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Authors: Ashley Hope Pérez

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BOOK: Out of Darkness
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Beto turned to Cari. “Do you think they're talking about our Wash?”

Cari shrugged, but he could tell she was listening, too, even if she wasn't watching.

“He never talks to me at church anymore, never wants to go on a walk. You know I miss that.” The tall girl sighed and smoothed her hair.

“Time to move on, if you ask me,” her friend said, settling into the other rocker. “You know he's going to Tuskegee in the fall. It's not like Mr. Fuller is going to let him get serious with a girl before then.”

“I've got to get him before he goes or else my chances are ruined. And there's no one handsomer in Egypt Town.”

“Come on,” said the girl in blue. She stood up from the rocker and started toward the open door of the store. “I'll buy a Hershey bar to share with you, but only if you promise not to say his name again like some lovesick puppy.”

“Deal,” the girl in pink said, “and if we get married someday, you'll be my maid of honor for sure.”

Beto watched them walk in, and he was going to ask Cari what she thought they meant, but then Naomi came out with the grocery sacks.

“They knew Wash,” Cari said, taking a small bag of flour from Naomi.

“I thought I heard his name,” Naomi said, and she started walking. “Did you save me any candy?”

“One piece,” Cari said, “but first you have to tell us what was Mami's favorite candy.”

 

HENRY
On Saturday, the sun was already up by the time Henry came into the kitchen. Naomi had fabric laid out across the table. “Morning, everybody,” he said.

“Morning, Daddy,” the twins called from the living room. Cari was clipping pictures from a catalog, and Beto was reading a thick book. Something like paternal pride pushed away Henry's drowsiness.

“Coffee?” Naomi asked. She folded her sewing into a neat pile.

“Thanks,” Henry said and settled into his chair at the table.

Naomi crossed to the stove and lit one of the gas burners under the percolator. She wiped her hands on her apron. “Breakfast? Twins said they aren't hungry yet.”

“Just coffee,” he said. He fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers on the table in front of him, trying to figure out what to do with the fatherly feeling. “So what are we doing today?” he asked. He looked up at Naomi and grinned.

Naomi turned toward the sink. “The twins already got the eggs for Muff, and I thought after breakfast I'd finish the curtains for the bedrooms. Mrs. Wright down the street offered me her sewing machine for the day. The twins ... the twins said something about going fishing.”

“I can take them fishing.” Henry unscrewed the top to the salt shaker, then screwed it back on more tightly.

“I'm sure they'd love that,” she said, but there wasn't a hint of conviction in her voice.

After a while, Henry tried again. “Are they meeting up with that colored boy again? Don't see what business he has with them, really. Or why they're so damn fascinated with him. Ought to be with other white kids.”

Naomi got a mug and poured the coffee.

“Don't like it,” he continued. “Them running the woods with a nigger.”

She set the cup of coffee in front of him. A bit sloshed out, but she didn't wipe it up.

Henry stared at the spill. He picked up the cup, pulled coffee through his teeth, and measured its bitterness on his tongue. “Did you hear me?” he asked.

She seemed about to say something when Beto came into the kitchen. He loitered around the edge of the table until Naomi whispered something into his ear. Then he went back down the hall.

“They would like to do things with you, you know,” Naomi said. Her eyes met his for a moment.

A chastened resignation settled on Henry. He added more sugar to his coffee and nodded slowly. He remembered, but did not feel, the stirring he sometimes got at church meetings. “I reckon you're right.” He pushed his chair back. “Call them in here.”

She did. “It's okay. You're not in trouble,” she told them.

Henry pointed the twins toward their seats at the table. He felt a flush of accomplishment at their obedience until he realized that Naomi had given them a nod.

“We're going out today,” Henry said, pushing back the nagging irritation he felt when he saw how easy it was for Naomi. “Whatever you want. Something special. You name it. Fishing, hunting, a restaurant, even. Your choice.”

The twins looked at each other and then said together, “The Cozy Table!”

