIentertheshed.Poptiesthegoattoaposthe’sdrivenintothefloor,

anditbarksathim.

“Who you know got all they animals out in the open?” Pop says. And Pop is

right.NobodyinBoishastheiranimalsoutintheopeninfields,orinthefrontof

theirproperty.

Thegoatshakesitsheadfromsidetoside,pullsback.Triestoshrugtherope.

Popstraddlesit,putshisarmunderthejaw.

“The big Joseph,” I say. I want to look out the shed when I say it, over my

shoulderatthecold,brightgreenday,butImakemyselfstareatPop,atthegoat

withitsneckbeingraisedtodie.Popsnorts.Ihadn’twantedtosayhisname.Big

Joseph is my White grandpa, Pop my Black one. I’ve lived with Pop since I was

born; I’ve seen my White grandpa twice. Big Joseph is round and tall and looks

nothing like Pop. He don’t even look like Michael, my father, who is lean and

smudgedwithtattoos.Hepickedthemuplikesouvenirsfromwannabeartistsin

Boisandoutonthewaterwhenheworkedoffshoreandinprison.

“Well,thereyougo,”Popsays.

Popwrestlesthegoatlikeit’sa man, and the goat’s knees buckle. It fallsface

forwardinthedirt,turnsitsheadtothesidesoit’slookingupatmewithitscheek

rubbingthedustyearthandbloodyflooroftheshed.Itshowsmeitssofteye,butI

don’tlookaway,don’tblink.Popslits.Thegoatmakesasoundofsurprise,ableat

swallowedbyagurgle,andthenthere’sbloodandmudeverywhere.Thegoat’slegs

gorubberyandloose,andPopisn’tstrugglinganymore.Allatonce,hestandsup

andtiesaropearoundthegoat’sankles,liftingthebodytoahookhangingfrom

therafters.Thateye:stillwet.LookingatmelikeIwastheonewhocutitsneck,

likeIwastheonebleedingitout,turningitswholefaceredwithblood.

“Youready?”Popasks.Heglancesatmethen,quickly.Inod.I’mfrowning,my

facedrawntight.ItrytorelaxasPopcutsthegoatalongthelegs,givingthegoat

pantseams,shirtseams,linesallover.

“Grabthishere,”Popsays.Hepointsatalineonthegoat’sstomach,soIdigmy

fingersinandgrab.It’sstillwarm,andit’swet.Don’tslip,Isaytomyself.Don’tslip.

“Pull,”Popsays.

Ipull.Thegoatisinsideout.Slimeandsmelleverywhere,somethingmustyand

sharp, like a man who ain’t took a bath in some days. The skin peels off like a

banana. It surprises me every time, how easy it comes away once you pull. Pop

yankinghardontheotherside,andthenhe’scuttingandsnappingthehideoffat

thefeet.Ipulltheskindowntheanimal’slegtothefoot,butIcan’tgetitofflike

Pop,sohecutsandsnaps.

“Otherside,”Popsays.Igrabtheseamneartheheart.Thegoat’sevenwarmer

here,andIwonderifhispanickedheartbeatsofastitmadehischesthotter,but

thenIlookatPop,who’salreadysnappingtheskinofftheendofthegoat’sfoot,

andIknowmywondering’smademeslow.Idon’twanthimtoreadmyslownessas

fear,asweakness,asmenotbeingoldenoughtolookatdeathlikeamanshould,so

Igripandyank.Popsnapstheskinoffattheanimal’sfoot,andthentheanimal

sways from the ceiling, all pink and muscle, catching what little light there is,

glisteninginthedark.Allthat’sleftofthegoatisthehairyface,andsomehowthis

isevenworsethanthemomentbeforePopcutitsthroat.

“Getthebucket,”Popsays,soIgetthemetaltubfromoneoftheshelvesatthe

backoftheshed,andIpullitundertheanimal.Ipickuptheskin,whichisalready

turningstiff,andIdumpitintothetub.Foursheetsofit.

Popslicesdownthecenterofthestomach,andtheinnardsslideoutandinto

thetub.He’sslicingandthesmelloverwhelmslikeafacefulofpigshit.Itsmells

likeforagers,deadandrottingoutinthethickwoods,whentheonlysignofthem

isthestinkandthebuzzardsrisingandsettlingandcircling.Itstinkslikepossums

orarmadillossmashedhalfflatontheroad,rottinginasphaltandheat.Butworse.

This smell is worse; it’s the smell of death, the rot coming from something just

alive,somethinghotwithbloodandlife.Igrimace,wantingtomakeKayla’sstink

face,thefaceshemakeswhenshe’sangryorimpatient;toeveryoneelse,itlooks

likeshe’ssmelledsomethingnasty:hergreeneyessquinting,hernoseamushroom,

hertwelvetinytoddlerteethshowingthroughheropenmouth.Iwanttomakethat

facebecausesomethingaboutscrunchingupmynoseandsqueezingthesmellaway

might lessen it, might cut off that stink of death. I know it’s the stomach and

intestines,butallIcanseeisKayla’sstinkfaceandthesofteyeofthegoatandthen

Ican’tholdmyselfstillandwatchnomore,thenI’moutthedooroftheshedand

I’mthrowingupinthegrassoutside.Myfaceissohot,butmyarmsarecold.

*

Popstepsoutoftheshed,andhegotaslabofribsinhisfist.Iwipemymouthand

lookathim,buthe’snotlookingatme,he’slookingatthehouse,noddingtoward

it.

“ThoughtIheardthebabycry.Youshouldgocheckonthem.”

Iputmyhandsinmypockets.

“Youdon’tneedmyhelp?”

Popshakeshishead.

“Igotit,”hesays,butthenhelooksatmeforthefirsttimeandhiseyesain’t

hardnomore.“Yougoahead.”Andthenheturnsandgoesbacktotheshed.

Popmusthavemisheard,becauseKaylaain’tawake.She’slyingonthefloorin

herdrawers and heryellow T-shirt, herhead to theside, her armsout like she’s

tryingtohugtheair,herlegswide.Aflyisonherknee,andIbrushitaway,hoping

ithasn’tbeenonherthewholetimeI’vebeenoutintheshedwithPop.Theyfeed

onrot.BackwhenIwasyounger,backwhenIstillcalledLeonieMama,shetoldme

flieseatshit.Thatwaswhentherewasmoregoodthanbad,whenshe’dpushmeon

theswingPophungfromoneofthepecantreesinthefrontyard,orwhenshe’dsit

nexttomeonthesofaandwatchTVwithme,rubbingmyhead.Beforeshewas

moregonethanhere.Beforeshestartedsnortingcrushedpills.Beforeallthelittle

meanthingsshetoldmegatheredandgatheredandlodgedlikegritinaskinned

knee.BackthenIstillcalledMichaelPop.Thatwaswhenhelivedwithusbeforehe

movedbackinwithBigJoseph.Beforethepolicetookhimawaythreeyearsago,

beforeKaylawasborn.

Each time Leonie told me something mean, Mam would tell her to leave me

alone.Iwasjustplayingwithhim,Leoniewouldsay,andeachtimeshesmiledwide,

brushed her hand across her forehead to smooth her short, streaked hair. I pick

colorsthatmakemyskinpop,shetoldMam.Makethisdarkshine.Andthen:Michael

loveit.

IpulltheblanketupoverKayla’sstomachandlienexttoheronthefloor.Her

littlefootiswarminmyhand.Stillasleep,shekicksoffthecoverandgrabsatmy

arm,pullingituptoherstomach,soIholdherbeforesettlingagain.Hermouth

opensandIwaveatthecirclingfly,andKaylaletsoffalittlesnore.

*

WhenIwalkbackouttotheshed,Pop’salreadycleanedupthemess.He’sburied

thefoul-smellingintestinesinthewoods,andwrappedthemeatwe’lleatmonths

laterinplasticandputitinthesmalldeep-freezerwedgedinacorner.Heshutsthe

doortotheshed,andwhenwewalkpastthepensIcan’thelpavoidingthegoats,

whorushthewoodenfenceandbleat.Iknowtheyareaskingaftertheirfriend,the

oneIhelpedkill.TheonewhoPopcarriespiecesofnow:thetenderliverforMam,

whichhewillsearbarelysothebloodwon’trundownhermouthwhenhesendsme

in to feed itto her;the haunches for me, which he will boil forhours and then

smokeandbarbecuetocelebratemybirthday.Afewofthegoatswanderofftolick

atthegrass.Twoofthemalesskitterintoeachother,andthenonehead-buttsthe

other,andtheyare fighting. When oneof themales limpsoff andthe winner,a

dirtywhitecolor,beginsbullyingasmallgrayfemale,tryingtomounther,Ipull

myarmsintomysleeves.Thefemalekicksatthemaleandbleats.Popstopsnextto

meandwavesthefreshmeatintheairtokeepfliesfromit.Themalebitesatthe

female’sear,andthefemalemakesasoundlikeagrowlandsnapsback.

“Isit always likethat?” I askPop.I’ve seen horsesrearingand mounting each

other,seenpigsruttinginthemud,heardwildcatsatnightshriekingandsnarling

astheymakekittens.

Popshakeshisheadandliftsthechoicemeatstowardme.Hehalfsmiles,and

thesideofhismouththatshowsteethisknife-sharp,andthenthesmileisgone.

“No,”hesays.“Notalways.Sometimesit’sthis,too.”

Thefemalehead-buttstheneckofthemale,screeching.Themaleskittersback.

IbelievePop.Ido.BecauseIseehimwithMam.ButIseeLeonieandMichaelas

clearlyasiftheywereinfrontofme,inthelastbigfighttheyhadbeforeMichael

leftus and moved backin withBigJoseph, right before hewent tojail:Michael

threwhisjerseysandhiscamouflagepantsandhisJordansintobigblackgarbage

bags,andthenhauledhisstuffoutside.Hehuggedmebeforeheleft,andwhenhe

leanedinclosetomyfaceallIcouldseewerehiseyes,greenasthepines,andthe

wayhisfaceturnedredinsplotches:hischeeks,hismouth,theedgesofhisnose,

wheretheveinswerelittlescarletstreamsundertheskin.Heputhisarmsaround

mybackandpattedonce,twice,butthosepatsweresolight,theydidn’tfeellike

hugs,eventhoughsomethinginhisfacewaspulledtight,wrong,likeunderneath

hisskinhewascrisscrossedwithtape.Likehewouldcry.Leoniewaspregnantwith

Kaylathen,andalreadyhadKayla’snamepickedoutandscrawledwithnailpolish

onhercarseat,whichhadbeenmycarseat.Leoniewasgettingbigger;herstomach

lookedlikeshehadaNerfbasketballshovedunderhershirt.ShefollowedMichael

outontheporchwhereIstood,stillfeelingthosetwolittlepatsonmyback,softas

aweakwind,andLeoniegrabbedhimbythecollarandpulledandslappedhimon

thesideofthehead,soharditsoundedloudandwet.Heturnedandgrabbedher

by her arms, and they were yelling and breathing hard and pushing and pulling

eachotheracrosstheporch.Theyweresoclosetoeachother,theirhipsandchests

andfaces,thattheywereone,scuttling,clumsylikeahermitcraboversand.And

thentheywereleaninginclosetoeachother,speaking,buttheirwordssounded

likemoans.

“Iknow,”Michaelsaid.

“Youain’tneverknown,”Leoniesaid.

“Whyyoupushmelikethis?”

“Yougowhereyouwant,”Leoniesaid,andthenshewascryingandtheywere

kissing,andtheyonlymovedapartwhenBigJosephpulledontothedirtdriveway

andstopped,justsohistruckwasoutofthestreetandintheyard.Hedidn’tlayon

thehornorwaveornothing,justsatthere,waitingforMichael.AndthenLeonie

walkedawayfromhimandslammedthedooranddisappearedbackintothehouse,

andMichaellookeddownathisfeet.He’dforgottoputshoeson,andhistoeswere

red. He breathed hard and grabbed his bags, and the tattoos on his white back

moved: the dragon on his shoulder, the scythe down his arm. A grim reaper

betweenhisshoulderblades.Myname,Joseph,attherootofhisneckinbetween

inkprintsofmybabyfeet.

“I’llbeback,”hesaid,andthenhejumpeddownofftheporch,shakinghishead

andhaulinghisgarbagebagsoverhisshoulder,andwalkedovertothetruck,where

hisdaddy,BigJoseph,themanwhoain’tneveroncesaidmyname,waited.Partof

mewantedtogivehimthebirdwhenhepulledoutofthedriveway,butmoreof

mewasscaredthatMichaelwouldjumpbackoutofthetruckandwhipme,soI

didn’t. Back then I didn’t realize how Michael noticed and didn’t notice, how

sometimes he saw me and then, whole days and weeks, he didn’t. How, in that

moment,Ididn’tmatter.Michaelhadn’tlookedbackafterhejumpedofftheporch,

hadn’tevenlookedupafterhethrewhisbagsintothebedofthepickuptruckand

gotintothefrontseat.Heseemedlikehewasstillconcentratingonhisred,naked

feet.Popsaysamanshouldlookanothermanintheface,soIstoodthere,looking

atBigJosephputtingthetruckinreverse,atMichaellookingdownathislap,until

theypulledoutofthedrivewayandwentdownthestreet.AndthenIspattheway

Popdoes,andjumpedofftheporchandranaroundtotheanimalsintheirsecret

roomsinthebackwoods.

“Comeon,son,”Popsays.Whenhebeginswalkingtowardthehouse,Ifollow,

tryingtoleavethememoryofLeonieandMichaelfightingoutside,floatinglikefog

inthe damp, chillyday.Butitfollows,evenasI follow the trailoftenderorgan

bloodPophasleftinthedirt,atrailthatsignalsloveasclearlyasthebreadcrumbs

Hanselspreadinthewood.

*

Thesmellofthe liversearingin thepanis heavyinthebackofmythroat,even

through the bacon grease Pop dribbled on it first. When Pop plates it, the liver

smells, but the gravy he made to slather on it pools in a little heart around the

meat,andIwonderifPopdidthatonpurpose.IcarryittoMam’sdoorway,but

she’sstillasleep,soIbringthefoodbacktothekitchen,wherePopdrapesapaper

towel over it to keep it warm, and then I watch him chop up the meat and

seasoning,garlicandceleryandbellpepperandonion,whichmakesmyeyessting,

andsetittoboil.

IfMamandPopwerethereonthedayofLeonieandMichael’sfight,theywould

havestoppedit.Theboydon’tneedtoseethat,Popwouldsay.OrYoudon’twantyour

childtothinkthat’showyoutreatanotherperson,Mammight’vesaid.Buttheyweren’t

there.It’snotoftenIcansaythat.Theyweren’ttherebecausethey’dfoundoutthat

Mamwassickwithcancer,andsoPopwastakingherbackandforthtothedoctor.

ItwasthefirsttimeIcouldremembertheyweredependingonLeonietolookafter

me. After Michaelleft withBig Joseph,it felt weird to sit across thetable from

Leonie and make a fried potato sandwich while she stared off into space and

crossedher legsandkickedherfeet,letcigarette smoke seepoutofherlipsand

wreatheherheadlikeaveil,eventhoughMamandPophatedwhenshesmokedin

thehouse.Tobealonewithher.Sheashedhercigarettesandputthemoutinan

emptyCokeshehadbeendrinking,andwhenIbitintothesandwich,shesaid:

“Thatlooksdisgusting.”

She’dwipedhertearsfromherfightwithMichael,butIcouldstillseetracks

acrossherface,driedglossy,fromwherethey’dfallen.

“Popeatthemlikethis.”

“YougottodoeverythingPopdo?”

Ishookmyheadbecauseitseemedlikewhatsheexpectedfromme.ButIliked

mostofthethingsPopdid,likedthewayhestoodwhenhespoke,likethewayhe

combedhishairbackstraightfromhisfaceandslickeditdownsohelookedlikean

IndianinthebookswereadinschoolontheChoctawandCreek,likedthewayhe

letme sit in his lap and drive his tractoraroundtheback,likedthewayheate,

even,fastandneat,likedthestorieshetoldmebeforeIwenttosleep.WhenIwas

nine,Popwasgoodateverything.

“Yousureactlikeit.”

Insteadofanswering,Iswallowedhard.Thepotatoesweresaltyandthick,the

mayonnaiseandketchupspreadtoothin,sothepotatoesstuckinmythroatalittle

bit.

“Even that sounds gross,” Leonie said. She dropped her cigarette into the can

andpusheditacrossthetabletomewhereIstoodeating.“Throwthataway.”

ShewalkedoutthekitchenintothelivingroomandpickeduponeofMichael’s

baseballcapsthathe’dleftonthesofa,beforepullingitlowoverherface.

“I’llbeback,”shesaid.

Sandwichinhand,Itrottedafterher.ThedoorslammedandIpushedthrough

it.Yougoingtoleavemeherebymyself?Iwantedtoaskher,butthesandwichwasa

ball in my throat, lodged on the panic bubbling up from my stomach; I’d never

beenhomealone.

“MamaandPopbehomesoon,”shesaidassheslammedhercardoor.Shedrove

a low maroon Chevy Malibu that Pop and Mam had bought her when she’d

graduated from high school. Leonie pulled out the driveway, one hand out the

windowtocatchtheairorwave,Icouldn’ttellwhich,andshewasgone.

Somethingaboutbeingaloneinthetoo-quiethousescaredme,soIsatonthe

porchfor a minute,butthenIheardamansinging,singinginahighvoicethat

soundedallwrong,singingthesamewordsoverandover.“OhStag-o-lee,whycan’t

youbetrue?”ItwasStag,Pop’soldestbrother,withalongwalkingstickinhand.

Hisclotheslookedhardandoily,andheswungthatsticklikeanaxe.WheneverI

sawhim,Icouldn’tnevermakeoutanysensetoanythinghesaid;itwaslikehewas

speaking a foreign language, even though I knew he was speaking English: he

walkedalloverBoisSauvageeveryday,singing,swingingastick.Walkedupright

likePop, proud like Pop.HadthesamenosePophad.But everythingelseabout

himwasnothinglikePop,waslikePophadbeenwrungoutlikeawetragandthen

driedupinthewrongshape.ThatwasStag.I’daskedMamoncewhatwaswrong

withhim,whyhealwayssmelledlikearmadillo,andshehadfrownedandsaid:He

sickinthehead,Jojo.Andthen:Don’taskPopaboutthis.

Ididn’twant him to see me, so I jumpedoffandranaroundthebacktothe

woods.Therewascomfortinthat,inhearingthepigssnuffleandthegoatstearand

eat, in seeing the chickens peck and scratch. I didn’t feel so small or alone. I

squattedinthegrass,watchingthem,thinkingIcouldalmosthearthemtalktome,

thatIcouldhearthemcommunicate.SometimeswhenIlookedatthefatpigwith

splashedblackspotsonhisside,he’dgruntandflaphisears,andI’dthinkhemeant

tosay:Scratchhere,boy.Whenthegoatslickedmyhandandhead-buttedmewhile

nibblingatmyfingersandbleated,Iheard:Thesaltissosharpandgood—moresalt.

WhenthehorsePopkeepsbowedhisheadandshimmiedandbuckedsothathis

sidesgleamedlikewetredMississippimud,Iunderstood:Icouldleapoveryourhead,

boy,andohIwouldrunandrunandyouwouldneverseeanythingmorethanthat.Icould

makeyoushake.Butitscaredmetounderstandthem,tohearthem.BecauseStag

did that, too; Stag stood in the middle of the street sometimes and had whole

conversationswithCasper,theshaggyblackneighborhooddog.

But it was impossible to not hear the animals, because I looked at them and

understood,instantly,anditwaslikelookingatasentenceandunderstandingthe

words,allofitcomingtomeatonce.SoafterLeonieleft,Isatinthebackyardfor

a while andlistened to the pigs and the horsesand oldStag’s singing sinkingto

silencelikeawhippinganddroppingwind.Imovedfrompentopen,watchingthe

sun and estimating how long Leonie’d been gone, how long Mam and Pop were

gone,howsoonIcouldexpectthemtocomebacksoIcouldgoinsidethehouse.I

waswalkingwithmyheadtiltedup,listeningforthegrowloftires,soIdidn’tsee

thejaggedlidofthecanrisingfromtheearth,didn’tseeitwhenIputmyfooton

it,steppeddownintheinstinctofwalking.Itsankdeep.Iscreamedanddropped,

holdingmyleg,andIknewtheanimalsunderstoodmethen,too:Letmego,great

tooth!Spareme!

Instead,itburnedandbled,andIsatonthegroundinthehorse’sclearingand

criedandtastedketchupandacidatthebackofmythroatandgrabbedmyankle.I

wastooscaredtopullthelidout,thenIheardacardoorslamshutandnothing

elseuntilPop’svoicecalledandIansweredandhefoundmesittingontheground,

sniffingwithmybreathhitchingandnotcaringmyfacewaswet.Popcametomy

sideandtouchedmeontheleglikehedoesourhorsewhenhe’scheckingtheshoe.

Inaquicksecond,hepulleditout,andIhollered.ItwasthefirsttimeIthought

Popdidn’tdosomethinggood.

WhenLeoniecame home that night,she didn’tsay nothing.I don’tthink she

noticedmyfootuntilPopshoutedather,overandoveragain,Goddamnit,Leonie!I

drowsedwithpainmedicine,itchywithantibiotics,myfootallwrappedinwhite,

bound tight, and watched Pop slap the wall to punctuate: Leonie! She flinched,

steppedawayfromhim,andthensaidinasmallvoice:Youwasshuckingoystersdown

atthedockswhenyouwashisage,Mamchangingdiapers.Andthen:Heoldenough.She

said:Youallright,huh,Jojo?AndIlookedatherandsaid:No,Leonie.Itwasanew

thing,tolookatherrubbinghandsandhercrookedteethinherchatteringmouth

andnothearMamainmyhead,buthername:Leonie.WhenIsaidit,shelaughed,

the sound erupting from her insides like a hard shovel cleaved it from her. Pop

lookedlikehewantedtoslapherface,butthenhechanged,andhesnortedlikehe

does when his crop don’t take or when one of his sows bears a half-dead litter:

disappointed.Hesatwithmeononeofthetwosofasinthelivingroom.Thatwas

thefirstnightheletMamsleepinthebedbyherself.Isleptontheloveseat,andhe

sleptonthesofa,where,afterMamgotsickerandsicker,hestayed.

*

Thegoatsmellslikebeefwhenitboils.Itevenlookslikeit,too,darkandstringyin

the pot. Pop pokes it with a spoon, testing the tenderness, and cocks the lid

crookedsothatsteambillowsintheair.

“Pop,yougoingtotellmeaboutyouandStagagain?”Iask.

“Aboutwhat?”Popasks.

“Parchman,”Isay.Popfoldshisarms.Leansovertosmellthegoat.

“Ain’tItoldittoyoubefore?”heasks.

Ishrug.SometimesIthinkIlooklikeStagaroundmynoseandmouth.Stagand

Pop.Iwanttohearaboutthewaystheyaredifferent.Thewayswearealldifferent.

“Yeah,butIwanttohearitanyway,”Isay.

ThisiswhatPopdoeswhenwearealone,sittinguplateatnightintheliving

roomoroutintheyardorwoods.Hetellsmestories.Storiesabouteatingcattails

after his daddy been out gathering them from the marsh. Stories about how his

mama and her people used to collect Spanish moss to stuff their mattresses.

Sometimes he’ll tell me the same story three, even four times. Hearing him tell

themmakesmefeellikehisvoiceisahandhe’sreachedouttome,likehe’srubbing

mybackandIcanduckwhatevermakesmefeellikeI’llneverbeabletostandas

tall as Pop, never be as sure. It makes me sweat and stick to the chair in the

kitchen, which has gotten so hot from the boiling goat on the stove that the

windowshavefoggedup,andthewholeworldisshrunktothisroomwithmeand

Pop.

“Please,”Isay.Popbeatsthemeathestillhaslefttoaddtotheboil,makingit

softandtender,andclearshisthroat.Iputmyelbowsonthetableandlisten:

MeandStag,wegotthesamepapa.Myotherbrothersandsistersgotdifferentdaddies

becausemypapadiedyoung.Thinkhewasinhisearlyforties.Idon’tknowhowoldhewas

becauseheain’tknowhowoldhewas.Saidhismamananddaddyavoidedthemcensus

takers,neveransweredtheirquestionsright,changedthenumberofkidstheyhad,never

registerednoneoftheybirths.Saidthempeoplecamearoundsniffingoutthatinformation

tocontrolthem,tocagethemlikelivestock.Sotheyneverdidanyofthatofficialstuff,held

totheoldways.Papataughtussomeofthatbeforehedied:somehuntingandtracking,

some animal work, some things about balance, things about life. I listened. I always

listened.ButStagain’tneverlisten.Evenwhenwewaslittle,Stagwastoobusyrunning

withthedogsorgoingtotheswimmingholetositandlisten.Andwhenhegotolder,hewas

off to the juke joint. Papa said he was too handsome, said he’d been born pretty as a

woman,andthat’swhyhegotintosomuchtrouble.Becausepeoplelikeprettythings,and

thingscametohimtooeasy.MamansayhushwhenPapasaythat,sayStagjustfeelthings

toomuch,isall.Saythatmakeithardforhimtositandthink.Iain’ttellthemthis,butI

thoughtbothofthemwaswrong.IthinkStagfeltdeadinside,andthat’swhyhecouldn’tsit

stillandlisten,whyhehadtoclimbthehighestcliffwhenwewentswimmingattheriver

andjumpoffheadfirstintothewater.That’swhyStagwenttothejukejointdamnnear

everyweekendwhenhegoteighteen,nineteen,drinking,whyhewalkedwithaknifeineach

shoeandoneupeachsleeve,whyhecutandcamehomecutsooften—heneededthattofeel

morealive.Andhecouldhavekeptitupifthatnavymanain’tcameupinthere,oneina

groupofWhitemenfromupnorthstationedoutonShipIsland.Wantedtohaveagood

timewiththecoloreds,Iguess,butbumpedintoStagatthebar,andtheyhadwords,and

thenthemanbrokeabottleoverStag’shead,andthenStagcuthim,notenoughtokillhim,

butenoughtohurthim,tomakehimslowsoStagcouldrun,buthisfriendsbeatupStag

beforehecouldgetacleanbreak.IwasatthehousealonewhenStaggothere,Mamanup

theroadtakingcareofhersisterandPapaoutinthefields.WhenallthemWhitemencame

togetStag,theytiedbothofusandtookusuptheroad.Youboysisgoingtolearnwhatit

meanstowork,theysaid.TodorightbythelawofGodandman,theysaid.Youboysis

goingtoParchman.

Iwasfifteen.ButIwasn’ttheyoungestnoway,Popsays.ThatwasRichie.

Kaylawakesupallatonce,rollingoverandpushingupandsmiling.Herhairis

everywhere, tangled as the sticker vines that hang from pine trees. Her eyes are

greenasMichael’s,herhaircaughtsomewherebetweenLeonie’sandMichael’swith

ahintofhaycolortoit.

“Jojo?”sheasks.That’swhatshealwayssays,evenwhenLeonieisnexttoherin

thebed.That’sthereasonIcan’tsleepontheloveseatwithPopinthelivingroom

anymore;whenKaylawasababy,shegotsousedtomecominginthemiddleofthe

nightwithherbottle.SoIsleeponthefloornexttoLeonie’sbed,andmostnights

Kaylaendsuponmypalletwithme,sinceLeonie’smostlygone.There’ssomething

gummyonthesideofKayla’smouth.Ilickthehemofmyshirtandwipehercheek,

andsheshakesmyhandoffandcrawlsontomylap:she’sashortthree-year-old,so

whenshecurlsintome,herfeetdon’tevenhangovermylap.Shesmellslikehay

bakedinthesun,warmmilk,andbabypowder.

“Youthirsty?”Iask.

“Yeah,”shewhispers.

Whenshe’sdone,Kayladropshersippycuponthefloor.

“Sing,”shesays.

“Whatyouwantmetosing?”Iask,eventhoughshenevertellsme.LikeIloveto

hear Pop tell stories, she loves to hear me sing. “ ‘Wheels on the Bus’?” I say. I

remember that one from Head Start: sometimes the local nuns would visit the

school,acousticguitarsslungovertheirbackslikehuntingrifles,andplayforus.So

IsingitlowenoughthatIwon’twakeMam,myvoicedippingandcrackingand

grating,butKaylaswingsherarmsandmarchesaroundtheroomanyway.When

Popleavestheboilingpotandcomesintothelivingroom,Icanhardlybreatheand

my arms are burning. I’m singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” another Head

Start hit, and throwing Kayla up in the air, almost to the high ceiling, before

catching her. If she was a squealer, I wouldn’t do it, because then she would

definitelywakeMam.Butasthesmellofonionsandgarlic,bellpepper,andcelery

cookedinbuttercloudstheair,Kaylarisesandfalls,herarmsandlegsflungout,

her eyes shining, her mouth open in a smile so wide it looks like she could be

screaming.

“More,”shepants.“More,”shegruntswhenIcatchhertotossheragain.

Popshakeshishead,butIkeepthrowing,becauseIknow,bythewayhewipes

hishandsonthedishtowelsandleansinthewooddoorjambheplanedandnailed

tomakethearchway,hedoesn’tdisapprove.Hebuilttheceilingshighonpurpose,

twelvefeet,becauseMamaskedhimto,saidthatthemoreroominthehousefrom

floortoroof,thecooleritwouldbe.HeknowsIwon’thurther.

“Pop,”IhuffwhenKaylalandsmoreonmychestthaninmyarms.“You’lltell

metherestbeforeyoutakethemeatouttothesmoker?”

“Thebaby,”Popsays.

IcatchKaylaandspinheraround.ShepoutswhenIputherdownandpulla

Fisher-Priceplaysetthatusedtobeminefromunderthesofa.Iblowoffthedust

andpushittowardher.There’sacowandtwochickensintheset,andoneofthe

redbarndoorsisbroken,butshestill sinkstothefloorandliesonherchestto

maketheplasticanimalshop.

“See,Jojo?”Kaylaasks,andbouncesthegoat.“Baa,baa,”shesays.

“Sheallright,”Isay.“Sheain’tpayingnoattentiontous.”

PopsitsonthefloorbehindKaylaandflickstheremainingdoor.

“It’ssticky,”hesays.Andthenhelooksupatthedimpledceilingandsighsintoa

sentence,andthenanother.Heistellingthestoryagain.

Richie,hewascalled.RealnamewasRichard,andhewasn’tnothingbuttwelveyears

old.Hewasinforthreeyearsforstealingfood:saltedmeat.Lotoffolkswasintherefor

stealing food because everybody was poor and starving, and even though White people

couldn’t get your work for free, they dideverything they could to avoid hiring you and

payingyouforit.RichiewastheyoungestboyIeversawupinParchman.Therewasa

couple thousand men separated into work farms over all them acres. Damn near fifty

thousandacres.Parchmanthekindofplacethatfoolyouintothinkingitain’tnoprison,

ain’tgoingtobesobadwhenyoufirstseeit,becauseain’tnowalls.Backintheday,itwas

justfifteencamps,eachonesurroundedbyabarbed-wirefence.Wasn’tnobrick;wasn’tno

stone.Usinmateswascalledgunmenbecauseweworkedunderthetrustyshooters,whowas

inmates theyselves, but who the warden gave guns to oversee the rest of us. The trusty

shooterswasthetypeofmenthatbethefirstonetospeakwhentheywalkintoaroom.The

kindthatdrawsattentiontohisself,talksbigaboutthebeatingandstabbingandkilling

theydidtogetupinaplacelikethatbecauseitmakesthemfeelbiggertobeseen.Makes

themfeellikerealmentoseefear.

When I first got to Parchman, I worked in the fields, planting and weeding and

harvesting crops. Parchman was a working farm right off. You see them open fields we

workedin,thewayyoucouldlookrightthroughthatbarbedwire,thewayyoucouldgrab

itandgetatoeholdhere,abloodyhandholdthere,thewaytheycutthemtreesflatsothat

landisemptyandopentotheendsoftheearth,andyouthink,IcangetoutofhereifI

setmymindtoit.Icanfollowtherightstarssouthandallthewayonhome.Butthe

reason you think that is because you don’t see the trusty shooters. You don’t know the

sergeant.Youdon’tknowthesergeantcomefromalonglineofmenbredtotreatyoulikea

plowinghorse, like ahuntingdog—and bred tothinkhe can makeyou like it.Thatthe

sergeantcomefromalonglineofoverseers.Youdon’tknowthemtrustyshootersdonebeen

senttoParchmanforworsethangettingintoafightatajukejoint.Justknowthetrusty

shooters,theinmateguards,wassenttherebecausetheyliketokill,andbecausetheydone

itinallkindofnastyways,notjusttoothermen,buttowomenand—

MeandStagwasputinseparatecamps.Staggotconvictedofassault,Igotconvictedof

harboringafugitive.I’dworked,butneverlikethat.Neversunuptosundowninnocotton

field.Neverinthatkindofheat.It’sdifferentupthere.Theheat.Ain’tnowatertocatchthe

windandcoolyouoff,sotheheatsettlesandbakes.Likeawetoven.Soonenoughmyhands

thickenedupandmyfeetcrustedandbledandIunderstoodthatwhenIwasonthatlinein

themfieldsIhadtonotthinkaboutit.Iain’tthinkaboutPapaorStagorthesergeantor

thetrustyshootersorthedogs,barkingandslobberingatthemouthattheedgeofthefields,

daydreamingoftearingintoaheel,aneck.Iforgotitallandbentandstoodandbentand

stoodandonlythoughtofmymother.Herlongneck,hersteadyhands,thewayshebraided

herhairforwardtocoverhercrookedhairline.Thedreamofherwastheglowofaspentfire

onacoldnight:warmandwelcoming.ItwastheonlywayIcoulduntethermyspiritfrom

myself,letitflyhighasakiteinthemfields.Ihadto,orbeinginjailforthemfiveyears

wouldamademedropinthatdirtanddie.

Richieain’thadnearthattime.It’shardenoughforamanoffifteen,butforaboy?A

boyoftwelve?RichiegotthereamonthandsomeweeksafterIgotthere.Hewalkedinto

thatcampcrying,butcryingwithnosound,nosobbing.Justtearsleakingdownhisface,

glazingitwithwater.Hehadabigheadshapedlikeanonion,thekindofheadseemedtoo

bigforhisbody:abodyallbonesandskin.Hisearssetstraightawayfromhisheadlike

leavescomingoffabranch,andhiseyeswasbiginhisface.Heain’tblink.Hewasfast:

walkedfast,hisfeetnotshuffling,notlikemostwhentheyfirstcometocamp,buthigh-

stepping,kneesintheair,likeahorse.Theyundidhishandsandledhimtotheshack,tohis

bunk,andhelaydowninthedarknexttomeandIknewhewasstillcryingbecausehis

littleshouldershadcurvedinlikeabird’swingswhenit’slandedbuttheystillfluttering,

buthestillain’tmakenonoise.Themnightguardsatthedoorstotheshackgoonabreak,

thingscanhappentoaboyoftwelveinthedarkifheacrybaby.

Whenhe woke upin the darkmorning,his face wasdry. He followedme outto the

latrinesandtobreakfast,andsatdownnexttomeinthedirt.

“Mightyyoungtobeinhere.Howoldyouis?Eight?”Iaskedhim.

Helookedinsulted.Frownedandhismouthfellopen.

“Howbiscuitstastenasty?”heasked,andhidhismouthbehindhishand.Ithoughthe

wasgoingtospitthebreadout,butheswallowedandsaid:“I’mtwelve.”

“Stillmightyyoungtobeinhere.”

“Istole.”Heshrugged.“Iwasgoodatit.IbeenstealingsinceIwaseight.Igotninelittle

brothersandsistersalwayscryingforfood.Andcryingsick.Saytheybackshurt;saythey

mouthssore.Gotredrashesallovertheyhandsandtheyfeet.Sothickontheyfaceyou

can’thardlyseetheyskin.”

I knew the sickness he was talking about. We called it “red flame.” Heard tell some

doctorhadclaimedmostthathaditwaspoor,eatingnothingbutmeat,meal,andmolasses.

Icould’vetoldhimthosewastheluckyonesthatatethatway:intheDelta,I’dheardstories

ofpeoplecookingdirtpatties.Hewasproudofhimselfwhenhetoldmewhathe’ddone,

eventhoughhegotcaught;Icouldtellinthewayheleanedforward,inthewayhewatched

meafterhefinishedtalking,likehewaswaitingformyapproval.IknewIcouldn’tgetrid

ofhimthen,especiallybecausehewasfollowingmearoundandsleepinginthebunknextto

me.BecausehelookedatmelikeIcouldgivehimsomethingnobodyelsecould.Thesunwas

comingupthroughthetrees,lightingtheskylikeanewfire,andIwasalreadyfeelingitin

my shoulders, my back, my arms. I chewed something baked into the bread, something

crunchy.Iswallowedquick—bestnottothinkaboutit.

“What’syourname,boy?”

“Richard.EverybodycallmeRichieforshort.Likeit’sajoke.”Helookedatmewithhis

eyebrowsraisedandalittlesmileonhisface,sosmallitwasonlyhismouthopeningto

showhisteeth,whiteandcrowding.Ididn’tgetthejoke,soheslumpedandexplainedwith

hisspoon.“ ’CauseIbestealing.SoI’mrich?”

Ilookeddownatmyhands.Crumb-cleanandstillfeltlikeIhadn’teaten.

“It’sajoke,”hesaid.SoIgaveRichiewhathewanted.Hewasjustaboy.Ilaughed.

*

Sometimes I think I understand everything else more than I’ll ever understand

Leonie. She’s at the front door, paper grocery bags obscuring her, hitching the

screenandkickingitopen,andthenedgingthroughthedoor.Kaylascootstoward

me when the door bangs shut; she snatches up her juice cup and sucks before

kneadingmyear.Thelittlepinchandrollofherfingersalmosthurts,butit’sher

habit,soIswingherupinmyarmsandletherknead.Mamsaysshedoesitfor

comfortbecausesheneverbreast-fed.PoorKayla,Mamsighedeverytime.Leonie

hatedwhenMamandPopbegancallingherKaylalikeme.Shehasaname,Leonie

said,andit’sherdaddy’s.ShelooklikeaKayla,Mamsaid,butLeonienevercalledher

that.

“Hey,Michaelababy,”Leoniesays.

It’snotuntilI’mstandinginthedoorofthekitchenandseeLeoniepullinga

smallwhiteboxoutofoneofthebagsthatIrealizethisisthefirstyearMamwon’t

bemakingmeacakeformybirthday,andthenIfeelguiltyforrealizingitsolate

intheday.Popwouldmakethemeal,butIshouldhaveknownthatMamcouldn’t.

She’stoosickwiththecancerthatcameandleftandreturned,steadyastherising

andsinkingofthemarshwaterinthebayouwiththemoon.

“I got you a cake,” Leonie says, as if I’m too dumb to know what the box

contains.SheknowsI’mnotstupid.Shesaiditherselfonce,whenateachercalled

herintoschooltotalkaboutmybehavior,totellLeonie:Heneverspeaksinclass,but

he’sstillnotpayingattention.Theteachersaiditinfrontofallthechildren,whowere

stillsittingintheirseatswaitingtobedismissedforthebuses.Sheassignedmeto

thefrontmostdeskintheclassroom,thedesknearesttheteacher’s,whereeveryfive

minutes,she’dsay,Areyoupayingattention,whichinevitablyinterruptedwhatever

workIwasdoingandmadeitimpossibletofocus.Iwastenthen,andhadalready

begun to see things that other kids didn’t, like the way my teacher bit her

fingernails raw, like the way she sometimes wore so much eye makeup to hide

bruising from someone hitting her; I knew what that looked like because both

Michael’s and Leonie’s faces sometimes looked that way after fights. It made me

wonderifmyteacherhadherownMichael.Onthedayoftheconference,Leonie

hissed:Heain’tstupid.Jojo,let’sgo.AndIwincedatthewaysheusedain’tandthe

waysheleanedintotheteacherwithoutevenknowingit,andtheteacherblinked

andsteppedawayfromthelatentviolencecoiledinLeonie’sarm,runningfromher

shoulderdowntoherelbowandtoherfist.

Mam always made me red velvet birthday cake. She began when I was one.

WhenIwasfour,Iknewitwellenoughtoaskforit:saidredcakeandpointedat

the picture on the box on the shelf in the grocery store. The cake that Leonie

broughtissmall,aboutthesizeofbothofmyfiststogether.Blueandpinkpastel

sprinkleslitterthetopofthecake,andontheside,twolittleblueshoes.Leonie

sniffs, coughs into her bony forearm, and then pulls out a half gallon of the

cheapesticecream,thekindwithatexturelikecoldgum.

“Theydidn’thavenomorebirthdaycakes.Theshoesisblue,soitfits.”

It’snotuntilshesaysitthatIrealizeLeoniegotherthirteen-year-oldsonababy

showercake. I laughbut don’t feelnothing warm, nojoy in mewhen I doit. A

laughthatain’talaugh,andit’ssohardKaylalooksaroundandthenatmelikeI’ve

betrayedher.Shestartscrying.

*

Usually,thesingingismyfavoritepartofmybirthday,becausethecandlesmake

everythinglookgold,andtheyshineinMam’sandPop’sfacesandmakethemlook

young as Leonie and Michael. Whenever theysing to me, they smile. I think it’s

Kayla’sfavoritepart,too,becauseshesingsstutteringlyalong.Kayla’smakingme

holdher,becauseshecriedandpushedatLeonie’scollarboneandreachedforme

untilLeoniefrownedandheldherouttome,said:“Here.”Butthisyear,thesongis

notmyfavoritepartofmybirthdaybecauseinsteadofbeinginthekitchen,we’re

all crowded into Mam’s room, andLeonie’s holdingthe cakelike she held Kayla

earlier,outandawayfromherchest,likeshegoingtodropit.Mam’sawakebut

doesn’t really look awake, her eyes half open, unfocused, looking past me and

LeonieandKaylaandPop.EventhoughMam’ssweating,herskinlookspaleand

dry,likeamuddypuddledriedtonothingafterweeksofnoraininthesummer.

Andthere’samosquitobuzzingaroundmyhead,dippingintomyear,veeringout,

teasingtobite.

Whenthehappybirthdaysongstarts,it’sonlyLeonie.Shehasaprettyvoice,the

kindofvoicethatsoundsgoodsinginglowbutsortofcracksonthehighnotes.Pop

isnotsinging;heneversings.WhenIwasyounger,Ididn’tknowbecauseI’dhavea

wholefamilysingingtome:Mam,Leonie,andMichael.Butthisyear,whenMam

can’tsingbecauseshe’ssickandKaylamakesupwordstothemelodyandMichael’s

gone,IknowPopisn’tsingingbecausehe’sjustmovinghislips,lip-synching,and

there’snonoisecomingout.Leonie’svoicecracksondearJoseph,andthelightfrom

thethirteencandlesisorange.NoonebutKaylalooksyoung.Popisstandingtoo

faroutofthelight.Mam’seyeshaveclosedtoslitsinherchalkyface,andLeonie’s

teethlookblackattheseams.There’snohappinesshere.

“Happybirthday,Jojo,”Popsays,buthe’snotlookingatmewhenhesaysit.He’s

lookingatMam,atherhandslooseandopenathersides.Palmsuplikesomething

dead. I lean forward to blow out my candles, but the phone rings, and Leonie

jumps,sothecakejumpswithher.Theflameswaverandfeelhotterundermychin.

Pearlsofwaxdripontothebabyshoes.Leonieturnsawayfrommewiththecake,

lookingtothekitchen,tothephoneonthecounter.

“Yougoingtolettheboyblowouthiscandles,Leonie?”Popasks.

“Might be Michael,” Leonie says, and then there is no cake because Leonie’s

taken it with her to the kitchen, set it on the counter next to the black-corded

phone.Theflamesareeatingthewax.Kaylashrieksandthrowsherheadback.SoI

followLeonieintothekitchen,tomycake,andKaylasmiles.She’sreachingforthe

fire. The mosquito that was in Mam’s room has followed us, and he’s buzzing

aroundmyhead,talkingaboutmelikeI’macandleoracake.Sowarmanddelicious.

Iswathimaway.

“Hello?”Leoniesays.

IgrabKayla’sarmandleanintotheflames.Shestruggles,transfixed.

“Yes.”

Iblow.

“Baby.”

Halfthecandlesgutterout.

“Thisweek?”

Theotherhalfeatingwaxtothenub.

“Yousure?”

I blow again, and the cake goes dark. The mosquito lands on my head. So

scrumptious,hesays,andbites.Iswathim,andmypalmcomesawaysmearedwith

blood.Kaylareaches.

“We’llbethere.”

Kaylahasahandfuloffrosting,andhernoseisrunning.Herblondafrocurls

high.Shesticksherfingersinhermouth,andIwipe.

“Easy,baby.Easy.”

Michael is an animal on the other end of the telephone behind a fortress of

concreteandbars,hisvoicetravelingovermilesofwireandlisting,sun-bleached

power poles. I know what he is saying, like the birds I hear honking and flying

southinthewinter,likeanyotheranimal.I’mcominghome.

Chapter2

Leonie

Lastnight,afterIhungupthephonewithMichael,IcalledGloriaandgotanother

shift.GloriaownsthecountrybarwhereIworkupinthebackwoods.It’sahole-in-

the-wall,slappedtogetherwithcinderblocksandplywood,paintedgreen.Thefirst

timeIsawit,IwasridingwithMichaelupcountrytoariver;we’dparkunderan

overpassontheroadthatcrossedtheriverandthenwalkuntilwereachedagood

swimmingspot.What’sthat?Iasked,andpointed.Ifigureditwasn’tahouse,even

thoughit satlow under thetrees. There wastoo many carsparked in thesandy

grass.That’stheColdDrink,Michaelsaid,andhesmelledlikehardpearsandhiseyes

weregreenastheoutside.LikeBarq’sandCoke?Isaid.Yep.Hesaidhismamawentto

school with the owner. I called his mama years later after Michael went to jail,

thankedGod when itwas her thatpicked up thephone and notBig Joseph. He

wouldhave hungup in myface ratherthan speak tome, the niggerhis son had

babieswith.ItoldMichael’smotherIneededwork,andaskedifshecouldputina

goodwordwiththeowner.Itwasthefourthconversationwe’deverhad.Wespoke

firstwhenMichaelandIstarteddating,secondtimewhenJojowasborn,andthird

whenMichaelawasborn.Butstillshesaidyes,andthenshetoldmeIshouldgoup

there,uptotheKill,upcountry,whereMichaelandhisparentsarefrom,wherethe

bar is, and I should introduce myself to Gloria, so I did. Gloria hired me for a

probationaryperiodofthreemonths.You’reahardworker,shesaid,laughing,when

shetoldmeshewaskeepingmeon.Sheworeheavyeyeliner,andwhenshelaughed,

theskinatthesidesofhereyeslookedlikeanelaboratefan.EvenharderthanMisty,

shesaid,andshedamnnearliveshere.Andthenwavedmebackoutfronttothebar.

Igrabbedmytrayofdrinks,andthreemonthsturnedintothreeyears.Aftermy

second day at the Cold Drink, I knew why Misty worked so hard: she was high

everynight.Lortab,Oxycontin,coke,Ecstasy,meth.

*

BeforeIshowedupforworkattheColdDrinklastnight,Mistymusthavehada

gooddouble,becauseafterwemoppedandcleanedandshuteverythingdown,we

wenttoherpinkMEMAcottageshe’shadsinceHurricaneKatrina,andshepulled

outaneightball.

“Sohe’scominghome?”Mistyasked.

Mistywasopeningallthewindows.SheknowsIliketohearoutsidewhenIget

high.Iknowshedoesn’tliketogethighalone,whichiswhysheinvitedmeover,

andwhysheopensthewindowseventhoughthewetspringnightseepsintothe

houselikeafog.

“Yep.”

“Youmustbehappy.”

The last window snapped up and locked into place, and I stared out of it as

Mistysatatthetableandbegancuttinganddividing.Ishrugged.I’dfeltsohappy

whenIgotthephonecall,whenIheardMichael’svoicesayingwordsI’dimagined

him saying for months, for years, so happy that my insides felt like a full ditch

riddenwithathousandtadpoles.ButthenwhenIleft,Jojolookedupfromwhere

hesatwithPopinthelivingroomwatchingsomehuntingshow,andforaflash,the

castofhisface,thewayhisfeaturesfolded,lookedlikeMichaelafteroneofour

worst fights. Disappointed. Grave at my leaving. And I couldn’t shake it. His

expression kept coming back to me through my shift, made me pull Bud Light

insteadofBudweiser,MichelobinsteadofCoors.AndthenJojo’sfacestuckwith

mebecauseIcouldtellhesecretlythoughtIwasgoingtosurprisehimwithagift,

somethingelsebesidesthathastycake,somethingthatwouldn’tbegoneinthree

days:abasketball,abook,apairofhigh-topNikestoaddtohissinglepairofshoes.

Ibenttothetable.Sniffed.Acleanburningshotthroughmybones,andthenI

forgot.TheshoesIdidn’tbuy,themeltedcake,thephonecall.Thetoddlersleeping

inmybedathomewhilemysonsleptonthefloor,justincaseI’dcomehomeand

makehimgetonthefloorwhenIstumbledin.Fuckit.

“Ecstatic.”Isaiditslow.Soundedthesyllablesout.Andthat’swhenGivencame

back.

The kids atschool teased Givenabout hisname. One dayhe gotinto a fight

aboutitonthebus,tumblingovertheseatswithahuskyredheadboywhowore

camo.Frustratedandswollen-lipped,hecamehomeandaskedMama:Whyy’allgive

methisname?Given?Itdon’tmakenosense.AndMamasquatteddownandrubbedhis

ears,andsaid:Givenbecauseitrhymeswithyourpapa’sname:River.AndGivenbecause

IwasfortywhenIhadyou.Yourpapawasfifty.Wethoughtwecouldn’thavenokids,but

then you was Given to us. He was three years older than me, and when him and

Camoboywentflippingandswingingovertheseat,IswungmybookbagatCamo

andhithiminthebackofthehead.

Lastnight,hesmiledatme,thisGiven-not-Given,thisGiventhat’sbeendead

fifteen years now, this Given that came to me everytime I snorted a line, every

timeIpoppedapill.Hesatinoneofthetwoemptychairsatthetablewithus,and

leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. He was watching me, like

always.HehadMama’sface.

“Thatmuch,huh?”Mistysuckedsnotuphernose.

“Yep.”

Givenrubbedthedomeofhisshavedhead,andIsawotherdifferencesbetween

the living and this chemical figment. Given-not-Given didn’t breathe right. He

never breathed at all. He wore a black shirt, and it was a still, mosquito-ridden

pool.

“WhatifMichael’sdifferent?”Mistysaid.

“Hewon’tbe,”Isaid.

Mistythrewawadded-uppapertowelshe’dbeenusingtocleanthetable.

“Whatyoulookingat?”shesaid.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

“Don’t nobody sit and stare for that long on something this clean without

lookingatsomething.”Mistywavedherhandatthecokeandwinkedatme.She’d

tattooedherboyfriend’sinitialsonherringfinger,andforaseconditlookedlike

letters and then bugs and then letters again. Her boyfriend was Black, and this

lovingacrosscolorlineswasoneofthereasonswebecamefriendssoquickly.She

oftentoldmethatasfarasshewasconcerned,theywerealreadymarried.Saidshe

neededhim becausehermotherdidn’tgive a shitabouther.Mistytoldme once

thatshegotherperiodinfifthgrade,whenshewastenyearsold,andbecauseshe

didn’t realize what was happening to her, her body betraying her, she walked

aroundhalfthedaywithabloodyspotspreadinglikeanoilstainonthebackof

her pants. Her mother beat her in the parking lot of the school, she was so

embarrassed.Theprincipalcalledthecops.JustoneofthemanywaysIdisappointed

her,Mistysaid.

“Iwasfeelingit,”Isaid.

“YouknowhowIknowyoulie?”

“How?”

“Yougetdeadstill.Peopleisalwaysmoving,allthetime,whentheyspeak,when

they’requiet,evenwhentheysleep.Lookingoff,lookingatyou,smiling,frowning,

allofthat.Whenyoulie,yougetdeadstill:blankface,armslimp.Likeafucking

corpse.Iain’tneverseennothinglikeit.”

Ishrugged.Given-not-Givenshrugs.Sheain’tlying,hemouths.

“Youeverseethings?”Isay.It’soutmymouthbeforeIhaveachancetothinkit.

Butatthatmoment,she’smybestfriend.She’smyonlyfriend.

“Whatyoumean?”

“Whenyouon?”Iwavedmyhandlikeshe’dwavedhersmomentsbefore.Atthe

coke,whichwasnowjustalittlesorrypileofdustonthetable.Enoughfortwoor

threelinesmore.

“That’swhatitis?Youseeingshit?”

“Justlines.Likeneonlightsorsomething.Intheair.”

“Nicetry.Youtriedtotwitchyourhandsandeverything.Now,whatyoureally

seeing?”

Iwantedtopunchherinherface.

“Itoldyou.”

“Yeah,youliedagain.”

ButIknewthiswashercottage,andwhenitallcamedowntoit,I’mBlackand

she’sWhite,andifsomeoneheardustusslinganddecidedtocallthecops,I’dbe

theonegoingtojail.Nother.Bestfriendandall.

“Given,”Isaid.Morelikeawhisperthananything,andGivenleanedforwardto

hearme.Slidhishandacrossthetable,hisbig-knuckled,slim-bonedhand,toward

mine. Like he wanted to support me. Like he could be flesh and blood. Like he

couldgrabmyhandandleadmeoutofthere.Likewecouldgohome.

Misty looked like she ate something sour. She leaned forward and sniffed

anotherline.

“Iain’taexpertornothing,butI’mprettysureyouain’tsupposedtobeseeing

nothingonthisshit.”

Sheleanedbackinherchair,grabbedherhairinagreatsheaf,andtosseditover

herback.Bishoplovesit,she’dsaidofherboyfriendonce.Can’tkeephishandsoutofit.

Itwasoneofthethingsshedidthatshewasneverconsciousof,playingwithher

hair, always unaware of the ease of it. The way it caught all the light. The self-

satisfiedbeautyofit.Ihatedherhair.

“Acid,yeah,”shecontinued.“Maybeevenmeth.Butthis?No.”

Given-not-Givenfrowned,mimickedhergirlyhairflip,andmouthed:Whatthe

fuckdoessheknow?Hislefthandwasstillonthetable.Icouldnotreachouttoit,

eventhougheverythinginmewantedtodoso,tofeelhisskin,hisflesh,hisdry,

hardhands.Whenwewerecomingup,Icouldn’tcounthowmanytimeshefought

forusonthebus,inschool,intheneighborhoodwhenkidstauntedmeabouthow

Poplookedlikeascarecrow,howMamawasawitch.HowIlookedjustlikePop:

like a burnt stick, raggedly clothed. My stomach turned like an animal in its

burrow,againandagain,seekingcomfortandwarmthbeforesleep.Ilitacigarette.

“Noshit,”Isaid.

*

Jojo’sbirthdaycakedoesn’tkeepwell:thenextday,ittastesfivedaysoldinsteadof

one.Ittasteslikepaperpaste,butIkeepeating.Ican’thelpit.Myteethchompand

grind,eventhoughIdon’thaveenoughspitandmythroatdoesn’twanttoswallow.

Thecokedonehadmechewinglikethissincelastnight.Pop’stalkingtome,butall

Icanthinkaboutismyjaw.

“Youdon’thavetotakethemkidsnowhere,”Popsays.

Mostdays,Popisayoungerman.Sameway,mostdays,Jojoisstuckformeat

five.Idon’tlookatPopandseetheyearsbendingandcreasinghim:Iseehimwith

white teeth and a straight back and eyes as black and bright as his hair. I told

MamaoncethatIthoughtPopdyedit,andsherolledhereyesatmeandlaughed,

back when she could laugh. That’s just him, she’d said. The cake is so sweet it’s

almostbitter.

“Ido,”Isay.

IcouldjusttakeMichaela,Iknow.Itwouldbeeasier,butIknowthatoncewe

gettothejailandMichaelwalksout,somethinginhimwouldbedisappointedif

Jojowasn’tthere.AlreadyJojolookstoomuchlikemeand Pop, with his brown

skin and black eyes, with the way he walks, bouncing on the balls of his feet,

everythingabout him upright.If Jojo weren’t standing there with us, waiting for

Michael,well,itwouldn’tberight.

“Whataboutschool?”

“It’sjusttwodays,Pop.”

“It’simportant,Leonie.Boyneedhislearning.”

“Hesmartenoughtomisstwodays.”

Popgrimaces,andforthelengthofitIseetheageinhisface.Thelinesofit

leadinghiminexorablydown,likeMama.Toinfirmity,tobed,tothegroundand

thegrave.Thisiscomingdown.

“Idon’tlike the idea of youwith themtwokidsby y’allselfout on the road,

Leonie.”

“It’sgoingtobeastraighttrip,Pop.Northandback.”

“Youneverknow.”

Iclenchmymouth,speakthroughmyteeth.Myjawaches.

“We’llbefine.”

Michael’sbeeninjailthreeyearsnow.Threeyears,twomonths.Andtendays.

Theygavehimfivewiththepossibilityofearlyrelease.Thepossibility’srealnow.

Present.Myinsidesareshaking.

“Youallright?”Popasks.He’slookingatmelikehelooksatoneofhisanimals

whensomething’swrongwithit,thewayhelookslikewhenhishorselimpsand

needstobereshoed,orwhenoneofhischickensstartsactingfunnyandferal.He

sees the error, and he’s dead committed to fixing it. Armor the horse’s tender

hooves.Isolatethechicken.Wringitsneck.

“Yeah,”Isay.Myheadfeelsfilledwithexhaustfumes:lightandhot.“Fine.”

*

SometimesIthinkIknowwhyIseeGiven-not-GivenwheneverI’mhigh.WhenI

hadmyfirstperiod,MamasatmedownatthekitchentablewhilePopwasatwork

andshesaid:“Igotsomethingtotellyou.”

