— What say, Oscar? he said, his eyes adjusting to the darkness in the shed so he could just see the black face with the white teeth, the painted whites of its eyes, in the glow of the cigarette. -Welcome home, you yellow pine son of a bitch.
He went inside and picked up the phone and dialed a number and Junius answered.
— Papa, I have that nigger dummy back out in my shed.
There was silence on the other end of the line.
— What’d you go and do that for?
— It wasn’t yours to sell, that’s what for.
— The hell it wasn’t. I’m the one found it.
— And you gave it to me. What I still don’t understand is why you all of a sudden up and stole it from me. You never gave me the money you got for it, by the way, and now I’m out two hundred dollars for it.
— Goddamn, son, I didn’t pay but twenty!
— To hell with that. What did you get for it?
— I don’t remember. Broke even, maybe.
— You’re a liar, you got fifty, which means you made thirty dollars profit on my property, which means you owe me that plus another hundred and seventy dollars.
Junius scoffed. -I’m not responsible for your lack of common sense. And I’m telling you I think that thing is bad luck. You better get rid of it.
— I never knew you to be so superstitious. I’m keeping it, I don’t give a damn if you like it or not. That’s my electric or dummy or whatever nigger out there, and you keep your goddamn hands off of it, now. In fact, I’m locking it in there, so don’t even think about stealing it again.
— Stealing! Goddamnit, I don’t give a shit if you keep it or not, then. But if you ever bring that thing out in my presence I’ll shoot the son of a bitch full of holes on the spot.
Junius hung up. Earl, laughing to himself, went back outside and lit up again. Stood there in the evening on what he’d made into a fine little fiefdom of his own in the flattened land, the brief plains between Mercury and rolling pine woods and farmland north, smoking, thinking it’s not so bad old Earl you got a good woman for a wife and you got healthy children and a good business and another woman who loves you willing to take what’s just her share, and here you got your own goddamn electric nigger out in the shed, to boot. Now what can you hold up to that, you old pig-eyed son of a bitch.
Wisdom
SHE COULDN’T HELP thinking that if they’d had babies, if they could have had babies, Frank might have stayed. Lord knows she’d tried, but nothing took. Began to seem like he was like a mule, some concoction of a beast not able to reproduce itself. But it settled in finally that it had to be her, and most likely something to do with the potion Aunt Vish had given her before, after Mr. Junius, to get rid of what he’d put in her.
One day she’d walked out into the untended pasture behind her cabin and sat down beneath a solitary oak in the middle of the field. There was a crow sitting in the top of the tree, started calling to another crow over in the woods. Crow was saying, What! What! Other crow comes back, What! What! Don’t nobody know what, Creasie grumbled. A big rumble followed down in her belly, and she pressed it with her fingers, lay on her back. She put her hands on her breasts beneath the scratchy blouse she wore and pressed them, wondered if she’d ever nurse a child, nestle a child of her own into her bosom. The crow hopped down a few branches and cocked its head at her. He stretched his head up and called again to the other crow, other crow called back. Then he cocked his head at her again, said, Rrraaack. She felt a muscle or something rise up beneath her hand and turn over, go back down.
Sunday she asked to have the afternoon off, told Frank she was going to visit her aunt, and caught a ride into town with Mr. Earl, who dropped her off near the ravine. He said he’d pick her up again at five. She watched him drive off, then walked on in. Down past the old Case house, down the dirt road, which turned into the steep trail down to the creekbed, and it was good to be back in with the trees and wild shrubs, all the viny green. She came to the narrow clearing where the old cabins were and went all the way to the end, to the last one nearest the creek. Aunt Vish was sitting on her front porch in a rocking chair with her eyes closed, rocking. When Creasie stopped at the base of the steps, Vish said, — I smell somebody works for white people.
— Just me, says Creasie.
— Mmm hmm, what you want now, girl.
— Nothing. Just want to ask you something.
Vish just kept on rocking. After a while she said, — I got all day but I don’t know why you want to take it.
— I can’t have no babies, looks like, Creasie said. -I been wondering about that potion.
— Mmm hmm, Vish says.
— What was that potion you give me?
— Did what you wanted.
— Yes’m. How good did it work?
— Did what you wanted.
— Ye’m. But what all did it do, besides that?
Vish opened her eyes, put the toes of her ragged old shoes onto the porch boards and leaned forward, looked at Creasie. She leaned to one side and spat snuff juice off into the dirt.
— Potion can’t do but one thing at a time, she said then. -You want a remedy make a baby go away, that’s what it gon do. You want one make the babies come, then that’s another thing. Herb you taken might taken too good. That happen, I can’t do nothing about it. Risk you take.
— You didn’t tell me.
— Can’t give a body wisdom, Vish said. -You get that on your own.
— Can you give me some of that baby-making potion, then?
Vish looked at her a minute, then nodded.
— I can give you whatever you want, child. What you gon give me?
— Ma’am?
— What you gon give me, child! You never give me nothing for that remedy.
Creasie didn’t know what to say.
— I’m sorry, Aunt Vish. I thought, it being me — I didn’t know I was supposed to pay you for it.
— Didn’t know! What you think, I live on air? You getting paid, ain’t you?
— Ye’m. I’m sorry. I can pay you now. I can pay you for the baby potion, too. Me and Frank wants some babies.
— Say he does too.
— He wouldn’t mind. She only partly lied. Hadn’t said anything to him about it.
— Vish sat back and stared at Creasie a long moment, saying nothing, then closed her eyes and rocked some more.
— I can give you anything you want, child, but I expect that potion done took too well with you. She opened her eyes and spat and looked at Creasie long and from afar again. -You bring me something from the white folks’ house, I’ll think on it, see if I can come up with something.
— What you want me to bring?
— Use your brain, child. You’ll think up something old Vish can use.
Creasie stood there a minute, neither of them saying anything.
— I could use some new pots and pans, Vish said then.
— Yes’m. It might take a while.
— Like I said, I got time.
SO SHE WENT back to work. Made it seem like time was standing still. Time hung in the space between Frank’s coming and Frank’s going, she knew it would be just a patch of time that would disappear as if it never happened. Nothing but up in the early morning to cook for the Urquharts, then clean up and dust and wash clothes and cook again, dinner and supper, then make her way on back to her little cabin where Frank would be on the front porch smoking, his feet up on the rail, and waiting on her and a late supper for himself. He’d eat it out there, weather permitting, and then they’d go on into the cabin and to bed. She could see him getting bored, restless. He’d wake up in the middle of the night and she’d wake up at some point and see him sitting there beside the bedroom window, looking out. She loved the look of his body in the faint light from the window, just a shadow of the man, his shape, liked the way the memory of his shape stayed in her mind when she couldn’t see him, perfect like that.