He should have expected it; the kids had been talking about the Cozy Table's famous pancakes since the start of school. But Henry wasn't thinking about the pancakes. The “No Negroes, Mexicans, or dogs” sign hanging from the diner's door flashed in his mind.

“How about another diner?” he suggested. He didn't know what Naomi knew about the place. He hoped he wouldn't have to explain.

Naomi held up her sewing. “It's fine. The three of you go. I've got plenty to keep me busy.”

“Will Wash go fishing without us?” Beto said. His eyes had a troubled look that unnerved Henry.

“Don't worry about that. You can go another time,” Naomi said. “If Daddy says okay,” she added.

“Okay,” Beto whispered.

Henry reached for his hat, and the twins went to put on their shoes.

 

NAOMI
Naomi sat for a while at the kitchen table. She figured Wash would be fine fishing alone, but it seemed unkind not to let him know that the twins weren't coming. She hesitated for a moment, thinking of the curtains. Then she saw her schoolbooks in their tidy stack on the counter by the kitchen door. That was where they usually stayed unless the twins wanted to read them.

She scooped up her school things and headed out the door toward the river. The half-truth was that she had homework. The whole truth was hidden in some inner pocket of her heart.

 

BETO
Beto and Cari sat in the booth, leg to leg. They pressed wordless messages into each other's hands under the table. Henry tugged on his ear and rubbed at his neck. The jukebox rattled out one honky-tonk tune after another.

The food came, and Henry prayed. Beto held his fork in his left hand. Cari held hers in her right. They each cut a bit of golden-fried pancake dripping in syrup. Beto looked at Cari, and she nodded. They put the food in their mouth at the same time, each chewing five times before swallowing. The pancakes were perfect. Naomi would have loved them. But he'd read the sign on the restaurant door, and that changed things.

 

HENRY
Henry ate his eggs and bacon and grits, barely tasting the food. He watched the twins match their bites and felt again how little he knew about them. They always seemed to be conspiring, although he couldn't say what it was exactly. He did know that they didn't really want to be here, pancakes or no pancakes.

Pastor Tom would tell him to make it easy for them. But what did that mean? What was he supposed to do? He pushed his plate away and dug his hands into his pockets. “I could show you where I work. One of the drilling rigs,” he ventured. He groped for the warmth he'd felt earlier.

Beto glanced at Cari, who gave the slightest shrug. “Sure,” Beto said. “I mean, please, sir.”

 

WASH
Wash held the fishing rods and tackle box loose in his hand as he walked down the path to the river. There wasn't any hurry; unless the twins had taken up a vow of silence, they weren't there yet. He could always hear them half a mile off. When he got to the bank, he walked upstream toward his favorite fishing spot.

Then he saw her.

Naomi was sitting on a broad, flat rock at the edge of the river. Her knees were down, and her feet were tucked up under her dress. Her braid hung loose along the length of her back, the curled tip just touching the stone behind her. A book lay open on her lap, but her eyes were closed. Her face tilted up toward the sun. Listening.

As he stood there on the bank above her, he thought, I'd like her to listen to me like that.

Something in him jumped back from the thought like a hand pulling away from a stovetop even if it's not on. Wash felt the warning, but he didn't heed it.

“Hey,” he called. “Did you go and drown the twins for all their craziness?”

Her eyes popped open and her brow furrowed. She turned and stared at him, not speaking.

“It was a joke,” he said. “Ha, ha.”

“Not funny.” She straightened her legs out.

“Probably not.” He walked a few steps closer to her. “But then, you don't have to be mean about it. Wouldn't kill you to smile,” he said.

Her frown deepened. “I'm not mean.”

“So what do you call it then?” He lifted his chin and grinned, a friendly challenge.

She shrugged. “I'm just ... careful.”

“Careful? I thought that was when you remembered to look both ways before crossing the street.” He walked closer to where she sat by the river. “But, hey, what do I know? You're the one with all the fancy schoolbooks.”

She glanced down at the book in her lap and shut it quickly. “A waste.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

She pushed the book toward him like she couldn't wait to be rid of it, but he thought he saw a bit of a smile. He picked it up and sat on a fallen tree a few feet from her rock. He was thumbing through it when he realized he had forgotten to ask where the twins really were, so he did.