“What?” I said. Mama looked at me sharp. “Yes, ma’am,” I said instead,

swallowingmyearlierwords.

“WhenIwastwelve,themidwifeMarie-Theresecametothehousetodelivermy

youngestsister.Shewassittingamomentinthekitchen,directingmetoboilwater

andunpackingherherbs,whenshestartpointingandaskingmewhatIthought

eachofthebundlesofdriedplantsdid.AndIlookedatthem,andknew,soItold

her:Thisoneforhelpingtheafterbirthcome,thisoneforslowingthebleeding,thisonefor

helpingthepain,thisoneforbringingthemilkdown.Itwaslikesomeonewashumming

inmyear,tellingmetheypurpose.Rightthere,shetoldmeIhadtheseedofagift.

Withmymamapantingintheotherroom,Marie-Theresetookhertime,puther

hand on my heart, and prayed to the Mothers, to Mami Wataand toMary, the

VirginMotherofGod,thatIwouldlivelongenoughtoseewhateveritwasIwas

meanttosee.”

Mamaputherhandoverhermouthlikeshe’dtoldmesomethingsheshouldn’t

have, like she could cup her words and scoop them back inside, back down her

throattosinktonothinginherstomach.

“Doyou?”Iasked.

“See?”

Inodded.

“Yes,”Mamasaid.

Iwantedtoaskher:Whatyousee?ButIdidn’t.Ikeptmymouthshutandwaited

forhertotalk.ImighthavebeenscaredofwhatshewouldtellmeifIaskedher

what she saw when she looked at me. Dying young? Never finding love? Or if I

lived, bent by hard work and hard living? Growing old with my mouth twisted

bitteratthetasteofwhatI’dbeenaccordedinthefeastoflife:mustardgreensand

rawpersimmons,sharpwithunfulfilledpromiseandloss?

“Youmighthaveit,”Mamasaid.

“Really?”Iasked.

“I think it runs in the blood, like silt in river water. Builds up in bends and

turns, over sunk trees.” She waved her fingers. “Rises up over the water in

generations. My mama ain’t have it, but heard her talk one time that her sister,

TanteRosalie, did. Thatit skips from sister to child to cousin.To be seen. And

used.Usuallycomearoundfull-blownwhenyoubleedforthefirsttime.”

Mamaworriedherlipwithherfingernailsandthentappedthekitchentable.

“Marie-Thereseherselfcouldhear.Couldlookatawomanandhearsinging:If

shewaspregnant,couldtellherwhenshegoingtohaveababy,whatsexthebaby

goingtobe.Couldtellherifshegoingtoseetroubleandhowshecouldavoidit.

Couldlookatamanandtellhimifthe’shinedoneateuphisliver,donecuredhis

insideslikesausage,couldreaditintheyellowofhiseyes,theshakeofhishands.

And something else, she said. How she might hear a multitude of voices ringing

fromanylivingthing,andhowshefollowedtheloudestvoices,’causethesewasthe

mostlikely.Howtheclearestvoicessangoverthejumbleoftherest.Shecouldhear

soundcomefromonewoman’sfaceinthesupplystore:Flipslicemeacrossthefacefor

dancingwithCed.Fromthemanthatrunthestorewhohadalegthatsang:Theblood

turnsblackandpools,thetoesrot.Howacow’sbellysaid:Thecalfiscominghoovesfirst.

Howshefirstheardthevoiceswhenshecametopuberty.Andwhensheexplained

it like that, I realized I had been hearing voices, too. When I was younger, my

mamacomplainedaboutherstomach,howshehadulcers.Theywassoundingto

me,saying, We eat,we eat, weeat;I was confusedand kept askingherif she was

hungry.Marie-Theresetrainedme,taughtmeeverythingsheknew,andwhenyour

popandmegotmarried,thatwasmyjob.Iwasbusybirthingbabiesanddoctoring

folksandmakinggris-grisbagsforprotection.”Mamarubbedherhandslikeshe

waswashingthem.“Butit’sslownow.Don’tnobodybuttheoldfolkscometome

forremedies.”

“Youcoulddeliverababy?”Iasked.Theotherthingshe’dsaid,aboutthegris-

grisbags,satunspokenonthetablebetweenus,asmatter-of-factasabutterdish

orasugarbowl.Sheblinkedandsmiledandshookherhead,allofwhichmeantone

thing:yes.Inthatmoment,Mamabecame more than my mother, more than the

womanwhomademesaymyrosarybeforeIwenttosleepwiththewordsMake

sureyoupraytotheMothers.She’dbeendoingmorethanmotheringwhensheput

homemade ointments on me when I broke out in rashes or gave me special teas

whenIwassick.Thathalfsmilehintedatthesecretsofherlife,allthosethings

she’dlearnedandsaidandseenandlived,thesaintsandspiritsshespoketowhenI

wastooyoungtounderstandherprayers.Thehalfsmileangledtoafrownwhen

Givenwalkedinthedoor.

“Son,howmanytimesIgottoaskyoutotakeoffyourmuddybootswhenyou

walkinthehouse?”

“Sorry,Ma.”Hegrinned,benttokissher,andthenstoodandwalkedbackward

outthedoor.Hewasashadowthroughthescreenasheslippedoutofhisshoesby

stepping on the toes. “Your brother can’t even hear what I tell him, never mind

whattheworldsings.Butyoumight.Ifyoustarthearingthings,youtellme,”she

said.

Givencroucheddownonthesteps,beatinghisshoesonthewood,shakingout

themud.

*

“Leonie,”Popsays.

Iwishhewouldcallmesomethingelse.WhenIwasyoungerhewouldcallme

girl.Whenwewerefeedingthechickens:Girl,Iknowyoucanthrowthatcornfarther

thanthat.WhenwewereweedingthevegetablegardenandIcomplainedaboutmy

backhurting:Youtooyoungtoknowpain,girl,withthatyoungback.WhenIbrought

reportcardshomewithmoreAsandBsthanCs:Youasmartone,girl.Helaughed

whenhesaidit,sometimesjustsmiled,andsometimessaiditwithaplainface,but

it never feltlike censure.Now he never calls me by anythingbut myname, and

everytimehesaysit,itsoundslikeaslap.IthrowtherestofJojo’sbirthdaycakein

thegarbagebeforefillingaglasswithtapwateranddrinkingitsoIdon’thaveto

lookatPop.IcanfeelmyjawtickeverytimeIgulp.

“Iknowyou want to do right by that boy and go pick him up. You do know

they’llputhimonabus,don’tyou?”

“He’smykids’daddy,Pop.Igottogogethim.”

“Whatabouthismamaandpappy?Whatiftheywanttogogethim?”

Ihadn’tthoughtaboutthat.Iplacetheemptyglassinthesinkandleaveitthere.

Popwillcomplainaboutmenotwashingmydishes,butheusuallyonlyfightswith

meaboutonethingatatime.

“Iftheywerecomingtogethim,hewouldhavetoldmethat.Buthedidn’t.”

“Youcanwaitforhimtocallagainbeforeyoudecide.”

Icatchmyselfmassagingthebackofmyneckandstop.Everythinghurts.

“No,Ican’tdothat,Pop.”

Popstepsawayfromme,looksupatthekitchenceiling.

“Youneedtotalktoyourmamabeforeyouleave.Tellheryougoing.”

“Isitthatserious?”

Popgripsakitchenchairandjerksitaninchortwo,straighteningit,thenstills.

Given-not-Givenstayed with me for the rest of the nightat Misty’s.He even

followedmeouttothecarandclimbedintothepassengerseat,rightthroughthe

door.WhenIpulledoutof Misty’sgraveldrivewayintothestreet,Givenlooked

straightahead. Halfwayhome, on one of those dark two-lanecountry roads,the

asphaltwornsobarethegrindofthecar’stiresmademethinkitwasn’tpaved,I

swervedtoavoidhittingapossum.Itfrozeandarcheditsbackintheheadlights,

andI couldswearI heard ithissing. When mychest eased anddidn’tfeel likea

cushionstuddedwithhotpinsanymore,Ilookedbackovertothepassengerseat,

andGivenwasgone.

“Ihavetogo.Wehavetogo.”

“Why?”Popsays.Italmostsoundssoft.Theworryhefeelsmakeshisvoicean

octavelower.

“Becausewehisfamily,”Isay.Alinesizzlesfrommytoestomybellyandupto

thebackofmyhead,alickofwhatIfeltlastnight.Andthenitgoes,andI’mstatic,

still, a depression. The corners of Pop’s mouth pull tight, and he’s a fish pulling

againstahook,aline,somethingmuchbiggerthanhim.Andthenit’sgone,andhe

blinksatmeandlooksaway.

“Hegotmorethanone,Leonie.Thekidsgotmorethanone,too,”Popsays,and

thenhe’swalkingawayfromme,callingJojo.

“Boy,”hesays.“Boy.Comehere.”

Thebackdoorslams.

“Whereyouat,boy?”

Itsoundslikeacaress,likePop’ssingingit.

*

“Michael’sgettingouttomorrow.”

Mama pushes her palms down on the bed, shrugs her shoulders, and tries to

raiseherhips.Shegrimaces.

“Heis,now?”Hervoiceissoft.Barelyabreath.

“Yeah.”

Sheletsherselffallbackagainstthebedagain.

“Where’syourpop?”

“OutbackwithJojo.”

“Ineedhim.”

“Igottogotothestore.I’llgethimonmywayout.”

Mamascratchesherscalpandletsoutabreath.Hereyesclosetoseams.

“WhogoinggetMichael?”

“Me.”

“Andwhoelse?”

“Thekids.”

She’slookingatmeagain.IwishIcouldfeelthatsizzlinglick,butI’vecomeall

thewaydown,andI’mleftwithanothingfeeling.Hollowanddry.Bereft.

“Yourfriendain’tgoingwithyou?”

She’stalkingaboutMisty.Ourmenareinthesamepenitentiary,sowerideup

aroundonceeveryfourmonths.Ihadn’teventhoughttoask.

“Iain’taskedher.”

Growingupouthereinthecountrytaughtmethings.Taughtmethatafterthe

firstfatflushoflife,timeeatsawayatthings:itrustsmachinery,itmaturesanimals

tobecomehairlessandfeatherless,anditwithersplants.Onceayearorso,Iseeit

inPop,howhegotleanerandleanerwithage,thetendonsinhimstandingout,

harderandmorerigid,everyyear.HisIndiancheekbonessevere.ButsinceMama

gotsick,Ilearnedpaincandothat,too.Caneatapersonuntilthere’snothingbut

boneandskinandathinlayerofbloodleft.Howitcaneatyourinsidesandswell

you in wrong ways: Mama’s feet look like water balloons set to burst under the

cover.

“Youshould.”

IthinkMama’stryingtorollonherside,becauseIcanseethestraininher,but

intheendallshedoesisrollherheadtothesideandlookatthewall.

“Turnonthefan,”shesays,soIscootPop’schairback,andIswitchonthebox

fanproppedinthewindow.Theairululatesthroughtheroom,andMamaturns

backtofaceme.

“Youwondering...,”shesays,andstops.Herlipsthin.That’stheplaceIseeit

most. Her lips, which were always so full and soft, especially when I was a girl,

when she kissed my temple. My elbow. My hand. Even sometimes, after I had a

bath, my toes. Now they’re nothing but differently colored skin in the sunken

topographyofherface.

“...whyIain’tfussing.”

“Alittle,”Isay.She’slookingathertoes.

“Popstubborn.Youstubborn.”

Herbreathstutters,andIrealizeit’salaugh.Aweaklaugh.

“Y’allalwaysgoingtofuss,”shesays.

Shecloseshereyesagain.Herhairissothreadbare,Icanseeherscalp:paleand

blue-veined,hollowedanddimpled,imperfectasapotter’sbowl.

“Youfullgrownnow,”shesays.

Isit,crossmyarms.Itmakesmybreastsstickoutalittle.Irememberthehorror

of them coming in, budding like little rocks, when I was ten. How those fleshy

knotsfeltlikeabetrayal.Likesomeonehadliedtomeaboutwhatlifewouldbe.

LikeMamahadn’ttoldmethatIwouldgrowup.Growintoherbody.Growinto

her.

“Youlovewhoyoulove.Youdowhatyouwant.”

Mamalooksatme,onlyhereyeslookingfullinthatmoment,roundastheyever

were,almosthazelifIleanincloseenough,watergatheringattheedges.Theonly

thingtimehasn’teaten.

“Yougoingtogo,”shesays.

Iknowitnow.IknowmymotherisfollowingGiven,thesonwhocametoolate

andlefttooearly.Iknowthatmymotherisdying.

*

Givenplayedfootballwithsingle-mindedpurposehissenioryear,thefallbeforehe

died.Recruitersfromlocalcommunityandstatecollegescameeveryweekendto

seehisgames.Hewastallandwellmuscled,andhisfeetdidn’ttouchtheground

oncehegotthepigskininhishand.Eventhoughhewasseriousaboutfootball,he

was still social when he wasn’t at practice or on the field. Once he told Pophis

teammates,WhiteandBlack,werelikebrotherstohim.Thatitwasliketheteam

went to war every Friday night, came together and became something more,

somethinggreaterthanthemselves.Poplookeddownathisshoesandspatabrown

streaminthedirt.GivensaidhewasgoinguptotheKilltopartywithhisWhite

teammates,andPopcautionedhimagainstit:Theylookatyouandseedifference,son.

Don’t matter what you see. It’s about what theydo, Pop had said, and thenspit the

wholemessofchewout.Givenhadrolledhiseyes,leanedintothehoodofthe’77

Novatheywerefixingupforhimtodrive,andsaid:Allright,Pop.Lookedupatme

andwinked.IwasjustgratefulPophadn’tsentmeinside,gladIcouldhandthem

toolsandfetchthemwaterandwatchthemworkbecauseIdidn’twanttogointhe

house just in case Mama decided to give me one of her plant lessons. Herbs and

medicine,she’dtoldmewhenIturnedseven,Icanteachyou.Iwashopingsomebody,

BigHenryoroneofthetwins,wouldwalkdownthestreet,emergewholeoutof

thegreen,sowe’dhavesomebodyelsetotalkto.

GivenignoredPop.Latethatwinter,inFebruary,hedecidedtogohuntingwith

theWhiteboysupintheKill.Hesaveduphismoneyandboughtafancyhunting

bowandarrow.HehadbetMichael’scousinthathecouldkillabuckwithabow

beforetheboycouldtakeonedownwitharifle.Michael’scousinwasashortboy

with a wandering eye who wore cowboy boots and beer T-shirts like it was a

uniform;hewasthekindofboywhodatedandhungoutwithhighschoolerseven

thoughhewasinhisearlythirties.GivenpracticedwithPop.Shotforhoursinthe

backyardwhenheshouldhavebeendoinghomework.Startedwalkingstraightas

Popsincehespentsolongdraweduptight,everylineonhimastautasthebow,

untilhe couldsink an arrowinto themiddle of acanvas tiedbetween two pine

treesfifty yards away. He won that bet one cold overcast winter sunrise, in part

because he was so good, in part because everybody else, all the boys he played

footballwith,tussledinthelockerroomwith,sweatedalmosttobreakingonthe

stadiumfieldwith,wokeupdrinkingbeerlikeorangejuicethatmorningbecause

theyfiguredGivenwouldlose.

Ididn’t know Michaelyet;I’d seen himaroundschool a fewtimes, his blond

hairthickandcurly,alwayslookinglikeitwasonthevergeofmattingbecauseit

wasn’t ever brushed. He had ashy elbows and hands and legs. Michael didn’t go

huntingthatmorning, because he didn’twantto get up thatearly,but he heard

about it once his uncle came to Big Joseph inthe middle of the day, the cousin

soberingup,alookonhisfacelikehesmelledsomethingbad,somethinglikearat

deadonpoisondriveninsidethewallsbythewintercold,andtheunclesaying:He

shotthenigger.Thisfuckinghotheadshottheniggerforbeatinghim.Andthen,because

Big Joseph had been sheriff for years: What we going to do? Michael’s mama told

themtocallthepolice.BigJosephignoredherandallofthemwentbackupinto

thewoods,anhourin,andfoundGivenlyinglongandstillinthepineneedles,his

blood a black puddle beneath him. Beer cans all around him from the boys

throwingthemandrunningoncethecousinwiththebadeyeaimedandfired,once

the shot rang out. How they scattered like roaches in the light. The uncle had

slappedhissonacrosstheface,onceandtwice.Youfuckingidiot,he’dsaid.Thisain’t

theolddays.Andthenhiscousinhadputhisarmsupandmumbled:Hewassupposed

tolose,Pa.A hundred yards off, thebuck layon his side,one arrow inhis neck,

another in his stomach, all of him cold and hard as my brother. Their blood

congealing.

Huntingaccident,BigJosephtoldthemoncetheygotbacktothehouseandsat

aroundthe table,phone in hand,before the cousin’s daddy, shortas his son but

withsyncedeyes,calledthepolice.Huntingaccident,theunclesaid,speakingonthe

phone with the light of the cold noon sun slicing through the curtains. Hunting

accident,thelazy-eyedcousinsaidincourt,hisgoodeyefixedonBigJoseph,who

satbehindtheboy’slawyer,hisfacestillandhardasadinnerplate.Buthisbadeye

rovingtoPopandmeandMama,allinarowbehindtheDA,aDAwhoagreedtoa

plea deal that sentenced the cousin to three years in Parchman and two years’

probation.IwonderifMamaheardsomehummingfromthecousin’sbadeye,some

feelings of remorse in its wandering, but she looked through him, tears leaking

downherfacethewholetime.

AyearafterGivendied,Mamaplantedatreeforhim.Oneeveryanniversary,she

said,paincrackinghervoice.IfIlivelongenough,goingtobeaforesthere,shesaid,a

whisperingforest.Talkingaboutthewindandpollenandbeetlerot.Shestoppedandput

the tree in the earth and started beating the soil around the roots. I heard her

through her fists. The woman that taught Marie-Therese—she could see. Old woman

lookeddamnnearWhite.TanteVangie.Shecouldseethedead.Marie-Thereseain’tnever

hadthattalent.Meneither.Shedugherredfistsintothedirt.Idreamaboutit.Dream

IcanseeGivenagain,walkingthroughthedoorinhisboots.ButthenIwakeup.AndI

don’t.Shestartedtocrythen.AndIknowit’sthere.Rightontheothersideofthatveil.

Shekneltlikethatuntilhertearsstoppedrunning,andshesatupandwipedher

faceandsmearedbloodanddirtalloverit.

Threeyearsago,IdidalineandsawGivenforthefirsttime.Itwasn’tmyfirst

line,butMichaelhadjustgonetojail.Ihadstarteddoingitoften;everyotherday,

Iwasbendingoveratable,siftingpowderintolines,inhaling.IknewIshouldn’t

have:Iwaspregnant.ButIcouldn’thelpwantingtofeelthecokegoupmynose,

shootstraighttomybrain,andburnupallthesorrowanddespairIfeltatMichael

beinggone.ThefirsttimeGivenshowedup,IwasatapartyintheKill,andmy

brotherwalkedthroughtherewithnobulletholesinhischestorinhisneck,whole

andlong-limbed,likealways.Butnotsmirking.Hewasshirtlessandredaboutthe

neck and face likehe’d been running, but his chest was still as stone.Still as he

must have been after Michael’s cousin shot him. I thought about Mama’s little

forest,thetentreesshe’dplantedinanever-wideningspiraloneverydeathday.I

groundmygumssorestaringatGiven.Iatehimwithmyeyes.Hetriedtotalkto

mebutIcouldn’thearhim,andhejustgotmoreandmorefrustrated.Hesatonthe

tableinfrontofme,rightonthemirrorwiththecokeonit.Icouldn’tputmyface

initagainwithoutputtingitinhislap,sowesattherestaringateachother,me

tryingnottoreactsoIwouldn’tlookcrazytomyfriends,whoweresingingalong

tocountrymusic,kissingsloppilyincornersliketeenagers,walkinginzigzagswith

theirarmslinkedoutintothedark.Givenlookedatmelikehedidwhenwewere

little and I broke the new fishing pole Pop got him: murderous. When I came

down,Ialmostranouttomycar.Iwasshakingsohard,Icouldhardlyputmykey

intheignition.Givenclimbedinnexttome,satinthepassengerseat,andturned

andlookedatmewithafaceofstone.Iquit,Isaid.IswearIwon’tdoitnomore.He

rodewithmetothehouse,andIlefthimsittinginthepassengerseatasthesun

softened and lit the edges of the sky, rising. I crept into Mama’s bedroom and

watched her sleep. Dusted her shrine: her rosary draped over her Virgin Mary

statue in the corner, nestled among blue-gray candles, river rocks, three dried

cattails,asingleyam.WhenIsawGiven-not-Givenforthefirsttime,Ididn’ttell

mymamanothing.

*

AphonecalltoMichael’sparentswouldtellmeeverythingIneedtoknow.Icould

justpickupthereceiver,dialthenumber,andprayforMichael’smamatoanswer

the phone. This would be our fifth conversation, and I’d say: Hello Mrs. Ladner I

don’tknowifyourealizebutMichael’sgettingouttomorrowandmeandthekidsandMisty

isgoingtogethimsoy’alldon’tneedtoallrightma’ambye.ButIdon’twantBigJoseph

toanswer,tohanguponmeafterIsitonthelineandbreatheintothemouthpiece

anddon’tsaynothingwhilehesaysnothing.AtleastthenI’dknowifIcallback,

he’dletMrs.Ladnerpickupthephonetodealwithwhoeveritis:prankster,bill

collector,wrongnumberdialer,hisson’sBlackbabymama.ButIdon’twanttodeal

withallthat:totalktoMichael’smotherinhaltingstartsandstops,ortosufferBig

Joseph’s heavy silence. This is why I am riding upcountry to the Kill, my trunk

packedwithgallonjugsofwaterandbabywipesandbagsofclothesandsleeping

bags, to leave a note in their mailbox way down at the end of their driveway,a

breathless note. What I would have said in a rush. No punctuation. The note

signed:Leonie.

*

Michaelhadneverspokentomebefore.Duringlunchbreakatschooloneday,a

yearafterGivendied,Michaelsatnexttomeonthegrass,touchedmyarm,and

said:I’msorrymycousinisafuckingidiot.Ithoughtthatwasit.ThatafterMichael

apologized,he’dwalkawayandneverspeaktomeagain.Buthedidn’t.Heasked

meifIwantedtogofishingwithhimafewweekslater.Isaidyes,andwalkedout

thefrontdoor.Wasn’tnoneedtosneakoutanymore,myparentswrappedupin

their grief. Spider-bound: web-blind. The first time me and Michael went on a

date,wewentouttothepieroffthebeachwithourpoles,mewithGiven’sheldout

infrontofmelikesomesortofoffering.Wetalkedaboutourfamilies,abouthis

father.Hesaid:Heold—aoldhead.AndIknewwhathemeantwithouthimhaving

tosaymore.HewouldhatethatI’moutherewithyou,thatbeforethenight’sthrough,I’m

goingtokissyou.Or,infewerwords:Hebelievesinniggers.AndIswallowedthefact

ofhisfather’sbileandletitpassthroughme,becausethefatherwasnottheson,I

thought.BecausewhenIlookedatMichaelinthepiecemealdarkunderneaththe

gazeboattheendofthepier,IcouldseeashadowofBigJosephinhim;Icould

lookathislongneckandarms,hislean,muscledtorso,thefineshankofhisrib

cage,andseethewayyearswouldsoftenhimtohisdaddy.Howfatwouldwreathe

him,andhewouldsettleintohisbigframethewayahousesettlesintotheearth

underneathit.Ihadtoremindmyself:Theyarenotthesame.Michaelleanedover

ourpolesandhiseyeschangedcolorlikethemountainouscloudsintheskybefore

abigstorm:darkestblue,watergray,old-summergreen.Hewasjusttallenough

thatwhenhehuggedme,hischinrestedonmyhead,andIwascuppedunderhim.

LikeIbelonged.BecauseIwantedMichael’smouthonme,becausefromthefirst

moment I saw him walking across the grass to where I sat in the shadow of the

schoolsign,hesawme.Sawpastskinthecolorofunmilkedcoffee,eyesblack,lips

thecolorofplums,andsawme.SawthewalkingwoundIwas,andcametobemy

balm.

*

BigJosephandMichael’smotherliveatthetopofahillinalowcountryhouse,the

sidingwhite,theshuttersgreen.Itlooksbig.Therearetwotrucksparkedinthe

driveway, new pickup trucks that catch the sun and throw it back into the air,

shootingsparksofftheangles.Oneredtruck,onewhite.Threehorsesroamaround

thesegmentedfieldsthatabutthehouse,andagaggleofhensscamperacrossthe

yard,underthetrucks,todisappeararoundtheback.Ipullovertothesideofthe

road, stop feet from their mailbox; the grassy shoulder is not so wide here,

borderedbyaditchatleasthip-deep,soIhavetogetoutofthecarandwalk,can’t

justpullupnexttoitandslidethenoteinside.It’sbeensomedayssincewehad

rain.WhenIwalkaroundtothebox,thegrasssoundswithadrycrunch.Thereare

noothercarsonthisroad.TheylivewayupintheKill,nothingbuthousesand

trailersingreatspreadingfields,offadead-endroad.

Justas I’m pullingthemailbox door down,Ihear a buzz,which loudens to a

humming,whichloudenstoagrowl,andthenamanisridingaroundthesideof

the house on a great lawn mower with a steel bolted deck, the kind that’s so

expensiveit’sasbigasatractor.Itcostsasmuchasmycar.Islidethenoteintothe

mailbox.Themananglestowardthenorthendofthepasture,turnsleft,andbegins

making his way toward the road. He must mean to cut the yard from top to

bottom,ridinginlong,cleanlines.

Ireachforthehandle,pullitopen,anditshrieks,metalgrindingagainstmetal.

“Shit.”

Helooksup.Igetintothecar.

Thelawnmowerspeedsup.Iturnthekey.Thecarstuttersandstalls.Iturnit

back,look down at thedashboardlike I could makeitstart if Ijuststaredlong

enough.MaybeifIprayed.

“Shit.Shit.Shit.”

Iturn the keyagain. The enginegroans andcatches.The man, whoI can see

nowisBigJoseph,hasdecidedtoabandonhisplanofcuttingthetopoftheyard

firstandiscuttingdiagonallyacrosstheyard,tryingtoreachmeandthemailbox.

And then he is pointing, and I see the sign nailed to a tree feet away from the

mailbox.NoTrespassing.

Heaccelerates.

“Goddamnit!”

Ishiftthecartodrive,lookbacktocheckthestreet,andseeacaradvancing,a

graySUV.Fearrisestomyshoulders,upmyneck,abubblingchoke.Idon’tknow

whatI’mafraidof.Whatcanhedobutcurseme?Whatcanhedo?I’mnotinhis

driveway.Doesn’tthecountyownthesidesoftheroad?Butsomethingabouthow

fasthe’sgunningthatlawnmower,thewayhepointstothattree,thewaythattree,

a Spanish oak, reaches upand outand overthe road,a multitudeof darkgreen

leaves and almost black branches, the way he’s coming at me, makes me see

violence.Ipressthegasandswerveoutintothestreet,thecarbehindmeskidsand

itshornsounds,butIdon’tcare.Mytransmissionswitchesgearswithahighwhine.

Islingthecararoundandgofaster.ThegraySUVhaspulledintoadriveway,but

thedriveriswavinghisarmoutthewindow,andBigJosephispassingunderthe

tree, stopping at the mailbox I just abandoned, lumbering off his lawn mower,

stridingtowardthebox.Heistakingsomethingofftheseatofthemower,arifle

thatwasstrappedthere,somethinghekeepsforwildpigsthatrootintheforest,

butnotforthemnow.Forme.

When I pass him, I stick my left armout thewindow. Makea fist.Raise my

middle finger. I see my brother in his last photo: one taken on his eighteenth

birthday,leaningbackonthekitchencounterwhileIholdhisfavoritesweetpotato

pecancakeuptohisfacesohecanblowhiscandlesout;hisarmsarecrossedonhis

chest,hissmilewhiteinhisdarkface.Wearealllaughing.Iacceleratesoquickly

mytiresspinandburnrubber,throwingupcloudsofsmoke.IhopeBigJosephhas

anasthmaattack.Ihopehechokesonit.

Chapter3

Jojo

Breakfasttodaywascoldgoatwithgravyandrice:eventhoughit’sbeentwodays

sincemybirthday,thepotwasstillhalfwayfull.WhenIwokeup,itwastoLeonie

steppingoverme.ShehadabagoverhershoulderandwasgrabbingKayla.“Wake

up,”Leoniesaid,notlookingatme,butfrowningasKaylawhimperedtowaking.I

gotup,brushedmyteeth,threwonmybasketballshortsandaT-shirt,andbrought

mybagouttothecar.Leoniehadarealbag,somethingmadeofcottonandcanvas,

although it was a little beat up, pulling loose at the edges. Mine was a plastic

grocerybag.Ineverneededanovernightbag,soLeonienevergotmeone.Thisis

ourfirsttripnorthtothejailwithher.Iwantedtoeatthegoathot,toheatitupin

thesmallbrownmicrowave,theonePopsayisleakingcancerinourfoodbecause

theenamelontheinsideispeelingofflikepaint.Popwon’theatanythinginit,and

Leoniewon’tgivehimhalftoreplaceit.WhenIstartedtoputitinthemicrowave,

Leoniewalkedbyandsaid:“Weain’tgottime.”SoIputmybirthdayleftoversina

Styrofoambowl;creptintheroomtokisssleepingMam,whomutteredbabiesand

twitchedinhersleep;andthenwentouttothecar.

Pop was waiting for us. Looked like he had slept in his clothes, his starched

khaki pants, his short-sleeved button-up shirt, all gray and brown, like him. He

matchedthesky, which hunglow,a silver colanderfullto leak. Itwasdrizzling.

Leoniethrewherbaginthebackseatandmarchedbackintothehouse.Mistywas

playingwiththeradiocontrolsandthecarwasalreadyrunning.Popfrownedat

me, so I stopped and shuffled in front of him. Looked down at my feet. My

basketball shoes were Michael’s; an old pair an inch too big for me I found

abandonedunder Leonie’s bed.I didn’t care.Theywere Jordans, soI wore them

anyway.

“Mightrainbaduptheroad.”

Inodded.

“Yourememberhowtochangeatire?Checktheoilandcoolant?”

Inoddedagain.PoptaughtmeallofthatwhenIwasten.

“Good.”

Iwantedtotell Pop I didn’twant to go,that I wantedme and Kaylato stay

home,andImighthaveifhedidn’tlooksomad,ifhisfrowndidn’tseemcarved

intohismouthandbrow,ifLeoniehadn’twalkedoutthenwithKayla,whowas

rubbinghereyesandcryingatbeingwokenupinthegraylight.Itwas7a.m.SoI

saidwhatIcould.

“It’sokay,Pop.”

Hisfrowneasedthen,foramoment,longenoughforhimtosay:

“Watchafterthem.”

“Iwill.”

LeonierosefrombucklingKaylaintoherseatintheback.

“Comeon.Wegottogo.”

IsteppedintoPopandhuggedhim.Icouldn’trememberthelasttimeIhad,

butitseemedimportanttodoitthen,tofoldmyarmsaroundhimandtouchmy

chesttohis.Topathimonce,twice,onhisbackwithmyfingertipsandlethimgo.

He’smypop,Ithought.He’smypop.

Heputhishandsonmyshouldersandsqueezed,andthenlookedatmynose,

myears,myhair,andfinallymyeyeswhenIsteppedback.

“Youa man,youhear?” he said.I nodded. Hesqueezed again, hiseyes on the

forgottenshoesIwore,rubberyandsillynexttohisworkboots,thegroundworn

sandyandgrassythininthedrivewayfromthebeatingittookfromLeonie’scar,

theskybearingdownonusall,soalltheanimalsIthoughtIcouldunderstandwere

quiet,subduedunderthegatheringspringrain.TheonlyanimalIsawinfrontof

mewasPop,Popwithhisstraightshouldersandhistallback,hispleadingeyesthe

only thing that spoke to me in that moment and told me what he said without

words:Iloveyou,boy.Iloveyou.

*

It’srainingnow,thewatercomingdowninsheets,beatingagainstthecar.Kayla

sleeps,adeflatedCapriSuninonehand,astubofaCheetoinanother,herface

muddyorange.Herbrown-blondafromattedtoherhead.Mistyishummingtothe

songontheradio,herhairpiledinanest.Someofitescapes,aloosetwig,tohang

againstherneck.Herhairturningdarkwithsweat.It’shotinthecar,andIwatch

the skin all around her nape dampen and bead, and the beads run like the

rainwaterdownthecolumnofhernecktodisappearinhershirt.Thelongerwe

ride,thehotteritgets,andMisty’sshirt,whichiscutwideandloosearoundthe

neckline,stretchesoutevenmoresothatthetopofherbrapeeksthrough,andtall

asIam,IrealizeIcanseeitfromthebackseatifIlookdiagonallyacrossthecar.It’s

electricblue.Thewindowsbegintofog.

“Ain’tithotinhere?”Misty’sfanningherselfwithapieceofpapershe’spulled

outofLeonie’sglovebox.LookslikeLeonie’sforgedcarinsurancepapers.People

payMistytwentydollarstomakecopiesofcardsandinserttheirnamesintothe

copiessoiftheygetstoppedbythecountypolice,itlooksliketheyhaveinsurance.

“Alittle,”Leoniesays.

“YouknowIcan’tstandheat.Itmakesmyallergiesactup.”

“ThiscomingfromsomebodybornandraisedinMississippi.”

“Whatever.”

“I’mjustsayingyouinthewrongstateforheat.”

Misty’shairisdarkattheroot,blondeverywhereelse.Shehasfrecklesonher

shoulders.

“MaybeIneedtomovetoAlaska,”Mistysays.

Wetakingbackroadsallthewaythere.LeoniethrewtheatlasinmylapwhenI

gotinthebackseatbehindher,said:“Readit.”She’smarkedtheroutewithapen;it

scrawlsnorthupatangleoftwo-lanehighways,smudgedinplacesfromLeonie’s

fingerrunningupanddownthestate.Thepen’smarksaredark,soit’shardforme

toreadtheroutenames,thelettersandnumbersshadowed.But Iseethe prison

name,theplacePopwas:Parchman.SometimesIwonderwhothatparchedman

was,thatmandyingforwater,thattheynamedthetownandthejailafter.Wonder

ifhelookedlikePop,straightupanddown,brownskintingedwithred,orme,an

in-betweencolor,orMichael,thecolorofmilk.Wonderwhatthatmansaidbefore

hediedofacrackedthroat.

“Me,too,”Leoniesays.Lastnight,sherelaxedherhairinthekitchenandrinsed

itout inthe sink, soit’s as straightand wispy asMisty’s.Misty dyedthetips of

Leonie’shairthesameblondashersafewweeksago,sowhenLeoniestoodoverthe

sinkandrinsedandhissedasthewaterranoverherscalp,overthechemicalburns

I’dseelater,littlescabslikedimesonherscalp,herhairlookedlikeitdidn’tbelong

onher,limpandflowinganorange-blonddownthedrain.Nowherhairisstarting

topuffandfrizz.

“Ilikeit,”Isay.Theyignoreme.Ido.Iliketheheat.Ilikethewaythehighway

cutsthroughtheforests,curvesoverhillsheadingnorth,sureandrolling.Ilikethe

treesreachingoutonbothsides,thepines thickerandtalleruphere,sparedthe

stormybeatingtheonesonthecoastgetthatkeepsthemspindlyanddelicate.But

thatdoesn’t stop people from cuttingthem down toprotect their housesduring

stormsortopadtheirwallets.Somuchcouldbehappeninginthosetrees.

“Wegottostop,”Leoniesays.

“Why?”

“Gas,”Leoniesays.“I’mthirsty.”

“Me,too,”Isay.

When we pull onto the gravel strip in front of the little gas station, Leonie

handsmethesamethirtydollarsIsawMistyhandtoherwhenshegotinthecar

thismorningandlooksatmelikeshedidn’thearmesayI’mthirsty.

“Twenty-fiveforgas.GetmeaCoke,andbringmemychange.”

“Can I have one?” I push. I can imagine the dark burning sweetness of it. I

swallowandmythroatseemstocatchlikeVelcro.IthinkIknowwhattheparched

manfelt.

“Bringmemychange.”

Idon’twanttogonowhere.IwanttokeeplookingdownMisty’sshirt.Herbra

flashesbrightblueagain,thekindofblueI’veonlyseeninphotographs,thecolorof

deepwateroffintheGulfofMexico.ThekindofblueinthepicturesMichaeltook

whenheworkedontheoilrigoffshore,andthewaterwasalivingwetplainaround

him,makingagreatbluebowlwiththesky.

Theinsideofthestoreisevendimmerthanthedullglowofthespringoutside.

There’sa womansittingbehindthecounter,and she’sprettierthanMisty.Black

curlyfro,herlipspinkishpurplefromtheAC,hermouthanupside-downU.She’s

mycolor,andthickerthanMisty,too,andawhipoflonging,likeacutpowerline

settosparking,jumpsbehindmyribs.

“Hey,”shemumbles,andgoesbacktoplayingonhercellphone.Everywallis

linedwithmetalshelves,andthemetalshelvesarelinedwithdust.Iwalktoward

thedimmerbacklikeI’vebeenherebefore,likeIknowwhatIwantandIknow

whereit’sat.Likeamanwouldwalk.LikePopwould.Myeyesburnandfindthe

displaycaseofdrinksinthefrontofthestore.Istareattheglass,imagininghow

wetandfizzyacolddrinkwouldbe,swallowingagainsttheparchedclosureofmy

throat:dryasarockyriverwashindrought.Myspitisthickaspaste.Ilookbackat

theclerkandshe’swatchingme,soItakethebiggestCokeanddon’teventryto

slipanotherinmypocket.Iwalktowardthefront.

“Adollarthirty,”shesays,andIhavetoleantowardhertohearbecausethunder

booms, a great clacking split, and the sky dumps water on the tin roof of the

building:atumbleofsound.Ican’tseedownhershirtbutit’swhatIthinkabout

whenI’mstandingoutintherain,thebackofmyshirtpulledovermyheadlikeit

couldprotectme,butallofmewet,gasfumesthickwiththesmellofwetearth,

rainrunningdowntoblindmyeyes,tostreamfrommynose.Itallmakesmefeel

likeIcan’tbreathe.Irememberjustintimeandtiltmyheadback,holdmybreath,

andletraintrickledownmythroat.AthinknifeofcoolwhenIswallow.Once.

Twice.Threetimesbecausethepumpissoslow.Therainpressesmyeyesclosed,

kneadsthem.IthinkIhearawhisperofsomething,awhooshofaword,butthen

it’sgoneasthetankpingsandthenozzlegoesslack.Thecariscloseandwarm,and

Kaylaissnoring.

“I could’ve got you a drink if you was that thirsty,” Misty says. I shrug and

Leoniestartsthecar.Ipeeloffmyshirt,heavyasawettowel,andlayitonthefloor

beforebendingtorootthroughmybagforanotherone.WhenIpulliton,Inotice

Mistylookingatmeinthemirrorattachedtothebackofthepassengershadewhile

shereappliesgloss,herlipsgoingfromdrypinktoglossypeach;whensheseesIsee

herlooking,shewinks.Ishiver.

*

IwaselevenwhenMamhadthetalkwithme.Bythattime,she’dgottensosickshe

spentafewhoursinthemiddleofeachdayinthebed,athinsheetloopedaround

herwaist,sleepingandstartlingawake.ShewaslikeoneofPop’sanimalshidingin

thebarnoroneofthelean-tosbuiltonthesideofthebarn,secretedawayfromthe

heat.Butthisdayshedidn’tsleep.

“Jojo,”shecalled,and her voice wasa fishingline thrownso weakly thewind

catchesit.Butstill,the lead weight settled in mychest, and Istopped mid-walk

toward the back door, toward Pop, who was outside working, and walked into

Mam’sroom.

“Mam?”Isaid.

“Thebaby?”

“Sleep.”

Mamswallowedanditlookedlikeithurt,soIpassedherwater.

“Sit,”she said, so I pulledthechairnexttoherbedclose, happy that she was

awake,andthenshepulledaslim,widebookfromhersideandopenedituptothe

mostembarrassingdiagramsI’deverseen,flaccidpenisesandovarieslikestarfruit,

andbegan to teachmehumananatomyandsex. When shestartedtalkingabout

condoms,Iwantedtocrawlunderherbedanddie.Myfaceandmyneckandmy

backwerestillburningwhenshelaidthebookdownonthesideclosesttothewall,

thankfullyawaysoIcouldn’tseeitagain.

“Lookatme,”shesaid.

There were lines, new since the cancer, running from her nose down to the

edgesofhermouth.Shesmiledhalfasmile.

“Iembarrassedyou,”shesaid.

Inodded.Theshamewaschokingme.

“Yougettingolder.Youneededtoknow.Igaveyourmamathistalk.”Shelooked

pastme,tothedoorwayatmyback,andItwisted,expectingtoseePop,orKayla

stumble-walkingandcrankyfromhertoo-shortnap,buttherewasnothingexcept

thelightfromthekitchencastingaglowingdoormat.“YouruncleGiven,too,and

hewasredderthanyou.”

Notpossible.

“Yourpopdon’tknowhowtotellastorystraight.Youknowthat?Hetellthe

beginning but don’t tell the end. Or he leave out something important in the

middle.Orhetellyouthebeginningwithoutsettinguphoweverythinggotthere.

Healwaysbeenlikethat.”

Inod.

“Iusedtohavetopiecethethingshetoldmetogethertogetthewholepicture.

Piece his paragraphs together like puzzles. It was worse when we just started

courting.Iknewhe’dbeenawayforsomeyears,upinParchman.IknewbecauseI

listened when I shouldn’t have been. I wasonly five when he got arrested, butI

heard about the brawl at the juke joint, and then him and his brother, Stag,

disappearing.Hewentaway andwasgoneforyears,andwhenhecameback,he

movedintothehousewithhismamatotakecareofher,andworked.Hewasback

foryearsbefore he started coming over, helping my daddy and mama with little

thingsaroundthehouse.Doingchoreafterchorebeforeheevenintroducedhimself

tome.Iwasnineteen,andhewastwenty-nine.Oneday,meandhimwassittingon

my mama and daddy front porch and we heard Stag a ways off, coming up the

road,singing,andRiversaid:There’s things that move a man.Like currents of water

inside.Thingshecan’thelp. OlderIgot,themore I foundittrue.What’s inStagislike

watersoblackanddeepyoucan’tseethebottom.Stagwaslaughingnow.ButthenPop

said:Parchmantaughtmethe sameinme,Philomène.Somedayslater,I understood

what he was trying to say, that getting grown means learning how to work that

current:learningwhentoholdfast,whentodropanchor,whentoletitsweepyou

up. And it could be something simple as sex, or it could be something as

complicatedasfallinginlove,oritcouldbelikegoingtojailwithyourbrother,

thinkingyougoingtoprotecthim.”Theboxfanhummed.“Youunderstandwhat

I’mtellingyou,Jojo?”

“Yes,Mam,”Isaid.Ididn’t.MamletmegoandIwanderedouttotheyardand

found Pop slopping the hogs. “Will you tell me again?” I asked him. “What

happened,Pop?Whenyouwenttojail?”Andhepaused,ahitchinthesmootharc

ofthebucket,andhetoldmehisstory.

Thattwelve-year-oldboyItoldyouabout?Richie?Theyputhimonthelongline.From

sunuptosundownwewasoutthereinthemfields,hoeingandpickingandplantingand

pulling.Amangettoapointlikethat,hecan’tthink.Justfeel.Feellikehewanttostop

moving.Feelhisstomachburnandknowhewanttoeat.Feelhisheadpackedfullofcotton

andknowhewanttosleep.Feelhisthroatcloseandfirerunuphisarmsandlegs,hisheart

beat out his chest, and know he want to run. But wasn’t no running. We was gunmen,

underthegunofthemdamntrustyshooters.Thatwasourwholeworld:thelongline.Men

strungoutacrossthefields,thetrustyshootersstalkingtheedge,thedriveronhismule,the

calleryellingtothesun,throwinghisworkingsongout.Likeafishingnet.Uscaughtand

struggling.Once,mygrandmamatoldmeastoryabouthergreat-grandmama.She’dcome

acrosstheocean,beenkidnappedandsold.Saidhergreat-grandmamatoldherthatinher

village,theyatefear.Saiditturnedthefoodtosandintheymouth.Saideveryoneknew

aboutthedeathmarchtothecoast,thatwordhadcomedownabouttheships,abouthow

theypackedmenandwomenintothem.Somehearditwasevenworseforthosewhosailed

off,sunkintothefar.Becausethat’swhatitlookedlikewhentheshipcrossedthehorizon:

liketheshipsailedoffandsunk,bitbybit,intothewater.Hergrandmamasaidtheynever

wentoutatnight,andevenintheday,theystayedintheshadowsoftheyhouses.Butstill,

theycameforher.Kidnappedherfromherhomeinthemiddleoftheday.Broughtherhere,

and she learned the boats didn’t sink to some watery place, sailed by white ghosts. She

learnedthatbadthingshappenedonthatship,allthewayuntilitdocked.Thatherskin

grewaroundthechains.Thathermouthshapedtothemuzzle.Thatshewasmadeintoan

animalunderthehot,brightsky,thesameskytherestofherfamilywasunder,somewhere

faraways,inanotherworld.Iknewwhatthatwas,tobemadeaanimal.Untilthatboy

cameoutontheline,untilIfoundmyselfthinkingagain.Worryingabouthim.Lookingout

thecornerofmyeyeathimlaggingcrookedlikeaantthat’slostscent.

*

It’snotuntilanhourlater,whenIfiguretheshirt’sasdryasit’sgoingtogetinthe

humid-closecar,thatIseeit.Asmallbag,sosmalltwocouldfitinthepalmofmy

hand,secretedinthemiddleofmybundleofclothes.Likethedotofbloodthesize

ofapinatthecenteroftheyolkinanegg:lifethatwouldhavebeenlife,butnot.

It’ssmooth and warm, soft tomy touch. Feelslike leather,and it’s tied together

withasinewyleatherstrip.Iglanceup.Misty’sdozinginthefrontseat,herhead

falling forward and jerking upright only to list forward again. Leonie’s got both

handsonthewheel,herfingerstappingtothemusicontheradio;we’relisteningto

country,whichIhate.We’vebeeninthecaralittleovertwohours,sowelostthe

Blackstationfromthecoastatleastanhourago.Leoniesmoothsthehairatthe

napeofherneckwithonehand,asifshecouldcaressitintoflatness,andthenshe

taps again. I hunch over my lap,turning toward the door, makinga small room

withmybody,ascreen.Ipullthestrip.Theknotgives,andIteaseitopen.

Ifindawhitefeathersmallerthanmypinkiefinger,tippedwithblueandaslash

ofblack.Somethingthatatfirstlookslikeasmallchipofwhitecandy,butwhenI

pickitupandholditclosetomyface,it’ssomekindofanimaltooth,linedwith

blackinthechewinggrooves,sharplikeacanine.Whateveranimalitcamefrom

knewblood,knewhowtotearknottymuscle.ThenIseeasmallgrayriverrock,a

littleperfectdome.Iswirlmypointerfingerintothedarkofthesack,searching,

andpulloutapieceofpaper,rolledthinasafingernail.Inslanted,shakyscript,in

blueink:Keepthisclose.

It’seitherPop’sorMam’shandwriting.IknowthisbecauseI’veseenitallmy

life, on Catholic wall calendars, on the inside of a kitchen cabinet next to the

refrigeratorwheretheytackalistofimportantnamesandphonenumbers,starting

withLeonie’s.OnpermissionslipsandreportcardswhenLeoniewastoobusyor

absenttosign.AndbecauseMamhasn’tleftherbedinweeksandcan’tholdapen,

Iknowit’sPopwhowrotethenote,Popwhogatheredthefeather,thetooth,the

rock,whosewedtheleatherpouch,whosaystome:Keepthisclose.

Mykneesrubtheseatinfrontofme.Ican’thelpit;I’vegottentallenoughthat

thebackseatofLeonie’shatchbackiscloseandtight.Leonieglancesintherearview.

“Stopkickingthebackofmyseat.”

I hold my palms, a warm open bowl, over the things that Pop has given me,

whichareinatinypileinmylap.

“Ididn’tmeanto,”Isay.

“Youshouldhavesaidsorry,”Leoniesays.

IwonderifPopeverdid somethinglike this for her when shemade this trip

before.IfhesnuckoutinthemorningwhenLeoniewassleeping,at9a.m.or10

a.m.,andsecretedsomethinginhercar,somelittlecollectionofthingshethought

mightbeabletokeephersafe,towatchforherwhenhecouldn’t,toprotectheron

hertripstonorthMississippi.Someofmyfriendsatschoolhavepeoplelivingup

there,inClarksdaleoroutsideofGreenwood.Whattheysay:Youthinkit’sbaddown

here.Whattheydo:frown.Whattheymean:Upthere?IntheDelta?It’sworse.

Upahead,thetreesbythesideoftheroadbegintothin,andtherearesuddenly

billboards.Apictureofanewbabyinthewomb:a red-yellowtadpole,skinand

bloodsothinthelightshinesthroughitlikeagummycandy.ProtectLife,thesign

says.Iputthefeather,therock,andthetoothinthebag.RollPop’snotesothinit

couldbeastrawforamouse,andputitinthebagbeforetyingitshutandputting

itintothesmall square pocket sewn intothe waistband of mybasketball shorts.

Leonieisnotlookingatmeanymore.

“Sorry,”Isay.

Shegrunts.

IthinkIknowwhatmyfriendsmeanwhentheytalkaboutnorthMississippi.

*

Pop’s told me some parts of Richie’s story over and over again. I’ve heard the

beginningatleasttoomanytimestocount.Therearepartsinthemiddle,about

theoutlawheroKinnieWagnerandtheevilHogjaw,thatI’veonlyheardtwice.I

ain’tneverheardtheend.SometimesI’dtrytowritethemdown,buttheywerejust

bad poems, limping down the page: Training a horse. The next line. Cut with the

knees.SometimesIgotfedupwithPop.Atfirst,hetoldmethestorieswhilewe

wereawakeatnightinthelivingroom.Butaftersomemonths,healwaysseemed

totellmepartofhisRichiestorywhenweweredoingsomethingelse:eatingred

beansandrice,pickingourteethwithtoothpicksontheporchafterlunch,sitting

infront of thetelevision intheliving room watching westernsin theafternoon,

whenPopwouldinterruptthecowboyonthescreentosaythisaboutParchman:It

wasmurder.Massmurder.WhenPoptoldmeaboutthesmallpouchhekepttiedto

one of his belt loops, it was cold outside, and he was splitting logs for the

woodstovethatheatedthelivingroom.Wewereoutofgasfortheweekend.Mam

hadallthecoversinthehouseonher,crochetedblanketsandquiltsandflatand

fittedsheets,andstillshemoaned:Mybones.Herhandstuckedupunderherneck,

wringing one against the other, the skin raspy and chafed white, even though I

lotionedthemeveryhour.It’ssocold.Herteethrattlinglikediceinhermouth.

“Everythinggotpower.”

Hehitalog.

“Mygreat-granddaddytaughtmethat.”

Thelogsplit.

“Saidthere’sspiritin everything.In the trees, inthe moon,in the sun,in the

animals.Saidthesunismostimportant,gaveitaname:Aba.Butyouneedallof

them,allofthatspiritineverything,tohavebalance.Sothecropswillgrow,the

animalsbreedandgetfatforfood.”

Heputanotherlogonthestump,andIbreathedintomyhands,wishingIhada

hatformyears.

“Explainedittomelikethis:ifyougottoomuchsunandnotenoughrain,crops

willwither.Ifyougottoomuchrain,theyrotintheground.”

Heswungagain.

“Youneedabalanceofspirit.Abody,hetoldme,isthesameway.”

Thelogsfell.

“Likethis.I’mstrong.Icansplitthiswood.ButmaybeifIhadsomeoftheboar’s

strength,alittlebitofwildpig’stuskatmyside,somethingtogivemealittlebitof

thatanimal’sspirit,thenmaybe,justmaybe,”hehuffed,“I’mbetteratthis.Maybeit

comealittleeasiertome.MaybeI’mstronger.”

Hesplitanother.

“But never more than I could handle. The boar share so much, and I take so

much.Nowaste.Wasterots.Toomucheitherwaybreaksthebalance.”Herested

hisaxeontheground.“Getmeanotherlog.”

I returned from the pile, put the wood on the stump, balanced it just so.

SnatchedmyhandawayasPopbroughttheaxedown,cleanthroughthecenterof

it.

“Orawoodpeckercouldsharesomething,too.Afeather,foraim.”

My finger stung from the nearness of that blade, how close Pop come to my

hand.

“That’swhatyoukeepinyourpouch?”Iasked.I’dnoticedhissmallpouchwhen

Iwasfourorfive,andI’daskedhimwhathekeptinit.Henevertoldme.

Popsmiled.

“Notthat,”hesaid.“Butclose.”

Whenthatnextlogsplit,IlookedupatPopandshook,feltthatsplinteringin

mybaseballknees,mybatspine,mygloveofaskull.Wonderedwhatpowerhehad

runningthroughhim.Whereitcomefrom.

IlaymyheadontheseatinLeonie’scar,rubbingthepouchPopgaveme,and

wonderifheevergaveasmallsack,fullofthingstobalance,toanyoneelse.His

brother,Stag?Mam?UncleGiven?OreventheboyRichie?AndthenIhearPop:

Richie wasn’t built for work. He wasn’t built for nothing, really, on account he was so

young.Heain’tknowhowtoworkahoe,didn’thaveenoughyearsinhisarmsformuscle,

ortoknowhowtobreaktheearthgood,ortopullwithjustenoughpowertocleanthebolls

fromaplantinsteadofleavinglittlehalftuftsofwhite,rippingthecottonintwo.Hewasn’t

likeyou;youalreadyfillingout,gettinglongerthroughtheshoulders,longerintheleg.You

builtlikeme,likemypapa—goodstock.Butwhoeverhisdaddywasmusthavebeenskinny,

weak-muscled.Maybeshort.Hewasabadworker.Itriedtohelphim.Triedtobreakhis

linewhenhewashoeing,digalittledeeperinhisgrooves.Reachoverandcleanhisplants

betterwhenwewasharvesting.Pullhisweeds.Andmine.Andforawhile,afewmonths,it

worked.Iwasabletosavehim,kepthimfromgettingbeat.IworkedmyselfsohardIwas

sleepbeforemybodyevenhitmybunk.Sleeponthefall.Ikeptmyeyesontheground.

Ignoredthesky, all thatopen spacepushing down thatmade feargatherin my chest, a

bloatedandcroakingtoad.ButthenoneSundaywhenwewasdoinglaundry,scrubbing

ourclothesonthewashboardswithsoapthatwassoweakeverythingsmelledalittleless

likewet-stinkbutstilldidn’tsmellgood,KinnieWagnerrodebywiththedogs.

Kinniewastheinmatecaretakerforthedogs.Hewasalegendeventhen.Iknewabout

Kinnie.Allofusdid.TheysangsongsabouthiminthehillcountryofTennessee,down

throughtheDelta,allthewaytothecoast.Hebootleggedandbrawledandstoleandkilled.

HadthetruestshotIeversaw.Eventhoughhe’dalreadyescapedParchmanonce,andone

ofthembreak-proofprisonsinTennessee,too,theystillputhimoverthedogs.Eventhough

heputmorethanonelawmaninthedirt.PoorWhitepeopleallthroughtheSouthloved

himforit,lovedhimforspittingintheeyeofthelaw.Forblindingit.Forbeinglawlessin

thelawlessSouth,whichwasworsethanthefrontier,forstandinglikeDavidinanOld

Testamentplace,where,foracenturybeforeParchman,lawhadbeenmetedoutlikethis,

Jojo:eyeforaneye,toothfortooth,handforhand,footforfoot.Ithinkeventhesergeants

respectedhim.Anyway,Kinnieandsomeofthemenhe’dchosentohelphimwasontheir

wayto drill thedogs,totraintoscent.And one ofthementhatranwiththe dogs was

dragging.Maybehewassick.Maybehehadbeenwhipped.Idon’tknow.Buttheshortman

fell,andhisdogsbrokeloose,ranawayfromhisdusted-overface,hisrecedingbelly,and

rantome.Hoppedaroundmelikebigbarkingrabbits.Lettheytonguehang.Kinnie,who

wasabigWhiteman,sixfootthree,probablydamnnearthreehundredpounds,laughed.

ToldtheBlackmanonhiskneesintheclay:Nigger,youmoretroublethanyouworth.And

thenpointedoneofthembigsausagefingersatmeandsaid:Youlookskinnyenough.Ihung

thepantsIwaswringingonthelineonthewayovertohim.TookasmuchtimeasIcould,

because he was the type of man who expected me to run. To look at his big, healthy

whitenessinawe.WhenIcame,thedogscamewithme,earsflopping,bigblackeyesrolling.

Happyaspigsinshit.Canyourun,boy?Kinniesaid.Ilookedupathim;hishorsewasbig

anddarkbrown,butwitharedtinge.Lookedlikeyoucouldseethebloodboilingjustunder

hiscoat, ariverofbloodboundby skin,knittogetherwithmuscle and bone.I’dalways

wantedahorselikethat.IstoodcloseenoughtoKinniesoheknowI’dcome,butfarenough

away he couldn’t kick me. Yes, I said. Kinnie laughed again, but there was a knife

underneath,becausethenheturnedthemblueeyesonmeandsaid,Butdoyouknowyour

place?Shiftedhisriflesothemuzzlewasfacingme.AgreatblackCyclopseye.Ilethim

thinkwhathewouldaboutmyplace,butIsaid:Yes,sir.Andhatedmyselfalittlebitfor

sayingit.Oneofthedogslickedmyhand.Theylikeyou,Kinniesaid,andIneedmyself

anotherdogtrusty.Ididn’tsaynothing.Animalshadalwayscometome.Mamasaidone

timesheleftmewrappedinabasketonthechickenstumpoutinthebackwhenIwasa

littlebaby,notmorethanamonth,and steppedinsideto getasharpeningstone forher

knife;whenshecameout,oneofthegoatswaslickingmyfaceandmyhand.Likeitknew

me.SoIjustlookedatthetopofKinnie’shead,hisbushyblondhair.Helookedatmyneck,

andhesaid:Comeon.Andturnedhishorseandkicked,andtookoff.

