Chapter 16 reading ALBD

I WAS WALKING around the schoolyard with my ruler when I saw my aunt, Reverend Ambrose,

and Miss Emma come back down the quarter after seeing Jefferson. The car stopped in front of

Miss Emma’s house, and the three of them got out and went into the yard. Reverend Ambrose

looked over his shoulder toward the church, but the picket fence kept him from seeing me. After

they had gone inside the house, I continued around the schoolyard, slapping my leg with the

ruler. It was a quarter to three, nearly time to dismiss the children for the day. I reentered the

church through the front door. Irene Cole and another girl and a boy stood at one of the

blackboards. We had discussed our Christmas program, and now they were writing down

names of the students who would bring the Christmas tree as well as those who would decorate

it. I went to my desk and tapped my ruler for attention. “It’s about time to go home. Any

questions before we dismiss? Irene?” “No, sir,” she said, from the blackboard. “Marshall and

Clarence and Aleck are getting the tree. Shirley, Odessa, and I will see that it’s decorated. Mr.

Joseph’s got some lint cotton in his crib. And we can get some crepe paper from Miss Eloise.

She said she had a lot left over from making the Mardi Gras hats.” “What about the tree,

Clarence?” “Guess we’ll just go back in the pasture and get one like we did last year.” He

grinned. “Do you think you might be able to find a little pine tree this time?” “We’ll try,” he said,

and laughed to himself. The year before, the boys had brought in a small oak tree. They had

dragged it through the mud all the way from the pasture, and by the time it got to the school, it

had lost many of its leaves. The girls who were to decorate the tree had to wash it clean before

putting on the lint cotton and crepe paper. It turned out to be a beautiful Christmas tree. “One

other thing before we dismiss class. I want you all to remember one person during this

Christmas season. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you who I’m thinking about. If there are no

other questions, you may collect your things and leave. And I don’t want to hear any noise out

there in the quarter. Class dismissed.” After they had gone, I sat down at the table, looking over
the test I had given the sixth graders in geography. The assignment was to draw a map of

Louisiana and write in the names of the parishes in their appropriate places. After about five

minutes, I heard footsteps entering the church, then saw that one of the boys had stopped

halfway down the aisle. I knew what he was going to tell me. “Miss Emma say on your way

home, stop by.” I nodded my head, and he left, walking slowly until he got to the door, then he

burst out running. I gathered up all my papers, and after closing and locking the back door, I

went out through the front. Miss Emma’s house was only a short distance down the quarter.

They were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee when I came in. “Some coffee?” Miss

Emma asked me. “No, ma’am. Thomas said you wanted to see me.” “Sit down, Grant,” she

said. I could tell by the way she said it and by the silence of my aunt and Reverend Ambrose

that things had not gone well at the jail. I pulled out a chair and sat down, facing Miss Emma.

My aunt and Reverend Ambrose sat opposite each other. “You didn’t tell me the truth the other

day, did you?” Miss Emma said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Emma.” “When

you come back from seeing him.” “Sure, I told you the truth,” I said. “No.” She shook her head,

pressing her lips tight as she looked across the table at me. “He didn’t like the food. He didn’t

ask about me.” “He did last Friday.” “No,” she said, and shook her head again. “’Cause I had to

hit him today.” She stared at me, her lips pressed tight, and she lowered her head. Reverend

Ambrose reached out and touched one of her arms as he said, “Sister Emma, Sister Emma.”

My aunt put her hand on the other arm and looked at me. A couple of days later, Miss Eloise

came up to the house, and from my room I could hear my aunt telling her what had happened.

Jefferson was asleep or pretended to be asleep when they got to the cell. The deputy rattled the

big keys against the bars and called Jefferson’s name before opening the door. After they had

gone inside, the deputy locked the door and told them that he would be back within the hour.