“Their dad took them to breakfast.”

“Oh,” he paused. “So he's not your dad?”

She shook her head. “My father drowned.”

Wash winced. “No more drowning jokes from me. Sorry.”

“You didn't know.” Her fingers slid along her braid. “It happened before I was born. There was a flood. He was trying to save the house he was building for my mom and me, but he didn't know how to swim. The creek took him.”

“So Henry's a stepdad?”

She nodded. “My mother married Henry when I was little, but I never really knew him. We went back to live with my grandparents when she died.”

“Sorry to hear that, too,” he said.

She did not look at him but smoothed the sides of her dress and tucked the fabric around her thighs. She had a sweater, but it was too chilly out for the thin dress she had on. He thought about offering her his jacket to cover her legs, but he didn't want to let on that he'd been looking.

She watched the river and then closed her eyes again. Her eyelashes stood out dark against her cheek.

After a few long moments, he thumped the book with his fist and asked, “What do you think of all this?” When she looked, he pointed to a page with the Pythagorean theorem.

Her face reddened. “I don't. I mean, I try, but it doesn't really make sense to me. The teacher doesn't expect me to get it anyway.”

“How do you figure?”

She dragged a stick through the shallows of the river. “Teachers usually think Mexicans are too slow to bother with.”

“Come on, anybody can learn anything.”

“Maybe you. And the twins, of course. They're smart. Everyone says so, even people who think Mexicans are only good for shelling pecans and picking strawberries.”

Wash whistled. “Those two are quicker than the Holy Spirit on Judgment Day.”

She smiled at that. “Like you. I can tell by how you look at the books. And how you teach them things.”

He fingered the edge of the book. “I like doing things more. One of my uncles was a carpenter. I think that'd be good, spending my days with a hammer and a saw and a bit of sandpaper.” His hands curled a little, remembering the feel of his tools. “But that doesn't fly with my folks, especially my dad. ‘Education is the key to the advancement of the Negro' and ‘Be a credit to your race,'” Wash said, deepening his voice so the words came out like items from the Ten Commandments. “My ma's near as bad. Every move she makes is aimed at saving up a penny for my sister and me to go to college.”

“It must be nice. To have them believe in you like that. Your teachers too.”

“I guess,” he said. “I hadn't thought on it.”

“Our teachers in San Antonio hated teaching us, maybe hated us, too. The Mexican kids, I mean. In the high school, they gave us elementary school books, like we were stupid. Everything was either about being a good citizen or about ‘learning a trade.' But nothing useful. Like, we learned to make mattresses. But there's not a single mattress factory in San Antonio, so what was the point of that? And get your English wrong once, and you're on the teacher's bad side forever.”

Wash thought about that for a minute. “Mexican students, white teachers.”

“What's your school like?” she asked.

“Four classrooms, an outhouse, and a patch of packed dirt out front. Not much to look at. Or learn from. But the teachers work hard. Some students, too. I do what it takes to keep my pa off my back.

“You mind?” Wash asked now, pointing to the spot on the rock beside her. She didn't say no, so he moved closer.

“We could take a look at your math together. Or just keep talking. It's nice, hearing you talk.”

“Homework's good,” she said.

And that was how the lessons started.

 

NAOMI
Naomi felt her face warm as sun streamed through the leaves of the cottonwood tree above her. It was nearly noon, and the figures Wash had drawn with a stick in the damp dirt were now dry. Naomi had to admit that the angles and lines made some sense to her, at least more than when she was sitting in math class.

While Wash read aloud from her English book, she stared out at the river. At this spot, branches stretched all the way across the river to form a canopy. She remembered the green of a few weeks back, the kind of green made to announce the beauty of the sky behind it. Now the leaves were edged with brown. The breeze made them tremble, and some spiraled down and spun away in the currents of the river. She glanced over at Wash, who had stopped reading.

BOOK: Out of Darkness
12.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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