Once,wetrackedagunmanthroughtenmilesofswamptoanabandonedcabin,andI

sawKinnie putabulletthroughthat runninggunman’sheadattwo hundred yards:the

gunman’sskullburst.Kinniehadkilledhimasthesunwasgoingdown,sowecampednext

toastream.Thecloudsrolledin,andthenightwastwiceblackandfoggedwithmosquitoes.

We’dsmoked the fire; allthe inmates working withKinnieand the dogsleanedin to it.

EveryonebutmeandKinnie.Imuddedmyselftohelpwiththebites.Thesmokeboiledhis

face,meltedittonothing,butIstillfelthimwatchingmeinthedarkness.Knewitwhenhe

stoppedhisstoryabouthowawomansheriffhadcaughthiminArkansas,senthimbackto

Parchmanthislasttime,andthensaid:Icouldneverhurtawoman;theyknewthat.And

thenhisgazeisonme.Ilookedrightback.Everybodygotaline—somethingtobreakthem,

hesaid.IthoughtaboutRichiescrawlingthroughthedirtwithhishoe.Everybody,Kinnie

said,andspatchewintothefire.

*

WhenI wake up,it’s midmorning, andLeoniedone pulled offthe highway. The

atlassaysweshouldtakeHighway49allthewayup,deepernorth,intotheheartof

Mississippi,andthengetoffanddriveawaystogettothejail,whichLeoniehas

marked on the state map with a black star, but we’re not following the map

anymore.We pass a grocerystore,abutcher.Asaggingbuildingwithaflatroof

andafadedsign:LumberWholesale.Thebuildingsthinandthetreesthickenuntil

we’reata stop signandthere’snothing but trees,and whenwe rollthroughthe

intersection,theroadturnstodirtandrocks.

“Yousureyouknowwherewegoing?”LeonieasksMisty.

“Yeah,I’msure,”Mistysays.It’sstoppedraining,andtheairisfuzzywithfog.

Mistyrollsdownthewindowandholdshercellphoneout.Asidefromthechug

andpullofLeonie’scar,it’squiet;thetreesarestillandtall.Totheleftofthecar,

thetrunksarebrownandhealthy,theundergrowthsparse.Totherightofthecar,

the forest looks recently burned. The trunks are black halfway up, and the

undergrowthisthickandbrightgreen.Iwonderatthestillnessofitall.Wearethe

onlyanimalsrootingthrough.

“Ain’tshitouthere,”Leoniesays.

“IfIcouldgetasignal,Icouldcallhimandeaseyourmind,butwetoofarout.”

Mistywipesherphoneonhershirtandslidesitintoherpocket.“Ibeenherebefore

withBishop.IknowwhereI’mgoing.”

“Wherewegoing?”Iaskthefrontofthecar.Leoniehalfturns,soIcanseeher

frownatMistybeforesheturnstotheroad.

“Gottostopforaminute.See somefriends,”Mistythrowsoverhershoulder.

“Thenwegettingbackontheroad.”

Weroundabendandthereisagapinthetrees,andsuddenlyweareamonga

littleclusterofhouses.SomehavesidinglikeMamandPop’s,somehaveinsulation

paper and no siding. One is an RV that looks years off the road, with wisteria

draping along the top and crawling down the side. It’s like the thing has green,

livinghair.Chickensruninbunchesasadog,apitbullwithgray-bluefuranda

gapingmaw,chasesthem.Thechickensscatter.Aboy,probablyfour,issittingon

thegroundinfrontoftheporchstepsofahousewithnosiding,andheisstabbing

the mud with a stick. He wears a baby’sonesie that fits him like a shirt, yellow

underwear,andnoshoes.HewipeshishandacrosshisfaceasLeoniecomestoa

stopandturnsofftheengine,anditturnshisskinfrompalemilktoblack.

“ToldyouIknewwherewewasgoing,”Mistysays.“Blowthehorn.”

“What?”

“Blowthehorn.Ain’tnowayI’mgettingoutofthiscarwiththatdogrunning

loose.” Leonie blows, and the dog, who has stopped chasing the chickens and

trottedaroundtothecartosniffthetiresandpeeonthem,beginstobark.Iknow

whathesays.Getout.Inhale.Getout!Inhale.Trespasser,getout!Kaylawakesupand

startstocry.

“Takeherout,”Leoniesays,soIunbuckleher.

The little White boy waves his stick in the air, and then grabs it with both

hands,pointingitlikearifle.Hisblondhairstickstohishead,curlsintohiseyes

likeworms.“Powpow,”hesays.Heisshootingatus.

Leoniecranksthecar.

“Wedon’tneedthis—”

“Yes,wedo.Cutitoff.Blowthehornagain.”

Leonie compromises. She doesn’t cut the car off, but she does blow the horn

again,onelong,loudhonkthatmakesKaylacryharderandburrowintomychest.

Itrytoshushher,butshecan’thearmeoverthebarkingdog,theshootingboy,the

silenceinthatclearinginthepines,asoundasheavyandloudastheothers,but

not.IwanttojumpoutofthecarwithKayla,andIwanttooutrunthatboyand

hisdogandthatfakegun,andIwanttowalkusallthewayhome.Myinsidesfeel

liketheywanttofight.

AWhitewomanstepsoutthedoorofthehousewithnosiding,stepspastthe

dirt-faced child. Their hair is the same blondish-reddish color, with the same

curliness.Hers is long, down toher waist, andexcept for hernose, whichseems

swolleninherfaceandburnsred,she’sprettierthanMisty.She’salsobarefoot.Her

toesarepink.Shecoughs,and it sounds like ascraping in herthroat, and walks

towardthecar.Thedogrunsuptoher,butsheignoresit.Atleastitstopsbarking.

Mistyopensthecardoorandsticksthetophalfofherbodyoutwhileholdingon

totheframe.

“Hey,bitch!”Mistysays,likeit’satermofendearment.Thewomansmilesand

coughsatthesametime.Themistissettlinglikedewonherhair,turningitwhite.

“Toldyouwewascoming.”Theboyisstillshootinguswithhisstickgunwhilethe

doglickshisface.Iwanttorunbackhome.Leoniedragsherhandthroughthehair

overherrightear,scratchingatherscalp.Shedoesthiswhensheisnervous.You

going to makeyourself bleed,Mam told her once, butI don’tthink Leonie realizes

whenshedoesit.Shescrapessoharditsoundslikenailspulledovercanvas.Misty

ishuggingthewoman,whoisstaringintothecar.WhenLeonieopensherdoorand

stepsoutandsayshey,IbarelyhearitoverKayla’scrying.Shescratchesagain.The

littleboyhopsuptheconcretestepsanddisappearsintothehouse.WhenLeonie

walksuptothewomanandallthreeofthembegintalkingtoeachother,herhands

hangweak-jointedathersides.

*

Thefloorsareuneven.Theyarehighestinthemiddleofeachroominthenaked

house,andthenslopedowntothefourshadow-sheathedcorners.Theinsideofthe

houseisdimthroughtheporch,whichiscrowdedwithboxessoallthat’sleftisa

walkwayintothelivingroom,whichisalsodimandcrowdedwithboxes.Thereare

twosofashereandonerecliner,andthisiswheretheshootingboysits.Heiseating

apicklePopsicle.ThetelevisionsitsontopofaboxinsteadofaTVstand,andit’s

playingsomesortofrealityshowaboutpeoplewhobuyislandstobuildresorts.

“Throughhere,”thewomansaystoMistyandLeonie,whofollowbehind.Leonie

stopsmewitharaisedarminthelivingroom.

“Y’allstayhere,”shesaysbeforeleaningforwardtotouchKayla’snosewithher

pointerfingerandsmile.Kayla’sfaceisstillwetwithtears,butsheissniffingand

holdingontomyneckandstaringattheshootingboyasifthereissomethingshe

wantstosaytohim,soIletherdown.“I’mserious,”Leoniesays,andthenfollows

thewomanandMistyintothekitchen,whichisthebrightestroominthehouse,lit

by a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, laden with bulbs. There is a curtain

hangingover the doorway,and the womanpullsit halfwayshutand coughs and

motionsatthetableforMistyandLeonietosit.Sheopenstherefrigerator.Isiton

theedgeofthesofasoIcanwatchtheshootingboyinthearmchairandKayla,who

issquattingfeetbeforehimwithherhandsinherlap,andthegapinthecurtain

wherethewomensitinthekitchen.

“Hi,”Kaylasays,drawingthewordoutsothatit’stwolongsyllables,hervoice

rollingupanddownahill.It’sthesamethingshesaystoherbabydollwhenshe

picksitupfirstthinginthemorning,thesamethingshesaystothehorseandthe

pigandthegoat,thesamethingshesaystothechickens,thesamethingshesaysto

Leoniewhenshefirstseesher.ThesamethingshesaystoPop.Shewon’ttalkmuch

toMam:whenIcarryherintheroomtoseeMam’sstillbody,Kaylashrinksinto

mychestandshoulder,putsonherbraveface,andafterfiveminutesofcringing

awayfromMamandsayingshhhhwithherfingerinfrontofherlips,shesaysout.

Sheneversayshellotome.Shejustsitsuporcrawlsovertomeandputsherarms

aroundmyneckandsmiles.

TheboylooksatKaylalikeshe’shisdog,andKaylahopscloser.

“Hi,”shesaysagain.Thereisawormofsnotrunningdowntheboy’sface.He

jumpsuptostandintherecliner,andseemstomakeadecisionbecausehesmiles,

andhisteethareallcappedwithsilver,themetalstoppingthemfromrottingout

ofhismouth.Hebeginsjumpinginthechairlikeit’satrampoline,andafewofthe

boxesstackedtothesideofthechairwobble.

“Don’tgetupthere,Kayla.”They’llbothfallout.Iknowit.Kaylaignoresmeand

swingsonelegupandpullsherselfintothechair,wherethetwobegintalkingto

eachotherandjumping,havingaconversation.Icatchwords:chair,TV,candy,all

gone,move.Icupmyhandaroundmyear,lookatthewomeninthekitchen,watch

thewaytheirmouthsmove,andtrytohear.

“Iwassleep.That’swhyIdidn’theary’allatfirst.Weallbeensickbackhere.”

“It’stheweather,”Mistysays.“Onedayit’sfreezing,thenextit’sintheeighties.

DamnMississippispring.”

Thewomannods,drinksaplasticcupofsomething,clearsherthroat.

“WhereFred?”Mistyasks.

“Outback,working.”

“Businessstillgood?”

“It’sbooming,baby,”thewomansays,thencoughs.

Leonieisworryingthetablewithherhands.

“Thewarmeritgets,thebetteritgets.”

“Youstillgotme?”Mistysays.

Thewomannods.

“Y’allwantsomethingtodrink?”sheasks.

“Yougotacolddrink?”Mistyasks.ThewomanhandsheraSprite.Iremember

howthirstyIam,butIwon’tsayanything.Leoniewouldkillme.

“No thanks,” Leonie says, and the only reason I know it’s what she’s said is

becauseIreadherlipsandtheshakeofherhead.Shespeakssolow.

“Yousure?”Mistyasksher.

Leonieshakesherhead.

“Weneedtogetbackontheroadsoon.”

Therearecasesofcolddrinksstackedupagainstthewall:CokeandDrPepper

andBarq’sandFanta.Whenwedroveup,Ineverwouldhaveimaginedthismuch

plentyinonehouse:itisstuffedwithit,somuchfoodandsomanythings,somuch

bulk—casesofsoup,casesofcrackers,casesoftoiletpaperandpapertowels,three

microwaves still in thebox, rice cookers, waffle makers, pots. Somuch food the

boxesofitreachtotheceilinginthelivingroom,somanyappliances,theyareas

tallasthelightsinthekitchen.Iamhungryandthirsty:mythroataclosinghand,

mystomachaburningfist.AndLeonieatthetable,Leoniewhodoesn’tusuallycare

whetherweacceptfoodwhenit’soffered,Leoniewhonormallywilltakeeverything

giventoherwithanopenhand—nowshesaysno.Now,whenthegoatandriceI

ateissiltinmygut.

Thewomancrossesherarmoverherchestandfrowns.She’stryingtokeepthe

coughsinside,buttheycomeoutinsputters.Sheshakesherhead,andIknowwhat

she’sthinkingbecauseIcanseeitinthewayshe’sstandingandstaringatLeonie.

Rude.

*

IfPopwashere,hewouldn’tcallthisboynorascal.Wouldn’tcallhimascalawag,

neither.Andhedefinitelywouldn’tcallhimboy.He’dcallhimbadass.Becauseheis.

He’stiredofplayingKayla’sgameofchase,sohe’sstoppedrunning.Hecrouchesin

frontofthetelevision,turnsononeofhisfourgamesystems,andbeginsplayinga

game.It’sGrandTheftAuto,andhedoesn’tknowhowtoplayit.Hedrivesthecar

overmedians,intostores,getsoutofthecaratstoplights,andruns.Kaylaisbored.

Shewalksbackovertomeandclimbsintomylap,grabbingabunchofmyshirt,

andbeginstalkingtomeseriouslyaboutwantingjuiceandgrahamcrackers,soI

can’tseethewomen,can’tseetheglassofwaterthatLeoniedrinksnowthatshe’s

been bullied into accepting something, can’t see Misty and the woman leaning

towardeach other over the table,whisperingtoeachother.Drawingpictureson

thetablewiththeirfingers.

Theboyisscreamingatthetelevision.Hisvideogamehasfrozen.

“No!No!”heyellsinavoicethatsoundslikehisnoseisstuffedwithsnot.

Theboy’scarhassailedoffaroadthatwindsaroundacliff.Thecarhasjumped

the railing but is frozen in the air. The car is red with a white stripe down the

middleofit,splittingitintwo.Theboypunchesthebuttonsonthecontrols,but

thegamedoesnothing.

“Takeitout,”thewomanyellsfromthetable.

“No!”

“Startitover,”thewomansays,andthenbendstowardMistyagain.

Theboythrowsthecontrolleratthetelevision.Ithitsandclatterstothefloor.

Hebendsandbeginsfiddlingwiththegamestation,pressingbuttons,butnothing

changes.

“Don’twanttolosemyspot!”heyells.

Thewomenignorehim.

Kaylajumpsupfrommylapandbendstopickupablueplasticballfromthe

floor,aboutthesizeoftwoofherfists,andstartsplayingwithit.

“Ifyoutakeitout,itwon’tloseyourspot.It’llsaveit,”Isay.

I know this not because I have agame systembut becauseI playedMichael’s

whenhelivedwithus,soIknowhowtheywork.Hetookitwithhimwhenheleft.

Theboyignoresme.Hemakesasoundhalfwaybetweenacryandagrowlinhis

throat,somethinggurglingandwhiny,andwhenhecomesupinfrontoftheshelf

of game systems, he doesn’t stand or turn around and begin playing with Kayla

again.Hedoesn’tgrabanotherballoffthefloor,ablackoneoragreenoneorared

one,allthatIcansee,androllonetowardus.HestandsupandpunchestheTV.

Hehitsitwithhisrighthandfirst,thenhisleft,andthenhisright,windmillinghis

arms so that his small fists connect with the plastic so hard it sounds like it’s

cracking.Itiscracking.Hisfisthitsagainandthereisafireworkonthecarthat

burstsandstays,oneshotthroughwithwhiteandyellowandred.Hehitswithhis

leftanditdoesnothing,butthenhehitswithhisrightagainandthereisanother

fireworkburstonthecar.Itstays.

“Whatareyoudoing?”thewomanyellsfromthekitchen.She’shalfrisenfrom

thetable.“Youbetternotbemessingwiththemboxesagain!”

Theboyhitsagainwithhisleft.Nothing.

“What I say!” the woman yells, and she’s all the way standing now. The boy

bendstothefloor,grabsaT-ballbat,andswings.There’saloudcrunch,thesound

ofglassandplasticcracking,and for one moment, the entirecar is one brilliant

burst of fireworks, and then the TV winks black, and there is nothing on the

screen, but before the screen there are the woman and the boy. She stalks past

Kayla, who runs and launches herself into my lap and grabs my shirt with both

hands,andcornerstheboyinfrontoftheTV.Heturnswiththebatandwhacks

herontheleftlegwithit.

“MotherFUCK!”shehalfcoughsandscreams,andthenshegrabsthebatfrom

him.She picksuptheboybyone armandholdsthebat with anotherandyells,

“What did you do?” Each word is a swing. Each swing makes the boy run. He

shrieks.“Whatdidyoudo!”

Theboy’slegsareredwherevershehitshimwiththebat.Helapsthewoman

likeahorseonamerry-go-round,hisfacelikethat:openmouth,grimace,rictus.

Shehitshimsomanytimes,hiscrygoessilent,butthatmouthisstillopen.Iknow

whatheissaying:Pain,please,nomorepain,please.Thewomandropsthebatandthe

boy’s arm all at once, the bat dropping in a straight line to the floor, the boy

saggingintoaheap.

“Waittillyourdaddycomeouttheshed.He’sgoingtokillyou.”

LeoniewalksacrossthelivingroomandtakesKaylafromme.Whenshetalks,

shelooksatMisty,whostillstandsinthedoorwayofthekitchen,holdingbackthe

sheet.

“Wereallygottogetbackontheroadsoon.”

“He’llbeinsoon,”thewomanpants.

“Y’allgotabathroom?”Iask.

“It’sbroke,”thewomansays.She’ssweatingandwipingherhairbackawayfrom

herface.“Weusethetoiletintheshed,butifyougottopee,it’sbestyoujustgodo

itoutintheyard.”

WhenIwalkout,theboyhascrawledbackintohisrecliner,andhehascurled

himselfintoaballandiscryingnoisytears.KaylareachesformewhenIopenthe

door,butLeonieholdsherinatighthugandwalksbackintothekitchenwithher,

awayfromthecryingboyandtheshatteredtelevision,asifthatiswhatsheneeds

toprotectKaylafrom.Thewomanisalreadythere,drinkingacolddrink,shaking

her head. “This the second one he done did that to,” she says. “It’s called birth

control,”saysMisty.Thewomancoughs.

*

Thefrontyardisstillcloakedinmist,stillempty.Thedoghasdisappeared,butmy

handsstillburnwhenIruntothecar,thesweatcominginspikeswiththefearof

teeth.Nothingchasesmetothecar,whereIopenthedoorsonthedriver’ssideto

makeashieldandpeebythedriver’sseat.IhalfhopeLeoniewillstepinit.Izip

andeasethedoorsshut,wonderwhereallthepeoplethatliveinthissmallcircleof

housesare.NothingcomesformewhenIglanceatthehouse,studytheclosedfront

door,orwhenIcreeparoundtheback.Thereisashedthere,brownwithadarktin

roof,paperedlikethehousewithweatherproofingliner,butnosiding.Thereisa

light coming through slits in one of the windows, which have been blacked out

withaluminumfoil.Someoneislisteningtocountrymusicinside,andwhenIput

myeyetotheslit,Iseeashirtlessmanwithabeard.Heistattooed,likeMichael,

but has shaved his head. There are tables with glass beakers and tubes and five-

gallonbucketsonthegroundandemptycold-drinkliterbottles,andIknowI’ve

seen this before, know that smell because when Michael built his lean-to in the

woodsbehindMamandPop’shouse,itlookedandsmelledlikethis.Thereasonhe

andLeoniefought,thereasonheleft,thereasonhe’sinjail.Themaniscooking,

moves as easy and sure as a chef, but there is nothing to eat here. My stomach

burns. I sneak back around to the front of the house, fingeringPop’s bag in my

pocket,wonderingifthattoothisaraccoon’s,ifitmakesmesoquietandquick

thateventhedogwon’thearmewhenIcirclearoundtothefrontofthehouseand

easeinside.

Whenweleavefifteenminuteslater,I’mnotnervousandIdon’tsweat.Misty’s

tryingtoactlikeshe’snotholdingapaperbagtuckedintoaplasticbag,herarm

straightas a yardstickat herside,the bag crinklingandhissing when shewalks.

Leonie looks everywhere but at Misty. She doesn’t hand Kayla off, but instead

bucklesKaylainherself.Whenwepullawayfromthatsadcircleofhouseswithall

thatplentyinside,Misty isbentdownfiddlingwithLeonie’sfloormats,and the

bagdisappears.IslideapackofsaltinesandtwobottlesofjuiceIstoleoutofthat

houseintomyownplasticbag.Afterweleavethehalf-burntroomofpinetrees,

andwe’rebackonpavementandthehighway,Leonieturnsontheradioandletsit

playlouderthansheeverhas.Iopenmystolenbottleanddrinkthejuicedown,

thenpourhalftheotherbottleintoKayla’ssippycup.IhandonecrackertoKayla

andslideoneintomymouth.Weeatlikethat:oneformeandoneforher.Iletthe

saltinesturnmealyandsoggy on my tongue beforechewing and swallowing so I

don’tcrunch.Iamsilentandstealthyinanotherway.Neitherofthewomeninthe

frontseatpayusanyattention.WhenIeatanddrink,Ihavenevertastedanything

sogood.

Chapter4

Leonie

ThenightofJojo’sbirthday,Mistysaid:Ifwedothis,thetrip’spaidfor.Andthen:

You and Michael could have enough for a deposit. Y’all could get your own place. You

alwayssaytheproblemisy’allparents.Yours’causeyoulivewiththem;hisbecausethey’re

assholes.Givenwasevenmorestillwhenshesaidthat,likestone.ThroughMisty’s

narrowkitchenwindow,Icouldseethetopsofthetreesturningfromadarkvelvet

graytoorange,frompalestorangetoapinkthecoloroftheinsideofmymouth.

HowyouthinkIpaidforallmytripsuptoBishop?Fromtips?Sheshookherheadand

snorted.Youbettertakeadvantage.

IhearthemfourwordsoverandoveragainwhenwegetinthecarandIwatch

Misty put the package in the pocket under the floorboards. You better take

advantage.Shesaidthemwordsasthoughdecisionshavenoconsequences,when,of

course,it’sbeeneasierforher.Thewayshesaidit,takeadvantage,mademewantto

slapher.Herfreckles,herthinpinklips,herblondhair,thestubbornmilkinessof

herskin;howeasyhaditbeenforher,herwholelife,tomaketheworldafriendto

her?

BeforeMichaelwenttojail,heinstalledtheenvelopeinthebottomofmycar.

Heelevatedthecaronajackandcrawledunderneathwithhisweldingtools,and

he cut what looked to be a perfect square in the floor of the car, then inserted

anotherpieceofmetalwithahinge,fixedthehinge,andthenweldedthebottomof

thecarbacktogether.Twodoors,he’dsaid,andthenkissedmetwice.Onetohold,

andtheothertoletitgo.IfIneedto.He’dbeenhomefromtheoilrigforsixmonths

bythen,andwe’dhadtomovebackinwithMamaandPop.We’drunthroughthe

moneyhesaved,plushisseverance.He’dworkedontheDeepwaterHorizonasarig

welder.Afteritblewup,hecamehomewithhisseverancemoneyandnightmares.

Atthetime,I’dtalkedhimintobuyingafull-sizebedforustoshareinournew

apartment,sonomatterhowwemoved,Isaid,we’dsleepclose,soeverytimehekicked

inhissleep,everytimehetwitchedormumbledandthrewuphisarms,drawing

backfromsomething,Iwoke.I’dspentthedaysaftertheaccidentwithJojointhe

house watching CNN, watching the oil gush into the ocean, and feeling guilty

becausethat’s not whatI wanted to see, guilty because I didn’t give ashit about

those fucking pelicans, guilty because I just wanted to see Michael’s face, his

shoulders,hisfingers,guiltybecauseallIcaredaboutwashim.He’dcalledmenot

longafterthestorybrokeonthenews,toldmehewassafe,buthisvoicewastiny,

corrodedbystatic,unreal.Iknewthosemen—allelevenofthem.Livedwiththem,he

said.Whenhecamehome,Iwashappy.Hewasn’t.Whatwesupposedtodo?heasked,

takingtwobitesofhisgritsbeforeleavingthemtojellyonhisplate.We’llfigureit

out, I said. When he started getting skinny, I thought it was because of his

nightmares.Whenhischeekbonesstartedstandingoutonhisfacelikerocksunder

water,Ithought it wasbecause hewas stressedout overmoney. When hisspine

rose under his skin, a line of knuckles punching up his back, I thought it was

becauseofhisgriefandthefacthecouldn’tfindanotherweldingjobanywherein

MississippiorAlabamaorFloridaorLouisianaortheGulfofMexico.ButlaterI

foundoutthetruth.Later,Ilearnedhe’dfiguredeverythingoutwithoutme.

“Youdon’thavetobesonervous,”Mistysays.

“I’mnotnervous.”

“Thisain’tthefirsttimeIdonethis.”

“Iknow.”

“I’mtalkingaboutwithBishop.”

Misty’ssippingononeofthecolddrinksshetookfromherfriends’house.The

woman’snamewasCarlotta,andherhusband,theonewhocookedandgaveusthe

bag,wasFred.

“FirsttimeIdidthiswaswhenIwasvisitingSonny,myex.”

“That’showyouknowthem?”

“Yeah.FirsttimeIdidit,Iwasscaredtodeath.Likeyou.Butthenafterthat,

eachtimewaseasier.”

Iglanceintherearviewmirror.Michaela’sshovingablueballinhermouthand

babblingaroundtheballatherbrother,whoistryingtocoaxitawayfromher,his

faceveryclosetohers,hisvoicelowandserious:“No,don’tputthatinyourmouth,

Kayla;it’snastyanddonebeenonthefloor.”Michaelagrinsandspitstheballinhis

hand and begins clapping and saying: “Nasty, that’s nasty.” Jojo looks like he’s

payingallhisattentiontoMichaela,butIknowhe’snot.There’ssomethingabout

thewayheleans,abouthowhesaysthesamethingtoMichaela,again,“Thatfloor

wasnasty,”thatmakesmerealizehe’slisteningtowhatwe’resaying,evenashe’s

tryingtolooklikehe’snot.MeandMistyalreadytalkedaboutitwhenIpickedher

up:we’renotgoingtorefertoitbyname,notgoingtouseanywordsthathintto

what’s in thebag, whatwe’re sneakingnorth with us: meth, crystal, crank. We’d

talkaroundit,avoiditlikeabadcustomerinthebarwho’stoodrunkformore,

whosmellslikesweetalcoholfermentinganddiesel,yetkeepsgrabbingmyhand

whenIwalkby,sayingsomethingfuckeduptomelike:Onemore,yousweetBlack

bitch.Andwhenwehavetocallitsomeothername,we’regoingtocallitthemost

embarrassingthingwecansoJojowillloseallinterest.

“Ifwegetpulledoverandtheyfindthosegoddamntampons,Misty,I’mgoingto

killyou.”

I figure that will make Jojo stop listening. Never mind the fact that the

statementdoesn’tmakeanysense.He’saboy,andperiodsareoneofthosethings

about the human body he most likes to ignore: kidney stones, pimples, boils.

Cancer.

“Jojo,Ineedtheatlas.”

I’m right. He jerks when I say this before rooting around for the book and

handingitovertheseattome,tryingtofindmyeyesintherearviewmirror.When

hisbrowndon’tfindmyblack,Mistytakesitfromhim.Heshrinksbackintothe

backseat,stilllookingatthefloor.Michaelacallshim,“Jojo,”andheleanstoward

heragain.

“Wherearewe?”Iask.

“I’mlooking,”Mistymumbles.

I look for mile markers. We stopped at Carlotta and Fred’s just north of

Hattiesburg,innorthForrestCounty.

“Mendenhall.We’reinMendenhall,”Mistysays.There’sastoplightaheadofus,

soIslow.She’snotlookingattheatlas.

“Howyouknowthat?”

Mistypointsup,andthere’sabillboard.Mendenhall,itreads,HomeofMississippi’s

MostBeautifulCourthouse.

“Iwanttoseeit.”

Thelightturnsgreen.Isteponthegas.

“Idon’t.”

“Whynot?Whatifit’sreallypretty?”

Inthebackseat,Jojoismovinghismoutharoundlikehe’schewingsomething.

He looks away from Michaela and up to me, and his eyes dark as mine. I was

smallerwhenIwashisage,weedier,moredelicateatmyjointsandbones.Helooks

like Given, but he never jokes. Sometimes, when Jojo’splaying withMichaela or

sittinginMama’sroomrubbingherhandsorhelpingherturnoverinthebed,I

lookathimandseeahungrygirl.

“Ibetithasbigcolumnsandeverything.ProbablyevenbiggerthanBeauvoir,”

Mistysays.

“No,”Isay,andleaveitatthat.

Michaelneverusedtowritemeanythingabouttheviolenceinjail,thosethings

thathappenedinthedeadofnightindarkcornersandlockedrooms:thestabbings

andthehangingsandtheoverdosesandthebeatings.ButItoldhimhehadtotell

me.Inaletter,Isaid:Ifyoudon’ttellmewhat’sgoingon,Iimaginetheworst.Sointhe

next letter, he told me about somebody getting jumped in the showers, beaten

purple and black. In the one after, he told me how his cellmate started messing

with one of the female guards, how they snuck around and have sex in the jail,

hunching like rodents. Bent on procreating. And in the next letter, he told me

about the guards beating an eighteen-year-old boy who had been convicted of

kidnapping and strangling a five-year-old girl in a trailer park. They heard him

screamingandthennothing,andthengotwordhebledtodeathlikeapiginhis

cell.That,IwanttosaytoMisty,isyourprettycourthouse.ButIdon’tsayanything.I

watch the road roll out before me like a big black ribbon and I think about

Michael’slastletterbeforehetoldmehewascominghome:Thisain’tnoplaceforno

man.BlackorWhite.Don’tmakenodifference.Thisaplaceforthedead.

*

Michaela’ssick.Shewasquietforthefirsthourafterweleftthehouse,butthenshe

startedcoughing,andthetailendofthecoughcaughtinherthroatandshegagged.

Forthepastthirtyminutes,she’sbeencryingandfightingwithherseatbelt,trying

togetout.IhandapalmfulofnapkinstoJojo,andeveryothertimeIlookinthe

rearview mirror, I see him bending over her, frowning, wiping at her drooling

mouth.Thenapkinssoakinseconds.Weweresupposedtodrivetherestoftheway

todayandstaywithMichaelandBishop’slawyerinthenexttownoverfromthe

jail,butallhercryingismakingmefeellikesomeoneissqueezingmybrain,tighter

andtighter.Ican’tbreathe.Thenshecoughsandgagsagain,andIlookbackand

the front of her is orange and mauve. She’s thrown up all her puffy Cheetos,

digestedsoggy,allherlittlecarefulbitesofherhamsandwich.Themeathasturned

what isn’t yellow pink. Jojo is holding napkins in both hands, frozen. He looks

scared.Michaelacriesharder.

“Wegottastop,”IsayasIpulloverontheshoulderoftheroad.

“Oh shit,” Misty says, and waves her hand in front of her mouth like she’s

shooingawaygnats.“Thatsmellisgoingtomakemethrowup.”

Iwanttoslapher,eventhoughthesmellofthestomachacid,harshandintense

inthesmallcar,makesmefeelqueasy,too.Wanttoyellather:Bitch,howyouwork

aroundallthemdrunksandcan’tstandalittlethrow-up?ButIdon’t.Oncewe’reonthe

side of the road, and I’m swiping globs of the vomit away with the napkins I

snatchedfromJojo,thequeasinessturnsflipsandsomersaultsinmystomachlikea

kidonatrampoline.Jojodoesn’tlookscaredanymore.Heputsbothhandsinthe

vomitcascadingdownMichaela’sfrontandunbucklesherchestharness.Shepauses

inherfranticstraining,herlittlechestpushedoutagainstthebeltagaintogivea

thank-youcrybeforeshestartspullingatthelapbuckle,anxiousforhimtoundo

that,too,tofreeher.He’sfrowning.Heunbucklesthelastbuckleandpullsherout,

andbeforeIevenhave amomenttoadmonish him,tosayhis namesharply,say

“Jojo,” Michaela is smashed to his chest and her little arms are around his neck

again,the lengthofherlaid alonghim,shaking,mewling,him breathing:“It’sall

right,Kayla,it’sallright,Kayla,Jojogotyou,Jojogotyou,Igotyou,shhh.”

“Youalmostdone?”Mistyasks,tossingitoverhershouldertothebackseatlikea

pieceofgummyburgerwaxpaper.

“I’mtiredofthisshit,”Isay.Idon’tknowwhyIsayit.MaybebecauseI’mtired

ofdriving,tiredoftheroadstretchingbeforemeendlessly,Michaelalwaysatthe

oppositeendofit,nomatterhowfarIgo,howfarIdrive.Maybebecausepartof

mewantedhertoleapforme,tosmearorangevomitoverthefrontofmyshirtas

herlittletanbody soughtmine,alwayssoughtmine,ourheartsseparatedbythe

thincagesofourribs,exhalingandinhaling,ourbloodinsync.MaybebecauseI

wanthertoburrowintomeforsuccorinsteadofherbrother.MaybebecauseJojo

doesn’tevenlookatme,allhisattentiononthebodyinhisarms,thelittleperson

he’s trying to soothe, and my attention is everywhere. Even now, my devotion:

inconstant.

I mop up the rest of the slimy residue in her seat, throw the napkins on the

asphalt,takeafewbabywipes,andswipethemacrosstheseatsothatitsmellslike

stomachacidandflowerysoap.

“Itsmellsbetter,”Mistysays.She’shalfleaningoutthewindowofthecar,her

formerlyflutteringhandnowcuppedoverhernoselikeamask.

*

The drive to the next gas station seems miles, and the sun breaks through the

cloudsandbeamsdirectlyoverhead.

Whenwepullintotheparkinglotofthestation,theattendantissittingonthe

frontporchofthewoodenbuildingsmokingacigarette.Shealmostblendsinto

thewallsheleansagainst,becauseherskinisasbrownasthestainedboards.She

opensthedoorformeandfollowsmein,andthestringofsilverbellshungacross

thedoorjingles.

“Slowday,”shesaysassheslidesbehindthecounter.She’sskinny,damnnearas

thinasMama,andherbuttoned-upworkshirthangsonherlikeaflatsheetspread

todryonaclothesline.

“Yeah,” I say, and wander toward the drink coolers in the back. I palm two

bottlesofPoweradeandsetthemonthecounter.Thewomansmiles,andIrealize

she’smissinghertwofrontteeth,andascarmeandersinascratchylineacrossher

head.Iwonderifshejusthasbadteeth,orifwhoevergaveherthatforeheadscar

knockedthemout.

Misty’s walking around the parking lot, holding her phone above her head,

searchingforasignal.Allthecardoorsareopen,andJojoissittingsidewaysinthe

backwhileMichaelaclimbsoverhim,rubbingherfaceintohisneckandwhining.

Hecaressesherback,andtheirhairismoldedtotheirheads.Ipourhalfofabottle

intooneofMichaela’sjuicebottlesandholdoutmyarms.

“Giveherhere.”

“Kayla,go,”Jojosays.Heisn’tlookingatmeorthedampdayortheemptyroad,

butatKayla,whobeginstocryandgrabsathisshirtandholdssotightly,herlittle

knuckles turn white. When I pull her into my lap and sit in the front seat, she

plantsherchininherchest andsobs,hereyes closed,herfiststucked underher

chin.

“Michaela,” I say. “Come on, baby. You need to drink something.” Jojo is

standingaboveme,hishandsshovedintohispocketsashestudiesMichaela.She

doesn’thearme.Shehiccupsandwails.“Michaela,baby.”

I put the nipple of the sippy cup in her mouth, and she blocks it with her

clenchedteethandwhipsherheadtotheside.Igripherharder,tryingtoholdher

still,andherlittlemilkmusclesgiveundermyfingers,softaswaterballoons.We

wrestlelikethisasshestandsandsitsandbendsbackwardand writhesandsays

twowords,overandoveragain.

“No.Jojo.”

I’vehadenough.

“Goddamnit,Michaela!Canyougethertodrinksomeofthis?”Iask.

Jojo nods, and I’m already handing her over. Without her, my arms feel

weightless.

*

Michaeladrinksaquartercup,andthensheslumpsoverJojo’sshoulder,onearm

around his neck, rubbing. I wait fifteen minutes, and just as Misty is buckling

herselfintothedriver’sseatsowecangetbackontheroad,Michaelavomitsagain.

Itiselectricblue,thecolorofPowerade.

“Youmightaswelltakethatoff,”ItellMisty.Sherollshereyesandunbuckles

herseatbeltbeforesquattingonaparkingblockintheshadetosmokeacigarette.

“Wegoingtobehereforaminute.”

I don’t want Michaela to throw up in the car again, to retch in the backseat

whileI’mstrappedinthefront.We’djusthavetopulloveragainsoIcancleanher

up.Theheatrisesfromtheasphaltparkinglot,alongwithsteamfromtherain.Jojo

sitssideways,hisfeetontheground,Michaeladrapedoverhim.

“Youwanttolaydown,Kayla?”heasks.“Youmightfeelbetterifyoulaydown.”

Heslideshishandsunderherarmpitsandtriestoeaseheroffofhimandonto

theseat,butshestickstohim,sureasaburr:herarmsandlegsthornyandcleaving.

Hegivesupandrubsherback.

“I’msorryyoufeelsick,”Jojosays,andMichaelabeginstocry.Herubsherback

andsherubshis,andIstandthere,watchingmychildrencomforteachother.My

handsitch,wantingtodosomething.Icouldreachoutandtouchthemboth,butI

don’t.Jojolookspartbewildered,partstoic,partlikehemightstartcrying.Ineeda

cigarette. I squat next to Misty on the concrete block and bum a smoke: the

mentholshoresmeup,stackssandbagsupmyspine.Icandothis.Iwaituntilthe

nicotinelapsatmyinsideslikeaplacidlake,andthenIgobacktothecar.

“Makeherdrinkmore,”ItellJojo.

Thirtyminuteslater,shevomitsthatup.IgiveherfifteenminutesandItellJojo

again:“Makeherdrink.”EventhoughMichaelaislettingoutasteadywhinenow,

bewilderedatthecupinherbrother’shand,JojodoeswhatIask.Twentyminutes

later,shevomitsagain.Michaelaisdesolate,hangingonJojo,blinkingatmewhenI

standinsidethecardoorwithmoreelectrolytes.“Makeherdrink,”Isayagain,but

Jojositsthereasifhedoesnothearme,hisshouldershuncheduparoundhisears

likeheknowsI’moutofpatience,likeheknowsthatIwanttohithim.“Jojo,”Isay.

Heflinchesandignoresme.Michaelarubshersnottynoseandleakingmouthinhis

shoulder.“Jojo,no,”shesays.Theattendantstepsoutontotheporch,hercigarette

alreadylit.

“Y’allallright?”sheasks.

“Y’allgotsomethingforvomiting?Forkids?”

Sheshakesherhead,andherstraightenedhairfliesfreeatthetemples,waving

aroundlikeinsectantennae.

“Nope.Ownerwon’tstocknothinglikethat.Hesayonlythebasics.Butyou’dbe

surprisedhowmanypeoplecomethroughherecarsick,needingPepto-Bismol.”

Weeds are flowering in bushes at the edge of the gas station lot; purple and

yellowandwhitebloomsnodattheedgeofthepines.IpalmthebackofMichaela’s

neckwheresheslumpsoveronJojo,whoissittingonthetrunkofmycar,jiggling

hiskneeandwatchingmeandMisty,frowning.

“Holdon,”Isay,andwalkofftheparkinglotandalongthetreeline.

MamaalwaystoldmethatifIlookcarefullyenough,IcanfindwhatIneedin

the world. Starting when I was seven, Mama would lead me out in the woods

aroundthehouseforwalks,andshe’dpointoutplantsbeforediggingthemupor

strippingtheirleavesandtellingmehowtheycouldhealorhurt.Thewindmoved

highinthetrees,butnearlyeverythingwassilentbelow,exceptformeandMama,

whosaid:Thatrightthereiscowparsnip.Youcanusetheyoungleaveslikecelerywhen

youcook,buttherootsismoreuseful.Youcanmakeadecoctionforcoldandflu.Andif

youmakethemintoapoultice,youcaneaseandhealbruises,arthritis,andboils.Shedug

aroundtherootsoftheplantwithasmallshovelshecarriedonourwalks,andthen

pulledthewholeplantupbyitsleavesanddoubleditupbeforeputtingitinthe

bagshecarriedacrossherchest.Shesearchedthegrounduntilshefoundanother

plant,andsaid:Thispigweed.Ain’tgoodforanymedicine,really,butyoucancookwith

it,useitlikeyouusespinach.Gotalotofvitaminsinit,soit’sgoodforyou.Yourdaddy

likeitsautéedwithhisrice,andhesayhismamausedtomakebreadwiththeground-up

seeds.I ain’tnever tried that, though. On our way back to thehousewith the day’s

haul,shequizzedme.AsIgrewolder,itwaseasierformetoremember,toanswer

herquicklyaswepickedourwayaroundtreeroots.Wormseed,Iwouldsay.Goodfor

getting rid of worms if you use it like seasoning in food. But it was hard for me to

remembereverything.Everyday,Mamawouldpointoutaplantthathadpartsthat

couldhelpwomen,specifically,seeingashowitwasmostlywomenthatsearched

herout,needingherskillsandknowledge.She’dsay:Rememberyoucanusetheleaves

tomakeateathathelpswithcramps.Anditcouldbringonaperiod,too.I’dlookaway

androllmyeyestothepines,wishingIwereinfrontoftheTV,notouttrudging

through the woods with my mama talking about periods. But now, as I walk

through the clearing and peer into the woods, looking for milkweed, I wish I’d

listened more carefully. I wish I could remember more than the fact that it has

pinkish-purpleflowers.Andeventhoughmilkweedgrowswildonparcelsofland

like this and flowers in the spring, I don’t see its white-beaded, downy leaves

anywhere.

WhenMamafirstrealizedthatsomethingwasseriouslywrongwithherbody,

thatithadbetrayedherandturnedcancerous,shebeganbytreatingitherselfwith

herbs.I’dcomehomeonthosespringmorningstofindherbedempty.She’dbeout

in the woods, picking and slowly dragging bushels of young pokeweed shoots

behind her. Every time, she said: I’m telling you, it’s going to cure it. I’d take the

bundlesfromher,putmyarmaroundherwaist,andhelpherupthestepsandinto

thehouse,whereI’dsetherinachairinthekitchen.Iwasalwaysbuzzingfromthe

night before, sowhile Ichopped and cleaned and boiledand madepitcher after

pitcher of tea for her to drink, the high would trill through my veins like a

discordantsong.Butitdidn’tcureit.Herbodybrokedownovertheyearsuntilshe

tooktoherbed,permanently,andIforgotsomuchofwhatshetaughtme.Ilether

ideas drain from me so that the truth could pool instead. Sometimes the world

don’t give you what you need, no matter how hard you look. Sometimes it

withholds.

*

If the world were a right place, a place for the living, a place where men like

Michael didn’t end up in jail, I’d be able to find wild strawberries. That’s what

Mama would look for if she couldn’t find milkweed. I could boil the leaves at

Michael’slawyer’shouse,wherewe’restayingbeforewegopickMichaelupinthe

morning. Put a little sugar in it, a little food coloring like Mama used to do

wheneverIhadanupsetstomachasachild,andtellherit’sjuice.

Buttheworldain’tthatplace.Ain’tnowildstrawberriesatthesideoftheroad.

Itain’t boggy enough up here.Butthisworldmightbeaplacethatgives a little

lucktothesmall,sometimesshowsalittlemercy,becauseafterIwalkawhiledown

thesideoftheroadoutofsightofthegasstation,afterIleaveMistygesturingout

the window with her arm, yelling, “Fucking come on,” I find wild blackberries.

Mamaalwaystoldmetheycouldbeusedfor upsetstomach,butonlyforadults.

Butiftherewasnothingelse,shesaidIcouldmakeateaandgiveittokids.Nota

lot,Irememberhersaying.Fromtheleaves.Orwasitfromthevine?Ortheroots?

TheheatbeatsdownsohardIcan’tremember.Imissthelate-springchill.

Thisisthekindofworld itis.Thekind ofworldthatgivesyou ablackberry

plant,adoughymemory,andachildthatcan’tkeepnothingdown.Ikneelbythe

sideoftheroad,grabthethornystemsasclosetotheearthasIcangetthem,and

pull,andthevinepricksmyhand,tearsattheskin,drawsbloodintinypointsthat

smear.Mypalmsburn.Thisthekindofworld,MamatoldmewhenIgotmyperiod

whenIwastwelve,thatmakesfoolsofthelivingandsaintsofthemoncetheydead.And

devilsthemthroughout.Even thoughthe words wereharsh,I saw hope in her face

whenshesaidthem.Shethoughtthatifshetaughtmeasmuchherbalhealingas

shecould,ifshegavemeamaptotheworldassheknewit,aworldplottedorderly

bydivineorder,spiritineverything,Icouldnavigateit.ButIresentedherwhenI

wasyoung,resentedherforthelessonsandthemisplacedhope.Andlater,forstill

believingingoodinaworldthatcursedherwithcancer,thattwistedherlimpas

anolddryragandlefthertodisintegrate.

Ikneelandleanbackonmyhaunches.Thedaypulseslikeaflushvein.Wipemy

eyes,smeardirtacrossmyface,andmakemyselfblind.

Chapter5

Jojo

Kaylaneedtoeat.Icantellbythewayshekeepcrying,thewayshekeephunching

over and then knockingher headback and arching against herseat once we get

back on the road. And screaming. I can tell there’s something wrong with her

stomach.Itwon’tstophurtingher.Sheneedtoputsomethinginit,soItakeher

outandlethersitonmylap,thinkingitmightmakeherfeelbetter,butitdon’t.

Shescreamalittlesofter,hercriesalittlelesshigh-pitchedandsharp.Thepain’s

knifeedgedulls.Butshestillknocksherheadagainstmychest,andherskullfeels

thinagainstmybones,againstthestonewheremyribsmeet,herskulleasytobreak

as a ceramic bowl. Leonie done laid her plants on the armrest between her and

Misty,andminutebyminute,milebymile,thoseblackberryleavesgetmoreand

morewilted,therootsgetstringierandstringier,slingtheirdirtlooseinclumps.

Kaylagrowlsandcries.Idon’twantLeoniegivingherthat.Iknowthat’swhatshe

think she need to do, but she ain’t Mam. She ain’t Pop. She ain’t never healed

nothingorgrownnothinginherlife,andshedon’tknow.

SheboughtmeabettafishwhenIwassix,afterIkepttellingherthesamestory,

every day, about the tanks we had in my class at school, the betta fish, red and

purpleandblueandgreen,swimminglazilyinthetanks,flashingbrilliantandthen

dull. She came home with one on a Sunday, after she’d been out all weekend. I

hadn’tseenhersinceFriday,sinceshetoldMamshewasgoingtothestoretobuy

somemilkandsomesugarand didn’tcomeback.When shecameback,herskin

wasdryandflakingatthecornersofhermouth,herhairstuckoutinabushyhalo,

andshesmelledlikewethay.Thefishwasgreen,thecolorofpineneedles,andhe

hadstripesdownhistailthecolorofredmud.IcalledhimBubbyBubbles,sincehe

blewbubblesallday,andwhenIleanedoverhistank,Icouldhearhimcrunching

onthe fishfoodLeoniehad broughthomeina sample-sizebag.Iimaginedeven

thenthatonedayIcouldleanoverhisbowl,andinsteadofcrunching,littlewords

wouldpopoutthebubblesthatfizzeduptothesurface.Bigface.Light.Andlove.

Butwhenthesamplesizeoffishfoodranout,andIaskedLeonietobuymemore,

shesaidshewould,andthenforgot,againandagain,untilonedayshesaid:Give

himsomeoldbread.Ifiguredhecouldn’tcrunchlikeheneededonsomeoldbread,

soIkeptbuggingheraboutit,andBubbygotskinnierandskinnier,hisbubbles

smallerandsmaller,untilIwalkedintothekitchenonedayandhewasfloatingon

topofthewater,hiseyeswhite,aslimyscrimlikefat,novoiceinhisbubbles.

Leoniekillthings.

*

Outsidethecar,thetreesthinandchange,thetrunksshortenandtheygetfuller

andgreen,theleavesnotsharpdarkpinebutsofull,hazyalmost.Theystandin

thinlinesbetweenfields,fieldsofmuddygreen,bristlingwithlowplants.Thesky

darkens.Theforestsandfieldsaroundusturnblack.IputmymouthtoKayla’sear

andtellherastory.

“Youseethemtreesoverthere?”Shegroans.“Ifyoulookatthegroundunder

themtrees,there’sahole.”Shemoans.“Rabbitsliveinthemholes.Oneofthemisa

littlerabbit,thelittlestrabbit.Shegotbrownfurandlittlewhiteteethlikegum.”

She’squietforasecond.“HernameKayla,likeyou.Youknowwhatshedo?”Kayla

shrugsand sinks back in tome. “She the bestat digging holes.Shedig themthe

deepestandthefastest.Onedayitwasdarkandabigstormcomeandtherabbit

family’sholestartedfillingupwithwater,soKaylastarteddigging.Anddigging.

Anddigging.Youknowwhatshedid?”Kayla’sbreathhitches,andthensheturnsto

facemeandputshermouthinmyshirtandsucksinmoreair.Irubherbackin

circles,rubitlikeIcouldrubawaythecramping,thehurt,whatever’smakingher

sick.“Sheduganddugandthetunnelgotlongerandlonger.Thewaterwasn’teven

cominginwhereKaylawasdigging,butshekeptonuntilshepoppedupoutthe

ground,andyouknowwhat?”Kayladigsherfingernailsintomyarm,thenraises

upalittletolookoutthewindowandpointsatthedarkfields,atthethinlineof

treeswiththerabbitholeunderneathit.“Gettingdark,”shesays.Thensheleans

backintomeandslumps.“Uh-huh.Littlerabbitsawthegraybarnandthefatpig

andtheredhorseandMamandPop.Shedugallthewaytoourhouse,Kayla.And

whenshesawMamandPopshelovedthem,andshedecidedtostay.Sowhenwe

gethome,shegoingtobewaitingforus.Youwanttoseeher?”Iask.ButKaylais

asleep.ShetwitchesandforablinkIimagineIknowwhatshe’sdreaming,butthen

Istop.Shesmellssharplikesweatandthrow-up,butherhairsmellslikecoconuts

fromtheoilMamusedtoputinit,theonethatIusenowwhenIpullherhairinto

little ponytails: two little cotton balls on the sides of her head. I block out the

imageofherinthewetearth,thesizeofarabbit,diggingahole.Idon’twantto

knowthatdream.

When we pull off the highway and onto a back road, the sky is dark blue,

turningitsbacktous,pullingablacksheetoveritsshoulder.Theworldshrinksto

theheadlightscomingfromthecar,twinhornsleadingthroughthedarkness,the

caranoldanimal,limpingtoanotherclearinginthewoods.Popalwaystoldme

youcantrustananimaltodoexactlywhatit’sborntodo:torootinmudorcanter

throughafieldorfly.Thatnomatterhowdomesticatedananimalis,Popsay,the

wildnatureinitwillcomethrough.Kaylaishermostanimalself,aworm-ridden

catinmyarms.Whenwefinallypullintoayardandthetreesopenup,thisplaceis

different.It’s notlike the huddleof housesin Forrest County. Thereis only one

househere,anditiswide.Therearewindowsallalongthefront,andwarmyellow

lightshinesthroughallofthem.Leoniestopsthecar.Mistygetsoutandwavesat

ustofollow.IwalktotheporchwithKaylaasleepinmyarms,snoring,breathing

outofhermouth,andIseeupclosethepaintispeelinginthinstripswithmarker-

thinlinesofbrown-grayshowingthrough.Thewindowslookalittlecloudy,like

thewatermyfishdiedin.Thewisteriaplantedoneachsideofthefrontstepshas

rootedthickintotheearth,grownasbigaroundasaman’smuscleyarm,andhas

twistedandtwineduptherailingstoweavethickasacurtainalongthefrontofthe

porch.Here,theanimalcomingout.Mistyknocksonthedoor.

“Comein,”aman’svoicesings,andthereismusicbehindit.

He’sabigman.Wefindhiminthekitchen,boilingnoodlesforspaghetti.My

mouthturnstowater.Ihaveneverbeensohungry.

“Smellsgood,doesn’tit?”hesaysashewalkstowardus.Hebounces,seemsto

walkonhistiptoes.Hehasawhitelong-sleevedshirton,exceptit’srolleduptohis

elbows.Theshirtislikehisporch,thethreadcominglooseattheneck,something

thatlookslikegreenpaintsplatteredacrossthefront.Hiskitchenisgreen.Iain’t

neverseenagreenkitchen.That’swhenIsmellthesauce.Itpopsinitspotonthe

stoveandstreakshisarmashestirsit.Helicksitoff.Thenoodlesheputinthe

waterslowlysink,disappeardowntheedgesofthepotastheirbottomsturnsoft.I

frownwhenhelickshisfurryarm.Hishairispulledbackonhishead,andhehasit

inalittleponytailthatsticksout,shortasKayla’s.“Figuredy’allwouldbehungry,”

hesays.He’sthewhitestWhitemanI’veeverseen.

“Youfiguredright.”Mistyhugsthemanasshesaysthis,turnsherfacesothat

shespeaksitintohispaint-splatteredshirt.“Tookuslongertomakeitherebecause

thelittleonegotsick.”

“Ahyes,thelittlegirl!”hesaid.Leonielookslikeshewantstoshushhim,butshe

doesn’t. “She’s—” He pauses. “Sticky.” Now Leonie looks like she wants to punch

him. Her mulish look, Pop says. “Is the young man sick too?” I already like him

better,eventhoughwhenhelooksatme,Iseesomethinglikesadnessinhisface,

andIdon’tknowwhy.

“No,”Leoniesays.Shecrossesherarmswhenshesaysit.“We’renothungry.”

“Nonsense,”themansays.

“Leonie,”Mistysays,andlooksatLeonie.Iknowit’sthekindoflookthatsays

somethingelsewithoutsayingit,butIcan’treadLeonie’seyebrows,herlips,the

wayshenodsherheadforwardandherlongbangsfallinhereyes.WhateverMisty

says,Leonieunderstandsandnodsback.

“We’lleat.”Leonieclearsherthroat.“IwaswonderingifIcanuseyourstove.I

gotsomethingIneedtocook.”

“Ofcourse,mydear,ofcourse.”

Upclose,themansmellslikeheain’ttookabathinafewdays,butit’snota

mustysmell.Smellssweetandwrongatthesametime,likesweetliquorthatdone

satoutintheheatandstartedturningtovinegar.

“ExcusetheFrench,Al,butI’mfuckingstarving.”Mistysmiles.

WhenIsitinthelivingroom,Kayla staysasleep,breathinghotintomy shirt

withlittlepuffs.Theroomhashighceilingsandbookshelvesoneverywall.Thereis

no TV. There’s a radio in the kitchen, where Misty is sitting at a counter stool,

drinkingaglassofwineAlhaspouredforherinamasonjar.Themusic,allviolins

andcellos,swellsintheroom,thenrecedes,likethewateroutintheGulfbeforea

bigstorm.WhenLeoniecomesinfromthecar,holdingherweedsinonehand,she

tripsontherugcoveringthewoodenfloor,redandorangeandwhiteandfrayed,

and a bag falls from under her shirt, hits the carpet, and what was inside the

crinkledbrownpaperslidesout.Itisclear,awholepackofbrokenglass,andI’ve

seenthisbefore.Iknowwhatthisis.ThemanislaughingatsomethingMistysays,

andLeoniewillnotlookatmeasshepicksitup,scoopsitbackinthebag,and

slumpsoverthecounterbeforeslidingittoMisty,whopassesthebagtoAl.He

picksitup,tossesitintotheair,andthenmakesitdisappearlikeamagician.

*

AlisMichael’slawyer.

“Boy’saroundhisage,”hesays,pushinghissleevesuphisarmandfrowningafter

pointingatme,“andtheythoughthewassellingweedinschool.”

Mistyswigsherdrink.

“Anddoyouknowwhattheydidtohim?”

Sheshrugs.

“Brought him into the principal’s office with two other boys his age. Friends.

Madethemdroptheirpantsandstripsotheycouldsearchthem.”

Mistyshakesherhead,herhairswingingaroundherface.

“That’sadamnshame,”shesays.

“It’sillegal,iswhatitis.It’sprobono,andtheschoolwillprobablygetoffwith

somesortofcensurefromthecourts,butIcouldn’tnottakeit,”hesays,shrugging

anddrinking.“Longmoralarcoftheuniverseandall.”

Mistynodslikesheknowswhathe’stalkingabout.She’spulledoutherponytail

to let her hair hang, and every time she nods or shakes her head, she does it so

violentlyherhairswings,aslanguidandprettyasSpanishmoss,acrossherback.

She’spulledhershirtdownatthecollar,letitsag,sohershoulderisagleaming

globein the living room light.Alhasallthelampslit.Themoreshedrinks, the

moreherhairswings.

“Youdowhatyoucan.”Alsmiles,toucheshershoulder,andliftshiscupofwine.

“Howdoyoulikeit?It’sgood,right?Itoldyouitwasagoodyear.”

“So what you doing about my man?” Misty leans toward him and raises her

eyebrowsandsmiles.