They could call if they wanted to leave earlier. Jefferson lay on the bunk with his back to them,

and there was no place for them to sit. Miss Emma managed to get a small place to sit by

pushing him gently closer to the wall. She passed her hand over his head and his shoulder
while she whispered his name. “Ain’t you go’n speak to me?” she said. “Ain’t you go’n speak to

your company?” Finally, he turned, looking in their direction. He wasn’t seeing them, my aunt

told Miss Eloise. He acted as though they were not even in the room. His eyes were a total

blank, my aunt said. “Just blank, blank,” was how she said it. “I brought you some food,” Miss

Emma told him. “I bought you a shirt too, a pretty shirt. You want to see it?” She took a polo

shirt from the paper bag and spread it out with both hands. But he showed no sign of seeing the

shirt, or even of hearing Miss Emma. Reverend Ambrose went up to the bunk and said to him,

“Young man, I pray for you every night, and I know the Lord is hearing my prayers. Put all your

faith in Him, and He’ll bring you through.” That touched something in him. He looked up at the

reverend, and for a moment it seemed that he would say something, something cruel, mean, my

aunt said. She said that standing back, looking at him, she could see his hate for Reverend

Ambrose. Miss Emma put the shirt back into the bag and opened the basket with the food.

“Come on, eat something for me,” she said. “I brought all the best things you like.” “You brought

corn?” his voice said. Not him, my aunt said, just the voice. He didn’t show a thing in his face.

His eyes were blank, blank, my aunt said. “Corn?” Miss Emma asked. He didn’t answer her.

“Roast nyers?” He looked at her, but he didn’t answer. And his eyes were just blank—blank,

blank, my aunt said. He could have been looking at the wall or the floor, for all the recognition

he showed her. “This ain’t roast nyers season, Jefferson,” Miss Emma told him. “That’s in the

spring. This November. Roast nyers all over now.” He didn’t look at her with hate, as he had the

reverend, but there was no pity either, my aunt said. He didn’t show any feeling at all. “Corn for

a hog,” he said. “Corn for a hog? A hog, Jefferson? You ain’t no hog, Jefferson. You ain’t no

hog.” “Th’ow something,” he said. “I’ll never th’ow you nothing, Jefferson,” Miss Emma said.

“You th’ow a bone to a dog. Slop to a hog. You ain’t no hog.” “That’s all I’m is,” he said. He

turned away from her. “I didn’t ask to be born.” “Jefferson?” Miss Emma said. “Jefferson?” He

wouldn’t answer her. And she used all her great bulk to pull him over. “You ain’t no hog, you

hear me? You ain’t no hog.” “That’s all I’m is,” he said. “Fattening up to—” She slapped him.
Then she fell upon him and cried, my aunt told Miss Eloise. My aunt and Reverend Ambrose

went to the bunk and tried to pull her away, but she was still slumped over him when the deputy

came back to let them go. At her kitchen table now, as I sat there, Miss Emma looked at my

aunt. “What I done done, Lou?” she asked. “What I done done? What I done done my Master to

deserve this?” My aunt saw that she was going to cry, and she stood up and put her arm around

her shoulders. “Em-ma,” she said. “Em-ma. The Lord is merciful.” “What I done done?” She

was shaking her head and crying now. “What I done done my Master?” “Have patience,” my

aunt said, patting her on the shoulder. “The Lord is merciful.” “What I done done,” she cried, “to

make my Master hate me so?” “The Lord don’t hate you, Sister Emma,” Reverend Ambrose

said, touching her on the arm. “The Lord is with you this moment. He is only testing you.” Miss

Emma looked up at me. The tears were still rolling down her face. “Go back,” she said. “Why,

Miss Emma?” “’Cause somebody go’n do something for me ’fore I die.” “Why me?” “’Cause you

the teacher,” my aunt said. I got up from the table. “And where you think you going?” Tante Lou

asked me. “I don’t know,” I said. “But I’ll go crazy if I stay here, that’s for sure.” “You going back

up there, Grant.” “What for?” I said. “What for, Tante Lou? He treated me the same way he

treated her. He wants me to feel guilty, just as he wants her to feel guilty. Well, I’m not feeling

guilty, Tante Lou. I didn’t put him there. I do everything I know how to do to keep people like him

from going there. He’s not going to make me feel guilty.” “You going back,” she said. “You ain’t

going to run away from this, Grant.” “Tante Lou,” I said. I wanted to take her face in my hands. I

wanted to hold her gently, gently, because anger and screaming were not working. Maybe

gentleness would work better. Maybe feeling my hands on her face would make her understand

what I was trying to say to her. But as I moved toward her, I could see in her eyes that nothing I

said was going to change anything. I left them at the table and went back home to my room.