“Okay, okay,” Al says, leaning back away from her to laugh before coming

towardher,talkingwithhishands,tellingheraboutwhateverhe’sdoingtohelp

freeBishop.

Leonieissittingonthesofanexttome,sippycupinhand.Ittookheraround

thirtyminutestocuttheblackberryplant,boiltherootsandtheleaves.Sheboiled

the root in one pot and the leaves in the other, while I hunched over my plate

shovingspaghettiintomymouth,hardlychewing.Sheletitcool.Shestoodatthe

counter, squinting and talking to herself with her arms crossed, and then she

pouredhalffromonepotandhalffromtheotherpotintoKayla’scup.Itwasgray.

Ishovedthelastofthefoodinmymouth,wenttorinsemyplateoffandputitinto

thedishwasher,whichsmelledsour,andwatchedwhilesheaskedAlifhehadany

foodcoloringandsugar.Hedid.Shedumpedafewspoonsofsugaranddropsof

foodcoloringintothecupandshookituntilitlookedlikemuddyKool-Aid.Now

she’s sitting nextto Kayla, who we left sprawled,asleep, on the couch, and she’s

tryingtonuzzleherawake.EverytimesheasksKaylatowakeup,kissesherearand

neck,KaylareachesupandputsherarmaroundLeonie’sneckandpullslikeshe

wantshertolaydown,togotosleepwithher.Likeshedoesn’twanttobewoken.

Itscaresme.

“Comeon,Michaela,”Leoniesays,andshetugsKaylaupright.Kaylaopensher

eyesandslumpslikeLeoniedidinthekitchenwhenshepassedthatpackageacross,

whiningandtryingtoliebackdown.“Youthirsty?”Leoniewhispers,puttingthe

cupinfrontofKayla.“Here.Drink,”shesays.

“No,”Kaylasays,andslapsthecupaway.ItfliesoutofLeonie’shandandrolls

acrossthefloor.

“Shedon’twantit,”Isay.

“Don’tmatterwhatshewant,”Leoniesay,rollinghereyesatme.“Sheneedit.”

Iwanttotellher:Youdon’tknowwhatyoudoing.Andthen:Youain’tMam.ButI

don’t.Theworrybubblingupinmelikewaterboilingoverthelipofapot,butthe

wordsstickinginmythroat.Shemighthitme.IdidalotoftalkingwhenIwas

younger,whenIwaseightandnine,inpublic.Andthenonedaysheslappedme

acrosstheface,andafterthat,everytimeIopenedmymouthtotalkagainsther,

shedidthat.Hitmesohardherslapsstartedfeelinglikepunches.Mademetwist

totheside,myhandonmyface.Mademesitdownonceinthemiddleoftheaisle

in Walmart. So I stopped. But she doesn’t know how to make medicine out of

plants,andIworryforKayla.Twoyearsago,whenIwassosickwithastomach

bugthatIcouldhardlygetupoffthesofaandmakeittothebathroom,Mamtold

Leonietogogathersomeplantinthewoodsandmakeateaoutoftheroots.She

did it. And because Mam told her to do it, I trusted her, and I drank it, even

thoughittastedlikerubber.Leoniemusthavepickedthewrongplant,orprepared

itwrong,becausewhatevershegavememademeevensicker.Shepouredthegritty,

bitter mess by the back steps, and a few days afterward, when I had worked

whatever she gave me and the bug out of my system, I found a stray cat dead,

carbuncularandrotting,bythesteps.Ithaddrunkwhatevershe’dpouredintoa

poolontheground.

Leonie’spickedupthecup,holdingittoKayla’slips.

“Youthirsty, right,” she says,andit’s an answer,not aquestion. Kayla coughs

andgrabsatthecup.Myunderarmsspikeandsweat,andIwanttograbthatsippy

cupandthrowitlikeshedid,batitacrosstheroomandsnatchheroutoftheloose

circleofLeonie’sarm.ButIdon’t.Andthenshe’ssuckingatthespoutandturning

uphercupanddrinking,andIfeellikeIlostagameIdidn’tknowIwasplaying.

“Shejustneedtosleepitoff,”Mistysaysthen.“Probablycarsick,that’sall.”

Kaylaisthirsty.She’sdrunkhalfofit,andshe’spullinghardonthespout,her

lipspuckeredlikeit’sabottle.Whenshe’sdone,sheletsthecupclattertothefloor,

andthenshecrawlsacrossthesofaandintomylap,grabbingmyhandandsaying,

“Down,”whichmeansup.Shewantsmetotellherastory.Ileanin.

“Ihaveabettervintageinthekitchen,”Alsays,lookingatLeonie.“Maybewe

couldsampleitthisevening.”

“Soundsgoodtome,”Mistysays.

“I don’t know,” Leonie says. She’s looking at Kayla in my lap, Kayla who is

beginningtofussbecauseIhaven’tbegunthestoryyet.She’sbeginningtosquirm

andcryagainlikeshedidinthecarbeforeshethrewup.“Sheain’tfeelinggood.”

“I’mtellingyou,it’sprobablycarsickness.Lethersleepitoff,”Mistysays.“She’ll

befine.”AndthenshelooksatLeonielikeshe’ssayingtwothingsatonce,onewith

hermouthandtheotherwithhereyes.“Youbeendrivingallday.Mightbeniceto

unwindandtakeabreak.”

Ican’treadheryet.LeoniereachesoutandsmoothsKayla’shairdown,butit

springsbackup.Kaylacurvesawayfromher.

“Youprobablyright,”Leoniesays.

“YouknowhowmanytimesIthrewupwithmyheadoutthewindowwhenI

wasakid?Ilostcount.She’llbefine,”Mistysays.

ItlookslikeMisty’ssaidtherightthingthistime,becauseLeoniesitsbackthen.

Thereisawallbetweenus.

“Michaelgotmotion sickness bad. Hecan’tevenride in the backseatwithout

feelinglike throwingup.” It makes sense toLeonie then.“Must have got it from

him.”

“See?”Mistynods.Alnods.Theyallnodandriseandheadofftothekitchen.I

takeKaylaintothebedroomAlpointedustoearlier,withtwotwinbeds.Itakeoff

Kayla’s shirt, which smells like acid, and wetand soap a rag from the bathroom

nexttothebedroom,andthenwipeheroff.She’shot.Evenherlittlefeet.Sohot.I

takeoffeverythingbutherdrawersandlaydownwithherinoneofthetwinbeds,

andsheputsherlittlearmovermyshoulderandpullsmetoher,likeshedoesevery

morningwewakeuptogether.“Doe-doe,”shesays.

IlaythereuntilthemusicgoesquietinthekitchenandIhearthemmovingout

tothebackporch.Noglassesclink,nowine.Ifigurethey’reopeningupthatpack

Leoniebrought.IlaythereuntilIcan’tnomore,andthenIcarryKaylaintothe

bathroomandstickmyfingerdownherthroatandmakeherthrowup.Shefights

me,hittingatmyarms,cryingagainstmyhand,sobbingbutnotmakingnowords,

butIdoitthreetimes,makehervomitovermyhand,hotasherlittlebody,three

times,allofitredandsmellingsweet,untilI’mcryingandshe’sshrieking.Iturnoff

thelightandgobackintotheroomandwipeherwithmyshirtandlayinthebed

withher,scaredthatLeonie’sgoingtowalkinandfindallthatredthrow-upinthe

bathroom, find out I made Kayla throw up Leonie’s potion. But nobody comes.

Kaylasniffsanddozesoff,hiccuppinginhersleep,andthenIcleanallofitupwith

soapandwateruntilthebathroomisaswhiteasitwasbefore.Allthewhile,my

heart beating so hard I can hear it in my ears, because I knew what Kayla was

saying.Iknew.

Iloveyou,Jojo.Whyyoumakeme,Jojo?Jojo!Brother!Brother.

Iheardher.

*

Itry tosleep,butforhours, I can’t.AllIcando is laythereandlistento Kayla

breathe.Outside, somewhere far away offin thedark reach of the woods,a dog

barks.It’sahackingsound,fullofangerandsharpteeth.Attheheartofitall:fear.

WhenIwasyounger,Iwantedapuppy.IaskedPopforone,andhesaideversince

histimeinParchman,hecouldn’tkeepadog.Hesaidhetriedwhenhegotletout,

buteveryoneofthedogshegot,muttsandhounds,diedwithinthefirstyearof

himgettingit.WhenhewasinParchman,Popsaid,oncehestartedworkingwith

thehoundstheprisonusedtotrackescapees,allhecouldsmell,whenhewaseating

orwakingorfallingasleep,wasdogshit.Allhecouldhearwasthedogs,yipping

andhowlingandbaying,raringtotear.PopsaidhetriedtogetRichieonwithdogs

sohecouldgethimoutthefields,butitdidn’twork.Iclosemyeyesandimagine

Pop sitting on the high-backed chair in the corner of the room. Pop, with his

straightbackandhishandsliketreeroots,tellingmemorestories,speakingmeto

sleep.

Wasoneofthemdayswhenthesunbeardownonyousohardfeellikeit’stwistingyou

insideout,andallyoudoisburn.Oneofthemheavydays.Downhere,it’sdifferent;wegot

thatwindcomingoff thewaterall thetime,and thateases.Butupthere,theyain’tgot

that,justthefieldsstretchingon,thetreestooshortwithnotenoughleaves,nogoodshade

nowhere,andeverythingbending lowunderthe weightofthatsun:men,women,mules,

everythinglowunderGod.Wasadaylikethattheboybrokehishoe.

Idon’tthinkhemeanttodoit.Hewasn’tnothingbutascrawnything,littlerthanyou,

Ialreadytoldyouthat,sohemusthavehitarockorleantonitthewrongway,andthat’s

whatdidit.Kinniehadmerunningthedogsaroundthefields,workingontheysenseof

smell.IwascirclingRichie’sfieldwhenIsawhimwalkingwiththetwopiecesinhishand,

justdraggingthehandleinthedirt,littletrailfollowinghimtothewoodline.Thedriver,

themanwhosetthepacefortheday’swork,somethinglikeanoverseer,sawRichie.Hesat

uponhismuleandwatchedtheboy’sback,andhelookedmoreandmoremad,likeasnake

drawingdownandbunchingupbeforehestrike.IedgedaroundthefielduntilIcouldget

closeenoughtoRichietohissathim.

“Pickthehandleup,boy.Driverwatchingyou,”Isaid.

“Hegoingtobeatmeanyway,”Richiesaid,buthepickedthehandleup.

“Whosay?”

“Hesay.”

Theboywasjitteryaroundtheeyes,eventhoughhewalkedlikehewasn’tscared.Them

marksIsawonhimwhenhecameinParchmantoldmeheknewwhatitwastobebeat,

whetheritwashismamataking abeltbuckletohim orsomeman.But I knewtheboy

wasn’treadyforthewhip.Iknewhewasn’treadyforBlackAnnie.

Iwasright.Sunwentdown,andaftersupper,sergeanttiedhimtosomepostssetatthe

edgeofthecamp.Sohotthesunstillfeltlikeitwasup,andtheboylaidtherespread-eagle

on the ground in the dirt with his hands and legs tied to them posts. When that whip

crackedintheairandcamedownonhisback,hesoundedlikeapuppy.Yelpedsoloud.And

that’swhathekeptdoing,overandover.Justyelpingforeveryoneofthemlashes,arching

up off the ground, turning his head like he wanted to look at the sky. Yelling like a

drowningdog.Whentheyuntiedhim,hisbackwasfullofblood,themsevengasheslaid

openlikefilletedfish,andsergeanttoldmetodoctoronhim.SoIcleanedhimupashelay

therethrowingupwithhisfaceinthedirt.Iain’ttellhimtostop.Sergeantgavehimaday

to heal, but when they sent him back out in the field, them lashes on his back wasn’t

anywherenearhealed,andtheyoozedandbledthroughhisshirt.

IcanalmosthearPopinthedimroom,whichfeelswetandclosefromallthe

hotwaterIrantocoverthesoundofKaylathrowingupandtocleanupafter.He

wouldshiftandleanonhiselbow,andhisvoicewouldriseoutoftheblacklike

smoke. I wipe Kayla’s hair away from her head, and she sweats. Whenever Pop

talkedaboutRichiegettingwhipped,hetoldmeaboutKinnie,hisbossinchargeof

thehuntinghounds,whoescapedthedayaftertheyflayedRichie’sback.

KinnieWagnerpulledhislastescapethatday.Itwas1948.Walkedrightoutthefront

gatesofParchmanwithamachinegunhe’dstoleoutofmunitions.Wardenwaspissed.

“I’lllookafool,”hesaid,“beingthewardenwholetthedamnmanescapeathirdtime.

Youwantyourjob,youbettercatchhim.Letthedogs,”hetoldthesergeant.

SergeantlookedatmeandIgotthebestofthepack:AxeandRedandShankandMoon,

alldogsKinnie’dnamed,andIletthemlooseandstartedtracking.Butthedogswouldn’t

trackthemanthatfedthem,themanthatfirsttouchedthem,themanthatraisedthem.

Keptwalkingslowandsadincirclesthroughthatcountry,slinkingthroughthosethintrees

underthatheavysky,andIfollowedthem,catchingKinnie’stracksclear,butsloweddown

bytheanimalssoIhadtogobackattheendoftheday,tellthesergeantthedogswouldn’t

tracktheymaster.

Himandtwoothersergeantsandagangoftrustyshooterscameoutwithmethenext

day,anditwasthesame.Thehoundssmelledthatsonofabitchandthoughthewasthey

daddy.Couldn’tsavagehimbecausewhentheyslept,theydreamedofhim,ofhisbigred

handsandhisgraymouth.Thestinkthatcameoffofhimfromallhissweatingasdearto

themasthescentfromtheymama’sears.

*

I can tell Leonie ain’t slept. She never came in the room last night, and this

morning,themusic is stillplaying inthe kitchenon Al’sstereo, andall threeof

them look wrinkled: their clothes, their hair, their faces. Leonie’s looking at the

emptychairacrossfromher,soshemisseswhenIwalkintheroom,Kaylainmy

arms,herheadonmyshoulder.Normally,she’dbeaskingforadog(shelikeshot

dogsforbreakfast),orpointingoutsideandpullingmyhandandsayingPop.ButI

woketohertouchingmycheekrightunderneathmyeye,lookingveryserious,not

smiling.Herlittlehandlikeastickburnedwithfireandnowthrowingoffheat,red

andblack.AsIwalkintothekitchen,Kaylabreatheslittlehuffsintomyneck.Irub

herback,andLeoniefinallynoticesus.

“They got oatmeal on the stove,” Leonie says. All three of them are drinking

coffee,blackandstrong.“Didshethrowupagain?”

“No,”Isay.Leonielookstowardthatemptychairagain.“Shehot,though.”

Leonienods,butshedon’tlookatme.Shelookatthechair.Raisehereyebrows

likesomebodysaidsomethingsurprising,butAlandMistyareleaningintoeach

other,murmuringthings,whispering.Leonieain’tpartofthatconversation.Iwalk

overtothepotandseetheoatmealcrustedtothesides,burntcrispyontheedges,

andjellyinthemiddlewithcold.

“Let’sgogetyourman,”saysMisty,andtheyallstand.

“Buttheyhaven’teaten,”Alsays.“Theyhavetobehungry.”

“I’m not,” I say, and my mouth tastes like old gum chewed almost to paste. I

figureI’lleatsomeofthefoodIstoleinthebackseatonthewaytothejail,easethe

grindingsuckofmystomach.SneaksometoKaylaifshe’llletme.Sheburnsinmy

arms,herneckagainstmyneck,herlittlechindiggingintomycollarbone.Herlegs

dangle,lifelessasacarcass’sfromahook.

“Let’sgogetyourfather,”Leoniesays.

*

Thejailisalllow,concretebuildingsandbarbed-wirefencescrisscrossingthrough

fields.Theroadstretchesonward,outintothedistance,andforawhile,thisroad

points us toward the men housed here. There’s no other sign, nothing in those

fields:nocows,nopigs,nochickens.Therearecropscomingin,babyplants,but

they look small and stunted, as if they’ll never grow. But a great flock of birds

wheelsthroughthe sky, swooping andfluttering,movinggraceful as a jellyfish.I

watchthemasKaylamewlsinmyear,aswepassanothersign,oldandwooden,

thatsaysWelcometoParchman,Ms.Andthen:Cokeisit!Butbythetimewegetout

of the car in the parking lot, the birds have turned north, fluttered over the

horizon.Ihearthetailendoftheirchatter,ofallthosevoicescallingatonce,andI

wishIcouldfeeltheirexcitement,feelthejoyoftherising,theswingingintothe

blue,thegreatflight,thereturnhome,butallIfeelisasolidballofsomethingin

mygut,heavyastheheadofahammer.

Whenwegettothejailproper,LeonieandMistysignournamesintoabook,

and then we’re led into a room with cinder-block walls painted yellow. Misty

followsaguardthroughadoorsetattheoppositeendoftheroom,wherewesitat

atableringedbylowbenches,likewecouldbetakingapicnicwhilewewaiton

Michael,butthereisnofood,noblanket,andthereiswhitepockmarkedceiling

aboveus:nosky.Leonierubsherarms,eventhoughit’swarminhere,warmereven

thanoutside.Itfeelslikethere’snoair-conditioning.Sheleansforwardandrubsat

hereyes, smooths herhair backfrom her faceso for asecondI see Pop,his flat

forehead,hisnose,hischeeks.Thathammerinmetwists,andthenLeoniefrowns,

and her hair flops back over her forehead, and she’s just Leonie, and Kayla

whimpersagain,andIwanttogohome.

“Juice,”Kaylasays.IlookatLeonie,askingthequestionwithoutsayingnothing:

raisedeyebrows,wideeyes,frown.Leonieshakesherhead.

“Shegottowait.”

Shereaches outto Kayla, brushesher fingers alongthe backof her neck, but

Kaylasaysnoandburrowsintomychest,herskullhard,hernosesmushedintomy

shirt,tryingtogetawayfromLeonie’shand.I’mlookingatLeonie’sfrownsohard

that I don’t even see Michael when he appears at the door, two guards at his

shoulders,whostopatthedoorandlethimpassasitopensandclangsshut,and

thenallatonce,he’sstandinginfrontofus.Michael’shere.

“Baby,”hesays.Iknowheain’ttalkingtomeorKayla,butonlyLeonie,because

it’sherwhodropsherarmandturns,herwhorisesandwalksstiff-kneedtohim,

her that he hugs, his arms wrapped around her like a tangled sheet, tighter and

tighter,untiltheyseemonethingstandingthere,onepersoninsteadoftwo.He’s

biggerthan I rememberaroundtheneckandshouldersand arms, wider than he

waswhenthepolicetookhimaway.They’rebothshaking,speakingsolowtoeach

otherIcan’thearthem,whisperingandshiveringlikeatree,judderinginthewind.

IttakeslesstimethanIthoughtitwouldtocheckMichaelout.Maybehedone

allhispaperworkbeforehand.Mistyisstillinanotherroom,talkingtoBishop,but

Michaelsays:“Ican’tstayinhereanotherminute.Let’sgo.”BeforeIknowit,we’re

walkingbackoutintotheweakspringlight.LeonieandMichaelhavetheirarms

around each other’s waist. When we get back to the parking lot, they stop and

begin kissing, wet, openmouthed, their tongues sliding onto faces. He looks so

differentthanhedidwhenheleft,buthe’sstillthesameMichaelunderneath,in

theneck,inhishands,kneadingLeonie’sbackthewayMamusedtokneadbiscuits.

Kaylapointsouttothefields,fieldscoveredinafog,andsays,“Jojo.”Iwalkacross

theparkinglot,closertothefieldswithher.

“Whatyousee,Kayla?”Iask.

“Allthebirds,”shesays,andcoughs.

IlookoutatthefieldsbutIdon’tseebirds.IsquintandforasecondIseemen

bentatthewaist,rowafterrowofthem,pickingattheground,lookinglikeagreat

murderofcrowslandedandchatteringandpickingforbugsintheground.One,

shorterthantherest,standsandlooksstraightatme.

“Seethebird?”Kaylaasks,andthenshelaysherheadonmyshoulder.Iblink

andthemenaregoneanditisjustfogrolling,wispingoverthefieldsthatstretch

outendlessly,andthenIhearPop,tellingmethelastbitofthestoryheiswilling

toshareaboutthisplace.

AfterthesergeantbeatRichie,Itoldhim:“Yougottokeepthatbackclean.”Gotclean

ragsandputthemonhim,andthenchangedthemwithsuppliesIstolefromthedogs’stash.

IboundthemaroundRichie’schestwithlongstrips.Hisskinwashotandrunny.

“It’s too much dirt,” Richie said. His teeth was chattering, so his words came out in

stutters.“It’severywhere.Inthefields.Notjustmyback,Riv.It’sinmymouthsoIcan’t

tastenothingandinmyearssoIcan’thardlyhearandinmynose,allinmynoseand

throat,soIcan’thardlybreathe.”

He breathed hard then, and ran out the shack where our group of trusty shooters

bunked,andthrewupinthedirt,andthenIrememberedagainhowyounghewas,howhis

bigteethwasstillbreakingthroughhisgumsinsomeplaces.

“Idreamaboutit.DreamI’meatingitwithabiglongsilverspoon.DreamthatwhenI

swallow,itgodownthewronghole,tomylungs.Outthereinthefieldsallday,myhead

hurt.Ican’tstopshaking.”

Itouchedhisnarrowback,pushedoneofthecutstoseeifpuswouldcomeout,tryingto

seeifitwasinfected,ifthat’swhyhewassickwithfeverandchills,butitoozedalittle

clearandthat’sit.

“Somethingain’tright,”Isaidtomyself,buttheboywaskneelingoverhissickinthe

dirt,listeningtothetrustyshooterscallingtoeachotherontheypatrol,shakinghishead

likeI’daskedhimaquestion,righttoleft,righttoleft.Andthenhesaid:

“I’mgoinghome.”

*

“Seethebirds?”Kaylaasks.

“Yeah,Kayla,Isee,”Itellher.

“Allthebirdsgobye,”Kaylasays,andthensheleansforwardandrubsmyface

withbothhands,andforasecondIthinkshe’sgoingtotellmesomethingamazing,

some secret, something come from God Himself. “My tummy,” she says, “Jojo,

tummyhurts.”

Irubherback.

“Iain’thadachancetogivey’allagoodhello,”comesavoice,andIturnaround

andit’sMichael.He’slookingtowardKayla.

“Hello,”hesays.

Kaylatensesup,gripsmewithherlittlelegs,grabsbothofmyears,andpulls.

“No,”shesays.

“I’myourpapa,Michaela,”Michaelsays.

Kayla puts her face in my neck and starts to shake, and I feel it like little

tremorsthroughmygut.Michaelletshishandsdrop.Ishrug,lookpastMichael’s

face,clean-shavedandpale,purpleunderhiseyes,sunburnhighonhisforehead.

HegotKayla’seyes.Leonie’sbehindhim,lettinggoofhishandtograbhimaround

thewaist.Hereachesbehindhimtoher,andrubs.

“Shegottogetusedtoyou,”Isay.

“Iknow,”hesays.

*

Whenwegetbacktothecar,Leoniepullsoutherlittlecoolerandthenhandsout

sandwiches that the lawyer must have made before me and Kayla woke up,

sandwichesonbrownbreadthickwithnutswithslabsofsmellycheeseandturkey

slices thin as Kleenex layered in between. I eat mine so fast I have trouble

breathing,andI start to hiccuparoundthefood, big bites,lodged inmy throat.

Leoniefrownsatme,butit’sMichaelwhospeaks.

“Takeyourtime,son.”

Hesaysitsoeasy.Son.Hegothisarmonthebackofthedriver’sseat,hishand

wrapped around the back of Leonie’s neck, rubbing it, squeezing it soft. It’s

something like the way Mam would hold me by the neck when we went to the

grocerystorewhenIwaslittleandbothofuscouldwalk,upanddownthegrocery

aisles.IfI’dgettooexcited,likewhenwegottothecheckoutandsawallthecandy,

she’dsqueeze.Nottoo hard.Justenoughtoremindmethat wewasinthe store,

aroundawholebunchofWhitepeople,andthatIneededtomindmymanners.

Andthen:shewasbehindme,withme,lovingme.Here.

IfIwasn’thiccupping,IwouldcutmyeyesatMichael,butthehiccuppingisso

bad I can’t breathe. I think of Richie and wonder if this is how he felt in them

dustyrows,howtheymusthavestretchedtotheendoftheearthbeforehim,how

thisplacemusthavegoneonforever.ButevenasI’mgulpingtoswallowpastthe

food,tobreatheeasier,andanotherhiccupshakesthroughme,Iknowitmusthave

beenworsefortheboy.

Arainbegins,solightit’slikeagentlesprayfromawaterbottle,anditturns

theairwhite,andeverythinglookshazy.Iwantanothersandwich,butMichaelis

sitting where Misty sat, and he’s eating his sandwich slow, tearing off his bites

before putting them in his mouth. It’s one of the things I heard Pop say about

Michael when he moved in with us: Mike eat like he too good for the food, he told

Mam.Sheshookherhead and cracked another pecan,picking out themeat. We

weresittingnexttoeachotherontheporchswing.I’mstillsohungryIcanimagine

thetasteofthosepecans,howthedustaroundthenuttastebitter,butthepecanis

wetandsweet.Mamknew,butsheignoredmythievingandletmeeat.There’sonly

onesandwichfromthelawyerleftinthebag,andMistystillhasn’teatenhersyet,

soIswallow.

“Wegotsomewater?”Iask.

Leoniepassesmeabottleofwaterthelawyermusthavegivenher.Theplasticis

thickandhasmountainspaintedonthefront.Thewateriswarm,notcold,butI’m

sothirstyandmythroatissocloggedIdon’tevencare.Thehiccupsstop.

“Yoursisterfinishhers?”Leonieasks.

Kayla’sfallenasleepinhercarseat,whichIhadtomovetothemiddle.Misty’s

back, and she’s sitting with me now that Michael’s here. Kayla has half of a

sandwichinherhand,herfingerscurledaroundittight.Herheadtiltedbackand

hot. Her nose is sweating, and her curls are getting stringy. I pull the sandwich

fromher grip and itcomes,so I eattherest of it, eventhoughit’s a littlesoggy

whereshewasgummingit.

“Mostofit,”Isay.

“Shelook much better.”Leonieis lying.She don’tlook much better.Maybea

little,butnotmuch.“Iknewtheblackberrywouldwork.”

“Something wrong with her? She sick?” Michael asks. His hand done stop

moving,andheturnsaroundtolookatus.Istopchewing.Inthegrayfoggylight,

andintheclosecar,hiseyeslookbrightgreen,greenasthetreespushingoutnew

springleaves.Leonielooksdisappointedhe’sstoppedtouchingherandleansacross

theseattowardhim.

“Justsomekindofstomachvirus,Ithink.Orshewascarsick.Igaveheroneof

Mama’sremedies.Shebetter.”

“Yousure,baby?”MichaellookscloselyatKayla,andIswallowthelastofher

sandwich.“Shestilllooksalittleyellowtome.”

LeoniegivesalittlehalflaughandwavesatKayla.

“Of course she’s yellow. She’s our baby.” And then Leonie laughs, and even

thoughit’salaugh,itdoesn’tsoundlikeone.There’snohappinessinit,justdryair

andhardredclaywheregrasswon’tgrow.Sheturnsaroundandignoresallofus

andlooksoutthefrontwindshield,gummywithbugsplatter,soshedoesn’teven

seewhenKaylastartles,hereyesopenwide,andthrow-up,brownandyellowand

chunky,comesshootingouthermouthandalloverthebackofthefrontseat,all

overherlittlelegsandherred-and-whiteSmurfsshirtandmebecauseI’mpulling

herupoutofherseatandintomylap.

“It’sgoingtobeallright,Kayla,it’sgoingtobeallright,”Isay.

“Ithoughtyougavehersomethingforthat,”Mistysays.

“Baby,Itoldyoushedidn’tlookgood,”Michaelsays.

“Goddamnitsonofabitch,”Leoniesays,andadarkskinnyboywithapatchyafro

andalongneckisstandingonmysideofthecar,lookingatKaylaandthenlooking

atme.Kaylacriesandwhines.

“Thebird,thebird,”shesays.

Theboyleansintothewindowandblursattheedges.Hesays:“I’mgoinghome.”

Chapter6

Richie

TheboyisRiver’s.Iknowit.Ismelledhimassoonasheenteredthefields,assoon

as the little red dented car swerved into the parking lot. The grass trilling and

moaningallaround,whenIfollowedthescenttohim,thedark,curly-hairedboyin

thebackseat.Evenifhedidn’tcarrythescentofleavesdisintegratingtomudatthe

bottom of a river, the aroma of the bowl of the bayou, heavy with water and

sedimentandtheskeletonsofsmalldeadcreatures,crab,fish,snakes,andshrimp,I

wouldstillknowheisRiver’sbythelookofhim.Thesharpnose.Theeyesdarkas

swampbottom.ThewayhisbonesrunstraightandtrueasRiver’s:indomitableas

cypress.HeisRiver’schild.

WhenhereturnstothecarandIannouncemyself,IknowheisRiv’sagain.I

knowitbythewayheholdsthelittlesickgoldengirl:asifhethinkshecouldcurl

around her, make his skeletonand flesh into a building to protect her from the

adults,fromthegreatreachofthesky,thevastexpanseofthegrass-riddenearth,

shallowwithgraves.HeprotectsasRiverprotects.Iwanttotellhimthis:Boy,you

can’t.ButIdon’t.

Instead,Ifoldmyselfandsitonthefloorofthecar.

*

Inthebeginning,Iwokeinastandofyoungpinetreesonacloudy,half-litday.I

couldnotrememberhowIcametobecrouchinginthepineneedles,softandsharp

asboar’shairundermylegs.Therewasnowarmthorcoldthere.Walkingwaslike

swimmingthroughtepidgraywater.Ipacedincircles.Idon’tknowwhyIstayedin

thatplace,whyeverytimeIgottotheedgeoftheyoungstand,totheplacewhere

thepinesreachedtaller,roundedanddarkened,drapedwithawebofgreenthorny

vines,Iturnedandwalkedback.Inthatdaythatneverended,Iwatchedthetopsof

thetreestoss,andItriedtorememberhowIgotthere.WhoIwasbeforethisplace,

beforethisquiethaunt.ButIcouldn’t.SowhenIsawawhitesnake,thickandlong

asmyarm,slitheroutoftheshadowsbeneaththetrees,IkneltbeforeIt.

Youarehere,Itsaid.

Theneedlesdugintomyknees.

Doyouwanttoleave?Itasked.

Ishrugged.

Icantakeyouaway,Itsaid.Butyouhavetowantit.

Where?Iasked.Thesoundofmyvoicesurprisedme.

Upandaway,Itsaid.Andaround.

Why?

Therearethingsyouneedtosee,Itsaid.

Itraiseditswhiteheadintheairandswayed,andslowly,likepaintdissolvingin

water, its scales turned black, row by row, until it was the color of the space

between the stars. Little fingers sprouted from its sides to grow to wings, two

perfectblackscalywings.Twoclawedfeetpierceditsbottomtodigintotheearth,

andits tail shrunk to a fan. It was a bird, but not a bird. No feathers.Allblack

scales.Ascalybird.Ahornedvulture.

Itbounceduptoalightonthetopoftheyoungestpinetree,whereitbristled

andcawed,thesoundrawinthatsilentplace.

Come,Itsaid.Rise.

Istood.Oneofitsscalesdislodgedandfloatedtotheearth,wispyasafeather.

Pickitup.Holdit,Itsaid.Andyoucanfly.

Iclenchedthescale.Itwasthesizeofapenny.Itburnedmypalm,andIroseup

onmytiptoesandsuddenlyIwasn’tonthegroundanymore.Iflew.Ifollowedthe

scalybird.Upandupandout.Intothewhitewatertorrentofthesky.

Flying was floating on that tumbling river. The bird at my shoulder now, a

raucous smudge on the horizon then, sometimes atop my head like a crown. I

spread my arms and legs and felt a laugh bubbling up in me, but it died in my

throat.BecauseIremembered.Irememberedbefore.Irememberedbeingspread-

eaglein the dirt,surrounded by hunched,millingmen, and ateenage boyatmy

shoulder who stood tall under the long shadows. River. River, who stood as the

menflayedmyback,asIsobbedandvomitedandturnedtheearthtomud.Icould

feelhimthere,knewthathewouldcarrymeaftertheyletmeloosefromtheearth.

Mybonesfeltpin-thin,mylungsuseless.Thewayhecarriedmetomycot,theway

hebentoverme,madesomethingsoftandflutteryasajellyfishpulseinmychest.

Thatwasmyheart.Himmybigbrother.Him,myfather.

Idroppedfrommyflight,thememorypullingmetoearth.Thebirdscreamed,

upset. I landed in a field of endless rows of cotton, saw men bent and scuttling

along like hermit crabs, bending and picking. Saw other men walking in circles

aroundthem withguns. Saw buildingsclustered atthe edges ofthat field,other

fields,untotheendsoftheearth.Thebirdswoopeddownonthemen’sheads.They

disappeared. This is where I was worked. This is where I was whipped. This is

whereRiverprotectedme.Thebirddroppedtotheground,dugitsbeakintothe

black earth, and I remembered my name: Richie. I remembered the place:

Parchmanprison.AndIrememberedtheman’sname:RiverRed.AndthenIfell,

doveintothedirt,anditpartedlikeawave.Iburrowedintight.Needingtobe

heldbythedarkhandoftheearth.Tobeblindtothemenabove.Tomemory.It

cameanyway.IwasnomoreandthenIwasagain.Thescalehotinmyhand.Islept

and woke and rose and picked my way through the prison fields, lurked in the

barracks,hoveredoverthemen’sfaces.TriedtofindRiver.Hewasn’tthere.Men

left,menreturnedandleftagain.Newmencame.Iburrowedandsleptandwoke

inthemilkylight,mytimemeasuredbythepassingofallthoseBlackfacesandthe

turningoftheearth,untilthescalybirdreturnedandledmetothecar,totheboy

thesameageasmesittinginthebackofthecar.Jojo.

*

IwanttotelltheboythatIknowthemanwhosiredhim.ThatIknewhimbefore

thisboy.ThatIknewhimwhenhewascalledRiverRed.Thegunmencalledhim

Riverbecausethatwasthenamehismamaanddaddygivehim,andthemensayhe

rolledwitheverythinglikeariver,overthefelltreesandstumps,throughstorms

andsun.ButthemenaddedtheRedbecausethatwashiscolor:himthecolorof

redclayontheriverbank.

There’ssomuchJojodoesn’tknow.TherearesomanystoriesIcouldtellhim.

ThestoryofmeandParchman,asRivertoldit,isamoth-eatenshirt,nibbledto

threads: the shape is right, but the details have been erased. I could patch those

holes.Makethatshirthangnew,exceptforthetails.Theend.ButIcouldtellthe

boywhatIknowaboutRiverandthedogs.

WhenthewardenandsergeanttoldRiverhewasgoingtobeinchargeofthe

dogsafterKinnieescaped,hetookthenewseasy,likehedidn’tcareifhediditorif

he didn’t. When they named River to keep the dogs, I heard the men talking,

especiallysome ofthe old-timers: said all thedog keepers were always older and

White, long as they been there, long as they remembered. Even though some of

thoseWhite men hadbeen like Kinnie,had escapedand then beensentback to

Parchmanafterthey’dbeencaughtfleeingorhadkilledorrapedormaimed,the

sergeantstillchosethemtotrainthedogs.Iftheyhadanytalentforit,theywere

giventhejob.Eveniftheywereflightrisks,eveniftheyhaddoneterriblethings

both in and out of Parchman, the leashes were theirs. Even though they were

terrible,dangerous White men,theold-timers still tookmore offense whenthey

knewRivwouldbetheirhunter.Theydidn’tlikeRivtakingcareofthedogs.It’s

different,theysaid,fortheBlackmantobeatrusty,withagun.Said:That’sunnatural,

too, but that’s Parchman. But it was something about a colored man running the

dogs;thatwaswrong.TherehadalwaysbeenbadbloodbetweendogsandBlack

people: they were bred adversaries—slaves running from the slobbering hounds,

andthentheconvictmandodgingthem.

ButRiverhadawaywithanimals.Thesergeantsawthat.Itdidn’tmattertohim

thatRivcouldn’tmakethehoundshuntKinnie.Thesergeantknewtherewasn’t

anotherWhiteinmatewhocouldwranglethosedogs,soRivwashisbestbetfor

trainingthem,forkeepingthemkeen.ThedogslovedRiv.Theyturnedfloppyand

sillywhenhecamearound.Isawit,becauseRivaskedthemtotransfermeoutthe

fields and over to him so I could assist him. He saw how sick I was after I got

whipped.HethoughtifIwerelefttomydespair,myslow-knittingback,Iwould

dosomethingstupid.Yousmart,hesaid.Littleandfast.HetoldthesergeantthatI

waswastedinthefields.

ButIdidn’thaveRiver’swaywiththedogs.Ithinksomepartofmehatedand

fearedthem. And theyknewit. The dogsdidn’tsoften to sillypuppies with me.

Theirtailsstiffened,theirbacksstraightened,andtheystilled.WhentheysawRiv

in the dark morning, they bounced and yapped, but when they saw me, they

ossifiedtostone.Riverheldouthishandstothedogslikehewasareverendand

theywerehischurch.Theywerequietwithlistening,buthedidn’tsayanything.

Somethingaboutthewaytheyfrozetogetherinthebluedawnwasworshipful.But

when I held out my hand to them, like Riv told me, and waited for them to

acclimatetomyscent, to listen to me,they snapped andgurgled. Riv said:Have

patience,Richie;it’sgoingtohappen.Idoubted.Eventhoughthedogshatedme,andI

stillgotupwhenthesunwasadimshineattheedgeoftheskyandspentallday

haulingwaterandfoodandrunningafterthosemutts,IwasstillhappierthanIhad

beenbefore,stilllighter,almost,maybeokay.IknowRiverhasn’ttold Jojothat,

because I never told River that when I ran, it felt like the air was sweeping me

along.Ithoughtthewindmightpickmeupandhurlmethroughtheair,buoyme

upout of theshittydogpens,thescarred fields,awayfromthegunmen andthe

trusty shooters and the sergeant up into the sky. That it would carry me away.

When I was lying on my cot at night while River cleaned my wounds, those

momentsblinkedaroundmelikefirefliesinthedark.Icaughttheminmyhands

andheldthemtome,agoldenhandfuloflight,beforeswallowingthem.

IwouldtellJojothis:Thatwasnoplaceforhope.

ItonlygotworsewhenHogjawreturnedtoParchman.TheycalledhimHogjaw

because he was big and pale as a three-hundred-pound pig. His jaw was a hard

square.Hismouthalongthinline.Hehadthejawofahogthatwouldgore.He

was a killer. Everybody knew. He had escaped Parchman once, but then he

committedanotherviolentcrime,shootingorstabbingsomeone,andhewassent

back.That’swhataWhitemanhadtodotoreturntoParchman,evenifhewas

free because he had escaped: a White man had to murder. Hogjaw did a lot of

murdering,butwhenhecameback,thewardenputhimoverthedogs,overRiv.

Thewardensaid:“Itain’tnaturalforacoloredmantomasterdogs.Acoloredman

doesn’tknowhowtomaster,becauseitain’tinhimtomaster.”Hesaid:“Theonly

thinganiggerknowshowtodoisslave.”

Iwasn’tlightanymore.WhenIrantofetch,Ididn’tfeellikeIwasracingthe

wind. There were no more firefly moments to blink at me in the dark. Hogjaw

smelledbad.Sourlikeslop.Thewayhelookedatme—therewassomethingwrong

aboutit.Ididn’tknowhewasdoingituntilonedaywewereoutrunningdrills

withthedogs,andHogjawsaid,Comewithme,boy.Hewantedmetofollowhimto

thewoodssowecouldrunthedogsuptrees.HogjawtoldRivertorunamessageto

thesergeantandleaveustothedrills.Hogjawputhishandonmyback,gently.He

grabbedmyshouldersallthetime,handshardastrotters;heusuallysqueezedso

tightIfeltmybackcurvingtobend,tokneel.RivergaveHogjawahardlook,and

stoodinfrontofmethatday,andsaid,Sergeantneedhim.Helookedatme,tilted

hisheadtowardthecompound,andsaid,Go,boy.Now.IturnedandranasfastasI

could.Myfeetrunningtodarkness.ThenextmorningRivwokemeupandtoldme

Iwasn’thisdogrunneranymore,andIwasgoingbackoutinthefield.

*

Iwanttotelltheboyinthecarthis.Wanttotellhimhowhispoptriedtosaveme

again and again, but he couldn’t. Jojo cuddles the golden girl to his chest and

whispers to her as she plays with his ear, and as he murmurs, his voice like the

wavesofacalmbaylappingagainstaboat,Irealizethereisanotherscentinhis

blood. This is where he differs from River. This scent blooms stronger than the

darkrichmudofthebottom;itisthesaltofthesea,burningwithbrine.Itpulses

inthecurrentofhisveins.Thisispartofthereasonhecanseemewhiletheothers,

exceptingthelittlegirl,can’t.Iamsubjecttothatpulse,helplessasafishermanina

boatwithnoengine,nooars,whilethetidebearshimonward.

ButIdon’ttelltheboyanyofthat.Isettleinthecrumpledbitsofpaperand

plastic that litter the bottom of the car. I crouch like the scaly bird. I hold the

burningscaleinmyclosedhand,andIwait.

Chapter7

Leonie

We got to leave the windows down because of the smell. I done used all the

napkinsIhadshovedintheglovecompartmenttocleanupthemess,butMichaela

stilllooklikeshebeensmearedwithpaint,andshedonerubbeditalloverJojo,

andhewon’tlethergosohecancleanthethrow-upoffhim,too.“I’mallright,”he

said.“I’mallright.”ButIcantellbythewayhekeepsayingitthatitain’talltrue.

ThepartofmethatcanthinkaroundMichaelknowswhatJojoissayingain’ttrue.

Thatheain’tallright,becausehe’ssoworriedaboutMichaela.Jojokeepslooking

over at Misty, who is half leaning out thewindow, complaining about the smell

(“Youain’tnevergoingtobeabletogetthatout,”shesaid),andIexpecthimto

look mad in the rearview like he did earlier when Misty complained. Instead,

there’ssomethingelsethere,somethingelseinhiswide-openeyesandhislipsthat

doneshrunktonothing.

*

Michaelknocksonthedoor.Allofusarehuddledontheporch,smellinglikevomit

andsaltandmusk,whenAlopensit.

“Hello.I’msurprisedtheyprocessedyousoquickly!”Alsays.

Hehasanothercookingspooninhishand,ahandtoweltossedoverhisshoulder

likeascarf.Ifeelsorryforhishousekeeper,ifhehasone,becauseI’mprettysurehe

neverwashesanyofhispots,juststacksoneontheotheronhiscounter.Whenever

he’snotathisoffice,hemustbecooking.

“Michaela’s still sick.” Misty shoulders her way past all of us and through the

frontdoor.

“Well,thatjustwon’tdo,”Alsays,andhestepsbacksotherestofuscanfile

pasthim.Jojoislast;Michaelawon’tlethimgo,andhewon’tputherdown.

“Cleantowelsareinthehallcloset,”Alsays.“Y’allshouldwashup.I’llborrow

Mistyandwe’llgotothestoreformedicine.”Mistynods,looksrelievedatbeing

abletorideinavehiclenotsplashedwithvomit.“Breadandgingeraleareinthe

pantry,”Alsays.“Idon’tknowwhyIdidn’tthinkofthatyesterday.”Alstudiesthe

carpet,thenlooksupandpassesthetoweloverhisface.“Ohyes,Iremember.”He

smilesatmeandMichael.“Iwasdazzledbymycompanyandtheirgifts,no?”

Michael holds out his hand. It is callused from the farm work he did in

Parchman: looking after dairy cows and chickens, tending to some vegetable

patches.Hetoldmethewardenthoughtitwouldbeagoodideatogettheinmates

toworkingthelandagain,thathethoughtitwasashameallthatgoodDeltasoil

wasgoingtowastewithallthemable-bodiedmenthere,withallthemidlehands.

Butithad put a bugin Michael.He liked it,he toldme in hisletters. When he

finallygothome,hewantedustoputinagarden,whereverweendedupat.Evenif

it was a cluster of pots on a concrete slab.Can’t nothing bother me when I got my

handsinthedirt,hesaid.LikeI’mtalkingtoGodwithmyfingers.Al’shandlookssoft,

big,andwhenheshakesMichael’shand,hisfleshisanenvelope,swallowing.

“Thankyou,”Michaelsays.“Foreverythingyoudoneformyfamilyandme.”

Alshrugs,looksdownattheirhands,turnsredderthanhealreadyis.

“It’smyjob,”Alsays,“forwhichIamwellcompensated.Thankyou.”

*

AfterMistyandAlleave,IstripMichaelaandmakeJojotakeoffhisshirt,andthen

IthrowitallinAl’swashingmachine,afancyuprightthattakesmefiveminutesof

jabbingbuttonsandturningdialstofigureouthowtowork.Michaelashrieksthe

entire time she’sin the bathtub, her eyes rollingto Jojo, and I’m rougher than I

shouldbewithher,soapingherlittleleanbelly,herlegs,herback.Pickingchunks

outofherhair.Pushingthatragagainstherfacetowipetheslimeandcrustand

tearsfromit,pushingharderthanIshould,becauseI’msopissed.Mamacarriedan

orangebraceletalways,wovenorangeyarnwithlittleorangebeadsonit,andshe

knotteditandputitinthepocketofherskirteveryday,andwhenmeorGiven

donesomethingstupid,somethinglikeGivengettingdrunkforthefirsttimeand

showingupwithasickmouththrowingupalloverherherbsontheporch,orlike

when I pulled up some plant she was growing in the garden, mistaking it for a

weed,she’dgrabthatlittlepieceoforangeandstartpraying:SaintTeresa,I’dhear.

OurLadyofCandelaria,she’dmutter.Andthen:Oya.AndIdon’tknowtheFrench,

justwordshereandthere,butsometimesshe’dsayitinEnglish,andIwasthere

oftenenoughtounderstand:ForOyaofthewinds,oflightning,ofstorms.Overturnour

minds.Cleantheworldwithyourstorms,destroyitandmakeitnewwiththewindsof

yourskirts.AndwhenIaskedherwhat shemeant,she said:Ain’tnogoodinusing

angerjusttolash.Youprayforittoblowupastormthat’sgoingtoflushoutthetruth.

“Saint Teresa,” I mutter. “Oya,” I say, and rinse Michaela, dumping a cup of

wateroverherhead.Shewails.Iwrapatowelaroundherthatsoaksatthebottom,

turnsheavywithwater,beforepickingherupandliftingheroutofthetub.She

kicks.Iwanttohither.Don’tmakemefeelthisfornothing,Ithink.Givemesometruth.

Butain’tnotruthcomingwhenIdryheroff,ignorethelotionforherflailing,and

shoulderpastJojo,whobeencleaningoffhis chestatthesink andmirrorand, I

know,watching,likeabluejaymother,readytodartinandpeckifIdoherwrong.

ReadytotakethehitsforhimselfifIdolosemytemperandstartswattingather

bottom, still clammy with water and fever. He’s at that age where skinny boys

eitherstretchandgetskinnierandleanerandharder,orwhereskinnyboysgetfat

andspendtheirearlyteenyearstryingtolearnhowtomovebodiesmadebulkyby

hormones.Jojoisamixofboth:fatcollectsallalonghisbelly,butavoidshischest

andarmsandface.Withashirton,hestilllooksasleanashedid when he was

younger.Icantellbythewayhewasheshimselfhe’sashamedofit,thathedon’t

knowlikeIdothatinafewyearsthatstomach’sgoingtomeltaway,layerbylayer,

as he gets taller and more muscular, and he’ll emerge, his body an even-limbed

machinelikeMichael’s.TalllikePop.

“Make sure you get in them rolls,” I say. Jojo flinches like I’ve hit him. Shies

closertothemirror.Itfeelsgoodtobemean,tospeakpastthebabyIcan’thitand

letthatangertouchanother.TheoneI’mnevergoodenoughfor.NeverMamafor.

Just Leonie, a name wrapped around the same disappointed syllables I’ve heard

fromMama,fromPop,evenfromGiven,mywholefuckinglife.IdumpMichaela,

thewailingbundle,onthebedandbegintowelingheroffandshe’sstillkickingand

screamingandmoaningandnowsaying“Jojo,”andIjustwanttogiveheroneslap,

ormaybetwo,enoughtostinghergood,butIdon’tknowifI’llbeabletostop,

SaintTeresa,Iwon’tbeabletostop,helpme.Ileavehertremblingandwalktothe

door and yellat thebathroom, at Jojo, who standswith hishands tucked in his

armpits,hisarmslikefootballpadsacrosshischest,andwatchesus.

“Getherdressed.Puthertosleepforanap.Don’tleavethisroom.”

Islamthedoor.

*

When I run out of the hallway and see Michael standing in the milky light, my

angerturnssoquicklytoloveIstop,silenced.AllIcandoiswatchhimwalkthe

fourcornersoftheroom,andthenshrug.

“Heain’tgotnoTV,”Michaelsays.“Hegotthisbigoldnicehouse,butnoTV.”

Ilaughandit’slikethebadasslittleboywhoruinedtheTVdowntheroadisin

the room with us: the delighted trembling he must have felt at his wickedness

rusheslikewaterthroughme.

“Hegotsomethingbetterthanthat,”Isay.

Thefireplaceisbig,themoldingblackenedattheedgesandthepaintlongsince

sloughedofflikeasnake’sskin.Therearethreeceramicbowlscappedwithtopson

themantel,vasesatleastfiveshadesofblue.Liketheocean,Alsaidthenightbefore.

Notlike your ocean—I meanseriously,theyshouldn’t even callthat agulf sinceit’sthe

colorofditchwater.Imeanrealwater.ImeanJamaicaandSaintLuciaandIndonesiaand

Cyprus.Hesmiledawaytheinsultandpointedatthetwolargerurnsatthecorners

ofthemantel.MaterandPater,hesaid.Andthenheslidthesmallcenterurnacross

thesootywoodenplaneandcradleditinhisarms.AndmyBaby:myBeloved.When

Alpulledoutthepack,andsaidShe’sheretoparty,Mistyyelped,excited.Ipullout

the pack and Michael looks as if he wants to turn and run—and then like I am

holding his favorite food, macaroni and cheese, and he wants to eat. Instead, he

grabsmy hand andpulls me towardhim,surrounds me, breathesheavyinto the

hairatmytemple,makingitflutter.Fiveminuteslater,wearehigh.

*

It’s the drug but then it’s not the drug. He is all eyes and hands and teeth and

tongue.Hisforeheadagainstmine:hisheaddown.Heispraying,toolowformeto

hear,andthenIfeelit.“Leonie,Loni,Oni,Oh,”hesays,hisvoicethereandthen

nothing, his fingers there and then nothing and then there again, and my skin

itchesandtinglesandburnsandsears.SolongsinceIhadthis.Mychestishollow

andthenfull;nowaditchdustydry,nowrushingwithwaterafterasudden,heavy

springrain.Aflood.Therearenowords.Allaroundme,thenthroughme,aman

praying,andsilent,prayingandsilent,amanwhoismorethanman,amanwitha

shiningshockofhairandcleareyes,amanwhoisallfire,fireinhismouth,flames

hishands,smolderingcoalstheVofhiships.Fireandwater.Drownedclean.Born

up.Blessed.Likethat,yes.Likethat.Yes.

*

IpeeinAl’scoldwhitehalfbathroom,listenforthekids,hearnothing.Walkback

into the living room, the windows sparking dust to gold in the air. There is

somethingwrong.Michaelsmilesatme,rubshisneckwhereIsuckedonhim,says,

“Ithinkyouleftamark.”AndGiven-not-Given,black-shirted,sitsslumpedatthe

otherendofthesofa.Hewaveshisarmformetocomesitbetweenthem.Thebuzz

loops through me and drops. I sit, and Michael takes my face in his warm, real

hands,andhislipsmeetmine,andIamopeningalloveragain.Losinglanguage,

losingwords.Losingmyselfinthatfeeling,thatfeelingofbeingwantedandneeded

andtouchedandcradled,allthewhilemarvelingthattheonedoingitistheone

thatwants,thatneeds,thattouches,thatsees.Thisisamiracle,Ithink,soIclose

myeyesandignoreGiven-not-Given,whois sittingtherewith asadlookon his

face,mouthinasoftfrown,andthinkofMichael,realMichael,andwonderifwe

hadanotherbaby,ifitwouldlookmorelikehimthanMichaela.Ifwehadanother

baby,wecouldgetitright.

IexpecthimtobegonewhenIpullmymouthfromMichael’s,butGiven-not-

Given’snotonthesofaanymore,he’sstandingbythemantel,lookingjustassolid

astheMichaelI’mstraddling,butstillasthoseurns.Michaelgroansandwipesa

handoverhisface,hisneckandchestred,thefrecklesonhimweltedasantbites.

“Sugarbaby,whatyoudotome?”hesays.

I don’t know what to say because Given-not-Given is watching me closely,

waitingformyreply,soIsaynothingandshakemyheadandrootintoMichael’s

neckwithmyface,inhalingthesmellofhim.Soalive:sohere.HopingthatwhenI

sit up, Given-not-Given will be gone back to wherever he stays when he’s not

hauntingme, back towhatever weird cornerof my braincalls him up when I’m

high:thehollowfigment.ButGiven’sstillthere,andhe’sstandingoutsideofthe

hallwaytothekids’room,sittingonthefloorwithhisbacktothewall.Herubshis

facewithhishands.

“Iloveyou,”ItellMichael,andhecupsmetohimandkissesmeagain.Given-

not-Givenfrownsandshakeshishead.AsifIhavegiventhewronganswer.Ilook

atMichaelbeneathme,andIignorethephantom,don’tevenlooktowardthekids’

room,sothatfortherestofthehourandahalfthatMistyandAlaregone,Given-

not-Givenisalightsmudgeatthecornerofmyeye,sittingoutsidethekids’room,

guarding them. But Michael is rubbing my back and scalp, and that is all that

matters.

*

Theysleepasone:MichaelawrapsherselfaroundJojo,herheadonhisarmpit,her

armoverhischest,herlegoverhisstomach.Jojopullsherintohim:hisforearm

curledunderherheadandaroundherneck,hisotherarmabaracrossthemboth

tolayflatagainstherback.Hishandhardinprotection,stiffassiding.Buttheir

facesmakemefeeltwowaysatonce:theirfacesturnedtowardeachother,sleep-

smoothedtoaninfant’sfatness,sosoftandopenthatIwanttoleavethemasleepso

theycanfeelwhattheywill.IthinkGivenmusthaveheldmelikethatonce,that

oncewebreathedmouthtomouthandinhaledthesameair.Butanotherpartof

mewantstoshakeJojoandMichaelaawake,toleandownandyellsotheystartle

and sit up so I don’t have to see the way they turn to each other like plants

followingthesunacrossthesky.Theyareeachother’slight.

“Wakeup,”Isay,andJojositsstraightup,stillhuggingMichaelatohim.Given-

not-GivensatoutsidetheirdooruntilMistyandAlcameback:it’sstrangetosee

echoesofhiminthewayJojo’sshoulderscurlinwardoverMichaela,inhiswide-

openeyesthatscantheroomandstopontheonedresser,inhowstillhesuddenly

is.“It’stimetogo,”Isay.

“Home?”hesays.

Michaelhastositonthetrunktocloseit.Withthreepeopleintheback,we

ain’tgotroomforthebagswerodeupherewith,soeventhoughJojowhinedabout

it,Imadethemputeverythingintheback,includingthesandwichesAl’ssending

usdowntheroadwith.Jojo’sstillpouting,andI’mtwominutesawayfromturning

andleaningoverthebackseatandslappingtheexpressionoffhisface:thethread

line, the moueof hislips, thelow eyebrows,all wiped smooth.He singsnursery

rhymes to Michaela through the pout: the baby claps her hands and works her

fingers like little spiders and looks bored and fascinated in flashes. Every fifth

word,shetouchesJojo’snose.Misty’sasleepaftercomplainingforagoodhourthat

thecarstillsmellslikethrow-up,andMichael’sdriving,soIwatchthekidswhenI

ain’twatchingMichael,whenIain’tnotingthewayhisskineatsupthelightfrom

thegrowingday.

WhenAlhandedMichaelthesandwiches,Alwassweatingallover,dampwith

salt and smelling like raw onions. He’d packed the sandwiches in a small hard

plasticbag,aportablecoolerwithaChimaylogoprintedontheside.“Wedon’t

wanttotakeyourbag,”Michaelsaid.“Iinsist,”Alsaid,hisbreathshutteringinand

out of him fast, his eyes everywhere: the woods, the yard, the house sinking in

gentledecline.Alwashighagain.“Forservicesrendered,”hesaid,andsmiledatme

then.Histeethwerebad,eachoneringedwithblacklikeadirtybathtub,hisgums

red.Heneverbrushes,Ithought.Themenshookhands,andMichaelcurledaloose

fistoverwhateverAlgavehim.Michaelsliditintohispocket.

“Comehere,”Michaelsays.Hisbloodthudsthicklyundermyear,theskinofhis

armliketepidwater.Theroadwindsthroughfieldsandwood,allthewaysouthto

theGulf,andthelightthatcutsthroughthewindowsfluttersallaround.Where

theroadmeetstheGulf,itskirtsthebeachformiles.Iwishitranstraightoverthe

water,likethe pictures of thebridgeI’veseen that links theFloridaKeysto the

coast,wishitwasanendlessconcreteplankthatranoutoverthestormybluewater

oftheworldtocircletheglobe,soIcouldlielikethisforever,feelingthefinehair

onhisarm,mykidssilenced,noteventhere,hisfingersonmyarmdrawingcircles

andlinesthatIdecipher,himwritinghisnameonme,claimingme.Theworldisa

tangleofjewelsandgoldspinningandthrowingoffsparks.I’malreadyhome.

I’veneverhadenoughofthis.AfterMichaelandIgottogetherinhighschool,I

gotpregnantwithJojoinjustunderayear:Iwasseventeen.Eversincethenwehad

JojoandMichaelaaroundus,makingthosespacesbiggerbetweenus.Irememberit

in flashes, mostly when I’m high, that feeling of it just being me and Michael,

together:thewayIswamupandsurfacedoutmygriefwhenIwaswithhim,how

everythingseemedsomuchmorealivewithhim.Weparkedoutinafieldunder

thestars, inhis pickup truck. We’d sneakand swim inhis parents’aboveground

pool,sinkingunderthewaterintheblurryblueandkissing.Onthebeachneara

seafoodfestival,withthelightsfromthecarnivalridesflickeringinthedistance,

bad zydeco music sounding over the loudspeakers, he’d twirl me and make me

dancewithhimuntilwetrippedandfellinthesand.

“Itain’thealthy,”MamasaidafterIbroughtMichaelhomethefirsttime,andwe

satonthesofaandwatchedTV.Popwalkedthroughthehouseandlookedpastus.

AfterMichaelleft,Mamabegancooking.Isatatthekitchentableandpolishedmy

nails,asoftpastelpink,thecolorofcottoncandy,becauseIthoughtitlookedgood

onmyhand.IhopedthecolorwouldmakeMichaeltakemyfingersinhismouth

andsay:Igottagetmesomeofthissweet.

“Allyouhear,allyousee,ishim,”Mamasaid.

“I see plenty else,” I said. I wanted to defend myself, but I knew I was lying,

becausewhenIwokeupinthemorning,IthoughtofMichael’slaugh,ofthewayhe

flipped his cigarettes before he lit them, of the way his mouth tasted when he

kissedme.AndthenIrememberedGiven.AndtheguiltIfeltwhenIrealizedit.

“Everytimeyousaysomething,youlookathimlikealittlepuppydog.Likeyou

waitingforhimtopetyou.”

“Mama,IknowIain’tapuppy.”

“Youexactlythat.”

I blew on the fingers of my right hand and waved them in front of my face,

breathedinthehotsmellsofthekitchen:beansbubblingonthestove,cornbread

cooling,thesmellofthenailpolish,whichmademystomachturn,butinaway

thatIliked.I’dhuffedbeforeIgotpregnantwithJojo,onmykneesinashedinone

ofMichael’sfriends’yards,oneofthemanyfriendsthatMichaelhadwhoseparents

were never home. The world had tilted and spun, and my brain had seemed to

breakoutofmyskullandfloatoff.Michaelhadgrabbedmyshoulders,anchored

me,pulledmebackintomyself.

“Soyoudon’tlikehim?”Iasked.

Mama breathed out hard and sat across from me at the wooden table. She

grabbedmyunpolishedhandandturneditpalmupandtappeditasshespoke.

“I...itain’thisfaultwhathewasbornto.Where.”Mamatookadeepbreath.

“Intothatfamily.”Shetookanotherhitchingbreath,andthewayherfacefolded

andsmoothed,Iknewshe was thinking of Given.“He just a boy,a boylike any

other his age. Smelling his piss for the first time and thinking with his nether-

head.”Likeyourbrother,shedidn’tsay.ButIknewthesentencewasinher.

“Iain’tdoingnothingcrazy.”

“Ifyouain’talreadyhavingsexwithhim,youwillbesoon.Protectyourself.”She

wasright,butIdidn’tlisten.Tenmonthslater,Iwaspregnant.AfterMichaelgot

thetestandItookit,IbroughtittoMamaandtoldher.ItoldheronaSaturday

because Pop worked on Saturdays, andI didn’t want him to be there.It was an

awful day. It was early spring, and the rain had been booming all night and all

morning:sometimesthethunderwassoclose,itmademythroatjudder,closedmy

windpipe, made it hard for me to breathe. I’d always been scared of lightning,

alwaysthoughtitwouldhitmeoneday,burnthroughtheairandtouchmewitha

great blue arc, like a spear streaming straight for me, and me helpless when the

sharpheadsankin.I’dgrownupparanoid,thoughtthelightningfollowedmewhen

Iwasinmycar,whenitrattledmywindows.Mamawashangingplantstodryin

thelivingroomonstringthatPophadhungonazigzagbackandforthacrossthe

room, so the plants listed in the electric air, and Mama half laughing and

muttering,thesoftbacksofherarmsflashingwhiteandthennot:akittenshowing

itsbelly.

“Herehecome.Beensingingforweeks.”

“Mama?”

ShesteppeddownfromthepinestepstoolPophadbuilther.He’dcarvedher

nameintothetopof it; the letters looked likewisps of smoke.Philomène. It had

beenher Mother’sDay present yearsbefore, when Iwas so littlethe onlyhelp I

couldgivewastoscratchalittlestar,fourlinescrossedatthemiddle,onthesideof

hername,andGivenhadcarvedarosethatlookedlikeamuddypuddle,nowworn

smoothbyMama’sfeet.

“Iwaswonderinghowlongitwasgoingtotakeyoutobuildupthenervetotell

me,” she said, the stool tucked under her arm like she would put it away, but

insteadofwalkingtothekitchen,shesatonthesofaandletthestepstoolhang

overherlegsacrossherlap.

“Ma’am?”Iasked.Thunderboomed.Ifelthotaroundtheneckandarmpits,like

someonehadsplashedhotgreaseacrossmyfaceandchest.Isatdown.

“You’repregnant,”Mamasaid.“Isawtwoweeksago.”

She reached across the wood in her lap and touched me then, not with the

pitilesshandofthelightning,butwithherdry,warmhands,softundertheskin

she’dworkedhard,justasecondofatouchonmyshoulder,likeshehadfounda

pieceoflintthereandwasbrushingitoff.Isurprisedmyselfandcurledintoit,

leaningforward,putmyheadonthewoodwhileherhandrubbedcirclesonmy

back.Iwascrying.

“I’msorry,”Isaid.Thewoodhardagainstmymouth.Unyielding.Wettingwith

mytears.Mamaleanedoverme.

“Noroomforsorriesnow,baby.”Shegrabbedmebytheshoulders,pulledmeup

tolookatmyface.“Whatyouwanttodo?”

“Whatyoumean?”TheclosestabortionclinicwasinNewOrleans.Oneofthe

morewell-offgirlsinmyschoolwhosedaddywasalawyerhadtakenheraftershe’d

gottenpregnant,soIknewitwasthere,anditwasexpensive.Ithoughtwehadno

moneyforthat.Iwasright.Mamagesturedatthehangingplants,thelistingjungle

aboveourheadsbristlinginthecoolelectricair.

“Icouldgiveyousomething.”Shelettheendofthesentencetrailoff,disappear.

ShelookedatmelikeIwasasmudgedbookshewashavingtroublereadingand

cleared her throat. “It was one of the first things I learned how to do, in my

training.It’stheoneteaIneverhaveenoughof.”Shetouchedmykneethen;she’d

foundanotherpieceoflint.Sheleanedbackagain,andherculottesstretchedtight

acrossherknees.Yearslater,that’swhereshe’dfirststartfeelingthepainfromthe

cancer:inherknees.Thenitmoveduptoherhips,herwaist,herspine,toherskull.

Itwasasnakeslitheringalongherbones.SometimesIthinkbacktothatday,to

hersittingonthesofa,givingmethoselittletouches,littletouchesthatdidn’twant

toturnmeonewayortheother,eventhoughshewantedJojo,Ithink,becauseher

griefforGivenwashungryforlife.SometimesIwonderifthecancerwassitting

there with us in that moment, too, if it was another egg, a yellow egg knit of

sorrow, bearing the shape of bullet holes, wiggling in the marrow of her bones.

That day, she was wearing a blouse she’d sewn herself from a print full of pale

yellowflowers.Roses,lookedlike.“Youwantthisbaby,Leonie?”

Awhip-crackoflightninglitthehouse,andIjumpedasthethunderboomed.

Ichokedandcoughed;Mamapattedmyback.Thehumiditymadeherhairalive

aroundherface,tendrilsofitstandingupandcurlingawayfromherbutteryscalp.

Thelightningcrackedagain,thistimelikeitwasrightontopofus,feetawayfrom

arcingthroughthehouse,andherskinwaswhiteasstoneandherhairwaving,and

I thought about the Medusa I’d seen in an old movie when I was younger,

monstrousandgreen-scaled,andIthought:That’snotitatall.Shewasbeautifulas

Mama.That’showshefrozethosemen,withtheshockofseeingsomethingsoperfectand

fierceintheworld.

“Yeah,Mama,”Isaid.Itstilltwistssomethinginmetothinkofthat:thefact

that I hesitated, that I looked at my mama’s face in that light and felt myself

wrestlewithwantingtobeamother,withwantingtobearababyintotheworld,

tocarryitthroughoutlife.Thewayweweresittingonthatsofa,kneestight,backs

curved, heads low, made me think of mirrors and of how I’d wanted to be a

differentkindofwoman,howI’dwantedtomovesomewherefaraway,gowestto

California,probably,withMichael.Hetalkedaboutmovingwestandworkingasa

welderallthetime.Ababywouldmakethatharder.Mamalookedatmeandshe

wasn’tstone no more:her eyeswere crumpled and hermouth crooked, and that

toldmesheknewexactlywhatIwasthinking,andIworriedthatshecouldread

minds, too, that she would see me shying away from who she was. But then I

thoughtofMichael,ofhowhappyhewouldbe,ofhowIwouldhaveapieceofhim

withmealways,andthatuneasemeltedlikelardinacast-ironpot.“Ido.”

“Iwishyouwouldhavefinishedschoolfirst,”Mamasaid.Anotherpieceoflint,

thistimeonmyhairatthecrownofmyhead.“Butthisisnow,andwedowhatwe

do.”Shesmiledthen:athinline,noteeth,andIleanedforwardandputmyheadin

her lap again, and she ran her hands up and down my spine, over my shoulder

blades,pressedinonthebaseofmyneck.Allthewhileshushinglikeastream,like

she’d taken all the water pouring on the outside world into her, and she was

sendingitoutinatrickletosootheme.Jesuislafilledel’océan,lafilledesondes,la

filledel’écume,Mamamuttered,andIknew.IknewshewascallingonOurLadyof

Regla.OntheStaroftheSea.ThatshewasinvokingYemayá,thegoddessofthe

oceanandsaltwater,withhershushingandherwords,andthatshewasholding

melikethegoddess,herarmsallthelife-givingwatersoftheworld.

*

I’m asleep and I don’t know it until Michael is shaking me awake, his fingers

diggingintomyshoulder.Mymouthissodry,mylipsaresealedshut.

“Thepolice,”Michaelsays.Theroadbehindusisempty,butthetensioninhis

hand and the way his eyes widen and roll make me know this is serious. Even

thoughIcan’tseethemanddon’thearanysirens,theyarethere.

“Youdon’thavealicense,”Isay.

“Wehavetoswitch,”hesays.“Grabthewheel.”

Igrabitandpushmyfeetintothefloorboardsandraisemyrearofftheseatso

hecanputalegoverinthepassengerseatandbeginslidingover.Hetakeshisfoot

offthegas,andthecarbeginstoslow.Iputmyleftfootovernearthepedal,andI

amsittinginhislapinthemiddleofthecarforoneawful,hilariousmoment.

“Shitshitshit.”Helaughs.It’swhathedoeswhenhe’sfrightened.WhenIwent

into labor, my water breaking in the snack aisle of a convenience store in St.

Germaine, he scooped me up in his arms and carried me to his truck, laughing

whilecussing.Hetoldmethatonce,whenhewasaboy,acowkickedoneofhis

friendsinthemiddleofthenightwhentheywereoutcow-tippingwithflashlights:

hisfriend,aredheadwithpencilarmsandamouthfulofrottenteethfromyearsof

notbrushingandchewingdip,bracedhimselfashefell,andhisarmsnappedlikea

treelimb.Theelbowbentwrong,apieceofbonestickingoutofhisupperarm,

pearlyasajaggedoystershell.Michaelsaidhisownlaughterscaredevenhim,then:

high and breathless as a young girl’s. Michael lifts me off his lap, slides into the

passengerseat,andIambehindthewheelwhenIseethelightsbehindmecoming

upfastonthistwo-lanehighway,flashingblue,sirenstuttering.

“Yougotit?”Iask.

“What?”

“Theshit.Youknow,thestufffromAl.”

“Fuck!”Michaelfumblesinhispockets.

“What?”Mistywakesupinthebackseat,twistingtolookback.Ibeginslowing

down.“Oh,shit,”shesayswhensheseesthelights.

IlookintherearviewandJojoislookingstraightatme.He’sallPop:upside-

downmouth,hawknose,steadyeyes,thesetofhisshouldersasMichaelawakesup

crying.

“Idon’thavetime,”Michaelsays.He’sfumblingforthecarpet,abouttoshove

theplasticbaggieoutofthelittledoorinthefloorofthecar,butthere’stoomuch

inthewaywithaballed-upshirtIboughtforhiminaconveniencestorewhenwe

stoppedtogetgas,withplasticbagsofpotatochipsandDrPepperandcandywe

boughtwiththemoneyAlgaveus.“Anditgotafuckingholeinit.”Thebottomof

the plastic baggie is scored and jagged, the white and yellow crystal dry and

crumblyatthecorners.

Isnatchthesmallwhitebaggie.Ishoveitinmymouth.Iworkupsomespit,and

Iswallow.

*

Theofficerisyoung,youngasme,youngasMichael.He’sskinnyandhishatseems

toobigforhim,andwhenheleansintothecar,Icanseewherehisgelhasdried

and started flaking up along his hairline. He speaks, and his breath smells like

cinnamonmints.

“Didyouknowyouwereswerving,ma’am?”heasks.

“No,sir,Officer.”Thebaggieisthickasawadofcottonballsinmythroat.Ican

hardlybreathe.

“Issomethingwrong?”

“No,sir.”Michaelspeaksforme.“Webeenontheroadforafewhours.Shetired

isall.”

“Sir.”Theofficershakeshishead.“Canyoustepoutofthecar,ma’am,withyour

licenseandinsurance?”Icatchanotherwhiffofhim:sweatandspice.

“Yes,”Isay.Theglovecompartmentisamessofnapkinsandketchuppackets

andbabywipes.Astheofficerwalksawaytotalkwithastatic-garbledvoiceonhis

walkie-talkie,Michaelleansin,putsahandonthesmallribsofmyback.

“Youallright?”

“It’sdry.”Icough,andpullouttheinsurancepaper.Isnatchupmywholewallet

and get out the car and wait for the officer to return, everybody but Michaela

frozenin thebackseat.Michaelaflailsandwails. It’s midafternoon,andthetrees

listbackandforthatthesideoftheroad.Thenewlyhatchedspringbugshissand

tick.Atthebottomoftheshoulder,thereisaditchfilledwithstandingwateranda

multitudeoftadpoles,allwrigglingandswimming.

“Whyisn’tthebabyinhercarseat?”

“Shebeensick,”Isay.“Mysonhadtotakeherout.”

“Whoarethemanandtheotherwomaninthecar?”

Myhusband,Iwanttosay,asifthatwouldvalidateus.Even:Myfiancé.Butit’s

hardenoughtochokeoutthetruth,andIknowwiththisballinmythroat,Iwill

surelychokeonalie.

“Myboyfriend.AndmyfriendIworkwith.”

“Wherey’allgoing?”theofficerasks.Hedoesn’thavehisticketbookinhishand,

andIfeelthefear,whichhasbeenroilinginmybelly,riseinmythroatandburn

hotlikeacid,pushagainstthebaggieonitsslowdescentdowntomystomach.

“Home,”Isay.“Tothecoast.”

“Wherey’allcomingfrom?”

“Parchman.”

Iknowit’samistakesoonasIsayit.Ishouldhavesaidsomethingelse,anything

else:GreenwoodorIttaBenaorNatchez,butParchmanisallthatcomes.

Thehandcuffsareonmebeforethenissilent.

“Sitdown.”

I sit. The ball in my throat is wet cotton, growing denser and denser as it

descends.The officerwalks back tothe car,makes Michael getout, putshim in

handcuffs,andmarcheshimbacktositnexttome.

“Baby?”Michaelsays.Ishakemyheadno,theairanotherkindofcotton,humid

withspringrain,allofitmakingmefeelasifIamsuffocating.Jojoclimbsoutof

thecar,Michaelahangingontohim,squeezinghimwithherlegs:shehasherarms

wrappedtightlyaroundhisneck.Mistyclimbsoutthebackseat,herhandspalms

forwardandhermouthmoving,butIcan’thearanythingshe’ssaying.Theofficer

looksbetweenthetwoandmakeshisdecisionandwalkstowardJojo,histhirdpair

ofhandcuffsout.Michaelawails.TheofficergesturesforMistytotakeMichaela,

andMichaela buriesherfaceinJojo’sneckandkicks when Mistypullsherfrom

Jojo.She’sneverlikedMisty:IbroughtherwithmetoMisty’sonedayafterarunto

theconveniencestorebytheinterstateforcigarettes,andwhenMistyleanedinto

thecartosayhellotoMichaela,Michaelaturnedherface,ignoredMisty,andasked

aquestion:“Jojo?”

“Justbreathe,”Michaelsays.

It’seasytoforgethowyoungJojoisuntilIseehimstandingnexttothepolice

officer.It’seasytolookathim,hisweedyheight,thethickspreadofhisbelly,and

thinkhe’sgrown.Buthe’sjustababy.Andwhenhestartsreachinginhispocket

andtheofficerdrawshisgunonhim,pointsitathisface,Jojoain’tnothingbuta

fat-kneed,bowleggedtoddler.Ishouldscream,butIcan’t.

“Shit,”Michaelbreathes.

Jojo raises his arms to a cross. The officer barks at him, the sound raw and

carryingintheair,andJojoshakeshisheadwithoutpausingandstaggerswhenthe

officer kicks his legs apart, the gun a little lower now, but still pointing to the

middleofhisback.IblinkandI seethebulletcleavingthesoftbutterofhim.I

shake.When Iopen my eyes again, Jojo’sstill whole. Now on hisknees, the gun

pointingathishead.MichaelathrashesagainstMisty.

“Sonofabitch!” Misty screams, and drops Michaela, who runs to Jojo, throws

herselfonhisback,andwrapsherself,armsandlegs,aroundhim.Herlittlebones:

crayonsandmarbles.Ashield.I’monmyknees.

“No,”Michaelsays.“Don’t,Leonie.Baby,don’t.”

Isnap.Imaginemyteethontheofficer’sneck.Icouldriphisthroat.Idon’tneed

hands.Icouldkickhisskullsoft.Jojoslumpsforwardintothegrass,andthecopis

shakinghishead,reachingunderMichaela,whokicksathim,tocuffJojowithone

hand. He motions to Misty, who runs forward and grips Michaela under her

armpits,wrestlesherlikeanalligator.

“Jojo!”Michaelascreams.“HaveJojo!”

Theofficerstandsinfrontofmeagain.

“Ineedyourpermissiontosearchthecar,ma’am.”

“Takemeoutofthesecuffs.”Ifhewouldcomecloseenough,Icouldhead-butt

himblind.

“Isthatayes,ma’am?”

Iswallow,breathe.Airshallowasamuddypuddle.

“Yes.”

JojoonlyhaseyesforMichaela.Hetwistshisnecktolookather,speakstoher,

hisvoiceanothermurmuring,likethetreesastheyswayinthewind.Theclouds,

likegreatgraywaves,areslidingacrossthesky.Theairalreadyfeelswet.Michaela

is beating Misty around the neck, and I am sure Misty is cussing, her words

indecipherable,buthersyllablessplittheairascleanlyasrailroadspikesriveninto

wood.

“Heputupthegun,baby?”Michaelasks.

Inodandgroan.

Theofficer is pickinghisway through thetrunk,which is alljunk.I seethat

now,handcuffed,suffocating.Plasticbagsfilledwithfaded,misshapenclothes.Al’s

bagofsandwiches.Atireiron.Jumpercables.Anoldcoolerlitteredwithempty

potatochipbagsandcolddrinkbottles,moldeatingattheseams.Thebaggiedown

mythroat,disappearedtomystomach;mybreathcominginagreatwhoosh,andI

canbreathebutthehighfromthemethcomesfast.Itsqueezesme,agreathand,

and shakes. It is a different kind of suffocation. I shudder, close my eyes, open

them,andPhantomGivenissittingnexttoJojoontheground,reachingoutasif

hecouldtouchhim.Given-not-Givendropshishand.HalfofJojo’sfaceisinthe

dirt,butIcanstillseehisfrowningmouth,quiveringatthecorners:itisthefacehe

madewhenhewasababy,whenhewasfightingtheurgetocry.

“Have Jojo!” Michaela shrieks. The officer straightens from the car and walks

overtoMisty,whohoistsMichaelaupintheairtowrangleher.PhantomGiven

rises,walkstotheofficer,Michaela,andMisty.

“Youallright,babe?”Michaelasks.

Ishakemyheadno.Given-not-Givenreachesoutagain,thistimetoMichaela,

anditlooksasifsheseeshim,asifhecanactuallytouchher,becauseshegoesrigid

allatonce,andthenagoldentossofvomiteruptsfromMichaela’smouthandcoats

theofficer’suniformedchest.MistydropsMichaelaandbendsandgags.Phantom

Givenclapssilently,andtheofficerfreezes.

“Fuck!”hesays.

MichaelacrawlstoJojo,andtheofficeryanksatJojo’spocket,pullsoutasmall

bag Jojo had, and looks within it before shoving it back in Jojo’s face like it’s a

rottenbananapeel.Hestalksbacktostandinfrontofusagain,andheisopening

ourcuffs,andheshines.Thebileglistens,theblueflashes.

“Gohome,”hesays.Thereisnocinnamonandcologneanymore.Juststomach

acid.

“Thankyou,Officer,”Michaelsays.Hegrabsmyarmandwalksmetowardthe

car,andIcannothidetheshudderofpleasureasthemethlicksandhisfingersgrip

andtheofficerundoesJojo’scuffs.

“Boyhadadamnrockinhispocket,”theofficersays.“Gohome,andkeepthat

childintheseatasmuchasyoucan.”

PhantomGivenfrownsatmeasIslideintothepassengerseat.Mybodylolls.I

can’tblink.Myeyessnapopen,againandagain.Given-not-Givenshakeshishead

astherealMichaelslamsthepassengerdoor.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,”Mistybreathesinthebackseat.JojostrapsMichaela’s

legs in her seat and hugs her and the whole contraption: the plastic back, the

padding.Michaelasobsandgrabshandfulsofhishair.Iexpecthimtotellherit’s

okay,buthedoesn’t.Hejustrubshisfaceagainsther,hiseyesclosed.Myspineisa

rope,tuggednorth,thensouth.Michaelputsthecaringear.

“Youneedmilk,”Michaelsays.PhantomGivenwipeshishandacrosshismouth,

anditis then I realize thatstreams of spitare coming frommy mouth, thickas

mucus. Given-not-Given turns away from the car and disappears: I understand.

PhantomGivenistheheartofaclock,andhisleavingmakestherestofitticktock

ticktock,makestheroadunfurl,thetreeswhip,therainstream,thewipersswish.I

bendinhalf,mymouthinmyelbowandknees,andmoan.WishitwasMama’slap.

Myjawclacksandgrinds.Iswallow.Ibreathe.Alldeliciousanddamned.

Chapter8

Jojo

Ican’tlookathimstraight.Notwithhimsittingonthefloorofthecar,squeezed

betweenKayla’scarseatandthefront,facingme.Hedon’tsaynothing,justgothis

armsover his knees,his mouth on his wrists. One hand balled into a fist. I ain’t

neverseenkneeslikehis:bigdustybeat-uptennisballs.Eventhoughhe’sskinny,

armsandlegsracket-thin,heshouldbetoobigtofitinthespacehedonefolded

himselfinto.He’ssharpattheedges,butthere’stoomuchofhim,soallIcanthink

whenIlookathimisSomething’swrong.Thephrasekeepsflyingaroundinmyhead

likeabat,flutteringandflappingandslappingatthecornersofanattic.Idon’t

knowI’vefallenasleepuntilIwakeuptothecarstopping,tothelightsflashing,to

thepolicemaninthewindowtellingLeonietostepoutofthecarandtheboyon

thefloorsinkingfartherdown,coveringhisearswithhishands.

“Theygoingtochainyou,”hesays.

Whentheofficercomesaroundtothebackdoorandsays,“Stepoutofthecar,

youngman,”theboycurlsupsmallerintohimself,likearoly-poly,andhegrimaces.

“Itoldyou,”hesays.

It’s my first time being questioned by the police. Kayla is screaming and

reaching for me, and Misty is complaining, her shirt sliding farther down her

shoulder,showingthetopsofherbreasts.Idon’thaveeyesforthat.AllIhaveeyes

forisKayla,fighting.Themantellingmesit,likeI’madog.“Sit.”SoIdo,butthenI

feel guilty for not fighting, for not doing what Kayla is, but then I think about

RichieandthenIfeelPop’sbaginmyshorts,andIreachforit.FigureifIcould

feel the tooth, the feather, the note, maybe I could feel those things running

throughme.MaybeIwouldn’tcry.Maybemyheartwouldn’tfeellikeitwasabird,

ricochetedoffacarmidflight,stunnedandreeling.Butthenthecophashisgun

out,pointingatme.Kickingme.Yellingatmetogetdowninthegrass.Cuffingme.

Askingme,“Whatyougotinyourpocket,boy?”ashereachesforPop’sbag.But

Kaylamovessofast,smallandfierce,tojumponmyback.IshouldsootheKayla,

shouldtellhertorunbacktoMisty,togetdownandletmego,butIcan’tspeak.

Thebirdcrawlingupintomythroat,wingsspasming.Whatifheshoother?Ithink.

Whatifheshootbothofus?AndthenInoticeRichielookingoutofthecarwindow,

eventhoughthecuffsaregrindingintomywrists.Hedistractsmefromthewarm

closeday,fromMistypullingKaylaaway,butonlyforasecondbecauseIcan’thelp

butreturntothis:Kayla’sbrownarmsandthatgun,blackasrot,aspregnantwith

dread.

Theimageofthegunstayswithme.EvenafterKaylathrowsup,afterthepolice

officerchecksmypantsandletsmeoutofthembitinghandcuffs,evenafterweare

allinthecarandridingdowntheroadwithLeoniebentoversickinthefrontseat,

that black gun is there. It is a tingle at the back of my skull, an itching on my

shoulder.Kaylasnugglesintome,quicklyasleep,andeverythingishotandwetin

thecar:Misty’ssweatingaboutthehairline,wetbeadsappearon Kayla’s snoring

nose,andIcanfeelwaterrunningdownmyribs,myback.Irubtheindentsinmy

wristswherethehandcuffssqueezedandseethegun,andtheboystartstalking.

“YoucallhimPop,”Richiesays.Ithinkitshouldbeaquestion,buthesaysit

likeit’sastatement.IlookupatMisty,who’sbitingherfingersandlookingoutthe

window,andInod.

“Yourgrandpa,”theboysays,hiseyeslookinguptohisforehead,theroofofthe

car,likehe’sreadingthewordshesaysinthesky.Michaelain’tpayingattentionto

anythinggoingoninthebackseat,either;he’sdrivingandrubbingLeonie’sback.

She’sdoubledover,moaning.Inodagain.

“Myname?”hesays.

Richie,Imouth.

Helookslikehewantstosmilebuthedoesn’t.

“Hetoldyouaboutme?”

Inod.

“Hetellyouhowheknewme?ThatwewasinParchmantogether?”

Ihuffandnodagain.

“Theydon’tsendthemthereasyoungasyounomore.”

Mywristswon’tstophurting.

“SometimesIthinkitdonechanged.AndthenIsleepandwakeup,anditain’t

changednone.”

It’slikethecuffscutallthewaydowntothebone.

“It’slikeasnakethatshedsitsskin.Theoutsidelookdifferentwhenthescales

change,buttheinsidealwaysthesame.”

Likemymarrowcouldcarryabruise.

“YoulooklikeRiv,”Richiesays.Heputshischinonhisforearmsandbreathes

hard,likehejustfinishedrunningalongway.ImoveKaylaontomylap,andsheis

makingmesohot.Ihavetolookawayfromthewrongoftheboyfoldedontothe

floorofthecar,soIstareoutthewindowatthetalltreesflashingpastandthink

aboutthegun.Eventhoughitremindedmeofsomuchcold,Ithinkitwouldhave

beenhottotouch.Sohotitwouldhaveburnedmyfingerprintsoff.

*

It’s after one of them long stretches, after at least two hours seeing nothing but

trees,wefinallyrunuponagasstation,andMichaelpullsofftheroad.Theboy’s

beensitting quiet, Ibeen singing toKayla, and Mistybeenplaying with hercell

phone,sowealllookupwhenwepullintotheparkinglot.Thesunburnswitha

steadymidafternoonbore. Leonie’s stillbent overin the frontseat, butshe ain’t

moaningnomore.Shequietastheboy,butsheain’tstilllikehim.Shegotherarms

crossedoverherchestandsherubbingherstomachandhersidesandherbacklike

she’smimingkissing,herfingersdiggingintothethinshallowsbetweenherribs.

Andeveryfivesecondsorso,herheadsmacksbacklikesomeonehitherintheface

withabasketball,likeIgothitwhenIwasseveninagamedownatthepark.My

cousin Rhett threw the ball to me and yelled catch too late. I wasn’t paying

attention to him or the game: I was looking to the bleachers, where Leonie was

sitting with Michael, thigh to thigh in the cold winter air, puffed up in jackets,

huddledtogetherlikenestinghens.Iturnedaroundtotheballslammingintomy

noseandmouth,sohardIsawwhiteandleftspitontheball.Theyalllaughed,and

Ithoughtitwasfunnyandhorribleatthesametime.

Michael’sdigging throughLeonie’spurse,andhepullsout ten one-dollar bills

andwavesthem.

“Ineedyoutogettwothings.Milkandcharcoal.”

“Kayla’sasleep.”

“Yourmama’ssick.Sheneedthisforherstomach.”

Irememberthegraywater,theblackstewfromtheleavessheboiledforKayla.

“ShegaveKaylasomethingshemade.Soshewouldn’tbesicknomore.Sheain’t

gotnomoreofthat?”

IwonderifwhatevermedicineshecookedwouldhelpLeonienow.Ifitwould

makehersosickthatwhateverpoisonisinsideherwouldcomeout.

“ShegaveitalltoKayla,”Mistysays.

“Whatyouneedcharcoalfor?”

“Jojo,youalwaystalkthismuchwhensomebodyasksyoutodosomething?”

Hecouldhitmerightnow.Leoniedidmostofthehitting,butIknowMichael

couldhit,too.Neverwithaclosedfist,though.Alwayswithhispalmopen,buthis

handfeltlikeasmallshoveleverytimehehitmeonthethinplateofmyshoulder,

theknobbymiddleofmychest,myarmwherethemuscleain’tenoughtotakethe

painoutoftheblow.

“Kayla’sasleep,” I sayagain, meaning itto be firm,but it comesout softas a

mumble,anditdon’tsoundlikewhatIwantittosoundlike.Michaeldon’thear

Wedon’tneedyou.HehearI’mweak.

“Putherinherseat.”

“She going to wake up,” I say. She’s a heavy sleeper. Plus she don’t feel good,

whichmeansshe’llprobablystaysleep.ButIdon’twanttoputherdown.Idon’t

wanttoleaveherinherseatwithRichiesittingatherfeet,hertoesbyhishead,her

littlefeetdanglingbyhismouth.Whatifsheseeshim?

“Goddamnit,I’llgogetit,”Mistysays,andopensthecardoor.

“No,”Michaelsays.“Jojo,getyourgoddamnassupoutthiscarandgoinsideand

getwhatItoldyou.Rightnow.”

“Hegoingtohityou.Intheface,”Richiesays,buthedoesn’tlookup,doesn’t

raisehishead.Justsaysitandkeepshisheaddown.“Iain’tgoingtotouchher.”

“Kayla,”Isay.

Michaelthrowsthemoneyatmeandsharpenshishandtoablade.Theother

onehegotonLeonie’sshoulder,keepingherstill.

“Shetooyoungtohelpme,”Richiesays.“Ineedyou.”

“I’llgo,”Isay.

Michaeldoesn’tturnbackaround.HewatchesmelayKaylainherseat,watches

metrytofixherheadsoitdoesn’tflopforward,soherlittlechindoesn’tdiginto

her chest, watches me glance at Richie on the floor, who waves his fingers but

doesn’traisehishead.

“Iain’tgoingnowhere,”Richiesays.

Theinsideofthestoreis so cool andthe outside airso hot andwet that the

windowsarefoggedup.Ican’tseeLeonie’scarfrominside,onlythesmearedgray

ontheglass.Themanatthecountergotabigbrownbushybeard,everyhairgoing

everywhichwayonhisface,buttherestofhimisthinandyellow,evenhishair,

whichhe’s combed over his head to hidethebaldnessunderneath.Itworks,too,

becausehisscalpisyellowastherestofhim,soit’shardformetotellwherehis

skinendsandthehairsprouts.

“That’s all?” he says when I put the quart of milk and the small briquettes of

charcoalonthecounter.Hestretchesouthiswordssotheyseemtoloopbetween

us,andIhavetotranslatetounderstandwhathesaysthroughtheaccent.Ilean

forward. He moves back just a step: small as a slivered fingernail. A twitch. I

rememberI’mbrown,andImoveback,too.

“Yeah,”Isay,andslidethemoneyoverthecounter.

WhenIbringthebagtothecar,Michaelisdisappointed.

“Gobackinside,”hesays,“andgetahammerorascrewdriverorsomething.Go

look where they got all the home stuff and the car stuff at. They got to have

something.Howyouexpectmetobreakthecharcoalup?”

“Guessthatwasn’tall?”themanaskswhenIslidethetire-pressuregaugeacross

thecounter.

“Nope,”Isay.Hesmilesatme,andeachtoothisgray.Hisgumsred.Hismouth

theonlythingabouthimthat’svivid,aredsurprisecomingoutofhisbeard.Itake

aTootsiePopoutthedisplaybin.

“Howmuchisit?”

“Seventy-fivecents,”themansays.Hiseyessaydifferent:IwouldgiveittoyouifI

could,butIcan’t.Gotcamerasinhere.

“Igotit,”Isay,“andIdon’tneednoreceipt.”

Thechangeiscoldinmypocketwhen IstopatMichael’ssideofthecarand

handhimthegauge.

“Yougotmychange?”

Iwashopinghe’dforget,thatatthenextplacewestopped,Icouldsneakinside

withKayla,buyabeefjerkyandadrinkformyself.Myinsidesfeellikeaballoon

again,fullwithnothingbutair.IpickthechangeoutaroundthebagPopgaveme,

and when I slide into the back of the car, Michael’s handing me a dirty saucer

Leoniehadslidunderthedriver’sseat,andabrickofcharcoal,andthegauge.

“Fuckingcharcoalwasexpensive,”hesays.“Crushit.”

“Candy,”Kaylasays,andreachesforme.

“Michaela,leave yourbrother alone,” Michael says. He’s rubbing Leonie’s hair,

bendingovertowhisperinherear,andIcatchlittlebitsofit.“Justbreathe,baby,

breathe,”hesays.

“Shhh,”ItellKayla,putmykneestothedoor,andhunchdownovertheplate

andthecharcoal.IhitthecharcoallightbecauseIdon’twantthegaugetobreak

theplate.Kaylawhinesandthewhinerises.Ithinkshe’sgoingtostartscreaming

candy,candy,butIlookbackatKaylaandshehashertwomiddlefingersinher

mouth, and I know then by the way she’s studying me, her little eyes round as

marbles,calminherseat,rubbingherseatbeltclaspwithherotherhand,thatshe

hasit. Like me.ThatshecanunderstandlikeIcan,butevenbetter,because she

knowhowtodoitnow.BecauseshecanlookatmeandknowwhatI’mthinking,

knowIgotit,Kayla,gotyouasuckerbutyougottowaitformetofinishdoingthisand

youcangetit,Ipromise,becauseyoubeenagoodgirl,andshesmilesaroundherwet

fingers,herlittleteethperfectandevenasuncookedrice,andIknowshehearsme.

“Mike,yousureaboutthis?”Mistyasks.

“It’swhattheygiveyouinthehospital,”Michaelsays.

“Iain’tneverheardofnobodyusingthekindyoucookwith.”

“Well,”Michaelsays.

“Whatifitmakeherworse?”

“Youknowwhatshedid?”

“Yes,”Mistysays,almostswallowsthewords,hervoicequiet.

“Well,thenyouknowsheneedsomething.”

“Iknow.”

“This what I got,” Michael says, something about his voice set, like concrete

firming,likeheansweredaquestion:final.

“It’sdone,”Isay.

“Thewholepiece?”

I raise the saucer up so he can see it, see the tiny pile of black-gray powder,

smellingstrongofsulfur.Somekindofbadearth.Likethebayouwhenthewater’s

low, when the water runs out after the moon or it ain’t rained and the muddy

bottom, where the crawfish burrow, turns black and gummy under the blue sky

andstinks.Michaeltakesthepowder.Hepeelstheplasticoffthemilktop,popsit,

anddrinkstwobiggulps.IamsohungryIcansmellitonhisbreath,smellitinthe

carwhenhetakesthecharcoalanddumpsitintothemilk,putsthetopon,and

shakes.Themilkshadesgray.Heflicksthetopoffagain,andthereisanewsmellin

thecar,thekindofsmellthatmakesthebackofmythroatgetthick,thekindof

smellthatmakesmewanttoswallow,soIdo.

“JesusChrist,thatstinks!”Mistysays.Shepullshershirtoverthebottomhalfof

herfacelikeaveil.

“Itain’tsupposedtosmellgood,Misty,”Michaelsays.HehoistsLeonieupand

her head fallsback. Iexpect hereyes to be closed but they aren’t:they are wide

open, and her lashes are fluttering fastas a hummingbird’swings. A white open

shock.“Comeon,baby.Yougottodrinkthis.”

Leonietwistsandturnslikeshehasnobones,herbodywindingasaworm’s.

“Candy?”Kaylaasks.

Michael’snostrilsflareandhislipsarespreadlikehewantstosmile,butthereis

nocurvehere.Histeethgleamyellowandwetasadog’s.Hewon’tknow.Allhis

attentionisonLeonie,onherwindingneckandherhandstryingtobathimaway.

Iunwrapthesucker.ItisredandglossyandIhideitinthecurveofmyhandas

IpassittoKayla.IfMichaelaskwhereshegotit,I’mgoingtosayIfounditonthe

floorofthecar.

“What’sthat?”Richieasks.

“Comehelpme,Misty,”Michaelsays.Themilkdripsdownhisforearm.Leonie

isfightinghim.“Holdhernose!”

“Shit!”Mistysays,andshe’soutthebackseatandinthefrontseatandtheyare

both wrestling Leonie back and Michael’s pouring what he can down Leonie’s

throat, and she’s swallowing and breathing and choking and there’s gray milk

everywhere.

“Holdme!”Kaylasays,andshe’sclimbingintomylap.Herhairissoftonmy

face,andIcansmellthesuckeronherbreath,sugaryandtart,andsheturnsher

headandit’slikehavingafacefulofcottoncandy,roughandsweet.

“It’sasucker,”Iwhisper.Richienodsandstretcheshishandsoverhishead.

“That’syourmama?”heask.

“No,”Isay,andIdon’texplain,evenwhenMichaelpullherfromthecarand

theybothontheykneesinthegrassonthesideofthestation,andshe’svomitingso

hardherbackcurveslikeanangrycat’s.

*

I am singing nursery rhymes with Kayla while Leonie throws up because I want

Kaylatopayattentiontome.Don’twanthertoseeLeoniehunchedoverandsick,

don’twanthertoseeMichaelwiththatpinchedlookonhisfacelikehe’sgoingto

cry,don’twanthertoseeMistyrunningfromthestationtowheretheyareonthe

grasswithcupsofwaterandhervoicehigh-pitchedandherfacered.ButIsingthe

nurserysongsallwrong;LeoniesangthemtomesolongagoIrememberthemonly

insnatches,lightshiningonamomenthereortherewhenIwasonherlap,bothof

ussinginginthekitchen,steamywithonionsandbellpepperandgarlicandcelery,

the smell so delicious I wanted to eat the air. Mam would laugh at my

pronunciation,thewayIcalledcowstows,thewayIcalledcatstats.Imusthave

beenKayla’sage,butIcouldsmellLeonie,too,smellherbreath,theredcinnamon

gumshechewedasshesangpastmyear.EvenwhenIgrewolderandshestopped

givingmekisses,everytimesomebodychewedthatgum,IthoughtofLeonie,ofher

soft,drylipsonmycheek.Kayladoesn’tcare,evenifthesongsarepatchedtogether

frommymemory,piecesofapuzzlethatalmostfit:OldMacDonaldhasallama,

andthere’sacowonthebus,mooingasthewheelsgoaroundandaround,andthe

itsybitsyspideriscrawlingwithapout.Imakeuppantomimesforallofit,but

Kayla’s favorite is a spider crawling upward, because I cross my thumbs and my

fingerssplayandsegmentandmove,andthereisaspiderinthecar,inchesfrom

Kayla’s face, crawling upward against the rain. Foolishly. When the boy begins

speaking,Isinginawhisper,andKaylasingsinawhisperbecauseshethinksit’s

fun,andIlisten.ThenKaylastopssingingandshelistens,too,butshewavesher

armsintheairandwhineswhenIstop,soIsing.

“IsRivold?”Richieasks.

Inodandwarble.

“Hewasskinnierthanyou.Taller.Alwayshadawayabouthim.Hestoodout.

Notjustbecausehewasyoung.ButbecausehewasRiv.”

Thesuniscreepingacrossthesky.Thesunbeamspasttheboy’sfacetolandon

Kayla,tomakehereyesshine.

“Got a lot of men in thereain’t sofriendly. Then and now. It’s full of wrong

men.Thekindofmenthatfeelbetteriftheydosomethingbadtoyou.Likeiteases

somethinginthem.”

Wherethesunshouldhittheboy’sfaceandmakeitglow,itonlyseemstomake

itturnadeeperbrown.

“Theybeat youinthere.Somepeoplelook at boysourageandseesomebody

theycanviolate.Seesomebodywhogotsoft pink insides. Riv tried to keepthat

fromme.Buthecouldn’tkeepitall,andIwastoosmall.Icouldn’tbearit.Kept

thinkingaboutmybrothersandsisters,wonderingiftheywaseating.Wantedto

knowwhatitwouldfeelliketowakeupandnotfeellikeathicketofthornswasup

insideofme.”

Thisisabrownthatskimsblack.

“Icouldn’tlivewithit.SoIdecidedtorun.DidRivtellyouthat?”

Inod.

“I guess I didn’t make it.” Richie laughs, and it’s a dragging, limping chuckle.

Thenheturnsserious,hisfacenightinthebrightsunlight.“ButIdon’tknowhow.

Ineedtoknowhow.”Helooksupattheroofofthecar.“Rivwillknow.”

Idon’twanttohearnomoreofthestory.Ishakemyhead.Idon’twanthim

talkingtoPop,askinghimaboutthattime.Pophasnevertoldmethestoryofwhat

happenedtoRichiewhenheran.EverytimeIaskaboutit,hechangesthesubject

or asks me to help him with something in the yard. And I understand the

sentimentwhenhelooksawayorwalksoff,expectingmetofollow.Iknowwhat

Pop’ssaying:Idon’twanttotalkaboutthis.Itwoundsme.

“What’swrong?”Richieasks.Helooksconfused.

“Shutup,”Isaysoftly.AndthenInodatKayla,whowigglesherfingersinthe

airandsays,“Spider,spider.”

“Igottoseehimagain,”hesays.“Igottoknow.”

Michael done picked Leonie up like a baby, one arm under the crook of her

knees, the other under her shoulders. Her head flops back. He’s talking into her

throat,carryinghertothecar.She’sshakingherhead.Misty’swipingherforehead

withpapertowels.Richieraisesupalittle,likehehasabody,hasskinandbones

andmuscle,needstostretchbeforehesettlesbackdownintohistoo-smallspoton

thefloor.

“It’showIgethome.”

It’safternoon.Thecloudsaregone,theskyagreatwashofblue,softwhitelight

everywhere,turningKaylagold,turningmered.Everythingelseeatinglightwhile

Richieshrugsitoff.Thetreesclatter.

“Youain’tevenfromBois.”Isayitlikeit’safact,whenIknowit’saquestion.

Richieleansforward,leanssoclosethatifhehadbreath,itwouldbehittingme

intheface,stinkingupmynose.Idoneseenpicturesoftoothbrushesfromthe’40s.

Bigashairbrushes,bristleslookmetal.Iwonderiftheyevenhadthemupthere,in

Parchman, or if they gnawed atwig to a brushy softness and rubbed their teeth

withthat,thewayPopsaidhehadtodowhenhewasgrowingup.

“There’sthingsyouthinkyouknowthatyoudon’t.”

“Like what?” I spit it out fast because Misty’s opening the front door, and

Michael’slayingLeonieinthefrontseat,andIknowtherestofmywordshaveto

bequiet.

“Homeain’talwaysaboutaplace.ThehouseIgrewupinisgone.Ain’tnothing

but a field and some woods, but even if the house was still there, it ain’t about

that.”Richierubshisknucklestogether.“Idon’tknow.”

Iraisemyrighteyebrowathim.Mamcandoit,andIcandoit.PopandLeonie

can’t.

“Homeisabouttheearth.Whethertheearthopenuptoyou.Whetheritpull

yousoclosethespacebetweenyouanditmeltandy’alloneanditbeatslikeyour

heart.Sametime.Wheremyfamilylived...it’sawall.It’sahardfloor,wood.Then

concrete.Noopening.Noheartbeat.Noair.”

“Sowhat?”Iwhisper.

Michaelstartsthecarandpullsoutofthenarrowgravelparkinglotbesidethe

gasstation.Windkneadsmyscalp.

“Thismywaytofindthat.”

“Findwhat?”

“Asong.TheplaceisthesongandI’mgoingtobepartofthesong.”

“Thatdon’tmakenosense.”

Mistyglancesoveratme.Ilookoutthewindow.

“Itwill,”Richiesays.“It’swhyyoucanhearanimals,seethingsthatain’tthere.

It’sapieceofyou.It’severythinginsideofyouandoutsideofyou.”

“Whatelse?”Ilowermyhandandmouth.

“What?”

“WhatelseIdon’tknow?”

Richielaughs.It’sanoldman’slaugh:awheezeandacroak.

“Toomuch.”

“Thebiggestones,”mylipsform.

“Home.”

Irollmyeyes.

“Love.”

IpointatKayla.Richieshrugs.

“There’smore,”hesays.Hewigglesliketheflooristoohard,likehedoesn’tlike

talkingaboutlove.Thewayhelooksatmethen,likethesecretaryattheschooldid

whenIwassevenandIhadanaccidentandpeedmyselfandLeonienevershowed

up with clean clothes, so I sat on a hard orange plastic chair in the office and

shiveredforanhouruntiltheygotintouchwithMam,andshecameandwalked

meoutoftheACintothehotday.Likehe’ssorryforme,forwhatIgottolearn.

“Andtime,”hesays.“Youdon’tknowshitabouttime.”

Chapter9

Richie

I know Jojo is innocent because I can readit in the unmarkedswell ofhim: his

smoothface,ripewithbabyfat;hisround,fullstomach;hishandsandfeetsoftas

hisyoungersister’s.Helooksevenyoungerwhenhefallsasleep.Hisbabysisterhas

flung herself across him, and both of them slumber like young feral cats: open

mouths,splayedarmsandlegs,exposedthroats.WhenIwasthirteen,Iknewmuch

morethanhim.Iknewthatmetalshacklescouldgrowintotheskin.Iknewthat

leathercouldsplitfleshlikebutter.Iknewthathungercouldhurt,couldscoopme

hollowasagourd,andthatseeingmysiblingsstarvingcouldhollowoutadifferent

part of me, too. Could make my heart ricochet through my chest desperately. I

watchJojoandKayla’ssprawledsleepandwonderifIeversleptlikethatwhenI

wasyoung.IwonderifRiveverlookedatmeandsawawild,naïvethinginthecot

nextto him.Iwonderifhe felt pity.Oriftherewas more love.Jojosnoresto a

snortand stops,andIfeelsomethingin mychest,wheremyheart wouldbeifI

werestillalive,softentowardhim.

*

Ididn’tunderstandtime,either,whenIwasyoung.HowcouldIknowthatafterI

died, Parchman would pull me from the sky? How could I imagine Parchman

wouldpullmetoitandrefusetoletgo?AndhowcouldIconceivethatParchman

was past, present, and future all at once? That the history and sentiment that

carvedtheplaceoutofthewildernesswouldshowmethattimeisavastocean,and

thateverythingishappeningatonce?

I was trapped, as trapped as I’d been in the room of pines where I woke up.

TrappedasIwasbeforethewhitesnake,theblackvulture,cameforme.Parchman

hadimprisonedmeagain.Iwanderedthenewprison,night afternight.Itwas a

placeboundbycinderblocksandcement.Iwatchedthemenfuckandfightinthe

dark,sotwistedupineachotherIcouldn’ttellwhereonemanendedandanother

began.IspentsomanyturnsoftheearthatthenewParchman.Iwatchedforthe

darkbird,buthewasabsent.Idespaired,burrowedintothedirt,slept,androseto

witnessthenewbornParchman:Iwatchedchainedmenclearthelandandlaythe

firstlogsforthefirstbarracksforgunmenandtrustyshooters.IthoughtIwasina

baddream.IthoughtthatifIburrowedandsleptandwokeagain,Iwouldbeback

inthenewParchman,butinstead,whenIsleptandwoke,IwasintheDeltabefore

theprison,andNativemenwererangingoverthatrichearth,huntingandtaking

breakstoplaystickballandsmoke.Bewildered,Iburrowedandsleptandwoketo

the new Parchman again, to menwho woretheir hair long and braided to their

scalps,whosatforhoursinsmallwindowlessrooms,staringatbigblackboxesthat

streameddreams.Theirfacesinthebluelightwerestiffascorpses.Iburrowedand

sleptandwokemanytimesbeforeIrealizedthiswasthenatureoftime.

ItwasasmallmercythatIneversurfacedintheoldParchman,theonewhere

RivandIlived.IonlyvisitedthatParchmaninmemory,memoriesthatroselike

bubblesofdecay to thesurface ofa swamp.Rivhad a womanin Parchman;she

shinesgoldeninthedarkblanketofmemorythatsurroundsmewhenIsleep.She

wasaprostitutewhoservicedtheBlackmenintheprison,andshelookedlikeshe

could have been my mama, skinny as me, as dark, eyes inky like the trees when

nightfalls.Sheworealotofyellow.IaskedRivoncewhyhelikedherandhetold

methatwassomethingIwouldknowwhenIwasolder.Iaskedhimifhelovedher,

andheshookhisheadandIwonderediftherewassomebodyheloveddownonthe

Gulf,somesaltwatergirl.

It was that yellow-wearing woman, that Sunshine Woman, all the other men

called her, who told me and Riv about the lynching. It was her last day at

Parchman,butneitherofusknewit,andshesatwithherarmsacrossherchestand

onehandcoveringhermouth,watchingthetrustyshooters.Wesatinacornerof

theyard,intheshadeofashed,andshetoldusaboutthelatesthangedman.Wasa

Black man, she said,from outside of Natchez. He went intotown one day with his

lady,andhedidn’tgetoffthesidewalkwhenaWhitewomanwalkedby.Steppedtoo

closetoher,SunshineWomansaid,andbrushedupagainstherrealclose-like.Felther

softnessthroughherclothes,SunshineWomansaid.TheWhitewomanspat,cursedthe

Blackmanandwoman,andtheBlackwomansayshesorry.Thathermanain’tmeantodo

it.SunshineWomanthoughtthetruthofitwashedidn’twanthiswomantohave

tostepdownintothestreet,asitwasruttedwithpuddlesbecausetherehadbeen

bad rains and flooding. Maybe the Black man was prideful, thought he could be

courteoustohiswoman,keepherwalkingandclean.Shewaswearingherbestdress,

SunshineWomansaid.TheWhitewomanwenthomeandtoldherhusbandthat

theBlackmanmolestedherandhiswomandisrespectedher.TheBlackmanand

womanwereontheirwayhomewhenthemobcaughtupwiththem.That’sthem,

theWhitewomansaid,that’sthemrightthere.SunshineWomansaiditwasovera

hundredofthem.Thepeoplefromthecommunitysawallthelightsoutthere,the

torchesandlanternsthatlitupthenighttodawn.

And that’s when Sunshine Woman started to whisper. She said their people

wentoutinthewoodsandfoundthemthenextday.Saidthemobbeatthemso

badtheyeyesdisappearedintheyswollenheads.Therewaswaxpaperandsausage

wrappingsandbarecorncobsallovertheground.Themanwasmissinghisfingers,

his toes,and his genitals.The woman was missing her teeth. Both of them were

hanged,andthegroundallaroundtherootsofthetreewassmokingbecausethe

mob had set the couple afire, too. A person ain’t safe, Sunshine Woman said, and

that’swhythisthelastyouseeingofmearoundhere,Riv.I’mheadingnorthtoChicago

withmyauntieanduncle,shesaid,andyoubeafoolifyoudon’tcomenorthwhenyouget

out.

Rivlooked likehehadswallowedsomethingnasty,somebugor a rockinhis

meal,andhesaid:Naw,SunshineWoman,Igottogobacksouth.Rivglancedatme

and said: Maybe you shouldn’t have told both us that story. Maybe you should have

waited.

He grown enough to be in here, Riv, Sunshine Woman said. That mean he grown

enoughtoknow.

Rivhadpulledhisarmfromherthenandsteppedoutintothesun.

Just’causeheinheredon’tmeanhecanbearthat.Heshouldn’thaveto,Rivsaid.

SunshineWomanseemeddisappointedinRiv,angry,butshehookedherhand

throughhisarmeventhoughitlooklikeithurthertodoso,andshesaid:I’msorry,

Riv.Sorry, boy. She pulledhimaway, and theyleft mestandingin the leeof the

building.IlookedupattherustedtinofthewallsandrealizedIcouldhavetold

Sunshine Woman that she hadn’t told me something I didn’t already know. I

wondered if that would have made Riv less angry with her. Once, when I was

playinginthewoodswithmybrothersandsisters,wefoundwhathadoncebeena

man,hangingfromatree.Hewasashortman,shortasme,butrubberywithrot

andstinkingandhismouthwasopenlikehewasgrinning.Thatgrinwasthedevil.

My little brothers and sisters ran home screaming, and when I walked into the

house, my mama slapped my face for being the oldest and leading us where we

shouldn’tgo.ButwhenIthoughtaboutthewayRivadmonishedSunshineWoman,

howhesteppedawayfromhertoprotectme,Ibegantounderstandlove.Ibegan

to understand that what Riv and Sunshine Woman did wasn’t an expression of

love,butRiv’sstandinginthesunformewas.Isaggedandsatonthegroundwith

theweightofit.IwantedtocalltoSunshineWomanandtellherIwoulddoit:I

wouldgonorthwhenIwasfree.Rivlookedbackatmeandhiseyeswereglassyand

dark;itwasasifhecouldhearmythoughts,asifheknewwhatIwantedtosay.As

IwatchedSunshineWomanpullRivawayfromme,Ifeltastinginginmytoes,in

mysoles,inmylegs,upmybutt,andthroughmyback,whereitbursttofireinmy

bones,lickingallthroughmyribs,aloosepowerfulfeeling,likeavoicefreedfroma

throat,ascreamingnoteallthroughme,anditwasthenIknewIwasgoingtorun.

*

IbegantounderstandhomewhenRivandIsleptnexttoeachotherandRivtold

me stories inthe dark. Once, River toldme about the ocean. Hesaid: Wegot so

muchwaterwhereI’mfrom.Itcomedownfromthenorthinrivers.Poolinbayous.Rush

outtotheocean,andthatstretchtotheendsoftheearththatyoucansee.Itchangescolors,

he said, like a little lizard. Sometimes stormy blue. Sometimes cool gray. In the early

mornings,silver. You could lookatthatandknowthere’saGod,hesaidto me as the

othergunmencoughedandtossed.Maybeoneday,whenyouandmegetoutofhere,

youcouldcomedownandseeit,Rivsaid.

Kaylahasherpalmcurled aroundJojo’sneck,andhethrowsan armoverher

back, and I wonder if they dream the same dreams. I wonder if they dream of

home:ofjungle-tangledtrees,bearingtheweightofthesky.Ofstreamsleadingto

riversleadingtothesea.IwonderifthereasonIcouldn’tleaveParchmanbefore

Jojocamewasbecauseitwasasortofhometome:terribleandformativeasthe

ironleashthatchainsdogs,thatdrivesthemtobarkhystericallyandrunincircles

andburrowtotherootsofthegrass,tosavagesmalleranimals,tokilltheliving

thingstheycanreach.

Today when Jojo came to Parchman, I woke to the whispering of the white

snake,whichhadduganestdownintotheearthwithmesohecouldspeaktome

inmyear.Sohecouldcurlaboutmyheadinthedarkandwhisper,Ifyouwouldrise,

Icantakeyouacrossthewatersofthisworldtoanother.Thisplacebindsyou.Thisplace

blindsyou. Keep the scale, even if you cannot fly.Gosouth,toRiver,tothefaceofthe

waters.He will showyou. Go south.He curled aroundmy neckand startled meto

climb up and out of the dirt, to rise to the smell of Riv’s blood, thick as the

fragranceofspiderliliesinflower.WhenIsawJojoandKaylaintheparkinglot,

thesnaketransformedtoabirdonmyshoulderbeforeflyingawayonawaveof

wind,speedingsouthonalonelymigration.AsKaylawhinesinhersleepandJojo

rubsherbacktoquiether,ashadowalightsandcrossesoverthem.Upinthesky,

thescalybirddrifts,shiningadarklight.

Iwillfollow,Isay.Ihopehecanhearme.Isay:I’mcominghome.

Chapter10

Leonie

Whenwefirstbegandating,MichaelandIspentamonthofnightsparkingonthe

boatjettyoutonthebayou,kissing,hisfaceagainstmine,smoothskin,asthewind

came in the open windows,briny and sweet. A month of riding everywhere but

near his house in the Kill and getting dropped off at my house an hour before

dawn.Ijumpedoffthecliffattheriveroneofthosenights.IranbeforeIleaptto

cleartherockybank;Idroppedintothefeatherydarkheartofthewaterandwent

all the way to the bottom, where the sand was more muddy than grainy and

downedtreesdecomposed,slimyandsoftatthecore.Ididn’tswimup;thefallhad

stunnedmyarmsandlegs,thethunderousslapofthewaternumbedthem.Iletthe

watercarry me. It wasa slow rise:up, up,up toward milkylight. Irememberit

clearlybecauseIneverdiditagain,scaredbythatparalyzingascent.Thisiswhatit

feelsliketowakewithmyheadinMichael’slap,hisfingersstillonmyscalp,the

carrumbling,lightslantingsharpthroughthewindow.Thisiswhatitfeelsliketo

risefromadarkdeepplace.IliftupalittleandputmyforeheadonMichael’sthigh

andgroan.

“Hey.”Icanhearthesmileinhisvoice;thewordsoundshigher,thinner.I’mtoo

closetohiscrotch.

“Hey,” I say, and raise up farther. By the time I’m sitting up straight, it feels

wrong. Like every bone in my spine, each locking piece, been knocked over and

builtbackupcrooked.

“Howyoufeel?”

“What?”

MichaelpushesmyhairbackoffmyforeheadandIclosemyeyesatthetouch.

Mythroatisburning.Michaellooksintherearviewandthenpullsmeoversomy

headisonhisshoulder,hislipsatmyear.

“Thecopspulledusover,remember?YouswallowedthatshitfromAlbecause

wasn’tnotimetodumpit.Thefuckingfloorwascoveredinshit.Youshouldclean

yourcar,Leonie.”HesoundslikeMamawhenhesaysit.

“Iknow,Michael.Whatelse?”

“Igotyoumilkandcharcoalfromagasstation.Youthrewup.”

Iswallow,andtherootofmytongueaches.

“Mymouthhurts.”

“Youthrewupalot.”

Theworldoutsidethecarisagreen,shakyblur,thecolorofMichael’seyes,of

thetreesburstingtolifeinthespring.Thememorythateasedmeupoutthedark,

thememoryofjumpingfromthatcliff,isabuzzinggreen,butthereisnoneofthat

insideofme.Justsomewateroaklimbs,dryandmossy,burnedtoash,smoldering.

Ifeelwrong.

“Howlongtothehouse?”

“ ’Boutanhour.”

Eventhepinetrees,withtheirconstantmutedgreen,seembrighter.Through

them,Iseethesunwillsetsoon.

“Wakemeup.”

Iliedownintheashesandsleep.

*

WhenIwake,Michael’srolledallthewindowsdown.I’vebeendreamingforhours,

itfeelslike,dreamingofbeingmaroonedonadeflatingraftinthemiddleofthe

endlessreachoftheGulfofMexico,faroutwherethefisharebiggerthanmen.I’m

notaloneintheraftbecauseJojoandMichaelaandMichaelarewithmeandweare

elbowtoelbow.Buttheraftmusthaveaholeinit,becauseitdeflates.Weareall

sinking,andtherearemantaraysglidingbeneathusandsharksjostlingus. Iam

tryingtokeepeveryoneabovewater,evenasIstruggletostayafloat.Isinkbelow

thewavesandpushJojoupwardsohecanstayabovethewavesandbreathe,but

thenMichaelasinksandIpushherup,andMichaelsinkssoIshovehimtotheair

asIsinkandstruggle,buttheywon’tstayup:theywanttosinklikestones.Ithrust

themuptowardthesurface,to the fractured sky so theycan live, but theykeep

slippingfrommyhands.ItissorealthatIcanfeeltheirsoddenclothesagainstmy

palms.Iamfailingthem.Wearealldrowning.

“Feelbetter?”Michaelasks.

Theskyhasturnedpink,andeverybodylooksragged,evenMisty,whohasfallen

asleepwithherfacesmashedagainstthewindow,herhairfallingoverherforehead

anddownthelineofhernoseandcheek:ayellowheadscarf.

“Iguess,”Isay.

AndIdo,exceptforthedream.Itstayswithme,abruiseinthememorythat

hurtswhenItouchit.IturnaroundtocheckonMichaela.Hershirt,coldandwet,

clingstohersmall,hotbody.

“Wecoulddropthekidsoff.Gogetsomethingtoeatbeforewegohome.”

“Home?”

“Toyourmamaanddaddy’s,”Michaelsays.

Iknewthat’swhereweweregoing,knewtherewasnowhereelseforustogo.

NottotheKill,nottohisparents,who’veneverevenseenMichaelaintheflesh.We

couldnotgowherewearen’twelcome.ButIguessIhadanapartmentinmyhead.

Oncewe’reonourfeetwe’llgettoit,butIhadsoenvisioneditthatwhenIthought

about us goinghome, Ionly saw that place. I imagined ussettling inone of the

biggertownsontheGulfCoast,inoneofthosethree-storycomplexeswithmetal-

and-concrete stairs leading from one level to another. We would have big

whitewashed,carpetedrooms,space,anonymity,andquiet.

“Yeah,”Isay.

“Soyouwantto?”

Michaelakicksthebackofmyseat. Herhairismattedto herhead,andshe’s

chewingonasuckerstick,thecardboardmeltingandcomingawayinpaperybits

tostickonthesideofhermouth.Ismileather,waitforhertosmileatme,butshe

doesn’t.Shekicksagainandbaresherteetharoundthestick,butitisnosmile.

“Michaela,stopkickingMama’sseat.”

“Ony,” she says, and sucks on the stick and waves both hands in the air. Jojo

looks away from the window, down to her kicking feet, and frowns. “Ony!” she

screams.

“She’ssayingyourname,”Michaelsays.

“Mama,”ItellMichaela.

“Ony,”Michaelasays,andforamomentI’minmydrowningdreamagain,andI

feelherhot,wetbackbuoyedupbymypalms,slipping,slipping.

“Yeah,”ItellMichael.“Dropthemoff.”

Michaelturnsfromonenarrow,tree-shroudedroadtoanother,waterdripping

fromtheleavestodotthewindshield,andIknowwe’reinBoisbythemapofthe

limbs.Twopeoplewalkinthedistance,andaswecruisethroughthegreentunnel,

Iseeaman,shortandmuscled,wholeadsablackdogbyachain.Andnexttohim,

a skinny little woman with a sable, coily cloud of hair that moves like a

kaleidoscopeofbutterflies.It’snotuntilwe’rerightuponthemthatIseewhoitis.

Skeetah and Eschelle, a brother and sister from the neighborhood. The siblings

walkinsync,bothofthembouncing.Eschsayssomething,andSkeetahlaughs.We

passasduskdarkenstheroad.

Michaelakicks my seatagain, andI turn aroundand slapherleg so hardmy

palmstings.Jealousytwinswithanger.Thatgirl:solucky.Shehasallherbrothers.

*

Thehouselookslikeitsunk.Droopingatthecrown.Jojoseemstallerthanhewas

whenweleftashejigglesthedoorknob,ashedisappearsthroughthedarkdoor.

Butsoonhe’swalkingbackouttothecar,andit’ssodarknowthatIcan’tseehis

face. Even when he leans into the window of the car and Michael turns on the

overheadlight,thereisstillablackfilmoverhisface.

“Theynothere,”hesays.

“MamaandPop?”Iask.

“No.”

“Didtheyleaveanote?”

Jojoshakeshishead.

“Getinthecar,”Michaelsays.

“What?”Iask.I’msotiredthatitfeelslikesomeonehasplacedawettowelover

mybrain,theweightofitsuffocatingthought.

“Wecanwaithere.”Jojostands.

“Getinthecar,”Michaelsays.

Jojo’s lips thin,and heclimbs intothe backof thecar. Michaela has her face

hiddeninhisneckagain,onefingertwirlingalockofJojo’shair.Michaelreverses

intotheemptystreet.

“Wherewegoing?”Jojosays.

“Tovisityourgrandparents.”

Myheartisasquirrelcaughtinasnare.Thefinehaironmyarmsstandsupand

quivers. I see Michael’sdaddy, fat and sweating, his rifle balancedloosely on his

lawnmower,thesoundofthemotorgrindingandwhiningbecausehe’spushingit

asfastasitcangooverthelawn,tryingtogettomycar,tome.Iseemyhands,

blackandthin-boned,onthesteeringwheel.IseeGiven’shands,fineasmine,but

hardwithcallusedcoinsfromtherubofthebowstring.

“Whynow?”Iask.

“I’mhome,”Michaelsays.“YouknowtheyneverdroveuptoParchman.”

“Becausetheydidn’tcare,”Isay,evenasIknowit’snottrue.

“Theydo.Theyjustdon’tknowhowtoshowit.”

“Becauseofme.Andthekids,”Isay.

Thisisanoldargumentbetweenus.Michaeltriessomethingnew.

“Plus,Jojo’sthirteen.It’stime.”

“He’sthirteenandtheyain’tgaveashittoseehimorMichaela,”Isay.

Michaelignoresmeandheadsnorth.TheairiscoolerupintheKill,sincethere

areevenfewerhousesandmoredarklandsleepingunderthedeepeningsky.

“Maybethey’llsurpriseus,Leonie,”Michaelsays.

Mymouthtasteslikevomit.

“Sugarbaby.”

“No.”

Michaelpullstothesideoftheroad.Thecricketsturnriot.

“Please,”Michaelsays.Herubsthenapeofmyneck.Iwanttoscrambleoutthe

windowofthecarandrun,todisappear.

“No.”

“Theymademe,baby.Andwemadethekids.TheygoingtolookatJojoand

Michaelaandseethat,”Michaelsays.Ifeelmyshouldersbeginningtocreepdown,

torelax,tosettle.

“Whatyoutoldthem?”Iask.

Michael looks at the bugs skipping across the windshield like they are

dragonfliesanditishardwater.

“Itoldthemitwastime,”Michaelsays.“Thatiftheyloveme,theygottolove

them,too,becausetheya pieceofme.”Helooks atmethen,his greeneyeslook

browninthefadinglight,hishairdark:astrangersittinginthedriver’sseat.“Like

you,”hesays.

Ibathishandoffmyneck,rubwherehetouchedlikeit’samosquitobite.

“Fine,”Isay,andMichaelheadsnorthintotheKill.

*

“Kayla’shungry,”Jojosays.

“Chip!”Michaelasays.Outside,theworldisdark,thefieldsandtreesinkblack.

Irollupmywindow,whichhasbeencracked.IwokeMistyupwhenwepulledinto

hergraveldrivewayandshegrabbedherbagfromherfeetandstruggledoutofthe

carwithasarcastic“Well,it’sbeenfun,folks.”She’llhatemeforadayortwo,but

onceshewashesherclothesandgetsthesmellofvomitoutofhernose,she’llcall.I

knewitbythewaysheleanedintomywindowaftersheslammedherdoorshut,

glaredatMichael,andsaid:“Goodluck.”WhenIstretchoverthebackseattoroll

up the window Misty slept against, Jojo’s looking at the floor like he’s lost

something.

“Theygotleftoversdownthere?”

“No,”hesays.

“We’regoingtoyourgrandparents’house,”Michaelsays.

“Chip,”Michaelasays.

“You’lleatsoon,Michaela,”Isay.“Passherhere,Jojo.”

Jojounbucklesherfromtheseat,andhepushesherforward.Herhair’sknotted

intheback,curlswornfuzzyfromtherubofhercarseat.Ismooththehairup,

tryingtotameitintoapuffonthetopofherhead,butsheshakesandcriesfora

potatochipagain.Idiginmypurse.There’snothinginthebottombutchangeand

onepeppermintItookfromthebar.IunwrapitandgiveittoMichaela,andshe

sucks and quiets. The car smells like mint and her hair, sweet as sugar. Michael

slowstocrosstherailroadtracks,andjustashedoes,atuskedwildhog,bigastwo

menandcoveredinblackfur,dartsfromthewoodsandsprintsacrosstheroad,as

lightonhishoovesasachild.Michaelswervesalittle,andIclutchMichaelabutI

can’thold her andshe flies forward,hittingher head onthe dashboard. Michael

swervesofftheroadandstops.Michaelabouncesandslidesdownonmyfeet,and

sheisquiet.

“Michaela,”Isay.Igrabherunderherarmpitsanddragherup,seeapurpleknot

weeping red on her forehead. She’s alive, because her eyes are open and she’s

hitchingtocry,herbreathstutteringinherthroat.Shewails.

“Kayla!”Jojosays.

“Jojo!”Michaelaputsherforearmsintomycollarbones,pushingawayfromme,

wanting Jojo again. The headlights vanish into the darkness along with the

monstrouspigandsuddenlyIfeelboneless,looseasajellyfish,andIdon’thavethe

strengthtofighther.

“Shhhh,”Isay,butevenasmymouthistryingtocomforther,Ihandherover

the backseat, and she’s in Jojo’s arms. He’s patting her back as her arms settle

aroundhisneck.MichaelandIturntoeachotherandIfrown.Wefaceforward,

lookingatthemistobscuringthewindshield.

“Jojo,buckleherin.”Isaythiswithoutturningtolookathim,becauseIdon’t

wanttoseehis face, afraid I mightsee thehard planes of Popin hisexpression:

judgment.Orworse,thesoftquiverofMama’spity.

“Yousure?”Michael’sshaken:Icantellbythewayhegripsthesteeringwheel

and then lets go, grips and lets go, as if he’s testing his reflexes, gauging the

nimblenessofhisfingers.Onebugcracklesandhitsthewindshield,drunkinthe

lights.Andthenanother.

“Youwanttogo,”Isay.

“Yeah.”

“Thenlet’sgo.”

Thereisnoradio,notalk.Justthegrowlandpullofthecar,thegravelground

under the tires, gatherings of frogs singing in hisses and croaks from ponds in

woodsandsomeperfectcirclesdugintoyards.Michael’sparents’houseisdifferent

atnight,andit’sbeensomanyyearssinceI’vebeenthereinthedarkthatitisa

hazy memory, even as I look at it: long, straight gravel driveway, yellow in the

moonlight,leadingtothehousethroughthefields;thegravelshimmers,anafter-

lightleftbyasparklerthroughnightair.Therearetwolitwindows,oneateach

endofthehouse.Michaelcutsthelightssothecarcreepsandcrunchesdownthe

driveway,therolloftherocksunderthetiressoundinglittlepops.Weparknextto

BigJoseph’spickuptruckandabluecarwithashorthood,boxybodyandback.A

rosaryhangs from therearview mirror. Iease the cardoor open, andI suddenly

needtopee,desperately.Idon’twanttobehere.Michaelholdsouthishand,andI

wanttoclimbbackinthecar,slamthedoor,driveoffwiththekids,whoarestill

sittinginthebackseat.Adogbarksinthedistance.

“Comeon,”Michaelsays.

“Let’sgo,”ItellJojo.Hegetsoutofthecarandstandsinthedark.Heisastallas

me,maybealittletaller,andIcanseehimtallasPopintwoorthreeyears.He

hoistsMichaelaupandholdsherinfrontofhischest:herback,hisshield.Michaela

is touching her forehead, which shows a dark constellation of blood, and asking

Jojoquestions.

“Mam?”sheasks.“Pop?Mam?Pop?”

“No,”Jojosays.“Thesenewpeople.”

Buthedoesn’tsaywhotheyare,andIwanttoanswerherquestion,wanttobe

hermother,wanttosay:Yourothergrandmaorgrandpa,yourotherfamily,yourother

MamandPop.ButIdon’tknowwhattosay,howtoexplain,soIsaynothingandlet

Michaelanswerherquestions.Butheoffersnothing,either:hewalksupthedeck

stepstothefrontporchandthedoor,pullsthescreendooropen,andknocks:two

sureknocks,hardasahorse’shoovesonasphalt.Ifollow,andJojo’sdraggingfeet

purrthroughthegravelinthedark.Michaelwalksdownthesteps,awhiteghostin

thedark;grabsmyhand;andpullsmeuptostandnexttohimatthedoor.

Michael knocks again, and I hear movement in the house. Jojo hears like an

animalandtakesastepbacktowardthecar.

“Comeon,Jojo,”Michaelsays.

ThedooropensandthereislightsobrightIlookdownatmyfeet,Michael’s

handhardasmetalinmine,grippingsotightIamsuremyfingersarepurpleand

white,butIseehim,seeBigJoseph,wearingoverallsandatoo-tightT-shirt,his

pepperedbeard,hisfleshyarms,allofittoomuchintheyellowspill.Istepback.

Michaelpulls.

“Daddy,”hesays.

“Son,”BigJosephsays.ItisonlythesecondtimeI’veheardhimspeakinperson,

andhisvoicesurprisesmewithhowhighitis,sodifferentfromtherestofhim,

which seems so rooted, so close to the earth, so low. The first time was in the

courtroom,buthedidn’tmeananythingtomethen,beyondbeingtheuncleofthe

boywhoshotmybrother.

“Wehere,”Michaelsays.Heliftsourclenchedhands.BigJosephlists,anoldoak

inabadwind,butdoesnotmove,doesnotstepback,doesnotsay:Comein.Inthe

darkbehindus,Michaelacries.

“Eat,”shesays.“Ieat,Jojo!”

Therearefootsteps.NotasheavyasBigJoseph’s,butasteady,solidthumping,

andeventhoughIknowit’shismother,knowit’sMaggie,IstillflinchwhenIhear

hersmoker’svoice:deepandgravelly.Sheyanksopenthedoorandshelookslikea

rabbit:herrobelikeacreamfur,herhouseslipperslikewhitepaws.I’veseenher

twiceoutsideofthishouse,knowthatherbodyunderneathisrabbit,too:thethin

armsandlegs,theroundballofherstomach.

“Cheese,Jojo!”Michaelascreams.

“Youheardthechild,Joseph,”shesays.Aspasmmakesherfacetwitch,andthen

itisstill.Herhairisaredcap,hereyesunfathomablydark.“Timeforsupper.”

“Wealreadyate,”BigJosephwheezes.

Michaelamewls.

“Andsheain’t,”Maggiesays.

“Youknowtheyain’twelcomeinthishouse.”

“Joseph,”Maggiesays,andshefrownsathimandpusheshisshoulder.

Big Joseph makes a sound in his throat and sways again, but then I realize

Maggieisthewind.BigJosephlooksatmelikehewantsthatgunacrosshislap,but

hestepsoutofthedoorway.They’vetalkedaboutthis:IcantellbythewayMaggie

saidhisname, the way awoman saysthe nameof amanthatshe has long lived

with,longloved.Thewayshesayshisnameisenough.Iknowtheyhavespoken

about me, about Jojo, about Michaela. Maggie pushes open the screen door. She

doesn’tsaycomeinorwelcome,juststandsthere,turnedsideways.WhenIwalkpast

her,shesmellslikelotionandsoapandsmoke,butnotcigarettesmoke:likefallen

burntoakleaves.ShehasMichael’sface.IstartlewhenIwalkpastbecauseit’sso

strangetoseehisfaceonawoman:narrowjaw,strongnose,buttheeyesareall

wrong,hardasgreenmarbles.Inthehouse,westandinacluster,shyingawayfrom

thefurniture:aherdofnervousanimals.BigJosephandMaggiestandsidebyside,

touchingbutnot.She’stallerthanthepictures,andhe’sshorter.

“Yougoingtointroduceus?”Maggie’slookingatMichaelwhenshesaysitandhe

nodshishead,justbarely:awinkofanod.

“Yes,ma’am.This—”

“Jojo,” Jojo says. He hoists Michaela. “Kayla.” She looks at Maggie with her

beautifulgreeneyes,andthenIrealizethoseareMaggie’seyes,too,andIsqueeze

Michael’s hand, and my children seem strangers. Michaela a golden, clinging

toddler,thetiltofherheadandthosecleareyesdirectandmercilessasanadult’s.

AndJojo,tallasMichael,almosttallasBigJoseph,shouldersback,thelineofhis

backametalfencepost.IhaveneverseenhimlooksomuchlikePopashedoes

rightnow.

“Nicetomeetyou,”Maggiesays,butshedoesnotsmilewhenshesaysit.

Jojodoesn’tevennod.JustlooksatherandshiftsMichaelatohisotherhip.Big

Josephshakeshishead.

“I’myourgrandmother,”shesays.

Thereisalargewallclockinthekitchen,andtheminutehandtickingitsway

aroundthefacesoundsloudintheuncomfortablesilence,soloudIbegincounting

theseconds.MyfingerssqueezetighterandtighteraroundMichael’sashisturnlax

ashelooksfromhismothertohisfather,frowning.Jojoshrugs,andMichaelasticks

hermiddletwofingersinhermouthandsuckshard.Thehousesmellslikelemon

cleanerandfriedpotatoes.

BigJosephfallsintoanarmchairandwrenchesittothetelevision.

“Figuredthey’dberude,”hesays.

“Daddy,”Michaelsays.

“Won’tevensayhellotoyourmother.”

“They’reshy,”Michaelsays.

“It’sallright,”Maggiesays.Shebitesthewordsshort.

Imustbesweatingitout.Afireinmychestlicksalongmybreasts.There’srock

inmystomach,atthebaseofthefire.Isqueezemylegs.Idon’tknowwhetherI

wanttothrowuporpee.

“Sayhello,”Icroak.

Jojolooksatme:mutinous.Thecornerofhismouth,frowning;hiseyesalmost

closed.He bouncesMichaela and stepsbackward toward thedoor. I don’tknow

whyIsaidit.Michaelalooksatmeasifshehasnotheard;ifnobodyknewbetter,

they’dthinkshewasdeaf.

“Raisedbyher,whatyou’dexpect,Maggie?”

“Joseph,”Maggiesays.

I would throw up everything. All of it out: food and bile and stomach and

intestinesandesophagus,organsall,bonesandmuscle,untilallthatwasleftwas

skin. And then maybe that could turn inside out, and I wouldn’t be nothing no

more.Notthisskin,notthisbody.MaybeMichaelcouldsteponmyheart,stopits

beating.Thenburneverythingtocinders.

“Hell,theyhalfofher.PartofthatboyRiv,too.Allbadblood.Fucktheskin.”

HisvoiceissohighbytheendofitthatIcanhardlyhearhimoverthetelevision,

overanenthusiasticcarsalesmanwhosepricesaremiraculouslydropping.Maggie’s

mouthisaseam.Herhandsworryingoneanother,andsuddenlyIhateherbecause

shecanwalkandmymamacan’t.AndthenIhateJosephbecausehe’scalledmy

daddyaboy.Iwonderwhatheknowsofmydaddy,howhecouldlookatPopand

seeeverylineofPop’sface,everystepPoptakes,everywordoutofPop’smouth,

andseeanythingbutaman.Pop’satleasttwentyyearsolderthanBigJoseph;he

wasagrownmanwhenBigJosephwaspissinghisdiapers.SohowcanBigJoseph

seePop,seehowstonelikeheis,likePop’stakenallthehardshipoftheworldinto

himandletitcalcifyhiminchbyinchtillhe’slikeoneofthempetrifiedtrees,and

seeanythingbutaman?Popwouldwhiphisass.AndIcanseeBigJosephinmy

mind’seye,standingoverGiven,breathingdownonhimlikehe’ssomuchroadkill,

howhewouldignoretheperfectionofhim:thelongbow-drawingarm,thehigh

foreheadoverthedeadeyes.

“Goddamnit,Daddy!”Michaelsays.

Quickashefellintothechair,BigJosephisup,walkingtowardusbutfacing

Michael.

“Itoldyoutheydon’tbelonghere.Toldyounevertosleepwithnoniggerbitch!”

Michaelhead-buttsBigJoseph.Thecrackoftheirskullsricochetsthroughthe

air,andBigJoseph’snoseisgushingblood,andthenhimandMichaelareonthe

floor, but Michael isn’t punching him. They’re pushing against each other, each

trying to pin the other down, rolling like children. Breathing hard. Sweating.

Maybe crying. Michael saying over and over: “Goddamnit, Daddy, goddamnit,

Daddy,”andBigJosephsayingnothingbutwheezingsoharditsoundslikesobbing.

“Enough!”Maggiescreams.“That’senough!”Andthenshe’srunningawayandI

can’t believe she’s going to leave them fighting in the kitchen, but then she’s

runningbackwithabroomandbeatingMichaelovertheshoulderswithitbecause

he’sontopofBigJosephnow,yelling,“Getup.Getup.”AndIstillfeelsick,and

cold,andtoosmallforallthis,andpartofmewantstogograbJojo’shandandpull

themoutthishouseandleavethemfighting.Andanotherpartofmewantstoopen

mymouthandlaugh,becauseit’sallsoridiculous,allofit,andIlookoveratmy

sonandIthinkforsurehe’ssmiling,forsurehecanseehowstupidallofitis,but

heain’tlookingatthemtussling.He’slookingatme,andIseeaflashofsomething

Iain’tneverseenbefore.He’slookingatmelikeI’mawatermoccasinandIjustbit

him,justsankmyteethintotheboneofhisankle,bitittoswelling.Likehewould

steponmyhead,crushmyskull,stompmeintoredmuduntilIwasn’tnothingbut

boneandskinandmudoozinginmyslits.Likeheain’tnochildofmine.Michaela’s

climbingherbrother,gettinghigherandhigheronhimuntilshe’salmostsittingon

hisshoulder,soIdoit.IstalkoverandIgrabJojo’shandeventhoughIhalfexpect

himtoyankitaway,andIpullhimtowardthedoor.

“Nicemeetingy’all,”Isay,anditsoundshigh-pitchedandridiculouscomingout

ofmymouth,withthemenstilltusslingandMaggiestillwhacking.BigJoseph’son

topnow,chokingMichael,andeventhoughIwanttogobackandhelpMichael,I

don’t.I openthe door andpull Jojo andMichaela. I takeone lookback and see

Michaelpunchhisdaddyinthethroat.Thenwe’reoutthedoor,andtheskyinthe

Kill is wide and open and cold, awash in stars, and we down the porch steps,

standingbythecar,shivering,listeningtothebanginginthehouse.Acrash,anda

lightgoesout.

“Getin,”Isay,andJojoclimbsinthebackseatwithMichaela.

“Shit,”Michaelalisps,anditsoundslikethit.

“Don’tsaythat,”Isay.Wesitinthecarinthedarkwiththefirstofthecrickets

and katydids that come alive in the warmer months and listen to them trill,

protestingthefrigidair,theunfeelingstars,andwewait.

*

It’s minutes. Or it’s hours. Could be days, too, and maybe we slept through the

sunriseandsunset,andwoketothenight,againandagain,andthemstillrolling

andbreakingthingsinside.Daddyandson.UntilMichaelandhismamacomeout

thedoor,Michaelkickingrightthroughthescreen,Maggierushingoutbehindhim

tograbhisshoulders.Toturnhimtoher.Toyellathim,thentalktohim,then

murmur.Michaelleansdowntowardhismotherinbreathsuntilhe’shunchedover

her,hisheadonhershoulder,herrubbinghisbacklikeababy.Herrobeturning

blackwherehebrushesagainstit:blooddabbedfromhistouch.Michaelsobbing

then.Thebugsquiet.

“Weshould’veleft,”Jojowhispers.

“Shutup,”Isay.

“Kayla’sstillhungry,”Jojosays.

Ishouldleave.IshouldleaveMichaeltohisfamily.Takemydaughterhomeand

feedher,fillherstomach,quietherwhimpering.ButIdon’t.Ican’t.Maggiepulls

thedooropen,disappearsinside,andIexpectMichaeltowalktowardthecarbut

he doesn’t. He just leans over and crosses his arms and puts them on the porch

railingandhunchesover,waiting.Hismotheropensthedooragainandalmosthits

him,andthenshe’spassinghimapapergrocerybagandhugginghimtoherand

talkingtohimagain,andwitheachword,shethumpshisbackwiththeflatofher

hand.Andhe’sababyagain,anditlookslikeshe’stryingtoburphim.Ilookdown

atmylap.Outthedriver’ssidewindow.Offintothefarlineofthewoods.There’s

thesoundofadoorslammingshut,andthenacreak,andMichael’sopeningthecar

and sliding into the passenger seat. The bugs loud and then dim again. The bag

crackles.

“Areyouokay?”Iask.Iknowit’sstupid,butstill,thisiswhatIsay.

“Let’sgo,”Michaelsays.

Thecarchokesandcrankstolife.Idriveslowlydownthedriveway,swerving

aroundmuddypotholes,thebugsscattingourway.WhenIturnontothestreet,

thehouseisalldark.Allthewindowsdim:thesidingandbeamsandglassofthe

frontofitsmoothandstillasablankface.

*

PopishomewhenIturnintothegraveldrive.He’ssittingontheporch,stillasthe

swingandthepottedplantsatbothsidesofthedoor;he’scutthelightoffsoheisa

darknessinthedarkness,andtheonlyreasonIknowit’shimisbythewayheflicks

hislightertolifeandthenreleasesit,letsitflutter,andthenheflicksagain.He

smokedwhenIwasyounger.Packedandrolledthecigaretteshimself.Butafterhe

caught me around the back of the shed lighting one of his spent cigarettes with

onlyafingernail’sworthoftobaccoinit,heslappeditandthematchoutofmy

hand, and I never saw nor smelled the scent of one on him again. The way he

lookedatmewhenthecigarettehittheground.Eyeswide,disappointed:pained.It

wasthefirsttime I remember Pop lookingat melike that.I waseleven and my

breasts were budding and my friends at school were already smoking weed and

worse, so I wanted to try at least a cigarette, but recalling his face, the way he

lookedguiltyandangryatthesametime,mademewishI’dneverpickedupthat

budofrolledtobacco,neverstolethatmatch,neverlitit,neverhidbacktherefor

Poptocatchme.

So now whenever Pop is thinking about something but doesn’t want to let

anyoneknowhe’sthinkingaboutsomething,worryingitover,hedoesthis.Light,

gutter,light,gutter.WhereIwastheonehesitantintheKill,nowit’sMichaelthat

standsatmyelbow,slumped,curledinonhimself:likeIgotacurdogonashort,

frayed leash. He tries to grab Michaela out of the car, but by the time he gets

around to her side, Jojo isout and Michaela is patting his face,saying “Eat-eat,”

with every little tap, and they are already walking toward Pop in the darkness.

Michael and I grab bags, so by the time we get up the porch steps, Michaela is

disentanglingherselffromPop’sarms,andJojoiscarryingherintothehouse.Here,

Popisaduskysmudge,thetattoosonhisarmslitupinaflashwiththelighter,and

thenoutagain.WhenIwasyounger,Iwouldsneakandstandnexttohimwhenhe

tookanaponthecouch,smellhisbreath,thewayitsmelledoftobaccoandmint

and musk, and I would trace over his tattoos with my pointer finger, without

touchinghim,justfollowtheillustrationsaround:aship;awomanwholookedlike

Mama,clothedincloudsandcarryingarrowsandapinebranchinherhand;and

twocranes:oneformeandoneforGiven.Given’sisalight,poisedinflight,feet

skimmingthemarshgrass,whilemineisbeakdowninthemud.WhenIwasfive,

Poppointedatmineandtoldme:ThistheoneIgotforyou:theyasignofluckwhen

you see them, mean everything is in balance, that it’s raining good and there’s fish and

there’sthingssquirmingunderthemarshmud,thatthebayougrassgoingtobegreensoon.

Theyasignoflife.Thelightgutters,andtheyareerasedinthedark.Popspeaksand

Iseehisteeth.

“Yourmamabeenaskingaboutyou.”

“Sir,”Michaelsays.IfeelthewordsasmuchasIhearthem,hotpuffofairthat

caressesmyshoulder.

“Michael,”Popsays.Heclearshisthroat.“Iexpectit’sgoodtobehome.”

“Yes,sir.”

“Yourmama—”Pop’svoicebreaksoff.

“Wegettingaplace,”Michaelinterrupts.“Soon.”

Poplightsandhisfaceflashes.Heisfrowning,andthentheflamedies.

Thenightiscountrydark.

“It’llkeepuntiltomorrow.”Poprises.“Leonie,goonandseeyourmother.”

*

Mamaislayinginthebedwithherfaceturnedtothewall,andherchestisstill,the

bones from the spoon of her clavicle close and hard under the skin: a rusted

cookinggrateoverabustedbarbecuepit.Herarmsareallbone,theskinandthin

muscle overlaying them sliding to bunch at odd places: too far away from the

elbow, too near the center of her throat. She swallows, and I feel relief wash

throughme,andIrealizeIwaswatchingtoseeifshewasbreathing,toseeifshe

wasmoving,toseeifshewasstillhere.It’slikeaquickrainoverhot,dryearth.

“Mama?”

Herheadmovesaninch,andthenonemore,andthenshe’slookingatme,her

eyestooalivein herface.Thepainglistensinherblackirises,moveslikesmoke

overthewhites.Theonlythingbrightwhiletherestofherdulls.

“Water?”she asks.It’sascratchywhisper, hardlythereinthedin of the night

insectstrillingthroughtheopenwindow.

IliftthecupandstrawPopleftnexttothebedforhertodrink.Ishouldhave

beenhere.

“Michael’shome,”Isay.

Shetonguesthestrawoutofhermouthandswallows.Laysherheadback.Her

handscurledonthethinwhiteblanketlikeaninvalid’s.

“It’stime.”

“What?”Isay.

Mama clears her throat, but her whisper is no louder: too-long pant hems

draggingoverdirt.

“It’stime.”

“Forwhat,Mama?”

“Formetogo.”

“Whatyoumean?”

Isetthecupdownontheedgeofthenightstand.

“Thispain.”Sheblinksasiftogrimace,butdoesn’t.“IfIlayinthisbedformuch

longer,it’sgoingtoburntheheartoutofme.”

“Mama?”

“I done did everything I could. Brewed all the herbs and medicines. Opened

myselfto the mystère.For Saint Jude,for MarieLaveau,for Loko.But they can’t

enter.Thebodywon’tletthem,”shesays.

Her knuckles bear all the scars: slipped knives, broken dishes, pounds of

laundry. I wonder if I pull her hand to my nose and sniff, if I can smell all the

offeringsshedoneplacedonheraltarovertheyears,doneusedtoheal:stringsof

peppers, potatoes, yams, cattail, spider lily, Spanish needle, sweet bedstraw, and

wild okra. All the green of the earth in her hands. But when I sniff, her palms

sandpaper-dry, I smell threshed hay bleached by the winter sun. Dead. She

squeezes,anditispitiful.WhenIwasalittlegirl,shekneadedmyscalpwhenshe

washedmyhair,scrapeditwithherfingernailsasIsatinthetubwithmykneesin

mychin.Iwanttocry.Idon’tknowwhatshe’ssayingtome.

“Igotoneleft,”shesays.

“Whatyoumean?”

“Thelast mystère. MamanBrigitte.Let her comeinto me. Possessme.She the

motherofthedead.Thejudge.Ifshecome,maybeshetakemewithher.”

“Thereain’tanother?Whataboutonethatheals?”Iask.

“Ididn’tteachyouenough.Youwon’tbeabletoappeasethem.”

“Icouldtry.”Iletthewordstrailfrommymouthandhangintheairlikelax

fishing line, dangling a hook nothing wants to bite. The night bugs call one to

another, courting and threatening and singing, and I can’t understand any of it.

Mamalooksatme,andfor oneblink,hopeshines,remoteandbrilliantasafull

moon.

“No,”shesays.“Youdon’tknow.Youain’tnevermetthemystère.Theylookat

you,theyseeababy.”

Itakemyhandfromhers,andshelaysstill,hereyestoowet,toolarge.Eyelids

fluttering.Shedon’teverblink.

“Youcangatherforme.Ineedrocks.Fromthecemetery.Enoughtostackthem

inapile.Andcotton.”

I want to walk out the room. Walk out the front door. Walk straight to the

bayou,tothewater,steponit,shimmeringglassundermysoles,andwalkuntilI

disappearoverthehorizon.

“Cornmeal.Andrum.”

“That’sit?Youjustgoingtogo?Soonasyouseekthisspirit?Justlikethat?”

Myvoicebreaks:myfaceiswet.

“Whycan’tPopdoit?”Iask.

“You my baby.” She breathes heavy, and the grate cracks and sinks to rusted

stillness.“Like Idrew the veilback so youcould walk in thislife, you’ll helpme

drawitbacksoIcanwalkinthenext.”

“Mama,no—”

“Helpmeprepare.”Shesighswetlythen,andIreachouttowipeherface,the

skinunderthetearswarmandwetandalivewithsaltandwaterandblood.“Idon’t

want to be empty breath. Bitter at the marrow of my bones. I don’t want that,

Leonie.”

“Mama.”

The cup falls off the table, spreads a puddle of water around my shoes. The

katydidsclackinapplauseordisapproval,Idon’tknow.

“Baby,please,”Mamasays.

Hereyeswildandwide.Shemoans,andwhatcouldbethepainmovesthrough

her, making her legs shuffle under the covers, thenlay still: rough wind through

barewinterbranches.Themorphineisnotenough.

“Letmeleavewithsomethingofmyself.Please.”

Inod,andthenherscalpisundermyhands,hottothetouch,andI’mkneading

and scratching like she did me, and her mouth is opening and closing in half

pleasure,halfpain.Openingandclosingwithwhatwouldbesobs,butshechokes

themquiet. Reliefagain,butthistimelike a flood overdryplains,rushingfrom

whereItouchherheaddownhergauntface,hersinewyneck,herflattened,etched

chest,thedipofherstomach,theemptypotofherhips,thelong,swollenblack

lines of her legs, to her flat feet. I wait, but nothing about her body changes. I

expecthertolieslack,butitdoesn’thappen.Ionlyknowshe’sfallenasleepbyher

eyelids,thesmoothmarblesofthem,relaxed.Ileaveherandpullthedoorbehind

me.Michael’sintheshower.Popisstilloutontheporch,flashinginthedarkness.

Someonehasturnedalamponinthelivingroom,andGiven’spictures,yearafter

yearofhalfsmilesandangledlegslikehe’samomentawayfromjumpingupand

running,lookdownonme.AmultitudeofGivens.AndIwanthimbacksobad

then,becauseIwanttoaskhim:WhatshouldIdo?

Michaela’s on the second sofa in the living room. Michaela breathes

openmouthed,huffingcrumbs,andahalf-eatencrackerfallsfromherhandtothe

floor.Idon’tevenpickitup.Inmyroom,myfullbedseemsassmallandnarrowas

Mama’s,andlikeher,Iturntothewall.Icanfeelherontheotherside.Shesears

me.Icouldn’tseebefore,butnowIfeelit:herchestpackedtightwithwoodand

charcoal, drenched in lighter fluid, empty no longer—the pain the great blaze,

immolatingall.

Chapter11

Jojo

I pulled Kayla out and ran to the porch, to Pop and his lighter, bright as a

lighthousebeaconasitflashedinthedark.Iskippedthestepsandleaptuptothe

porch,comingtoafaststopinfrontofPopliketherabbitsthatcreeparoundthe

housewhenthesunsets:eating,stilling,thenrunningonlytofreezeagain.Saying

tome:Sodelicious,sodelicious,butstill,still,yes,Iseeyou.Callingtooneanother:Run

runrunhalt.

“Son,”Popsays,andgrabsthebackofmyneck,hishandlargeandwarm.My

wristsfeel raw. My mouthcomes open and Ibreathe in. It soundslike a webof

phlegmisinmythroat.MyeyesareburningandIshutmyjawandclenchmyteeth

andtryandtryandtrynottocry.Ibreatheagainanditsoundslikeasob.ButI

willnotcry,eventhoughIwanttoduckdownwithKayla,wantPoptofoldmein

hisarmsandhugmetohim,wanttosmashmynoseinhisshouldersohardIcan’t

breathe.ButIdon’t.Ifeelhishandonmeandriseonmytoessohepressesharder.

Icanfeeltheheatofhisfingers.Heletshishandrundownmybacktorestatthe

topofmyspine,andIevenimagineIcanfeelthewhorlofhisfingertips,theblood

pushbackunderhisskin.

“Pop,”Isay.

Popshakeshishead,givesmybackalittlerub.

“Goputyoursistertosleep.We’lltalkaboutittomorrow.”

MeandKaylaeatcrackersandpimentocheeseandsomesmotheredchickenlegs

Popgotinaskilletonthestove,washitdownwithwater.Ithinkaboutputting

KaylainthetubbutthenIheartheshower,andwhenIhearMam’sandLeonie’s

voicesin theroomand seePop’s lighter flashon the porch,I know it’sMichael.

Kaylalaysherheadonmyshoulder,grabsmyhair,rollsmycurlsaroundherfinger

likeanoodle.

“Mam?Pop?”

Herbreathinggetsslowandthenshe’sslobberingonmythroatandIknowshe’s

asleep,butI don’t put her downbecause I’mlooking at Richie,who’s looking at

Pop,who’slookingouttotheblackyard,thefarroad.Theboy’sfaceshowsinfire,

andIain’tneverseenthatlookbefore.Ain’tneverseensomebodylookatsomeone

else like Richie looks at Pop: all the hope on his face, plain in the circle of his

mouth,hiswide-openeyes,thewrinkleofhisforehead.Hestepcloserandcloserto

Pop,andhe’sacatthen,fresh-born,milk-hungry,creeping toward someone he’d

die without. I lay Kayla down on the sofa and step out onto the porch. Richie

follows.

“Riv,”hesays.

Popflickshislight,letsitdie,andflicksitagain.

“Riv,”Richiesaysagain.

Poppullsphlegmuphisthroat,spitsofftheporch.Looksdownathishands.

“Itwasquietherewithouty’all,”Popsays.“Tooquiet.”Thelighterflameshows

hisquicksmile,andthenit’sgone.“I’mglady’allback.”

“Ididn’twanttogo,”Isay.

“Iknow,”Popsays.

IrubmywristsandlookatPop’sprofileflareandfadeinthelight.

“Didyoufindit?”Popasks.

Richie takes a step forward, and the look changes. Just a flicker. He glances

betweenmeandPopandhefrowns.

“Thebag?”Isay.

“Yeah,”Popsays.

Inod.

“Diditwork?It’sagris-grisbag.”

Ishrug.

“Ithinkso.Wemadeit.Gotstoppedbythepolice,though.AndKaylawassick

thewholetime.”

Pop flicks the lighter, and the flame blazes for one half of a second, the fire

brightandcoldandorange,andthensparksout.Popshakesthelighterbyhisear

andlightsitagain.

“Whycan’theseeme?”Richieasks.

“It was the only way I could send a little of me with y’all. With Mam”—Pop

clearshisthroat—“sick.AndthatbeingaplaceIcan’tgobackto.Parchman.”

RichieisinchesawayfromPop.Ican’tevennod.

“Seeyourfaceeveryday.Likethesun,”Richiesays.

Poppocketsthelighter.

“Youleftme,”Richiesays.

IslideclosertoPop.RichiereachesoutahandtotouchPop’sfaceandsweeps

hisfingersacrosshiseyebrows.Popsighs.

“Youbetterwatchout,boy.Heusedtolookatmelikethat,”Richiesays.His

teetharewhiteintheblack:tinyandsharpasakitten’s.“Andthenheleftme.”

Ihavetotalkagainstthepocketsofsilencehecreateswheneverhespeaks:the

bugsshushforhimwitheveryword.

“Doshefeelanybetter,Pop?”

Popsearchesinhispocketforsomethingandthenstops.“SometimesIforget.I

forgetIdon’tsmoke,”hesays.Heshakeshisheadinthedarkness:Icanhearthe

slideofhishairagainstthewallofthehousehesitsagainst.“Shegotworse,son,”

Popsays.

“YouwastheonlydaddyIeverknew.”Richie’svoicewassoftasamewl.“Ineed

toknowwhyyouleftme.”

Richieisquiet.SoisPop.IslidedownthewallandsitnexttoPopontheporch.

Iwanttolaymyheadonhisshoulder,butI’mtoooldforthat.It’senoughtofeel

hisshoulderrubminewhenPoppassesahandoverhisface,whenhebeginstoflip

thelighteroverandunderhisknuckles,likehedoessometimeswithknives.The

treesmurmuraroundus,nearlyinvisible intheblack.WhenI hearLeoniecome

walking out Mam’s room, breathing as hard and deep as if she been running,

pullinginherbreathslikeithurt,Ilookupattheglitteryskyandsearchforthe

constellationsPoptaughtme.

“TheUnicorn,”IsayasIidentifyit.Monoceros.“TheRabbit.”Lepus.“TheGreat

Snake.”Hydra.“TheBull.”Taurus.Ilearnedthepropernamesfromaschoollibrary

book.IknowLeoniemustbe looking out atthe porch, wondering what meand

Poparedoinginthedark.“TheTwins,” I say. Gemini. Leonie’s room door opens

andshuts,andIseeMichaelbabyingLeoniewhenshewassick.IseethewayLeonie

didn’tdonothingwhenthatcopputthosehandcuffsonme.Richielooksatmelike

he knows what I’mremembering, andthen he sits across from us, curls over his

knees,wrapshisarmsaroundhisback,makesasoundlikecrying,andrubswhathe

canreachofhisshoulderblades.

“Mywounds were here.Righthere.FromBlackAnnie.And you healed them.

Butyouleftandnowyouwon’tseeme.”

IlaymyheadonPop’sshoulderanyway.Idon’tcare.Popbreathesdeeplyand

clearshisthroatlikehewantstosaysomething,buthedoesn’t.Buthedoesn’tshrug

meaway.

“YouforgotabouttheLion,”Popsays.Thetreessigh.

Whenwegoinsidetolaydown,Richiestillsits,nolongerrubbing.Instead,he

rocksbackandforth,faintly,andthelookonhisfaceisbroken.Popshutsthedoor.

IcurlaroundKaylaonthesofaandtrytoliestill,toforgetthebrokenboyonthe

porchlongenoughtodrifttosleep.Myspine,myribs,myback:awall.

*

“Jojo,”shesays, and patsmy cheeks,my nose.Pulls openmy eyelids.I jumpand

wakeandfalloffthesofa,andKaylalaughs,brightandyellowandshinyasapuppy

thatjustgottheknackofrunningwithouttrippingoverherownlegs.Happy,like

that.MymouthtasteslikeI’vebeensuckingonchalkandlickingoystershells,and

myeyesfeelgrainy.Kaylaclapsherhandsandsays,“Eat-eat,”andit’sthenIrealize

thatIsmellbacon,andIrealizeIain’tsmellediteversinceMamgottoosickto

cook. I sling Kayla on my back and she clings. I think it’s Leonie, and I feel

somethinginmesoftenforaminute,rethinkallthebadIthoughtaboutherthe

nightbefore,andsomethinginsidemesay:Butshedo.Shedo.AndthenIstepinto

thenarrowkitchen,anditain’ther;it’sMichael.Hegotashirtonthatlooklikeit’s

beenwashedanddriedasizetoosmall,thelettersonitfaded:it’soneofmine.An

oldoneMamboughtmetowearoneEaster.Helookallwrongatthecounter,the

wayhereflecttoomuchofthemorninglight.

“Y’allhungry?”heasks.

“Naw,”Isay.

“Yes,”Kaylalisps.

Michaelfrownsatus.

“Sitdown,”hesays.

Isit,andKaylaclimbsuponmyshoulder,straddlesmyneck,andbeatsmyhead

likeadrum.

Michael takes the panoff the gas, sets it to the side. He lets the fork he was

turningthebaconwithdripathisside,dripoilonthefloor,asheturnstofaceus.

He crosses hisarms, andthe oil drips again. Thebacon isstill sizzling, and I

wishhewouldtakeitoutanddrainitsomeandKaylacaneatithot.

“Yourememberthattimewewentfishing?”

Ishrug,butthememorycomesanyway,likesomeonepouringabottleofwater

overmyhead.Justtheboys,he’dtoldLeonie,andshelookedathimlikehe’djabbed

herinhersoftestparts.AndIthoughthe’drenegethen,sayI’mjustjoking,buthe

didn’t.Itwaslate,butwewentouttothepieranywayandcastlines.Hecalledme

sonwithhisfingers,withthewayhetiedthesinkersandspearedthebait.Laughed

atmewhenIwouldn’tspeartheworm,whenIwouldn’ttouchthem.Michaelwaves

hisforkatme,andheknowsI’mlying.HeknowsIremember.

“Wegoingtohavemoreofthatnow.”

Hetoldmeastorythatnight.Asthefishermengiggedforflounderwiththeir

lights and their nets, he said: What you know about your uncle Given? And I told

MichaelthatMamhadshowedmehispictures,talkedabouthim,toldmehewasn’t

herenomore,thathewasinanotherworld,buthadn’ttoldmewhatthatmeant.I

toldMichaelthatbecauseitwastrue,andbecauseIwantedhimtotellmewhatshe

meant.Iwaseightthen.

“That’swhatmecominghomemeans.”

Michaelpokesthebacon.Thatnightonthedock,hedidn’ttellmehoworwhy

UncleGivenleft.Instead,hetoldmeaboutworkingoutontherig.Howheliked

workingthroughthenightsowhenthesunwasrising,theoceanandtheskywere

onething,anditfeltlikehewasinaperfectegg.Howthesharkswerebirds,like

hawks,huntingthewater.Howtheyweredrawntothereefthatgrewuparound

therig,howtheystruckunderthepillars,whiteinthedarkness,likeaknifeunder

darkskin.Howbloodfollowedthem,too.Howthedolphinswouldcomeafterthe

sharks left, and how they would leap from the water if they knew anyone was

watching,chattering.Howhecried one day afterthe spill, whenhe heard about

howallofthemwasdyingoff.

“Foryou and yoursister,”Michael says, andliftsthe piece ofbacon he’s been

pokingat.It’salreadymaroonandstiff,buthedropsitbackinthegreaseanyway.

Iactuallycried,Michaeltoldthewater.Heseemedashamedtosaythat,buthe

went on anyway. How the dolphins were dying off, how whole pods of them

washeduponthebeachesinFlorida,inLouisiana,inAlabamaandMississippi:oil-

burnt, sick with lesions, hollowed out from the insides. And then Michael said

somethingI’llneverforget:SomescientistsforBPsaidthisdidn’thavenothingtodowith

theoil,thatsometimesthisiswhathappenstoanimals:theydieforunexpectedreasons.

Sometimesalotofthem.Sometimesallatonce.AndthenMichaellookedatmeand

said: And when that scientist said that, I thought about humans. Because humans is

animals.Andthewayhelookedatmethatnighttoldmehewasn’tjustthinking

about any humans; he was thinking about me. I wonder if Michael thoughtthat

yesterday,whenhesaw thatgun,sawthatcoppushmedownsoIbowedtothe

dirt.

Michaelliftsoutthebaconanddropsitonthepapertowel.Thatnightonthe

pier,itwasasifthepullofthemoononthewater,thesurgeofthetide,drewthe

wordsfromMichael.Hesaid:Myfamilyain’talwaysdidright.Wasoneofmydumbass

cousinsthatkilledyouruncleGiven.Ididn’tthinkMichaelwastellingmethewhole

story.WheneverLeonieorMamorPoptalkedabouthowGivendied,theysaid:He

got shot. But Michael said something different. Some people think it was a hunting

accident.Hewounduphislineandgotreadytocastagain.OnedayI’lltellyouthe

wholestory,hesaid.Nowthefaintsmellofcharredbaconwaftsthroughtheair,and

Michaelpullsoutanotherpiece,thisonecurledblackandhard.

Kaylaclapsandpullsatmyhairinbunches,thesamewayshedoesgrass.

“Ijustwant you andMichaela toknow thatI’m here.I’m hereto stay.And I

missedy’all.”

Michaelpullsoutthebaconandputsitontheplate.It’sallblackandburntat

theedges.Charandsmokefilltheroom.Herunstothebackdoorandopensand

closesit,tryingtowaveoutthesmoke.Thegreasehissestosilence.Idon’tknow

whathewantsmetosay.

“WecallherKayla,”Isay.IpullKaylaupovermyheadandsetherinmylap.

“Nononono,”Kaylasays,andstartskicking.Myscalpburns.Ibounceheronmy

knees,but thatjust pissesher off, and she straightenslike anironing board and

slidesoffmylegsontothefloor.Herwhineescalatesuntilit’slikeapolicesiren.

Michaelshakeshishead.

“That’senough, younglady. Get upoff thegoddamn floor,” hesays. Hisdoor

wavingain’tdoingmuch.

Kaylashrieks.

Ikneelnexttoher,bendover,putmymouthnexttoherear,andspeakloud

enoughforhertohearme.

“Iknowyoumad.Iknowyoumad.Iknowyoumad,Kayla.ButI’mgoingtotake

you outside later, okay? Just sit up and eat, okay? I know you mad. Come here.

Comehere.”IsaythistoherbecausesometimesIhearwordsbetweenherhowls,

hearherthinking:Whydon’thelistenwhydon’thelistenIfeel!Iputmyhandsunder

herarmpits,andshesquirmsandwails.Michaelletsthedoorslam,walkstoward

us,andthenstops.

“Ifyoudon’tgetupoffthatfloorrightnow,I’mgoingtowhipyou,youhear?

Youhearme,Kayla?”Michaelsays.He’sturningredaroundhiseyesandhisthroat

ashewaveshisarmsintheair,andthesmokejustfollowshimlikeablankethe’s

wrappedaroundhimself.Thismakeshimredder.Idon’twanthimtohitherwith

thefork.

“Comeon,Kayla.Comeon,”Isay.

“Goddamnit,”Michaelsays.“Michaela!”

Andthenhe’shunchingoverbothofus,andhisarmwhipsout,whipsin,and

he’sdroppedtheforkandhe’ssmackingKaylahardonthethigh,onceandtwice,

hisfaceaspaleandtightasaknot.“WhatdidIsay?”Hepunctuateseachwordwith

aslap.Kayla’smouthisopen,butshe’snotwailing:allofherseizedupsilent,eyes

widefromthepain.Iknowthiscry.IswingherupandawayfromMichael’shand,

spin her around and to me. Her back under my rubbing hand, hot. My shushes

don’tmeannothing.Iknowwhat’scoming.Sheletsgoofthebreathinonelong

thunderouswail.

“You ain’t have to do that,” I tell Michael. He’s backing away, shaking his

spankinghandlikeit’sgonenumb.

“Itoldher,”hesays.

“Youain’t,”Isay.

“Y’alldon’tlisten,”Michaelsays.

Kaylawrithesandshrieks,herwholebodycoiling.IturnmybackonMichael,

runoutthebackdoor.Kaylarubsherfaceintomyshoulderandscreams.

“I’m sorry, Kayla,” I say, like I’m the one hit her. Like she can hear over her

crying.Iwalkaroundthebackyardwithher,sayingitoverandover,untilthesun

sitshigherinthesky,bearingdownonus,turningthemuddypuddlestovapor.

Burningthelanddry,andburningmeandKayla:hertopeanutbutter,metorust.

*

I apologize until she quiets to hiccups, until I know she can hear me. And I’m

waiting,waitingforhersmallarmstofoldaroundmyneck,herheadtodroptomy

shoulder,andI’msointentonwaitingforitthatIdon’tevenseetheboystaringat

usfromtheshadowofatall,many-armedpinetreeuntilKayla’spinchingmyarms,

saying,“Nono,Jojo.”Inthebrightlightofthedaytheshadowswallowshim:cool

darkbayouwater,thecolorofmud—tepidandblinding.Hemovesandheisofa

piecewiththedarkness.

“He’ssloppingthepigs.Yourpop.”

Iblowairhardoutmynose,hopeitwillmeannothingtohim.Thathewillnot

readitaswantingtotalk,thathewillnotreaditasnotwantingtotalk.

“Hedon’tseeme.Howcomehedon’tseeme?”

I shrug. Kayla says: “Eat-eat, Jojo.” All’s quiet in the house, and for a stupid

secondI wonderwhy Leonie andMichael ain’t arguing about himhitting Kayla.

AndthenIremember.Theydon’tcare.

“Yougottoaskhimaboutme,”Richiesays.Hestepsoutoftheshadowandheis

aswimmersurfacingforair,glistening inthelight.Andin the light,heisjusta

skinny boy, too narrow in the bones, the fat that should be on him starved off.

SomebodythatIcanfeelsorryforuntilhiseyeswiden,andIsqueezeKaylasohard

shecriesout.Thefacehepullsispinchedwithhungerandlonging.

Ishakemyhead.

“It’stheonlywayIcango.”Richiestops,looksupinthesky.“Evenifhedon’t

knowmenomore,don’tcareaboutme.Ineedthestorytogo.”Hisafroissolongit

sproutsfromhisheadlikeSpanishmoss.“Thesnake-birdsays.”

“What?”Isay,andregretit.

“It’sdifferenthere,”hesays.“Somuchliquidintheair.Salt.Andamudsmell.I

cantell,”hesays,“theotherwatersisnear.”

Idon’tknowwhathe’stalkingabout.Kaylasays:“Inside,Jojo,inside.”

Richielooksatmelikehe’sseeingmethewayIseenhim.LikePoplooksata

hogatslaughteringtime,measuringthemeat.Henods.

“Yougethimtotellyouthestory.WhenI’mthere,”hesays.

“No,”Isay.

“No?”hesays.

“No.”

Kaylaismakinglittlemewlingsounds,pullingatmyears.“Iwanteat,Jojo,”she

says.“It’senoughwebroughtyouback.Broughtyouhere.WhatifPopdon’twant

totellthatstory?Whatifit’ssomethinghedon’twanttosay?”

“Don’tmatterwhathewant.ItmatterwhatIneed.”

IjiggleKayla.Turninacircle,myfeetsinkinginthemuddiedgrass.Acowlows

nearby,andIhear:Coolandbecomingofgreenthings,itis.Allthenewgrass.Istopmy

spinwhenIseehisfierceeyesagain.

“IfIgetthestory,yougoingtoleave,right?Yougoingtogoaway?”Myvoice

edginguptoaquestion,highasagirl’s.Iclearmythroat.Kaylapullsmyhair.

“ItoldyouI’mgoinghome,”Richiesays.Hetakesastepbeforemebutpartsno

grass,squelchesnomud,andhisfaceisfurrowed:apieceofpapercrumpledover

onitself,asmudgedballhidingwords.

“Youain’tanswer.”

“Yes,”hesays.

He’snotspecificenough.Ifhehadskinandbones,I’dthrowsomethingathim.

Pickupthecornerofacinderblockatmyfeetandhurlit.Makehimsayit.But

he’snot,andIdon’twanttogivehimcausetochange,tostaylurkingaroundthe

house,aroundtheanimals,stealingallthelight,reflectingitbackwrong:awarped

mirror.Casper,the black shaggyneighborhoodmutt,lopes around thecornerof

thehouse,freezesinastop,andbarks.Yousmellwrong,Ihear.Snakecomingthrough

water. The quick bite! Blood! Richie walks backward into the shadows, his hands

palmsout.

“Fine,”Isay.

IletCasper’sbarkturnmearound.Knowthedogiskeepinghimpinnedtothe

tree, so I can jog up the steps and into the house, even as I feel Richie’s eyes

tighteningupmyshoulders:alinepulledtautbetweenus,razor-sharp.

*

Thebaconissittingonaplatelinedwithpapertowels.IputKaylaonthetableand

pickthemeatapart,peelingawaywhat’sstillalittlegummy,stillalittlebrown.I

handthemeattoher,bitbybit,toeat.SheeatssomuchI’mleftwiththecharred

pieces.Ican’teveneatthem,soIspititalloutandmakeuspeanutbutterandjelly

sandwiches.MichaelandLeonieareinherroom,theirdoorclosed,conversationa

muffledpurr.Mam’sroomisstilldark,herblindsclosed.Iwalkinandopenthem

andput the boxfan in thewindow, turn itto a lowhum. The airmoves. Kayla

marchesaroundMam’sbed,singingoneofhernonsensesongs.Mamstirs,hereyes

opentoslits.Igetherwaterfromthefaucetandastraw,holdituptohersoshe

candrink.Sheholdsthewaterinhermouthlongerthansheshould,puffingouther

cheeksinaballoon,worksherwayuptoswallowing,andwhenit’sdown,herface

breakslikedrinkingthatwaterhurt.

“Mam?”Isay,pullingachairuptoherbed,proppingmychinonmyfoldedfists,

waitingforhertoputahandonmyheadlikeshealwaysdoes.Hermouthquivers

toafrown,andshedoesn’t.Isitup,askaquestion,andhopethatitcoversthepain

behindmyribcage,whichmoveslikeapuppyturningincirclestosettleandsleep.

“Howyoufeeling?”

“Not good, baby.” She speaks in a whisper.I canhardly hearher overKayla’s

gibberishsong.

“Themedicineain’tworking?”

“GuessI’mgettingusedtoit,”shehuffs.Thepainpullingallthelinesofherface

down.

“Michael’sback,”Isay.

Sheraiseshereyebrows.Irealizeit’sanod.

“Iknow.”

“HehitKaylathismorning.”

Mamlooksstraightatmethen,notattheceilingoroffintotheair,andIknow

shedoneshruggedoffherpainaswellasshecanandshe’slisteningtome,hearing

methesamewayIhearKaylawhenshe’supset.

“I’msorry,”shesays.

Isitupstraight-backedasPopandfrown.

“No,”shesays.“Youoldenoughtohearthis.”

“Mam?”

“Shush.Idon’tknowifit’ssomethingIdid.Orifit’ssomethingthat’sinLeonie.

Butsheain’tgotthemotheringinstinct.Iknewwhenyouwaslittleandwewasout

shopping,andsheboughtherselfsomethingtoeatandateitrightinfrontofyou,

andyouwassittingtherecryinghungry.Iknewthen.”

Mam’sfingersislongandthin.Littlemorethanbone.Cooltothetouch,butI

canstillfeelwarmthlikeasmallflameinthemiddleofherpalm.

“I never wanted you to be hungry, Jojo. It’s why I tried. I would do it if she

wouldn’t.Butnow—”

“It’sallright,Mam—”

“Hush,boy.”

Her fingernails usedto bepink and clear. Now they seashells, salt-pittedand

yellow.

“Sheain’tnevergoingtofeedyou.”

Herhandsusedtobemuscledplumpfromalltheworkshedidinthegardens,

inthekitchen.ShereachesoutandIduckmyheadupunderitsoherpalmonmy

scalpandmyfaceinhersheetsandIbreatheitallineventhoughithurts,andit

smellslikemetalandsunburnedgrassandoffal.

“IhopeIfedyouenough.WhileI’mhere.Soyoucarryitwithyou.Likeacamel.”

Icanhearthesmileinhervoice,faint.Abaringofteeth.“Maybethatain’tagood

wayofputtingit.Likeawell,Jojo.Pullthatwaterupwhenyouneedit.”

I cough into the blanket, partly from the smell of Mam dying, partly from

knowingthatshedying;itcatchesinthebackofmythroatandIknowit’sasob,

butmyfaceisinthesheetsandnobodycanseemecry.Kayla’spattingmyleg.Her

song:silent.

“Shehatesme,”Isay.

“No,sheloveyou.Shedon’tknowhowtoshowit.Andherloveforherselfand

herloveforMichael—well,itgetsintheway.Itconfuseher.”

Iwipemyeyesonthesheetsbyshakingmyheadandlookup.Kaylaclimbsin

my lap. Mam’s looking at me straight on. Her eyelashes ain’t never grew back,

whichmakeshereyeslookevenbigger,andwhenMamblinks,Irealizewegotthe

same eyes. Her mouth works like she’s chewing, and she swallows and grimaces

again.

“Youain’tnevergoingtohavethatproblem.”

Whileshetalking,Iwanttotellherabouttheboy.Wanttoaskherwhatshe

thinksIshoulddoaboutRichie,butIdon’twanttoworryher,don’twanttoput

anotherthingonherwhenit’stakingeverythinginhertobearthepain,whichI

canseenow.Likeshe’sfloatingonherbackinanoceanofit.Likeherskin’sahull

eatenhollow with barnacles,and the pain’sseeping through. Filling.Pushing her

downanddownanddown.There’sasoundoutsidethewindow,andthebladesof

theboxfancutitasitcarriesintotheroom.Choppingitup.Soundlikeababy

crying.IlookoutandRichie’spassingunderthewindow,lettingoutonelittlecry

andthengulpinginair.Andthenhe’slettingoutanothercry,thisonesoundslikea

catyowling,andthengulpinginair.Hetouchesthebarkofeachpinetreeashe

passesupunderneathit.

“Mam?Afteryou...”Ican’tbringmyselftosayit,soItalkaroundit.Richie

moans.“After,whereyougoingtogo?”Richiestopsandlists.He’sstaringupatthe

window,hisfacelikeashatteredplate;Casperbarksoffinthedistance,aseriesof

highyips.Richierubshisneck.Mamlooksatmeandstartleslikeahorse:forher,

thismeanshereyelidsjump.

“Mam?”

“Youain’tletthatdoggetintomygarden,didyou,Jojo?”shewhispers.

“No,ma’am.”

“Soundslikehetreedacat.”

“Yes,ma’am.”

Kaylaslidesoffmylap,walkstothefan,andputshermouthonit.Everytime

Richieletsoutalittlecatlikeyowl,shehootsback.Shelaughsasthefanchopsit

up.Richiegetsup,handsstillkneadinghisthroat,andwalks,crookedandlimping,

rightunderneaththewindow.

“After,Mam,”Isay.“Whathappenswhenyoupassaway?”

I couldn’t bear her being a ghost. Couldn’t take her sitting in the kitchen,

invisible.Couldn’ttakeseeing Pop walkaround herwithout touchingher cheek,

without bending to kiss her on herneck. Couldn’t bear to see Leonie sit on her

withoutseeing,lightupacigarette,blowsmokeringsinthewarm,stillair.Michael

stealingherwhisksandspatulastocookinoneofthesheds.

“It’slikewalkingthroughadoor,Jojo.”

“Butyouwon’tbenoghost,huh,Mam?”IhavetoaskeventhoughIknowthe

telling hurts her. Even though I feel like speaking’s bringing her leaving closer.

Death,agreatmouthsettoswallow.

Richieisrubbingthescreen,hishandslidingfromsidetoside.Kaylagiggles.

“Can’t say for sure. But I don’t think so. I think that only happens when the

dying’sbad.Violent.Theoldfolksalwaystoldmethatwhensomeonediesinabad

way,sometimesit’ssoawfulevenGodcan’tbeartowatch,andthenhalfyourspirit

staysbehindandwanders,wantingpeacethewayathirstymanseekswater.”She

frowns:twofishhooksdimplingdown.“Thatain’tmyway.”

IrubMam’sarmandtheskinslideswithmyfinger.Toothin.

“Thatdon’tmeanIwon’tbehere,Jojo.I’llbeontheothersideofthedoor.With

everybodyelsethat’sgone before. Your uncleGiven, mymama anddaddy, Pop’s

mamaanddaddy.”

There’s a growl and a hacking bark come from underneath the house, from

underneath the floorboards, and I know Casper’s back and in the crawl space

betweenthecinderblocks:ablackshadowinthedustydark.

“How?”

“Becausewedon’twalknostraightlines.It’sallhappeningatonce.Allofit.We

allhereatonce.Mymamaanddaddyandtheymamasanddaddies.”Mamlooksto

thewall,closeshereyes.“Myson.”

Richiejerksawayfromthewindowandbacksup,stumblinglikeanoldman.

Hisarmsoutinfrontofhim.Caspersaying:Wrong!Nosmell!Winglessbird.Walking

worm.Back!Istoprubbing.Mamlooksbackatmelikeshecanseemeclearthrough

thepain.LikeshelookedatmewhenIwasyoungerandIliedtoherwhenIgot

caught having a who-can-pee-the-furthest-up-the-wall contest in the boys’

bathroomatschool.

“You ever seen something like that? Something like a ghost?” Mam wheezes.

“Somethingyouthoughtwasstrange?”

Richie’sclimbingthetreelikearope.Grippingtheyoungpinewithhisinsoles,

pushing,hishandsflattothefeatheredbark.Inchingup.Swinginghislegaround

andsittingonalowbranch,hisarmsandlegsstillwrappedaroundthetrunk.The

treeholdinghimlikeababy.HeyelpsatCasper.

“No,ma’am.”

“Iain’tneverhavethetalentforit.Seeingthedead.Icouldreadpeople,readthe

futureorthepastintheybodies.Knowwhatwaswrongorneededbytheirsongs:

intheplants,intheanimals,too.Butneversawthedead.Wanteditsobadafter

Givendied—”

Richie’syelpslidesintoahumming.He’ssingingtoCasper,andtherearewords

in it but I can’t understand them, like language flipped inside out. A skinned

animal:aninvertedpelt.Ican’thelpit.IgulpagainstthefeelingIwanttothrowup

all the foodthat Iever ate. Kayla’srubbing thescreen like Richiedid, backand

forth.Humming.

“No,ma’am.”

“Butyoucould.Youcouldhaveit.Thevision.”

Mamturns her headtoone side, hearingRichie’ssong. A grimace,like ifshe

couldmovewithoutpain,she’dbeshakingherheadno.

“Istheresomethingoutside?”

Ishakemyheadforher.Casperwhines.

“Yousure?”

ThebladescutRichie’ssong.Icanfeeleverywaveofhisdarkcrooningonmy

skin:abadtouch.Leonieslappingmyface.Michaelpunchingmeinmychest.An

olderboynamedCalebwhosatnexttomeinthelastseatonthebusandputhis

handonmylapandsqueezedmydickbeforeIelbowedhimintheneckandthe

busdriverwrotemeupwhenCalebfellintotheaisle,choking.Allbad.

“No,ma’am,”Isay.Iwillnotsinkher.

Chapter12

Richie

Rivhugsthemevenwhenhe’snotinthesameroomwiththem,evenwhenhe’snot

touchingthem. Theboy, Jojo, and the girl,Kayla. Rivholds them close. He sees

thattheyeatinthemorning:oatmealandsausages.Hecutslittlesliversofbutter

andslidesthemintothesteaminginsidesofthebiscuitshemixesandkneadsand

bakes.Thebuttermeltsandoozesoutofthesides,andIwouldgiveanythingto

taste bread made with such care: I imagine it moist and crumbly. Kayla smears

butteroverherface,andRivlaughsather.Jojohasfoodatthesideofhismouth,

andRivtellshimtocleanitoff.ThentheygoofftoRiv’sgarden,wheretheypick

strawberriesandblackberriesandweeduntilthesunishigh.Theyeattheberries

fromthebush.Iexpecttoseeawingedshadowoverthem,butthereisnothingbut

this:thegarden,greenandsweet.Life-givingflowers,usheringforthsweetnessfrom

fruit.Jojositsonhishaunchesandchews.Ibendoverhim.

“Tellme,”Isay,“whatittastelike.”

Heignoresme.

“Please.”

He swallows, and I can read the answer in his face. No. How he holds the

deliciousnessinsidehim,arichsecret.

“Iwanttoremember,”Isay.“AskRiv.Askhimtotellyou.”

“Enough,”Jojosays,pullingataweedwithadeeproot.

“Whatyousay?”Rivasks.Hewhipstheweedsfromthesoillikeknivesthrough

cake.

“Idonehadenoughberries,”Jojosays.“I’mfull.”Helooksthroughmeandbends

topickatstraygrass.

LeonieandMichaelleavewithoutwalkingouttothegarden.Theredcarcranks

tolifeandgrowlsdowntheroad,andtheydisappearinthetunneloftrees.Ithink

about climbing into the car with them, just to see where they go, but I don’t. I

followJojoandRivandKaylainstead.Iwalkintheboy’sfootsteps,andIwatch.I

watchthewayRivushersthemaroundfurrowsandtroughs,howhecooksthem

beansfordinner,thewayhemakessuretheyarecleanwhentheyliedowntosleep.

Watchingthisfamilygrabsmeinside,twists,andpullstight.Ithurts.Ithurtsso

much I can’t look at it, so I don’t. I go outside. The night is cloudy. I want to

burrowintotheearth,tosleep,butI’msoclose.I’msoclose,Icanhearthesound

ofthewatersthescalybirdwillleadmeovertumblingwiththewind.SoIcrawl

underthehouseinstead,andIlieinthedirtunderthelivingroomwheretheyall

sleep,makingacotoftheearth.AndIsingsongswithoutwords.Thesongscome

tomeoutofthesameairthatbringsthesoundofthewaters:Iopenmymouth,

andIheartherushingofthewaves.

*

ThisiswhatIsee:Acrossthefaceofthewater,thereisland.Itisgreenandhilly,

densewithtrees,rivenbyrivers.Theriversflowbackward:theybegininthesea

andendinland.Theairisgold:thegoldofsunriseandsunset,perpetuallypeach.

Therearehomessetatopmountainranges,invalleys,onbeaches.Theyarevivid

blue and dark red, cloudy pink and deepest purple. They are yurts and adobe

dwellingsandteepeesandlonghousesandvillas.Someofthehomesareclustered

together in small villages: graceful gatherings of round, steady huts with domed

roofs. And there are cities, cities that harbor plazas and canals and buildings

bearing minarets and hip and gable roofs and crouching beasts and massive

skyscrapersthatlookasiftheyshouldcollapse,soweirdlytheyflowerintothesky.

Yettheydonot.

Therearepeople:tinyanddistinct.Theyflyandwalkandfloatandrun.They

arealone. They are together.Theywanderthesummits.Theyswimintherivers

andsea.Theywalkhandinhandintheparks,inthesquares,disappearintothe

buildings.Theyareneversilent.Everpresentistheirsinging:theydon’tmovetheir

mouthsandyetitcomesfromthem.Crooningintheyellowlight.Itcomesfrom

theblackearthandthetreesandtheever-litsky.Itcomesfromthewater.Itisthe

mostbeautifulsongIhaveeverheard,butIcan’tunderstandaword.

Iamgaspingwhenthevisionpasses.ThedarkunderbellyofRiver’shouselooms

beforeme:creakingthensilent.Ilooktomyrightandseeaflashofthewater,the

rivers,thewilderness,thecities,thepeople.Thendarkness.Ilooktomyleftand

see that world again, and then it is gone. I claw at the air, but my hands strike

nothing;theyrendnodoorwaystothatgoldenisle.

Absence.Isolation.Ikeen.

*

WhenIleavethecrawlspaceasthesunrises,LeonieandMichaelareslammingcar

doorsandwalkingtowardthehouse.Thetreesarestillandsilentinthebluedawn

light, the air even wetter than the day before.The sun is a hint of shining light

throughthetrees.Thesoundofthewaterisstrongestnow:thatotherplacehovers

attheedgeofmyvision.Astheyhalfwalk,halfstumbletogether,Leonielooksover

her shoulder like someone walks there, on her right, behind her. I dart forward

becauseIseeaflash.Forabreath,someoneisthere,someonewithafacelikeJojo’s,

lankyandtalllikeRiv,someonewiththesameeyesasthesaltwaterwomanwho

laysinthebed.Andthen,nothing.Onlyair.LeonieandMichaelstopatthedoor,

hugand murmur, whileIcirclethespotwhereIsaw the flash. Theairfeelslike

needles.

“Youneedtosleep,sugarbaby,”Michaelsays.

“Ican’t.Notyet,”Leoniesays.

“Justlaydownwithme.”

“Igotsomethingtodo.”

“Really?”

“I’llbeback,”Leoniesays.TheykissandIturnaway.Somethingabouttheway

MichaelgripsthebackofherneckandLeoniepalmshisfaceseemsdesperate.So

desperate and needy it demands privacy. He disappears into the house, and she

walksdownthesideoftheroad.Icannothelpbutfollowher.Wewalksinglefile

undertheoverarchingoaks, the cypress, the pines.The roadis soold it’salmost

beenbeattogravel.Everysooften,thereisahouse,silentandshut:insome,people

speakinlowvoices,brewcoffee,cookeggs.Rabbitsandhorsesandgoatsgrazefor

theirmorningfeed:someofthehorsescometothelipsoftheiryards,raisetheir

headsabovetheirfences,andLeoniebrushestheirwetnoseswithherpalmasshe

walkspast.Thehousescomealittleclosertogether.LeoniecrossesthestreetandI

see it: a graveyard. The headstones are half-ovals dug into the earth. Some have

pictures on them, pictures of the dead onceliving. Shestops in front of a grave

nearerthefrontofthecemetery,wherethenewlydeadareburied,andasshesinks

toherkneesinfrontofit,IseetheboyIsawoverLeonie’sshoulderthismorning,

butnowheisetchedintomarble,andunderthepictureofhisface,aname:Given

BlaiseStone.Leoniepullsacigarettefromherpocketandlightsit.Thesmellofitis

sootandash.

“Youain’tneverhere.”

Birdsareawakinginthetrees.

“Wouldyoudoit,Given?”

Theyrustleandturn.

“She’sgivingup.”

Theychirpandalight.

“Wouldyou?”

Thebirdsswoopoverourheads.Theychatteronetotheother.

“Wouldyougiveherwhatshewants?”

Leonieiscryingnow.Sheignoresthetears,letsthemfallfromthebladeofher

chintoherchest.Whentheyfreckletheskinofhercollarbone,onlythendoesshe

wipethemoff.

“MaybeI’mtooselfish.”

A small gray bird lands at the edge of the plot. It needles the earth, twice,

feelingforbreakfast.Leoniesighs,anditcatchesandbubblesintoalaugh.

“Ofcourseyouwon’tcome.”

ShebendsandpicksupastoneembeddedinthedirtaboveGiven’sgrave,and

sheuntuckshershirt,holdsthehem,andputstherockintothepocketmadebythe

hanging material. She stands and talks to the air, and the bird hops and flitters

away.

“WhatdidIexpect?”

Leoniewandersamongtheheadstones,bendingandcollectingrocksfromallthe

graves,fromthosejustbeginningtogatheronrawearth,tothoseatthecenterand

back of the graveyard, where the stones are wind-and water-worn, the names

shallowetchings.Thebirdswheelupinagreatflockinthesky,awaytofindricher

earth.WhenLeoniewalkshome,thebasketmadebythefrontofhershirtisheavy

withrocks,andshecries.Thelongroadisquiet.Hertearsdarkenthestone.They

arestillwetwhenshewalksintothehouse,pastJojoandRivandKayla,stillasleep

inthelivingroom,intohermother’sroom.Thesmellinthatroomisallsalt:ocean

andblood. She kneels and lets them tumbleout andontothefloor,looksatthe

saltwaterwoman,whohasstartledawake,andsays:“Okay.”

Thetearsandtheoceanandthebloodcouldburnaholethroughthenose.The

saltwater woman, the woman Leonie crawls toward over the rocks as she says,

“Mama,Mama,”looksatLeoniewithsomuchunderstandingandforgivenessand

lovethatIhearthesongagain;Iknowthatsinging.Ihavehearditfromthegolden

place across the waters. A great mouth opens in me and wails; I am an empty

stomach.

Thescalybirdlandsonthewindowsillandcaws.

Chapter13

Jojo

Last night, Richie crawled under the house and sang. I listened to it rise up

throughthefloor,andIcouldn’tsleep.Popturnedhisbacktousashesleptand

coughed, over and over again. Kayla woke to whimpering every half hour, and I

shushedheroverthesoundofthesinging.Weallsleptlate,butPophasrisenby

thetimeIgetupfromthesofa.KaylathrowsherarmoverwhereIslept,andIpull

thesheet overher. It’s almostnoon when Iwalk outto the yard, to seethe boy

crouched in the tree outside Mam’s window. Somewhere out in the back, I hear

Pop’saxeswishandthud.

“Comeon,”Iwhisper.

Idon’tlookupatthetreewhenIsayit,don’tlookattheboyinchingdown,

droppingandmakingnonoise,raisingnodust.Ifhewasarealboy,thebarkwould

comeoffinlittlepaperyflakes,falllikedryrain.Butitdoesn’t.Hestandsnextto

me,curved at theshoulders. He knowsI’mtalking to him.I leadhimacross the

sun-washedyardandbackintotheshadowsofthewoods,wherePopis.Asound

likehammeringpopsandringsinthesilence.Andagain.Popisbeatingsomething.

Imeantowalklikehim:headup,shouldersstraight,backaplank,butIfindmy

headdown,backcurled.Allofmedrooping.WheneverPopdonetoldmehisand

Richie’sstory,hetalkedincircles.Tellingmethebeginningoverandoveragain.

Telling me the middle over and over again. Circling the end like a big black

buzzard angles around dead animals, possums or armadillos or wild pigs or hit

deer,bloatingandturningsourintheMississippiheat.

Pop’s banging apart one of the old pens: hitting a corner of it with a

sledgehammeruntilitbucklesandfolds,alreadyhalfburiedinthedirt.Istop,and

Richiewalkstwostepsmoreandstops.Ican’tdecidewhetherheiseatingthesun

orshruggingitoff;eitherway,it’slikehisshadowislaidoverhisskin,adarkmask

fromheadtotoe,anditwalkswithhim.HishairisthelongestI’veeverseenit,and

itstandsupfromhisheadlikeparasiticmoss.Popswingsthehammerdownandit

cracks,thesplintersturnedtoshards.Hissweatisaglaze.

“Termites got in it. Eating it hollow,” Pop says. “Won’t keep nothing in and

nothingoutoncetheydonewithit.”

“Youneedhelp?”Iask.

“Kicktheseboardstogether,”Popsays.

Heswingsthesledgehammeragain,splintersthewoodatthejoints.Ikickthe

logstoherdthemtoapile:wheremyfoothits,dustrises.Termitesspinandflutter

throughtheair,swarming.Theirwhitewingsflashing.Popswingsagain.Grunts.

“Pop?”

“Yeah.”

“Younevertoldmetheendtothatstory.”

“Whatstory?”

“Aboutthatboy,Richie.”

The hammer hits the dirt. Pop never misses. He sniffs and swings the

sledgehammerlikeagolfclub,testingitsweight.Feelingtheswing.Atermitelands

onmycheekandIswatitoff,trynottofrown,tokeepmyfacesmoothasPop’s.

“What’sthelastpieceItoldyou?”

“Yousaidhewassick.He’djustgotwhippedandhewashotandthrowingup.

Yousaidhesaidhewantedtogohome.”

Richie stands untouched by the termites. They waft away from him on an

invisiblewind.Findus,theysay.Ibrushthemawaywithmywholehand,butPop

flinchesandflicksthemwithtwofingers.

“That’swhatIsaid,”Richiesays,solowhisvoicecouldbethebrushofmyhand

acrossmyface,Pop’sfingeralonghiseyebrow.

Popnods.

“Hetriedtoescape.Well,naw,heain’ttry.Hedidit.”

“Hebrokeout?”

Popswings.Thewoodcracksandcrumbles.

“Yeah,”Popsays.Hekicksatthewood,butthere’snoforceinit.

“Sohewenthome?”

Popshakeshishead.Looksatmelikehe’stryingtofigureouthowtallIam,how

big my hands, how long my feet. I can wear his shoes now: sometimes when he

sends me on errands when it’s raining outside, I put on the boots he keeps just

inside the back door at the bottom of the pantry. I look at him and raise my

eyebrows.Tellhimwithoutsayingit:Icanhearthis.Icanlisten.

“Was a gunman named Blue that did it. It was a baseball Sunday; there was

visitors. Some good-time girls, some men’s wives came. But Blue ain’t never had

nobody.CalledhimBluebecausehewassodarkheshinedlikeapluminthesun,

ontheline.Buthewasn’trightinthehead;that’swhynoneofthewomenwould

talk to him. Wouldn’t take no visits with him. So he caught one of the women

inmatesoutbytheouthouses,anddraggedheroffintoastand.”Popstops,looks

backatthehouse.

“Whathedo?”Isay.

“Herapedher,”Popsays.“Shewasastrongwoman,handsnearascallusedashis

from all the picking and sewing she did, but she wasn’t no match for him. Hit

anybodyintheheadhardenough,itknockthemout.Herface—youcouldbarely

recognizeher.AndmaybenothingwouldhavehappenedtoBluefordoingitifshe

hadn’tbeenthesergeant’swife’sfavorite.Alwaystheoneshecalledtohangwash

andscrubfloorsormindthekids.Bluehadenoughbrainstoknowthat.Soheleft

herthere,stripedskirtuparoundherhead,coveringherbloodyface,thatfabric

turningmuddyandred.Leftherbreathingbubbles.Torun.Butbeforehecouldget

awaygood,hefoundRichie.Idon’tknowwhere.WhetherRichiewasaroundthe

kitchensor the bathroomsor takingtoolsfrom one placeto the next, butwhen

Bluelitout,Richiewaswithhim.”

“Ifoundthem,”Richiesays.“Hewasclimbingupoffher.Bigbloodyhands.Was

oneofthestrongestgunmen;hecouldoutpickmosteverybody.Hesaytome:You

wantafacelikehers,boy?Itoldhimno.Andhewavedoneofthembighandsand

said:Come.PartofmewentbecauseIdidn’twanthimtoturnmyfaceredlikehers.

AndpartofmewentbecauseIwassickofthatplace.BecauseIwantedtogo.”

Thewoodsaroundusareagreatdarkgreentangle:oaksreachinglowandwide,

vines tangled around trunks and drooping from branches, poison sumac and

swamptupeloandcypressandmagnoliagrowinguparoundusinacircularwall.

“Youwentafterthem?”Iask.

Richie’sleaningtowardPopsofarthatifhewerealive,he’dhavefell.Hisjaw

worksfromsidetoside,histeethgrindingagainsteachother.

“Yes.”Popsqueezesthehammersohardhisknuckleswhiten,andthenheletshis

handsloose.Hesqueezesagain,letshishandsloosen.

“Yes,”Richiesays.“Yes.”

Acranecutstheair,grayandpink-kneed,overhead.Itdoesn’tsquawkorcall.It

saysnothing.

“Whathappen?”

Popmeasuresmeagain.Ipushmyshouldersback,makesuremychinstayshard.

“Jojo?”

Inod.

“AmanlikeBlue?IsamanlikeHogjaw.”

Hogjaw: the big, brutal White man who worked with Pop and the dogs. Pop

swingsandanothercornerofthepencollapses.

“Gotnoregardforlife.Anylife.”

Richieopensandcloseshismouth.Workshistonguebetweenhisteeth.Itisas

ifheiseatingair.

“Ihadtotrackthem.”

SwallowingPop’swords.

“LessmindwaspaidtothewomenonSundays.Wasfivehoursbeforeanybody

found her, realized Blue and Richie was missing, before the sergeant put it all

together,”Popsays.“That’senoughtimetorunthemfifteenmilestotheedgeof

Parchman. To get back to the free world. The warden yelling at everybody, his

clotheswetasifhe’dwentswimminginthem.AWhitewomannext!hesaid.”

“Itwasenoughtime,”Richiesays.Hisvoicegratingandhollowasafrog’scroak.

Starvedforrain. “He ran sofast. SometimesI hadto followhim bysound.Him

talkingtohisselfthewholetime.Nothisself.Hismama.Tellingherhewascoming

home.Thathewantedhertosingforhim.Singforyourson,hesaid.Sing.”

Thehammerwhistlesthroughtheair.Thetermiteswritheintheirruinedhome.

“I wasn’t fast enough. He came up on a girl fetching water from a spring.

Knocked her down,” Pop says. “Ripped her dress clean down the front. She ran

home,holding itlike that. LittleWhite girlwith red hair.Told herdaddy some

crazyniggerattackedher.”

“Istoppedhim,”Richiesays.“Hithimwithatreelimb.Hardenoughtogethim

offher.Hardenoughtogetmepunchedintheface.”

“Wordwasoutbythen.RichieandBluehadrunlongandfarenoughforthesun

toset,and White folks wasgathering. Allthe menfolk.Little boys youngerthan

Richieinoverallshangingbyonestraponthebacksofpickups.Whatseemedlikea

thousandofthem.Lookliketheirfaceshadaredmistontheminthetrucklights,

buteverythingelseaboutthemlookblackinthedark:clothes,hair,eyes.Icould

seeitonthem:thewayeverydamnoneofthemseemedtoleanforward,eageras

houndstothehunt.Andthelaughing.Theycouldn’tstop.AndIknewthatwhenit

cametothetwoofthem,whenitcametoBlueandRichie,theywasn’tgoingtotell

nodifference.Theywasgoingtoseetwoniggers,twobeasts,whohadtoucheda

Whitewoman.”

Richiehasneverbeensostill,sosilent.Hismouthfrozenopen.Hiseyeswide

andblack.Heisbalancedonhistoes,andhecouldbemadeofstone.Buteverypart

ofPopmoves:hishandsashespeaks;hisshouldersfoldingforwardassoftlyasa

flowerwiltingatthehottestpartoftheday.I’veneverseenthemdothat.Hisface,

allthelinesofhisface,slidingagainsteachotherlikethefaultlinesofthegreat

fracturedearth.Whatundergirdsit:pain.Thesledgehammerfallen.

“Iranthemdogspastthefence,pasttheedgeofParchman,outintotheDelta.

Through the flat plain, the earth turned to scrub and balded from them black

hands.Allthemblackhands.Thedirtblackasthemhandsandcrumbly.Thewayit

gives under the foot, leaves clear tracks. I followed their tracks, and the dogs

followedthesmell,throughthebristlystandsoftrees,overthemdeceitfulfields,

pastthe spring andtheshacks to morefields, more shacks withWhite men and

boysgatheringandswarming.Movinglikeonething.Tokill.”

Popduckshishead,wipeshissweatonhisshoulder.Hestompshisfootanditis

likeahorse’s,warningbeforeitkicks.

“Whathappen?”Iprod.

Popdoesn’tlookup.

“Wardenandsergeantswasincarsontheroad,followingthedogs.Theirbaying.

Allthemmenroaming,hadtheydogsout,too,anditwasaboywhostumbleacross

Blue.Hewasupa treeinoneofthemstandstothewest.Ihadtosquint atthe

shoutsthatcameupwhentheyfoundhim.Theystartedfiringofftheyrifles,and

the warden and sergeants and trusty shooters rode that way. I heeled my dogs.

Waited.Becausetheywasn’tpointedwest.Theywaspointednorth,andIknewit

wasRichietheyfollowed.Wasn’tfiveminutespassedbeforeIsawthebonfirethey

lit, and I knew what was happening. I knew before I even heard Blue start

screaming.”

Richieblinks.Hisfingerssplayedlikeabird’swings.Hisblinksstartslow,butas

Poptalks,theygetfasteruntilthey’reblurredlikeahummingbird,andallIseeare

hiseyes,hisblackeyes,withathinscrimoverthem.

“Oneofthetrustiestold me later they wascutting pieces of himoff. Fingers.

Toes.Ears.Nose.Andthentheystartedskinninghim.That’swhenIfollowedthe

dogs,makingthemquiet,acrossthatskyturningfrombluetoblack,acrossthem

fields, to another stand of trees. And Richie hunched down at the base of one,

cuppinghisblackeye.Crying.Noseup,listeningtoBlueandthecrowd.”

Richiemakesfists,letsthemgo.Makesfists.Spreadshisfingerstowings.

“Theywasgoingtodothesametohim.OncetheygotdonewithBlue.Theywas

going to come for that boy and cut him piece from piece till he was just some

bloody, soft, screaming thing, and then they was going to string him up from a

tree.”

Poplooksatme.Everypieceofhimaquiver.

“Hewasn’tnothingbutaboy,Jojo.Theykillanimalsbetterthanthat.”

Inoddedagain.Richieiswindinghisarmsaroundhimself,huggingtighterand

tighter,hisarmsandfingersgrowingincrediblylong.

“Isaid:It’sgoingtobeallright,Richie.Hesaid:Yougoingtohelpme?Riv,whichway

shouldIgo?Iheeledthedogs.Heldoutmyhandstohim,lightsideout.Movedslow.

Soothed him. Said: We gone get you out of this. We gone get you away from here.

Touchedhisarm:hewasburningup.I’mgoinghome,Riv?heasked.Isquatteddown

nexttohim,thedogssteadyyipping,andIlookedathim.Hehadbabyhaironthe

edgeofhisscalp,Jojo.Littlefinehairhe’dhadsincehesuckedathismama’stit.Yes,

Richie.I’matakeyouhome,Isaid.AndthenItooktheshankIkeptinmybootandI

puncheditonetimeintohisneck.Inthebigveinonhisrightside.Heldhimtill

thebloodstoppedspurting.Himlookingatme,mouthopen.Achild.Tearsand

snotalloverhisface.Shockedandscared,untilhewasstill.”

Popspeaksintohisknees.Richie’sheadhastiltedbackuntilheislookingatthe

sky,atthegreatbluewashofitbeyondtheembraceofthetrees.Hiseyeswiden

more,andhisarmssnap outandhislegsspreadandhedoesn’tevenseeme and

Pop,butheislookingateverythingbeyondus,pastthemileswedroveinthatcar,

past the point where the pine trees turn to field and cotton and just-budding

springtrees,pastthehighwaysandtownsbacktotheswampsandstandsoftrees

hundredsofyearsold.AtfirstIthinkheissingingagain,butthenIrealizeitisa

whinethatrisestoayellthatrisestoascream,andthelookonhisfaceishorrorat

whathesees.IsquintandbarelyhearPopthroughRichie’skeening.

“Ilaidhimdownontheground.Toldthedogstoget.Theysmelledtheblood.

Toreintohim.”

Richieroars.Casperis somewhereoutontheroad,furious,barking.Thepigs

are squealing. The horse is stamping its pen. Pop is working his hands like he

doesn’tknowhowtousethem.Likehe’snotsurewhattheycando.

“Iwashedmyhandseveryday,Jojo.Butthatdamnbloodain’tnevercomeout.

Holdmyhandsuptomyface,Icansmellitundermyskin.Smelleditwhenthe

wardenandsergeantcameuponus,thedogsyippingandlickingbloodfromthey

muzzles.They’dtornhisthroatout,hamstringedhim.Smelleditwhenthewarden

toldmeI’ddonegood.SmelleditthedaytheyletmeoutonaccountI’dledthe

dogsthatcaughtandkilledRichie.SmelleditwhenIfinallyfoundhismamaafter

weeksofsearching,justsoIcouldtellherRichiewasdeadandshecouldlookatme

withastonefaceandshutthedooronme.SmelleditwhenImadeithomeinthe

middleofthenight,smelleditoverthesoursmellofthebayouandthesaltsmellof

thesea,smelledityearslaterwhenIclimbedintobedwithPhilomène,putmynose

inyourgrandmother’sneck,andbreathedherinlikethescentofhercouldwash

theotheraway.Butitdidn’t.WhenGivendied,IthoughtI’ddrowninit.Droveme

blind,made me so crazy I couldn’t speak. Didn’t nothing come close to easing it

untilyoucamealong.”

IholdPoplikeIholdKayla.Heputshisfaceinhiskneesandhisbackshakes.

BothofusbowtogetherasRichiegoesdarkeranddarker,untilhe’sablackholein

themiddleoftheyard,likehedonesuckedallthelightanddarknessoverthem

miles,overthemyears,intohim,untilhe’sburningblack,andthenheisn’t.There

issoftairandyellowsunlightanddriftingpollenwherehewas,andmeandPop

embracing in the grass. The animals are quieting in grunts and snorts and yips.

Thankyou,theysay.Thankyouthankyouthankyou,theysing.

Chapter14

Leonie

WhenI got homewith my loadof cemeteryrocks, Michael left inmy car. The

weightofthestonesinmyshirtwasheavy,remindmeofwhatitfeltliketocarry

JojoandMichaela,tobearanotherhumanbeinginmystomach.AfterIpickedup

thestonesI’ddroppedinMam’sroom,IbangoutthedoortofindPhantomGiven.

Hisheadiscockedtotheside,andhe’slookingdowntheshotgunlineofthehouse,

throughthelivingroom,throughthekitchen,outthebackdoor.He’slistening.I

stopwhereIam.

“What?”Thewordcomesoutlikealittleslungdart.EventhoughIknowitmust

bethedregsofthemethIswallowed,Istillfeelsoberasaleadweight,andhere

Given is, burnished and tall, in the living room. His mouth is moving like he’s

repeatingsomethingthatsomeoneelseissaying,andifhecouldspeak,itwouldbe

amumble.Whateverhe’shearing,whateverhe’smimicking,makeshimruntothe

opendoorwayoftheroom, topauseonthe thresholdofthekitchen,tobowhis

headandgriptheframe.LasttimeIsawhimhere,hewasliving.Thebloodbeating

through him like drums. He and Pop had just argued over something, over the

Novaorhismiddlinggradesorthefactthatbesidesthebowandarrow,hedidn’t

seemtohaveanypassionforanythingbesidesplayingfootball.Youneeddirection,

son,Pophadsaidtohim.Givenhadbeensittingonthecouch,andhewatchedPop

walkoutthebackdoor,slumpeddown,andwinkedandwhisperedatme:Andyou

needtotakethestickoutyourass,Pop.

Given-not-Given’sshoulderbladesbunchtogetherlikefistsunderhisshirt.He

shakeshisheadatmeonce.Thenagainatwhateverhehears.

“I’mgoingcrazy,”Itellmyself.“I’mgoingfuckingcrazy.”

IwalkpastGiventolookoutthescreendoor.PopandJojoarehuncheddown

inthebackyard,inthedirtbythepigpen,talking.Ican’thearanythingfromthis

faraway,butGivencan, and whatever he hears makes hishead shake faster and

faster,hisfistpunchnoiselessly,onceandagain,inthemolding.Itleavesnomark.I

expecttofeelthebrushofhisT-shirtagainstmyarmwhenIwalkpast,butfeel

nothingbutmistycool.Given’smouthmoves,andIcanmakeoutwhathe’ssaying

withoutwords.Pop,hemouths.Oh,Pop.Isquint.ItlookslikeJojoisrubbingPop’s

back.HuggingPop,andIrealizeIain’tneverseenPoponthegroundbeforeifhe

wasn’tpushingaseedintoitorwrestlingsomeanimalorpullingupweeds.

Adogbarkripsthroughthecreakingkitchen,andGivenstartsandturnstome,

mouthsoneword,handsopenandbeckoningmelikehecouldpullananswerfrom

me.Who?hemouths.Whoisthat?Herunstothescreendoor.Casperbarksagain,a

soundthatshiesuptoapanickedyip.Popseemstobesinking,Jojoholdinghim

up.Idon’tknowthisworld.Givenholdshisarmsupinfrontofhimlikehecould

block something. I wonder if this vision of my brother is an aftershock of

yesterday’s high, a shaky meth tremor that comes once, if the massive hit I

swallowedhasunsewnmybodyandmind,unseamedme.Givenisstillthere.Asthe

dog’sbarkrises,Givenbleeds.Idon’tseewounds,buthebleedsanyway,fromhis

neck,fromhischest.Wherehewasshot.Hebraceshimselfonthewoodframeof

the closed screen door, his arms and legs straining. Something is pulling him

outside.PopandJojoarecurledintwo,andthedogisstillbarking,butIdon’tsee

nothing,don’tseeanythinguntilIblink,andlikeadarkflashatthecornerofmy

eyeIseeachurningblackcloudcometoearthintheyard,butthenIblinkagain

andit’sgone.Givenslumpsandrunshishandsupanddownthedoorsill;hedid

this when hewas alive, worethe woodof the sills in thehouse smooth with his

rubbing.Hefreezesandlooksatme,andIwishhewasalive,wasflesh,becauseI’d

kickhim.Kickhimfornotbeingabletospeak.Kickhimforseeingwhateveritis

heseesorhearsoutintheyardandnotsharingthatwithme.Kickhimforbeing

here, now, for taking up space in the waking, sober world, right before me. For

knockingtheworldsideways—birdsflyingintoglasswindows,dogsbarkinguntil

they piss themselves in fear, cows collapsing to their rumps in fields and never

rising—stillwinking and smiling,every dimpleand tooth declaringthe joke.For

dying.Alwaysforthat.Givenshakeshisheadagain,butthistime,slowly—butstill,

hisfaceblurs.Ireachoutandsteptowardhim,topushhim,maybe,toseeifIcan

feel his brown arms, the calluses on his hands like patches of concrete, but

Michaela’scrypiercestheair,andhe’sgone.

*

Michaela’s standing on the sofa, walking from one end of it to another, yelling.

Sleep-mattedhair,sleep-swollenface.Herlittlelegsclumsywithwaking,shetrips

andfallsface-firstandmouthsthecushion.

“Theboy,theblackbird,”shesobs.

Ikneelnexttothesofa,patherhotlittleback.

“Whatboy,Michaela?”

“Theblackbird.TheBlackboy.”

Shestands,runstothearmofthesofafarthestfromme,straddles,andslides

off.

“Heflies!”

Shewakesuplikethatallthetime,trailingtheblanketsofherdreamsbehind

her. She’s still sleepy. I catch her under one armpit, swing her up, put her head

downonmyshoulder.

“Gobacktosleep,”Isay.

WhenMichaelakicks,hertoesarelittleshovelsdiggingintomybelly,tryingto

breakthedirtofthesoftestpartofme.Itusedtobemywalkrockedhertosleep.

She dreamed in my womb with sightless blue eyes. Now she flails, smashes my

mouthwithherhand,andwillnotletmeholdher.

“HewantMam!”shescreams,andatthatmyarmsgodead,andMichaelaslides

down my front, noodle-limp. She lands running, straight to Mama’s door, and

knocksatitwithherlittlefists.Eachlittlethudmarriedtoabreathywhine.Her

eyesrollinglikeapanickedcolt’s.

“Michaela.” I kneel. “Ain’t no man trying to take Mama nowhere.” Her little

knobbykneesbrushthewoodasshehangsfromthedoorknob,tryingtoturnwith

herweight.WhatI sayismangledtruth:noman wantstotake Mama,butwhat

she’s tasked me to do will usher her away. I move to Michaela on my knees,

floorboardsgrindingmybones,andIwonderatthefearspillingthroughmychest,

scalding-hotgrits.Iwonderatmyshort,roundtoddlerwithhertoesgrazingthe

door,atthefutureandwhatitwilldemandofme.Ofher.Michaela’sfingerslose

their grip on theknob, and I turn it, open it,point at Mama with an upturned

palm.“See?”

Iamnotpreparedtosee.

Mamahangshalfoffthebed,halfon,hertoesonthefloor,herlegsboundupin

sheets, twisted around her, stretched tensile and thin as rope here, wide and

voluminousthere:Mamacaughtlikeaprizedsailfish.The one who sails through

theair,silverandwhite,stillwiththesilkyfeelofthesaltwateronher:theone

whoshiversinthesunandfights.Itiscolderthanaspringmorningwarrantsinthe

room,coldasaNovembermorning,andyetMamasweatsandmoansandkicks.

Michaelahopsintotheroom,sniffstheair,takeshesitantsteps,andreachestothe

ceiling.Shebreathesonelittleword,againandagain.

“Bird,”shesays.

TheroomsmellslikeMamahasbeenturnedinsideout.Likepissandshitand

blood.Likeintestines,aheartbeatawayfromrot.Hereyesarewild.Herarmsare

pinnedinthesheets.Mamastrugglestoshrugthemoff.

“Mama?”Isay,andmyvoiceseemshighandsmallasMichaela’s.“Letmehelp.”

“Toolate,”Mamasays.“Toolate,Leonie.”

Ihavetograbherarmhardtofreeit.Myfingersleaveshallowditchesinarow

inherflesh,myhandprintvisibleonherwitheverytouch.Mamamoans.Itryto

touchlighter,tohurtless,butIcan’t.

“Whatyoumean?”Isay.

Mamaisbleedingundertheskin.Everywheremyhandstouch,thereisblood.

Trenchesinthesandfillingwithseawater.Underneath:doom.

Mamalooksbeyondme,to thecornerwhere Michaelahasseatedherself,still

exceptforthesongsheissingingasshesquintsandthenglaresatMama.Mama’s

eyesskittertomyface,uptotheceiling,downatherruinedbody.Away,away.

“Iheardhim,”shewhispers.“Thoughtitwasa...”Shepants.“Cat.”

“Who,Mama?”

“Ain’tneverseenthem.Sometimesheardthem.”

“What?”

“Likesomebodytalkingthreedoorsdown.Inanotherroom.”

Ifreeonehand,balledtoafist.

“Saidhe’dcomeforme.”

Allthesepetalsofblood.

“Ain’tlèmistè.”Nospirit.NoGod.Nomystery.

Onherwrist.

“Helèmò.”Thedead.

Herforearm.

“Young.Fullofpissandvinegar.”

Rottingflowers.

“Vengefulasabeatdog.”

Fruitfulnessgonetoseed.

“Pullingalltheweightofhistorybehindhim.”

Herbreathwhines.

“Likeacottonsackfulloflead.”

She’sright.

“Butstillaboy.”

I’mtoolate.

“Hungryforlove.”

Thecancerdonebrokeher.

“Sayshewantmetobehismama.”

Brokehercleanthrough.

“Ialwaysthought—”

MamaclawsatmyarmasIfreeherotherhand.

“Itwouldbeyourbrother.”

Istop.

“ThefirstdeadIsee...”

Ican’tbreathe.

“Wouldbehim.”

Givenis in thecornerof the room,stretchedalong the seamwherethe walls

join.HeloomsoverMichaela,rigidandfierceasPop,andforthefirsttime,Iam

afraid.Inlife,therewasajokeineverylineofhim,humorthatranalongthebones

ofhim,thateveryonereadinthehangofhisshoulders,theshakeofhishead,his

smile.Thereisnonenow.Theweightoftimeheneverboreinlifeholdshimrigid

now,cloakshimsomber,whittleshimsharpasPop.Heshakeshishead,andspeaks.

“Not.”

Michaela’slittlesongsinks.

“Your.”

Mamabeginstofightme.

“Mother.”

Mama looks beyond me, up tothe cracked ceiling, pocked with thousands of

littlestalactitesliketheroofofacave.Popspenthoursdippingabroominpaint

andthenstabbingtheceilingwiththebristles,makingcirclesandloopsandswirls,

shaping the paint into stars and comets. Mama opens and closes her mouth but

makesnosound.Ifollowhergazebutdon’tseenothingbuttheceiling,thatsorry

drywall, turning gray from humidity. But Michaela, who whispers her song and

waggles her fingers like she does when she sings “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,”

does.

“Not.” And Given, who speaks, the planes of his face converging and turning

sharpasknives,does.

“Your.”

And Mama does. She rolls her eyes to the corner of the room where Given

looms.Shebaresherteethinsomethinglikeasmile,somethinglikearictus.

“Mother,”Givenfinishes.

Mamaslapsme.Whereherhandhitburns.Shecuffsmewithanopenpalmon

theotherside,andmyearthrobswithblood.Herrightfingersgrabmycheek,dig

into my eyebrow ridge, and she’s holding my face straight, whispering against

whateverisaboveus,atmyback,whateverawfulthingthat’scomeforher.Iheara

whisperaboveme.

“Comewithme,Mama,”hesays.“Comeon.”

“No,”shesays.

Herfingerspullmyeyelidsup,up,painfully.

“Notmyboy,”shesays.

Feellikeshe’speelingtheskin.

“Given,”shebreathes.

Iyankmyheadaway.

“Baby.Please.”

It’sthewordbabythatmakesmejumpoffthebed.BecauseIhearhersayitnow

andI’mherbabyagain,soft-gummedandwet-eyedandfat,andsheiswholeand

sweet-milked.Herhandsfallawayfrommelikehusksfromcorncobs,landjustas

brittleanddryonthebedbeforeshewhipsthemup,facesthemoutpalmsup.

“No,boy.No,”Givensays.

Isweepthecemeteryrocksfromthefloorwherethey’vefallen,dumpingthem

onthealtartojointherestofitI’vealreadygathered.Fromthebathroom:cotton

balls. From the cupboard: cornmeal. From my trip to the liquor store yesterday:

rum.

“Sayit,”Mamasays.She’sletherhandsfall.“Thelitany,”shesaysagain,andher

breathrattlesin herthroat.Shedoesn’tturnherheadtotheside,tolookatthe

wall beyond me where Given stands, thrashing against some invisible thing that

holdshimthere.Hermouthopens:asilentwail.MichaelaiscryinginawayI’ve

never seen her cry before: mouth working, but no sound. There’s no time. This

momentdoneateitallup:thepast,thefuture.DoIsaythewords?Iblink,andup

ontheceilingthereisaboy,aboywiththefaceofatoddler.Iblinkagain,sand

scouringmyeye,andthereisnothing.

“Mama,”Ichoke,andit’sasweakandwantingasababy’s.“Mommy.”Mycrying

andMama’s entreaties and Michaela’swailing andGiven’sshouting fill theroom

likeaflood,anditmusthavebeenasloudoutsideasitisinhere,becauseJojoruns

intostandatmyelbowandPop’satthedoor.

“Yougotwhatyoucamefor.Nowget,”Jojosays.

AtfirstIthinkhe’stalkingtome,butthenhe’slookingthroughmeandup,and

Iknowwhohe’stalkingto.There’sstrengthinhisvoice,somuchthatI’mspeaking

evenasI’mcryingandpullingMamauptomyheart.

“For Maman Brigitte, Mother of all the Gede. Mistress of the cemetery and

motherofallthedead.”Ibreathehardanditisaraggedsob.

“No,Leonie,”saysJojo.“Youdon’tknow.”Heglaresupattheceiling.

“Leonie,”Mamachokes.

“GrandeBrigitte,Judge.Thisaltarofstonesisforyou.Acceptourofferings,”I

say.Mama’seyesaresteadyrolling,steadyrollingtotheceiling,wheretheboywith

thesmoothfacehovered,needyandballeduplikeababy.

“Shutup,Leonie.Please,”Jojosays.“Youdon’tsee.”

Mama’seyessteadyrollingtothewallwhereGivenhasstoppedthrashing.They

turntome,beseeching.“Enter,”Isay.

“Go,”Jojosays.Helooksupatwheretheboyflashed.“Ain’tnomorestoriesfor

youhere.Nobodyoweyounothinghere.”HeraisesahandtoGiven,anditisasif

Jojohasunlockedandopenedagate,becauseGivenpushesthroughwhateverheld

him.

“Youheardmynephew,”Givensays.“Go,Richie.”

Idon’tseeanything,butsomethingmusthavehappened,becauseGivenwalks

unbotheredtowardthebed.Pophassliddownthewall,alltheuprightpartsofhim

crumblingashelooksatMama,makeshimselflookatMama,foronce.He’sbeen

orbitingherlikeamoon,sleepingonthesofawithhisbacktothedoor,searching

theyardandwoodsforpensandbinsandmachinestofixsohecanrepairinthe

faceofwhathecannot.

Mama’sbreathisajaggedwind,comingslowerandslower.Hereyesloweredto

slits.Herbody:ruinedandstill.JojostepsoutofGiven’sway.HescoopsMichaela,

who’s crying, “Uncle.” Jojo swallows and looks right at Given. Jojo sees him. He

recognizeshim.Henods,andGivenisGivenagain,onlyforabreath,becausehe

smilesandthere’sthejokeagaininhisdimple.

“Nephew,”Givensays.

Mama’sbreathslowstoachoke.Shelooksatme,herfacetwisted.

“Enter.Dancewithus,”Iwhisper.

Given’s next to the bed, climbing into it, curling around her, saying “Mama,”

saying,“Icomeforyou,Mama,”saying,“Icome,Mama,”andMamatakesonelong,

rippingbreath,herbreathandbloodandspiritbeatingfranticasamothcaughtin

aspider’sweb,andthen“Shhhh,”Givensays,“Icomewiththeboat,Mama,”and

then he moves his hand over her face, from her air-starved chin to her flared

nostrilstohereyes,openandopen,lookingfrommetoGiventoJojoandMichaela

toPopatthedoorandthenbacktoGiven.Given’shandfluttersaboveherfacelike

heisagroomandMamaisabrideandhehaspulledtheveilfromherheadandlet

itfallbacksotheycanlookuponeachotherwithlove,clearandsweetastheair

betweenthem.Mamabucksandgoesstill.

Timefloodstheroominastormsurge.

Iwail.

*

Wecryinchorus.Popfoldedoverinthedoor,mewithMama’swarmnightgown

stillinmyhands,andMichaelawithherfacesmashedintoJojo’sshoulder.Butnot

Jojo. His eyes are shiny but nothing comes from them, not even when he asks:

“Whatdidyousay?”

I can’t speak. Sorrow is food swallowed too quickly, caught in the throat,

makingitnearlyimpossibletobreathe.

“Leonie!”

Angerspreadsthroughme:oiloverwater.

“Sheasked,”Isay.

“Naw.”JojobouncesMichaelainhisarms,looksatMamalikehe’swaitingfor

hertoopenhereyes,turnherhead,say:SillyJojo.“Yourwords.Theyletinariver.

That’swhattookherandUncleGivenaway.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t understand what it means, to have the first thing you ever

donerightbyyourmamabetousherinhergods.Tolethergo.

Popisslidinghiswayupthedoortostand.Butthere’sstillacurvethereatthe

topofhisback:hisshouldersabowl.Hisheadswingsonhisnecklikeapendulum.

Histhroat:broken.

“Shedid,Jojo.”Pop’svoiceistheonlythingabouthimwithsomehardnesstoit:

asheathedknife.“Shecouldn’tbearthatpain.”

“Mamwouldn’tleaveus.NotevenwithUncleGiven.”

JojogainswhatPop’slostofhisbearing.First,abraceacrosshisthighs,allthe

bowleggedsoftnessofhispreadolescencedissolvedtoagranitestance.

“Shedid,”Isay.

Thenacrosshischest,whichmakeshisshoulderscrowbarstraight.

“Shesaid—”Jojosays.

“Itwasamercy,son,”Popsays.

Andthentheheadpiecesothatthebabyface,thelastofthemilkfat,issteel-

still,frozenforwar.OnlyJojo’seyespeerout,carryingsomeoftheboyinthem.

“Whatyouwant?”Iask.“TosayI’msorry?”

Thoseeyes.

“TosayIain’twantto?”

Ican’tcontrolmyvoice.Itwhistles,highandwhip-thin.Thereisaropeoffire

from my eyes, behind my nose, down my throat, and it coils in a noose in my

stomach.Mamaisstillwarm.

“ ’CauseIain’t.Ididwhatsheneededme,”Isay.

Shecouldbesleeping.Iain’tseenherfacethissmooth,withouttension,inyears.

Iwanttoslapherawake,foraskingmetolethergo.IwanttoslapJojo,forlooking

atmelikeIhadachoice.AndIwanttobringGivenbackfromthedeadandmake

himfleshagainjustsoIcanslaphim,too,forleaving.Fortakingher.There’stoo

muchblankskywhereatreeoncestood.Allwrong.Thenoosetightens.

“Nothing,”Jojosays.“Youcan’tgivemenothing.”

HelooksatMamawhenhesaysit,andIstopsmoothingherhairbackfromher

still face. And then he’s looking at me and he’s hard as Pop and soft as Mama.

Censureandpity.I’mabookandhecanreadeveryword.Iknowthis.Heseesme.

Heknowsitall.

“Girl,”Popsays.

AndthenitstopstightandIamraging,hatefulatthisworld,andIletMama

slideto the mattressandIstandand run at Jojo,whobacksaway,butheis not

quickenoughbecauseIamthere,andwhenIhithisface,paincracksthroughmy

palm,pingsthroughmyfingers.SoIdoitagain.AndIdoitagainbeforeIrealize

Michaela’ssquallinginhisarms,scramblinguphischest,tryingtogetawayfrom

me.AndJojo’sstraight,straightasPop,allthelittleboygonefromhiseyes:thetide

goneout,thesunscorchingtheresidueofwateraway,leavinghotsandbakingto

concrete.AndPop’satmyside,hisbodyfoldingovermelikeakitefallingfromthe

skyashegrabsbothofmyarmsandpullsthemtogethersothatmypalmstouch.

“That’senough,”Popsays.“Nomore,Leonie.”

“Youdon’tknow,”Isay.“Youdon’t!”Jojo’srubbinghisfaceintoMichaela’slittle

shirt,andIwantsomuch.IwanttohithimagainandIwanttoholdhimtome

andpalmhisheadagainlikewhenhewasahairlessbabyandIwanttotellJojo,We

afamily,andIwanttoaskhim:Whatyouseen,boy,whatyouseen?ButIdon’tdo

noneofthat.Instead,IyankawayfromPop,walkpastJojoandMichaela,andleave

Mamaonthebed,herfaceuptotheceiling,hereyesopen,allthewarmthgone

fromoutthemiddleofher.Coldattheheart,timewormingitswaythroughher

hardeningveins.

*

When Michael comes back, I’m on the porch. He ignores the steps and leaps to

whereIamsitting.Thewoodcreakswhenhelands,and Iimagineitcrumbling,

dry-rottedandwarpedfromtheheat,mefallingthroughwhereIsitonthefloor

down to the clay earth underneath, that opening up, a hole straight down: an

endlesswell.Itisthefirsthotdayofthespring,aforetasteofthedamnationthat

willsuffusetheairinthesummer,thatwillmakeeveryoneandeverythingbend.

“Baby?”

“Let’sgo.”

“What?Ijustgotback.Ifiguredwecouldtakethekidsuptotherivertoday.”

“Mama’s gone.” I can’t stop my voice breaking between the two words. Can’t

stopthecrythatcomesoutofmymouthinsteadofthesigh.

Michaelsitsonthefloornexttome,pullsmeintohislap:arms,rump,legs,and

all,sothatIamagreatbaby,andIslumpintohim,knowingthathecanbearme.

Willbearme.Iputmynoseinhisstubble-roughenedneck.

“Let’sgo.”

“Shhhh,”hemurmurs.

“UptoAl’s.”

Michaelknows.HeknowswhatI’mreallyaskingfor:theseedatthepulpyheart

ofthefruit.

“Wecanjustleave.”

Togethigh.ToseeGivenagain.EvenasIthinkit,Iknowhewon’tcome.That

whereverhehasgonewithMamaisfinal.ButthepartthatMamalookedatinpity

acrossthetable,thatparthopes.

“Wecan’t,”hesays.

“Please.”Thewordissmall and acid asa burp. Itlingers between us. Michael

grimaces as if he can smell the horror and grief in it, all of it distilled to one

pungentsyllable.

“Thekids.”

Theskyhasturnedthecolorofsandyredclay:orangecream.Theheatofthe

dayatitsheaviest:theinsectsawokenfromtheirwinterslumber.Icannotbearthe

world.

“Ican’t,”Isay,andtherearesomanyotherwordsbehindthat.Ican’tbeamother

rightnow.Ican’tbeadaughter.Ican’tremember.Ican’tsee.Ican’tbreathe.Andhehears

them,becauseherollsforwardandstandswithme,picksmeup,andcarriesmeoff

theporchtothecar.Heputsmeinthepassengerseat,closesthedoor,andclimbs

behindthewheel.Thecarshrinkstheworldtothis:meandhiminthisdomeof

glass, all the hateful light and dogs shying into ditches and docile cows and

crowdingtrees,thememoryofmywords,ofMama’sgraypaperface,ofJojo’sand

Michaela’sreactiontomyslaps,ofPop’sshrinking,andofGiven’ssecondleaving.

Ourworld:anaquarium.

“Justaride,”Michaelsays.

ButIknowthatifIcontinuetoask,sourtheairofthecarwithpleases,hewill

drivetoMisty’s,gethertocallherfriendsupnorth,callAl,makeonelastcallto

Poptosay:Justafewdays.Thathewilldriveforhoursintotheblack-soiledheartof

thestate,backtowardthecagethatheldhim,drivesofarthehorizonopensuplike

a shucked oyster shell. That if I ask, he will go. Because something in him also

wantstoleavehistearyhugwithhismother,hisfightwithhisfather,mydeath-

crowdedhousehold,behind.Wemoveforward,andtheairfromtheopenwindows

makestheglassshudder,aliveasabedofmollusksflutteringintherushofthetide:

ashimmeroffrothandsand.Thetirescatchandspitgravel.Weholdhandsand

pretendatforgetting.

Chapter15

Jojo

IsleepinLeonie’sbednow.Idon’thavetoworryaboutherkickingmeoutofit,

wakingmeupwithapunchtotheback,becausesheain’tneverhere.Notreally.

She come back every week, stay for two days, and then leave again. Her and

Michael sleep on the sofa, both of them fish-thin, slender as two gray sardines,

packedjustastight.Theydon’tmovewhenIwalkpastthemoutthedoorinthe

morningto bring KaylatotheHeadStartbus.Somemornings theygonebythe

timeIcomebackinsideformybookbag.ThelongdentinthesofatheonlywayI

knowtheywasthere.

TheysleeponthesofabecausePopsleepsinMam’sroomnow.Hegotridofthe

hospital bed the day we buried her. Dragged it out behind the house, into the

woods,andburnedit.Toldmenottocomebackthere,butIsawthesmoke.Heard

the flames slapping. Sometimes, at night, after Kayla done fell asleep on my

shoulder,sodeepherhead’sheavyasacantaloupe,Iwalktothekitchentogeta

glassofwaterandIhearPopthroughthedoor,hearhisvoicethreadingthrough

the keyhole. Once I heard him clear through the wall. First I thought he was

praying,butthen,fromthewayhisvoicewhippedupanddown,Iknewhewasn’t.

Soundlikehewastalkingtosomebody.Iaskedhimthenextday,whenIgothome

fromschoolandhewassittinginhisusualspot,waitingontheporchwithKayla

sittingnexttohimontheswing.

“Pop?”

Hewasshellingpecans.Helookedupatme,buthishandskeptworking,kept

breakingtheshellintoshards,pryingthemeatfree.Everyotherhalfhe’dget,he’d

passittoKayla,andshe’dpopthewholethinginhermouth,smileatmewhenshe

chewed.

“Wasyoutalkingtosomebodylastnight?”

Hepaused,halfapecaninhishand.Kaylapattedhisarm,prodding.

“Pop,”shesaid.“Iwantit,Pop.”

Hepassedittoher.

“DidLeoniecall?”Iasked.

“No,”hesaid.

“Ishould’veknown,”Isaid,andspatofftheporchintothesand.Iwishedshe

was there, imagined what it would feel like if I spat right at her. If she’d even

notice.

“Don’t,”Popsaid,andwentbacktoshelling.“She’sstillyourmother.”

“Michael?”Isaid.

Popbrushedthebitterdustthatrindsthemeatfromhishandsandshookhis

head,andafterthat,ifIheardhimthroughthedoororthroughthewalls,hisvoice

risinglikesmokeupintothenight,Ididn’tevenask.Becauseintheswingofhis

head,theswish,thefoldingofhiswrinkledneck,Isawhimlyinginthebedinthe

dark,staring up at the ceiling, looking where she looked when shedied,hiseyes

staring,heardhim calling hername,a name Ihadn’theard said since beforethe

cancer:Philomène.Andthen:Phillie.AndthenIknewwhathewasdoingwhenhe

thoughtusasleep.Somethinglikepraying,butnottoGod.Howhewasspeaking

andaskingandsearchingthecratersandthemountainsinthe ceiling.Searching

for Mam. Kayla patted his arm again, but she didn’t ask for another pecan. Just

rubbedhimlikePopwasapuppy,flea-itchingandhalfbald,starvedforlove.

*

Sometimes,late atnight, when I’mlistening to Pop search thedark, andKayla’s

snoringbesideme,IthinkI understandLeonie.I thinkIknowsomethingabout

whatshefeels.ThatmaybeIknowalittlebitaboutwhysheleftafterMamdied,

whysheslappedme,whysheran.Ifeelitinme,too.Anitchinginmyhands.A

kickinginmyfeet.Aflutteringinthemiddleofmychest.Anunsettling.Deeper.It

turnsmeawakeeverytimeIfeelmyselfslipping.Ittossesmelikeaballthroughthe

air.Around3a.m.,itletsmedrop,andIsleep.

Idon’tfeelitduringtheday.Mostly.Butsomethingaboutthewaytheskyturns

peachwhenthesun’son its way down, sinkinginto the horizon likea rock into

water,bringsitback.SoItaketowalkingwhenIknowit’scoming.Butnotdown

thestreetlike my crazygrand-uncle. I walkbackthrough the woods. Followthe

trailspastPop’spropertyline,downintotheshadowedhalf-lightunderthepine

trees, where the brown needlesspread like a carpet over the red clay earth, and

whenIwalk,itmakesnosound.

Oneday,there’saraccoonpawingatafallentree,digginggrubsoutthetrunk.

Hehisses:Mine,mine,allmine.Anotherday,alargewhitesnakedropsontothepath

infrontofme,fallsfromabranchofacrookedoakbeforeslitheringtotheroots

andclimbingbackupthetreetohuntnewbornsquirrelsandweak-beaked,just-

hatchedbirds.Theraspofscalesagainstbark:Theboyfloatsandwanders.Stillstuck.

Andthenext,avulturecirclesoverhead,black-featheredandstrong,calling:Here,

boy.Thewaythroughishere.Youhavethescalestill?Here.Andthenthatfeelingof

dissatisfaction,ofwormygrief,easesalittle,becauseIknowIseewhatMamsaw.I

hear what she heard. In those meetings, she’s a little closer. Until I see the boy

laying,curledintotherootsof a greatliveoak,lookinghalf-deadandhalf-sleep,

andallghost.

“Hey,”Richiesays.

SometimesIseemorethanMam.

“Ugh,”Isay.

I’mmadasshit.BecausewhenIseehisbigearsandhisarmsandlegsskinnyand

brittleasfallenbranches,IknowpartofmebeenwaitingonMam.BeenhopingI’d

runintoheron one of mywalks. And whenI see him,part of meknow itain’t

never going to be Mam, never going to be her sitting on a tree trunk, a rotten

stump,waitingforme.ThatI’mnevergoingtoseeherorhearUncleGivencallme

nephewagain.

Thewindswoopsdownintothegloaming,brushesmewithagreatwing,and

rises.

“Whatyoudoinghere?”Isay.

“I’mhere,”hesays.Herunshishandthroughhishair,anditisstillasrain-eaten

stone.

“Iseethat.”

“No.”Richiereclinesagainstthetrunklikeitisagreatseat.“Ithought...”He

looks toward the trail behind me. Looks toward my house. Makes a sound like

breathbutdoesn’tbreathe.

“What?”

“I thought once I knew, I could. Cross the waters. Be home. Maybe there, I

could”—the word sounds like a ripped rag—“become something else. Maybe, I

could.Become.Thesong.”

Iamcold.

“I hear it. Sometimes. Whenthe sun. Sets. When the sun. Rises.The song.In

snatches.Thestars.Arecord.Thesky.Agreatrecord.Thelives.Oftheliving.Of

thosebeyond.Seeitinflashes.Thesound.Beyondthewaters.”

“But?”

“Ican’t.”

“Don’t—”

“Ican’t.Comeinside.Itried.Yesterday.Therehastobesomeneed,somelack.

Likeakeyhole.MakesitsoIcancomein.Butafterallthat—yourmam,youruncle.

Yourmama.Ican’t.You’ve”—hemakesthatbreath-suckingsoundagain—“changed.

Ain’tnoneed.Oratleast,ain’tnoneedbigenoughforakey.”

Ayellowjacketwhizzesmyneck,wantingtolandandsuck.Iwaveitaway,and

it circles again, until I slap atit, feelthe hardlittle bodyping off my palm and

ricochetoffintothegloom,insearchofeasierfood.

“There’ssomany,”Richiesays.Hisvoiceismolassesslow.“Somanyofus,”he

says.“Hitting.Thewrongkeys.Wanderingagainst.Thesong.”Hesoundstired.He

lies down, looks up at me from his bed. His head is bent wrong from the root

beneathit,whichbuttsupagainsthisneck.Ahardpillow.“Stuck.Youseen.The

Snake?Didyouknow?”

Ishakemyhead.

“Me,”hedrags,“neither.Somanycryingloose.Lost.”

Hisblinks:acatontheledgeofanap.

“Nowyouunderstand.”Hecloseshiseyes.Letsgoabullfrog’scroak.“Nowyou

understandlife. Now you know. Death.” He is quietas sleep, but he moves. One

longbrownline,ripplinglikewater.AndthenIseeit.Heascendsthetreelikethe

white snake. He undulates along the trunk, to the branches, where he rolls out

alongone,againinarecline.Andthebranchesarefull.Theyarefullwithghosts,

twoorthree,allthewayuptothetop,tothefeatheredleaves.Therearewomen

andmenandboysandgirls.Someofthemneartobabies.Theycrouch,lookingat

me.Blackandbrownandtheclosestnearbaby,smokewhite.Noneofthemreveal

theirdeaths,butIseeitintheireyes,theirgreatblackeyes.Theyperchlikebirds,

butlookaspeople.Theyspeakwiththeireyes:HerapedmeandsuffocatedmeuntilI

diedIputmyhandsupandheshotmeeighttimesshelockedmeintheshedandstarvedme

todeathwhileIlistenedtomybabiesplayingwithherintheyardtheycameinmycellin

themiddleofthenightandtheyhungmetheyfoundIcouldreadandtheydraggedmeout

tothebarnandgougedmyeyesbeforetheybeatmestillIwassickandhesaidIwasan

abominationandJesussaysufferlittlechildrensolethergoandheputmeunderthewater

andIcouldn’tbreathe.Eyesblinkasthesunblazesandwinksbelowtheforestlineso

thattheghostscatchthecolor,reflectthered.Thesunmakingscarletplumageof

theclothestheywear:ragsandbreeches,T-shirtsandtignons,fedorasandhoodies.

Theireyescloseandthenopenasone,lookingdownonme,andthenupatthesky,

asthewindcirclesthemandmoans,theirmouthsgapingnow,theairyrushtheir

song,therush:Yes.

I stand until there is no sun. I stand until I smell pine through the salt and

sulfur.Istanduntilthemoonrisesandtheirmouthscloseandtheyareamurderof

silvercrows.Istanduntiltheforestisablack-knuckledmultitude.IstanduntilI

bend,findahollowstick,turntothehouse,andwhiptheairinfrontofme,away

fromthedead,tofindPop,holdingKayla.Theyshinebrightastheghostsinthe

dark.

“Wewasworriedaboutyou,”Popsays.

Yes,theyhiss.

“You didn’t come back,” he says. I shrug even though he can’t see it. Kayla

squirms.

“Down,”shesays.

“No,”Popsays.

“Down,Pop.Please,”shesays.

“Let’sgo,”Isay.Knowingthattreeofghostsistheremakestheskinonmyback

burn,likehundredsofantsarecrawlingupmyspine,seekingtendernessbetween

thebonestobite.Iknowtheboyisthere,watching,wavinglikegrassinwater.

“Please,”Kaylasays,andPopletsherslidedown.

“No,Kayla,”Isay.

“Yes,”shesays,andthenshetoddlespastme,unsteadyonthedarkground.She

facesthetree,noseuptotheair.Headtiltedbacktosee.HereyesMichael’s,her

noseLeonie’s,thesetofhershouldersPop’s,andthewayshelooksupward,likeshe

ismeasuringthetree,allMam.Butsomethingaboutthewayshestands,theway

shetakesallthepiecesofeverybodyandholdsthemtogether,isallher.Kayla.

“Gohome,”shesays.

Theghostsshudder,buttheydonotleave.Theyswaywithopenmouthsagain.

Kaylaraisesonearmintheair,palmup,likeshe’stryingtosootheCasper,butthe

ghostsdon’tstill,don’trise,don’tascendanddisappear.Theystay.SoKaylabegins

tosing,asongofmismatched,half-garbledwords,nothingthatIcanunderstand.

Onlythemelody,whichislowbutasloudastheswishandswayofthetrees,that

cuts their whispering but twines with it at the same time. And the ghosts open

theirmouthswiderandtheirfacesfoldattheedgessotheylooklikethey’recrying,

buttheycan’t.AndKaylasingslouder.Shewavesherhandintheairasshesings,

andIknowit,knowthemovement,knowit’showLeonierubbedmyback,rubbed

Kayla’sback,whenwewerefrightenedoftheworld.Kaylasings,andthemultitude

ofghostsleanforward,nodding.Theysmilewithsomethinglikerelief,something

likeremembrance,somethinglikeease.

Yes.

Kayla tugs my arm and I lift her up. Pop turns. I follow him as he looks for

raccoonandpossumandcoyote,bendsbranchafterbranchasheleadsusbackto

thehouse.Kaylahumsovermyshoulder,says“Shhh”likeIamthebabyandsheis

thebigbrother,says“Shhh”likesheremembersthesoundofthewaterinLeonie’s

womb,thesoundofallwater,andnowshesingsit.

Home,theysay.Home.

Acknowledgments

I’dliketothankmyeditor,KathyBelden,whoalwaysasksnecessaryquestionsthat

leadmetoessentialanswers.I’dbeapoorerwriterwithouther,andI’msograteful

shewalkswithme.Iamgratefultoherassistant,SallyHowe,whocompensatesfor

myabsentmindednessand keepsme inorder. Iwould belost without myagent,

Jennifer Lyons, who fights for me continuously, insisting that my work reach a

wideaudience,andwhobelievedinmefromtheveryroughbeginning.KateLloyd

and Rosaleen Mahorter, my Scribner publicists, are sharp, understanding, and

kind,andIappreciateeverythingtheydotohelpmybooksthrive.Mythanksalso

gotoNanGraham,whohaschosentochampionmyworkandinvestinmycareer

as a writer. I would also like to thank the staff of the Lyceum Agency, who are

essentialtomybooksandmywordgettingoutintheworld.Thisisalsotrueofmy

formerpublicistandclosefriendMichelleBlankenship,whointroducedmuchof

myworktothereadingpublicandcontinuestobelieveinmeandcareforme.

My department chair at Tulane University, Professor Michael Kuczynski, is

generousandthoughtful.WithouthimandmycolleaguesatTulane,Iwouldnot

have had the time and funding necessary to write this book. The students I’ve

taughtatTulaneareexceptional,andIfeartheyteachmemorethanIdothem.My

fellowwritersground,inspire,andchallengemealways:ElizabethStaudt,Natalie

Bakopoulos, Sarah Frisch, Justin St. Germain, Stephanie Soileau, Ammi Keller,

HarrietClark,RobEhle,J.M.Tyree,andRaymondMcDaniels.Iadorethem,andI

couldnothavewrittenandrevisedthisnovelwithoutthem.

Finally,I’dliketothankmyfamily:mymother,wholovesmeandfeedsmeand

hugs me; my father, who teaches me how to be a free spirit; my grandmother

Dorothy,whoshowsmehowtotellagoodstory;mybrother,Joshua,whoignitesa

lovethatburnsasafireinsideofme;mysisters,NerissaandCharine,whofight

with me and for me; my godmother, Gretchen, who makes plants and people

blossom; my little brother/cousin Aldon, who remembers all the memories I’ve

forgotten,andwhohelpsmerecallthem;mycousinsRhettandJill,whogrewup

withmethen,andgrowupwithmestill;myfriendMark,whohelpsmepickout

furniture and bears me up when I can no longer stand; my friend Mariha, who

holdsmyhandandisdeterminedInotdiebeforeIshould;myniecesandnephews,

whoteach meto be sillyand give mehope—De’Sean, Kalani, andJoshua D.; my

partner,Brandon,whomakesmelaughwhenIneedit;mychildren,whoteachme

how to be patient, how to love, how to hold, and how to feel joy—Noemie and

Brando. In closing, I’d like to thank everyone in my community in DeLisle,

Mississippi, who inspire my stories and give me a sense of belonging. I am ever

gratefulforeveryoneofyou.

Iloveyouall.

READONFORTHEFIRSTCHAPTEROFJESMYNWARD’S

SALVAGETHEBONES

Winnerofthe2011NationalBookAwardAhurricaneisbuildingovertheGulfof

Mexico,threateningthecoastaltownofBoisSauvage,Mississippi,wherefifteen-

year-oldEschpreparesforthestormwithherthreebrothersandherhard-drinking

father.Asthetwelvedaysthatcomprisethenovel’sframeworkyieldtothefinal

dayandHurricaneKatrina,theunforgettablefamilyatthenovel’sheartpullsitself

uptostruggleforanotherday.Awrenchinglookatthelonesome,brutal,and

restrictiverealitiesofruralpoverty,SalvagetheBonesismuscledwithpoetry,

revelatory,andreal.

“Strikinglybeautiful,taut,relentlessand,byitsend,indelible...Wardstaresdown

thetruth.”

—SanFranciscoChronicle

“Masterful...SalvagetheBoneshastheauraofaclassicaboutit.”

—TheWashingtonPost

THEFIRSTDAY:

BIRTHINABARE-BULBPLACE

China’sturnedonherself.IfIdidn’tknow,Iwouldthinkshewastryingtoeather

paws.Iwouldthinkthatshewascrazy.Whichsheis,inaway.Won’tletnobody

touchherbutSkeet.Whenshewasabig-headedpitbullpuppy,shestoleallthe

shoesinthehouse,allourblacktennisshoesMamaboughtbecausetheyhidedirt

andholdupuntilthey’rebeatensoft.OnlyMama’sforgottensandals,thin-heeled

andtintedpinkwithsomuchredmudseepedintothem,lookeddifferent.China

hidthemallunderfurniture,behindthetoilet,stackedtheminpilesandslepton

them.Whenthedogwasoldenoughtorunandtripdownthestepsonherown,

she took the shoes outside, put them in shallow ditches under the house. She’d

stand rigid as a pine whenwe tried to take them away from her. Now China is

giving like she once took away, bestowing where she once stole. She is birthing

puppies.

WhatChinaisdoing is nothing like whatMama didwhen she hadmy youngest

brother,Junior.Mamagavebirthinthehousesheboreallofusin,hereinthisgap

inthewoodsherfatherclearedandbuiltonthatwenowcallthePit.Me,theonly

girlandtheyoungestateight,wasofnohelp,althoughDaddysaidshetoldhimshe

didn’tneedanyhelp.DaddysaidthatRandallandSkeetahandmecamefast,that

Mamahadallofusinherbed,underherownbareburningbulb,sowhenitwas

timeforJunior,shethoughtshecoulddothesame.Itdidn’tworkthatway.Mama

squatted, screamed toward the end. Junior came out purple and blue as a

hydrangea:Mama’slastflower.ShetouchedJuniorjustlikethatwhenDaddyheld

himoverher:lightlywithherfingertips,likeshewasafraidshe’dknockthepollen

fromhim,spoilthebloom.Shesaidshedidn’twanttogotothehospital.Daddy

draggedher from thebed tohis truck, trailingher blood,and we neversaw her

again.

WhatChinaisdoingisfighting,likeshewasborntodo.Fightourshoes,fight

other dogs, fight these puppies that are reaching for the outside, blind and wet.

China’s sweating and the boys are gleaming, and I can see Daddy through the

windowoftheshed,hisfaceshiningliketheflashofafishunderthewaterwhen

thesunhit.It’squiet.Heavy.Feelslikeitshouldberaining,butitisn’t.Thereare

nostars,andthebarebulbsofthePitburn.

“Getoutthedoorway.Youmakinghernervous.”SkeetahisDaddy’scopy:dark,

short, and lean. His body knotted with ropy muscles. He is the second child,

sixteen,butheisthefirstforChina.Sheonlyhaseyesforhim.

“She ain’t studying us,” Randall says. He is the oldest, seventeen. Taller than

Daddy,butjustasdark.Hehasnarrowshouldersandeyesthatlookliketheywant

tojumpoutofhishead.

People at school think he’s a nerd, but when he’s on the basketball court, he

moveslikearabbit,allquickgraceandlonghaunches.WhenDaddyishunting,I

alwayscheerfortherabbit.

“Sheneedroomtobreathe.”Skeetah’shandsslideoverherfur,andheleansinto

listentoherbelly.“Shegottarelax.”

“Ain’t nothing about her relaxed.” Randall is standing at the side of the open

doorway, holding the sheet that Skeetah has nailed up for a door. For the past

week,Skeetahhasbeensleepingintheshed,waitingforthebirth.Everynight,I

waiteduntilhecutthelightoff,untilIknewhewasasleep,andIwalkedoutofthe

back door to the shed, stood where I am standing now, to check on him. Every

time, I found him asleep, his chest to her back. He curled around China like a

fingernailaroundflesh.

“Iwanttosee.”JuniorishuggingRandall’slegs,leaningintoseebutwithoutthe

courageto stick in morethanhis nose. China usuallyignoresthe rest of us,and

Juniorusuallyignoresher.Butheisseven,andheiscurious.Whentheboyfrom

GermaineboughthismalepitbulltothePittomatewithChinathreemonthsago,

Juniorsquatted on an oildrumabovethemakeshiftkennel,an old disconnected

truckbeddugintheearthwithchickenwirestretchedoverit,andwatched.When

thedogsgotstuck,hecircledhisfacewithhisarms,butstillrefusedtomovewhen

I yelled at him to go in the house. He sucked on his arm and played with the

danglingskinofhisear,likehedoeswhenhewatchestelevision,orbeforehefalls

tosleep.Iaskedhimoncewhyhedoesit,andallhewouldsayisthatitsoundslike

water.

Skeetahignores JuniorbecauseheisfocusedonChinalike a man focusesona

womanwhenhefeelsthatsheishis,whichChinais.Randalldoesn’tsayanything

butstretcheshishandacrossthedoortoblockJuniorfromentering.

“No,Junior.”IputoutmylegtocompletethegatebarringJuniorfromthedog,

from the yellow string of mucuspooling to a puddle on the floorunder China’s

rear.

“Lethimsee,”Daddysays.“Heoldenoughtoknowaboutthat.”Hisisavoicein

thedarkness,orbitingtheshed.Hehasahammerinonehand,aclutchofnailsin

another. China hates him. I relax, but Randall doesn’t move and neither does

Junior. Daddy spins away from us like a comet into the darkness. There is the

soundofhammerhittingmetal.

“Hemakeshertense,”Skeetahsays.

“Maybeyouneedtohelpherpush,”Isay.SometimeIthinkthatiswhatkilled

Mama. I can see her, chin to chest, straining to push Junior out, and Junior

snaggingonherinsides,grabbingholdofwhathecaughtontotrytostayinside

her,butinsteadhepulleditoutwithhimwhenhewasborn.

“Shedon’tneednohelppushing.”

AndChinadoesn’t.Hersidesripple.Shesnarls,hermouthablackline.Hereyes

arered;themucusrunspink.EverythingaboutChinatensesandthereareamillion

marblesunderherskin,andthensheseemstobeturningherselfinsideout.Ather

opening,Iseeapurplishredbulb.Chinaisblooming.

*

IfoneofDaddy’sdrinkingbuddieshadaskedwhathe’sdoingtonight,hewould’ve

told them he’s fixing up for the hurricane. It’s summer, and when it’s summer,

there’salwaysahurricanecomingorleavinghere.Eachpushesitswaythroughthe

flat Gulf to the twenty-six-mile manmade Mississippi beach, where they knock

against the old summer mansions with their slave galleys turned guest houses

beforerunningoverthebayou,throughthepines,tolosewind,driprain,anddie

inthenorth.Mostdon’tevenhitushead-onanymore;mostturnrighttoFloridaor

takealeftforTexas,brushpastandglanceoffuslikeashirtsleeve.Weain’thad

onecomestraightforusinyears,timeenoughtoforgethowmanyjugsofwaterwe

need to fill, how many cans of sardines and potted meat we should stock, how

many tubs of water we need. But on the radio that Daddy keeps playing in his

parkedtruck,Iheardthemtalkingaboutitearliertoday.Howtheforecasterssaid

thetenthtropicaldepressionhadjustdissipatedintheGulfbutanotheroneseems

tobeformingaroundPuertoRico.

SotodayDaddywokemeupbyhittingthewalloutsidemeandJunior’sroom.

“Wakeup!Wegotworktodo.”

Juniorrolledover in hisbed andcurled intothewall.I sat uplongenough to

makeDaddythinkIwasgoingtogetup,andthenIlaybackdownanddriftedoff.

WhenIwokeuptwohourslater,Daddy’sradiowasrunninginhistruck.Junior’s

bedwasempty,hisblanketonthefloor.

“Junior,gettherestofthemshinejugs.”

“Daddy,ain’tnoneunderthehouse.”

Outsidethewindow,Daddyjabbedatthebellyofthehousewithhiscanofbeer.

Juniortuggedhisshorts.Daddygesturedagain,andJuniorsquattedandslithered

under the house. The underside of the house didn’t scare him like it had always

scaredmewhenIwaslittle.Juniordisappearedbetweenthecinderblocksholding

upthehouseforafternoons,andwouldonlycomeoutwhenSkeetahthreatenedto

sendChinaunderthereafterhim.IaskedJunioronetimewhathedidunderthere,

andallhewouldsayisthatheplayed.Iimaginedhimdiggingsleepingholeslikea

dogwould,layingonhisbackinthesandyreddirtandlisteningtoourfeetslide

andpushacrossfloorboards.

Juniorhadagoodarm,andbottlesandcansrolledoutfromunderthehouselike

pool balls. They stopped when they hit the rusted-over cow bath Daddy had

salvaged from the junkyard where he scraps metal. He’d brought it home for

Junior’sbirthdaylastyearandtoldhimtouseitasaswimmingpool.

“Shoot,”Randallsaid.Hewassittingonachairunderhishomemadebasketball

goal,arimhe’dstolenfromthecountyparkandscrewedintothetrunkofadead

pinetree.

“Ain’tnothinghitus inyears.Theydon’tcomethiswaynomore.WhenIwas

little,theywasalwayshittingus.”ItwasManny.Istoodattheedgeofthebedroom

window,notwantinghimtoseeme.Mannythrewabasketballfromhandtohand.

Seeinghimbrokethecocoonofmyribcage,andmyheartunfurledtofly.

“You act like you ancient—you only two years older than me. Like I don’t

rememberhowtheyusedtobe,”Randallsaidashecaughtthereboundandpassed

itbacktoManny.

“Ifanything hit usthissummer,it’sgoingtoblow down a few branches.News

don’tknowwhattheytalkingabout.”Mannyhadblackcurlyhair,blackeyes,and

whiteteeth,andhisskinwasthecoloroffresh-cutwoodattheheartofapinetree.

“Everytime somebody in Bois Sauvage get arrested, they always get the story

wrong.”

“That’sjournalists.Weatherman’sascientist,”Randallsaid.

“Heain’tshit.”FromwhereIwas,Mannylookedlikehewasblushing,butIknew

hisfacehadbrokenout,tingedhimred,andthattherestofitwasthescaronhis

face.

“Oh,one’scomingallright.”Daddywipedhishandalongthesideofhistruck.

MannyrolledhiseyesandjerkedhisthumbatDaddy.Heshot.Randallcaught

theballandheldit.

“Thereain’tevenatropicaldepressionyet,”RandallsaidtoDaddy,“andyougot

Juniorbowlingwithshinebottles.”

Randallwasright.Daddyusuallyfilledafewjugsofwater.Cannedgoodswasthe

onlykindofgroceriesDaddyknewhowtomake,sowewerenevershortonVienna

sausagesandpottedmeat. WeateTopRameneveryday:soupy,addedhotdogs,

drainedthejuice so itwasspicy pasta; dry, ittastedlike crackers. The lasttime

we’dhadabadstormhithead-on,Mamawasalive;afterthestorm,she’dbarbecued

allthemeatleftinthesilentfreezersoitwouldn’tspoil,andSkeetahatesomany

hotsausagelinkshegotsick.RandallandIhadfoughtoverthelastporkchop,and

MamahadpulledusapartwhileDaddylaughedaboutit,saying:Shecanholdher

own.Toldyoushewasgoingtobealittlescrappyscrawnything—builtjustlike

you.

“This year’s different,” Daddy said as he sat on the back of his trunk. For a

momenthe lookednot-drunk. “News isright: everyweek it’s a new storm.Ain’t

neverbeenthisbad.”Mannyshotagain,andRandallchasedtheball.

“Makesmyboneshurt,”Daddysaid.“Icanfeelthemcoming.”

Ipulledmyhairbackinaponytail.Itwasmyonegoodthing,myoddthing,like

a Doberman come out white: corkscrew curls, black, limp when wet but full as

fistfulsoffrayedropewhendry.Mamausedtoletmerunaroundwithitdown,

saiditwassomethrowbacktrait,andsinceIgotit,Imightaswellenjoyit.ButI

lookedinthemirrorandknewtherestofmewasn’tsoremarkable:widenose,dark

skin,Mama’sslim,shortframewithallthecurvesfoldedinsothatIlookedsquare.

I changed my shirt and listened to them talking outside. The walls, thin and

uninsulated,peelingfromeachotherattheseams,mademefeellikeMannycould

see me before I even stepped outside. Our high school English teacher, Ms.

Dedeaux,givesusreadingeverysummer.Aftermyninth-gradeyear,wereadAsI

LayDying,andImadeanAbecauseIansweredthehardestquestionright:Why

doestheyoungboythinkhismotherisafish?Thissummer,aftertenthgrade,we

arereadingEdithHamilton’sMythology.ThechapterIfinishedreadingdaybefore

yesterdayiscalled“EightBriefTalesofLovers,”anditleadsintothestoryofJason

and the Argonauts. I wondered if Medea felt this way before she walked out to

meet Jason for the first time, like a hard windcome throughher andset herto

shaking. The insects singing as they ring the red dirt yard, the bouncing ball,

Daddy’sbluescomingfromhistruckradio,theyallcalledmeoutthedoor.

*

Chinaburiesherfacebetweenherpawswithhertailendintheairbeforethelast

pushforthefirstpuppy.Shelookslikeshewantstoflipoverintoaheadstand,and

Iwanttolaugh,butIdon’t.Bloodoozesfromher,andSkeetahcrouchesevencloser

tohelpher.Chinayanksherheadup,andhereyessnapopenalongwithherteeth.

“Careful!”Randallsays.Skeetahhasstartledher.Helayshishandsonherandshe

rises.Iwenttomydaddy’sMethodistchurchonetimewithmymama,eventhough

sheraisedusCatholic,andthisiswhatChinamoveslike;likeshehascaughtthe

ghost,liketheholiestvoicemovesthroughherinsteadofSkeetah’s.Iwonderifher

bodyfeelslikeitisinthegripofonegianthandthatwringsherempty.

“Iseeit!”Juniorsqueals.

The first puppy is big. It opens her and slides out in a stream of pink slime.

Skeetah catches it, places it to the side on a pile of thin, ripped towels he has

prepared.Hewipesit.

“Orange,likehisdaddy,”Skeetahsays.“Thisone’sgoingtobeakiller.”

Thepuppyisalmostorange.Heisreallythecoloroftheredearthaftersomeone

hasduginittoplantafieldorpullupstonesorputinabody.ItisMississippired.

Thedaddywasthatcolor:hewasshortandlookedlikeabigredmuscle.Hehad

chunksofskinandfleshcrustedovertoscabbysoresfromfighting.Whenheand

Chinahadsex,therewasbloodontheirjaws,onhercoat,andinsteadofloving,it

lookedliketheywerefighting.China’sskinisripplinglikewindoverwater.The

secondpuppyslideshalfwayoutfeet-firstandhangsthere.

“Skeet,”Juniorsqueaks.HehasoneeyeandhisnosepressedagainstRandall’sleg,

whichheishugging.Heseemsverydarkandverysmall,andinthenightgloom,I

cannotseethecolorofhisclothes.

Skeetah grabs the puppy’srear, and his hand covers the entiretorso. He pulls.

Chinagrowls,andthepuppyslidesclear.Heispink.WhenSkeetahlayshimonthe

matandwipeshimoff,heiswhitewithtinyblackspotslikewatermelonseedsspit

acrosshisfur.Histongueprotrudesthroughthetinyslitthatishismouth,andhe

lookslikeaflatcartoondog.Heisdead.Skeetahletsgoofthetowelandthepuppy

rolls,stiffasabowlingpin,acrossthepaddingtorestlightlyagainsttheredpuppy,

whichismovingitslegsinsmallfits,likeblinks.

“Shit,China.”Skeetahbreathes.Anotherpuppyiscoming.Thisoneslowlyslides

out headfirst; a lonely, hesitant diver. Big Henry, one of Randall’s friends, dives

into the water at the river like that every time we go swimming: heavy and

carefully,asifheisafraidhisbigbody,withitswhorlsofmuscleandfat,willhurt

thewater.AndeverytimeBigHenrydoesso,theotherboyslaughathim.Mannyis

always the loudest of them all: his teeth white knives, his face golden red. The

puppylandsinthecupofSkeetah’spalms.Sheisapatchworkofwhiteandbrown.

Sheismoving,herheadbobbinginimitationofhermother’s.Skeetahcleansthe

puppy.HekneelsbehindChina,whogrowls.Yelps.Splits.

*

EventhoughDaddy’struckwasparkedrightbeyondthefrontdoorandJuniorhit

meinmycalfwithashinebottle,IlookedatMannyfirst.Hewasholdingtheball

like an egg, with his fingertips, the way Randall says a good ball handler does.

Mannycoulddribbleonrocks.Ihadseenhimintherockysandatthecornerofthe

basketball court down at the park, him and Randall, dribbling and defending,

dribblinganddefending.Therocksmadetheballricochetbetweentheirlegslikea

rubberpaddleball,unpredictableandwild,buttheyweresogoodtheycaughtto

dribbleagainnearlyeverytime.They’dfallbeforethey’dlettheballescape,diveto

becutbyshellsandsmallgraystones.Mannywasholdingtheballastenderlyashe

wouldapitpuppywithpedigreepapers.Iwantedhimtotouchmethatway.

“Hey,Manny.”Itwasanasthmasqueak.Myneckfelthot,hotterthantheday.

Mannynoddedatme,spuntheballonhispointerfinger.

“What’sup?”

“’Bouttime,”Daddysaid.“Helpyourbrotherwiththembottles.”

“Ican’tfitunderthehouse.”Iswallowedthewords.

“Idon’twantyoutogetthem.Iwantyoutorinsethem.”Hepulledasaw,brown

withdisuse,fromhistruckbed.“Iknowwegotsomeplywoodsomewherearound

here.”

Igrabbedtwoofthenearestjugsandbroughtthemtothefaucet.Iturnedthe

knobandthewaterthatburstoutofthespigotwashotasboilingwater.Oneof

thejugswascakedwithmudontheinside,soIletthewaterrunthroughthetop.

Whenthewaterbubbledupattherim,Ishookthejugstoclearthem.Mannyand

Randall whistled to each other, played ball, and others arrived: Big Henry and

Marquise.Iwassurprisedthattheyallcamefromotherplaces,thatoneortwoof

themhadn’temergedfromtheshedwithSkeetah,oroutofthepatchyremainsof

MotherLizbeth’srottinghouse,whichistheonlyotherhouseintheclearingand

whichwasoriginallymymama’smother’sproperty.Theboysalwaysfoundplaces

tosleepwhentheyweretoodrunkorhighorlazytogohome.Thebackseatsof

junkcars,theoldRVDaddyboughtforcheapfromsomemanatagasstationin

Germaine that only ran until he got it into the driveway, the front porch that

MamahadmadeDaddyscreeninwhenwewerelittle.Daddydidn’tcare,andafter

awhilethePitfeltstrangewhentheyweren’tthere,asemptyasthefishtank,dry

of water and fish, but filled with rocks and fake coral like I saw in Big Henry’s

livingroomonce.

“What’sup,cousin?”Marquiseasked.

“Iwaswonderingwherey’allwas.ThePitwasfeelingempty,”Randallsaid.

Thewater in thebottleI held was turning pink. I rocked on my feet with the

sloshing,triednotto glance at Mannybut did.He wasn’tlooking at me;he was

shaking Marquise’s hand, his wide, blunt fingers swallowing Marquise’s skinny

brown hand almost to nothing. I set the bottle down clean, picked up the next,

beganagain.Myhairlaidonmyneckliketheblanketsmymotherusedtocrochet,

theoneswestillpiledoninthewintertokeepwarmandwokeupunderinthe

morning,sweating.Abottleofdishwashingliquidlandedatmyfeet,slappingmud

onmycalves.

“Allthewayclean,”Daddysaidashestalkedoffwithahammerinonehand.The

soapmademyhandsslippery.Sudsblanketedthemud.Juniorquitsearchingfor

bottlesandsatnexttome,playingwithbubbles.

“OnlyreasonMannywasupheresoearlywasbecausehewastryingtogetaway

fromShaliyah.”Marquisestoletheball.AlthoughhewassmallerthanSkeetah,he

wasalmost asquick, and hedribbled to theraggedy hoop. BigHenry winked at

Mannyandlaughed.Manny’sfacewassmoothandonlyhisbodyspoke:hismuscles

jabberedlike chickens. He spreadhimselfover Marquise, guardinghim fromthe

goal,andRandallclappedhishandsattheedgeofthebeatendirtcourt,waitingfor

Mannytostealandpasstheball.BigHenryshoulderedagainsthim,guarding.He

wasalmostastallasRandallbutmuchwider,gracefulandlightasaspinningtop.

Itwasarealgamenow.

ThecrackofthebottleIwasshakingsoundedlikechangeclatteringinaloose

fist.Thebottleshattered,andtheglassfragmented,slidalongmypalms.Idropped

whatIheld.

“Move,Junior!”Isaid.Myhands,whichmomentsbeforehadbeenpink,werered.

Especiallytheleft.“I’m bleeding!” I saidunder my breath.I didn’tyell; Iwanted

Mannytoseeme,butnotasaweak,sorrygirl.Notsomethingtobepitiedbecause

Icouldn’ttakepainlikeaboy.RandallcaughtManny’sreboundandwalkedoverto

measIkneeled,mylefthandunderthefaucet,aribbonofredmakingforthemud

atmyfeet.Hethrewtheballbackward.Thecutwasthesizeofaquarter,bleeding

steadily.

“Letmesee.”Hepushedaroundthewound,anditpulsedblood.Ifeltsicktomy

stomach.“Yougottopushonituntilitstopsbleeding.”Heputmythumb,which

hadbeenstopping the head ofthe bottle,over thecut. “Youpush,” hesaid.“My

handsaretoodirty.Untilitstopshurting.”ItwasalwayswhatMamatoldustodo

whenwewentrunningtoherwithacutorascrape.Shewouldpushandblowat

thewoundafterputtingalcoholonit,andwhenshe’dstoppedblowing,itwouldn’t

hurtanymore.There.See?Likeitneverhappened.

MannywasthrowingtheballbackandforthwithMarquisesoquicklyitsounded

likethefastbeatofadrum.HeglancedoveratRandallkneelingoverme;hisface

wasevenredderthanitusuallyis,butthenhehissedlikehealwaysdoeswhenhe’s

playingbasketball,andIknewhewasexcited,notconcerned.Yougottopush...

untilitstopshurting.Mystomachtilted.Randallsqueezedoncemoreandstood,

andtheglimpseIsawofMamainhismouthwhenhe’dtoldmetopushwasgone.

Mannylookedaway.

*

China’snext puppy isblack-and-white. The whitecircles his neckbefore curling

awayfromhisheadandacrosshisshoulder.Therestofhimisblack.Hejerksand

mewls as Skeetah lays him on the blanket, clean. His mewl is loud, makes itself

heard among the crickets; and he is the loudest Mardi Gras dancing Indian,

wearingawhiteheaddress,shoutinganddancingthroughthepittedstreetsofthe

sunkencity.IwanthimbecausehecomesoutofChinachantingandsinginglike

theNewOrleansIndians,liketheIndiansthatgavememyhair,butIdon’tthink

Skeetahwillgivehimtome.Heisworthtoomuchmoney.Hisbloodlineisgood.

China is knownamong thepit bulls in Bois Sauvage for lockingon todogs and

makingthemcur.Shepullstendonsfromnecks.ThedaddydogfromGermaine,a

few towns over, is equally fierce. Rico, his owner and Manny’s cousin, makes so

much money fighting him he only has a part-time job as a mechanic at an oil

changeshop,andhespendstherestofhistimedrivinghisdoginhispickuptruck

toillegaldogfightssetbackinthewoods.

“Iwishhewasallblack,”Skeetahsays.

“Idon’tcare,”IsayinreturntoSkeetah,toeveryone,tothedogsmultiplyingin

theshed,butnoonehearsmeoverChina.Sheyelps.ShesoundslikeIdowhenIlet

gooftheswingingropethathangsfromthetalltreeoverWolfRiver:terrifiedand

elated.Herclippedearscurlforward.Thepuppyslidesfromher.Itlooksyellow,

streakedwithblack,butwhenSkeetahwipesitoff,theblackvanishes.

“Bloodlookblackatnight,”Randallsays.

Thepuppyispurewhite.Sheishermotherinminiature.Butwhilehermother

moans,sheissilent.Skeetahbendsoverher.Theotherpuppiesareopeningtheir

jaws,twitchinglegs.We’reallsweatingsobadlywelooklikewejustranintothe

shedfrom a hard, heavy summerrain.ButSkeetisshakinghishead,andIdon’t

knowifit’sallsweatorifhe’scrying.Heblinks.Hescrapeshispointeroverthe

purewhiteskull,downthepuppy’schestandherbelly.Hermouthopensandher

bellyinflates.Sheishermother’sdaughter.Sheisafighter.Shebreathes.

*

ItiedthestripofanoldragaroundmyhandandkeptwashinguntilIhadallthe

glassbottleslined up onthe wallinsidethe kitchen. Junior hadrun offintothe

woodssurroundingthehouseafterdeclaringthathewasgoingtohuntarmadillos.

The boys had finished playing basketball; Big Henry pulled the old Caprice his

mamahadboughthimforhissixteenthbirthdayintotheyardnexttothehouse

afterdrinkingfromthefaucet,wettinghishead,andshakingitlikeawetdogto

makeme laugh. Randall and Mannywerearguingaboutthegame.Marquisewas

lyingonthehoodintheshadeoftheoaktrees,smokingacigar.BigHenryonlyhas

twosix-by-ninespeakersthatworkbecauseheblewhisampandhisbass,sotheir

talkwaslouderthanthemusic.IpickedupthejugIbrokeandputtheshardsinan

oldhalfofagarbagecanlid.Ikneltandstaredforglass,wonderedifIcouldfind

the piece that had cut me. When I finished, I walked toward the back of the

property,thewoods.MyeyeswantedtosearchforMannysobadlythewantfelt

likeanitchonmytemple,butIkeptwalking.

My mama’s mother, Mother Lizbeth, and her daddy, Papa Joseph, originally

ownedallthisland:aroundfifteenacresinall.ItwasPapaJosephnicknameditall

thePit,PapaJosephwholetthewhitemenheworkwithdigforclaythattheyused

tolaythefoundationforhouses,letthemexcavatethesideofahillinaclearing

nearthebackofthepropertywhereheusedtoplantcornforfeed.PapaJosephlet

themtakeallthedirttheywanteduntiltheirdigginghadcreatedacliffoveradry

lakeinthebackyard,andthesmallstreamthathadrunaroundanddownthehill

haddivertedandpooledintothedrylake,makingitintoapond,andthenPapa

Josephthoughttheearthwouldgiveunderthewater,thatthepondwouldspread

andgobbleupthepropertyandmakeitaswamp,sohestoppedsellingearthfor

money. He died soon after from mouth cancer, or at least that’s what Mother

Lizbethusedtotelluswhenwewerelittle.Shealwaystalkedtouslikegrown-ups,

cusseduslikegrown-ups.Shediedinhersleepafterprayingtherosary,whenshe

wasinherseventies,andtwoyearslater,Mama,theonlybabystilllivingoutofthe

eightthat Mother Lizbethhad borne, diedwhen having Junior.Since it’s justus

andDaddyherenowwithChina,thechickens,andapigwhenDaddycanafford

one,thefieldsPapaJosephusedtoplantaroundthePitareovergrownwithshrubs,

withsawpalmetto,withpinetreesreachinguplikethebristlesonabrush.

Wedumpourgarbageinashallowditchnexttothepit,andweburnit.When

thepineneedlesfromthesurroundingtreesfallinandcatchfire,itsmellsokay.

Otherwiseitsmellslikeburntplastic.Idumpedtheglassintotheditch,whereit

sparkledontopoftheblackremainslikestars.Thewaterinthepitwaslow;we

hadn’thadagoodraininweeks.TheshowerweneededwasoutintheGulf,held

likeatired,hungrychildbythestormformingthere.Whenthere’sgoodraininthe

summer,thepitfillstothebrimandweswiminit.Thewater,whichwasnormally

pink, had turned a thick, brownish red. The color of a scab.I turnedaround to

leaveandsawgold.Manny.

“Beentoodry,”hesaid.Hestoppedbesideme,anarm’slengthaway.Imighthave

beenabletoscrapehimwithmyfingernails.“Ain’tnogoodtoswiminrightnow.”

Inodded.Nowthathewasspeakingtome,Ididn’tknowwhattosay.

“Ifyourdaddy’sright,we’llgetitsoon,though,”hesaid.

Ibeatthesideofmylegwiththegarbagelid,forgettingthedirtcakedtotheside.

Itdriftedandfelllikepowder.Iwantedtoshutup,butitwasmyonlythought,soI

spoke.

“Whyyouain’toutfront?”

Ilookedathisfeet.HisoncewhiteJordanswerethecoloroforangesherbet.

“Withthem?”

“Yeah.”Iglancedathisface,thesweatlikeglaze.Mylipswereopen.Anotherme

would’velickeditoff,anditwould’vetastedlikesalt.Butthisgirlwouldn’tlean

forward, wouldn’t smile as she mouthed his neck. This girl waited because she

wasn’tlikethewomeninthemythologybook,thewomenwhokeptmeturningthe

pages:thetricksternymphs,theruthlessgoddesses,theworld-uprootingmothers.

Io,whomadeagod’shearthotwithlove;

Artemis,whoturnedamanintoadeerandhadherdogstearhimcartilagefrom

bone;Demeter,whomadetimestopwhenherdaughterwasstolen.

“’CauseI don’tsmokeweed,”Mannysaid,andhisshoeslidnexttomine.“You

knowIdon’tdothatnomore.”Hisfeetwereinfrontofme,andsuddenly,tallashe

was,hewasblockingthesun.“YouknowwhatIdo.”Hewasreallylookingatme,

bold,forthefirsttimeallday.Hesmiled.Hisface,markedwithredsunburnand

dimplesandpockmarksandtheglitteringofscarsfromacaraccidentwhenhewas

seventeenanddrunkandhighinacarwithhiscousinsupcountryatmidnight,and

they swerved to hit a deer; when he came out the window and hit the pebbly

asphaltandglass,hescraped,andtheroadmarkedhimwithitsownburn,broke

himinplaces.Hewasthesun.

Mannytouched me firstwherehealwaystouchedme:my ass. He grabbed and

pulled, and my shorts slid down. His fingers tugged my pan ties, his forearms

rubbed my waist, and the brush of his skin burned like a tongue. He had never

kissedmeexceptlikethis,withhisbody,neverhismouth.Myunderwearsliddown

mylegs.Hewaspeelingawaymyclotheslikeorangerind;hewantedtheotherme.

Thepulpyripeheart.Thestickyhearttheboyssawthroughmyboyishframe,my

dark skin, my plain face. The girly heart that, before Manny, I’d let boys have

because they wanted it, and not becauseI wanted to give it. I’d let boys have it

becauseforamoment,IwasPsycheorEurydiceorDaphne.Iwasbeloved.Butwith

Manny,itwasdifferent;hewassobeautiful,andstillhechoseme,againandagain.

Hewantedmygirlheart;Igavehimbothofthem.Thepinesseemedtocirclelikea

ring-a-rosy,andIfell.Itwillbequick,Ithought.Hewillburyhisfaceinmyhair.

He will growl when hecomes. Idug myheels intothe backsof histhighs. Even

thoughIknewalltheotherboys,Iknewhimandhisbodybest:Ilovedhimbest.I

showedhim withmyhips.Myhairmypillowin the red dirt.Mybreastshurt.I

wanted him to lean down, to touch me everywhere. He wouldn’t, but his hips

would. China barked, knife sharp. I was bold as a Greek; I was making him hot

withlove,andMannywaslovingme.

*

Chinaislickingthepuppies.I’veneverseenhersogentle.Idon’tknowwhatI

thoughtshewoulddoonceshehadthem:sitonthemandsmotherthemmaybe.

Bitethem.Turntheirskullstobitsofboneandblood.Butshedoesn’tdoanyof

that.Insteadshestandsoverthem,herononesideandSkeetahontheotherlikea

pairofproudparents,andshelicks.

“Sheain’tdoneyet,”Daddysaysfromthebedofhistruck.“Theafterbirth.”He

disappears again off into the darkness with the sound of the bottles I cleaned

rollingafterhimthroughthedirt.

ItisasifChinahasheardDaddy.Shebacksintoacorner,wedgesherselfbetween

a stack ofcinder blocks and what Ithink ismost of a car motor.She makes no

noise,justbaresherteeth.

Grimaces.Skeetahmakesnomovetowardher.Shedoesnotwanttosharethis;

hewillnotmakeher.Hermuzzleglistenspinkandyellowwithwhatshehaslicked

from her puppies. There is a wet sound behind her, and she turns quickly, still

leakingathinlineofmucus,toeatwhathasfallen.IsquatandpeerthroughSkeet’s

legs.Itlooksdarkpurple,almostblack,inthecorner,andwithashakeofherhead,

theglisteningmessisgone.IthadlookedliketheinsideofthelastpigthatDaddy

had, that he slaughtered and emptied into a tub before making us clean the

intestinesforchitterlings:itstanksobadRandallthrewup.

“Iheardtheyalwayseattheafterbirth,”Randallsays.ChinawalkspastSkeetah,

lickshispinkie.Itisakiss,apeck.Shestandsoverthedirtytowelthatholdsher

puppies.

“Look,”Isay.

There is something moving where she dropped, where she ate. Skeetah crawls

overonhishandsandknees,andpicksitup.

“Arunt,”hesays.Hecarriesitintothelight.

Itisbrindle.Stripesofblackandbrownrideitsribslikeazebra’s.Itishalfthe

sizeofitsbrothersandsisters.Skeetahcloseshisfist,anditvanishes.“It’salive,”he

says.Thereisdelightonhisface.Heishappytohaveanotherpuppy;ifitlives,he

cangetmaybe$200forit,evenifitisarunt.Heopenshishand,andthepuppy

appearsliketheheartofabloom.Itisasstillasaflower’sstigma.Skeetah’smouth

fallsstraight,hiseyebrowsflatten.Helaysitdown.“Probablygoingtodieanyway.”

Chinadoesnotlaydownlikeanewmother.Shedoesnotsuckle.Shelicksthebig

redpuppyandthenforgetshim.SheislookingpastSkeetahtous.Shebristlesatus

standingat thedoor. Skeetah grabsher neckcollar, tries to calm her,but sheis

rigid.JuniorpullshiswayupRandall’sback.IthinkabouthuggingSkeetahbeforeI

go,butChinaisglowering,soIjustsmileathim.Idon’tknowifheseesmeinthe

dark.Hehasdoneagoodjob.Onlyonepuppyisdead,eventhoughitisChina’s

firsttimebirthing.Chinascratchesattheearthflooroftheshedasifshewoulddig

aholeandburythepuppiesfromsight.Intheruinsoftherefuse-ladenyard,Daddy

is hitting something metal. We leave. Skeetah refastens the curtain behind us,

pullingittightagainstthestillclearnight.Theshedfallsdark.

ItellJuniortotakeabathonceweenterthehouse,butheignoresme,anditis

notuntilRandallturnsonthewaterandcarrieshimtothebathtubthathewashes

off.Randallstandsinthe doorway watching Junior because heis convincedthat

whenJuniorclosesthedoortowash,heonlysitsontheedgeofthebathtuband

kickshisfeetinthewater.Juniorhatesbathing.Iamthelasttotakeashower,and

the water, even though I have only the cold spigot on, is lukewarm. August is

alwaysthemonthofthedeepestheat,theheatthatreachessofarintheearthit

boilsthewaterinthewells.WhenIgotobed,Juniorisalreadyasleep.Theboxfan

inthewindowhums.Ilieonmybackandfeeldizzy,light-headed,nauseous.Ionly

ateoncetoday.IseeMannyaboveme,hisfacelickingmine,theheatofhissweat,

ourwaists meeting. How heseesme with hisbody.How he lovesme likeJason.

Juniorsnortsababysnore,andIdriftoffwithManny’sbreathinginmybrain.

AbouttheAuthor

JesmynWardreceivedherMFAfromtheUniversityofMichigan.Shehasbeena

WallaceStegnerFellowandaJohnandRenéeGrishamWriterinResidenceandis

currentlyanassociateprofessorofcreativewritingatTulaneUniversity.Sheisthe

authorofthenovelsWheretheLineBleedsandSalvagetheBones,whichwonthe2011

NationalBookAwardandwasafinalistfortheNewYorkPublicLibraryYoung

LionsFictionAwardandtheDaytonLiteraryPeacePrize.Sheisalsotheeditorof

theNewYorkTimesbestsellinganthologyTheFireThisTime:ANewGenerationSpeaks

AboutRaceandtheauthorofthememoirMenWeReaped,whichwasafinalistfor

the National Book Critics Circle Award and the Hurston/Wright Legacy Award

and won the Chicago Tribune Heartland Prize and the Media for a Just Society

Award.In2016,theAmericanAcademyofArtsandLettersselectedWardforthe

StraussLivingaward.

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Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Jesmyn-Ward

ALSOBYJESMYNWARD

TheFireThisTime:ANewGenerationSpeaksaboutRace(editor)

MenWeReaped:AMemoir

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