Lightning Song Page 5

  Swami Don said, “Has something happened to Hannah?”

  Hannah was Harris’s wife. Swami Don had once dated Hannah in high school and Harris took her away from him. Everybody knew this. Leroy had forgotten, but now he remembered.

  Elsie said, “Well, for heaven’s sake, Donald, can’t you at least say hello to your brother before you give him the third degree?”

  Swami Don said, “Oh. Well— Sure. Hi, Harris.”

  He pulled the red bandana out of his pocket and mopped his neck again.

  Elsie smiled her brightest smile.

  She said, “Okay, then! That’s better, you two!”

  This next part probably wasn’t true, but later on it was the way Leroy remembered it: in the memory, Uncle Harris now seemed to be wearing a wide-brimmed white straw hat and a white Panama suit with an open-collared shirt and a long red kerchief dangling from the suit’s jacket pocket. Leroy remembered that his Uncle Harris dipped a bright red cherry out of his lemonade, gave Elsie a big wink and a white smile, and popped that cherry into his wide-open mouth, yum yum yum.

  5

  Later on, after the sun went down, the fireflies appeared in the yard in numbers. The heatless light of their golden tails looked like peepholes in the darkness into a bright strange world. A sweet fragrance of insecticide wafted from the orchard, through the screens, to their nostrils. The hours passed. Leroy caught these glimpses of his old familiar world.

  Conversation settled down some as evening dropped over them. The hilarity subsided. The children were allowed to hang around longer than usual to visit with their uncle. The subject of Hannah came up again. Hannah was fine, just fine, Harris assured them, don’t you worry yourself about Hannah, he said. He apologized for his sudden appearance, right out of the blue, with no warning. “Sorry for dropping in like this, I should have called first, it was rude, I realize, I just thought, what the heck, it’s my brother for Pete’s sake, if you can’t drop in on your own brother, well, anyway, I hope it’s all right, hope I’m not intruding, I wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

  This was the quiet way they had begun to talk. Leroy liked this as much as the mad entrance. It seemed in some ways equally foreign to his customary evenings on this porch.

  Finally Harris got around to telling Swami Don and Elsie what he was really doing here, what had happened. He told them Hannah wanted a divorce.

  For a moment no one spoke. Leroy held his breath.

  Swami Don said, “A divorce?”

  No one had ever spoken of a divorce on this porch before. It was an odd thing to be thinking, but it was what came to Leroy’s mind. It thrilled him, in a way. The world had changed. He had been right.

  Elsie said, “Oh, you poor thing.”

  Leroy didn’t know whose face to watch.

  Harris had on his serious look now.

  “She kicked me out,” he said.

  His wife had kicked him out? It was like television. Leroy watched his mother nod seriously as if this were the kind of conversation she had every day. Later on Leroy would learn that what she was doing was “being supportive.” Right now Leroy knew she was as astounded as he was.

  Harris put his tanned face into his hands. He sobbed a little.

  “I wanted to be near family,” he said when he looked up. “For a night or two, at least.”

  “Of course,” Elsie said quickly.

  “You can understand that, can’t you, I hope you can, but hey, look, if I’m in the way, if this is any bother whatsoever, well—”

  Elsie said, “Oh Harris, of course—of course we understand. And no, of course not, no bother at all, don’t be silly, we wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re here. We’re family. Absolutely.”

  Swami Don bounced his withered hand in his good hand. A few seconds were allowed to pass. It was clear Elsie wanted him to chime in with some kind of agreement.

  In fact, she said, a little fiercely, “Chime right in, Donald, anytime you have something to offer.”

  Leroy might as well have been watching a tennis match, back and forth, he was dizzy as a witch.

  Swami Don said, “This is the first time you’ve ever come to see us.”

  Elsie gave him a look. Leroy almost said something but managed to stay quiet.

  Harris nodded. He said, “I’ve been remiss.”

  Elsie let out an exasperated sigh in order to change the subject. She got up out of her chair and sat back down again. She rocked as fiercely as she spoke.

  She said, “What is wrong with that woman?”

  Meaning Hannah, of course, Leroy realized.

  There was a long silence. Leroy paid careful attention.

  Swami Don said, “There’s nothing wrong with Hannah.”

  Elsie looked at her husband as if he were a stranger who had just walked up on the porch.

  Swami Don did not shrink from her black gaze, as normally he might have done.

  Harris seemed to know better than to let the remark about Hannah stay in the air long. He said, “Oh, absolutely, you’re absolutely right. Hannah is not at fault here, please don’t get me wrong, no sir, no siree, no way José, I’m not blaming Hannah, not anybody really, certainly not Hannah, blameless as the day is long, perfectly innocent, didn’t mean to imply otherwise, you know that, don’t you, you know I didn’t mean to say anything against Hannah, sweet as she is pretty, and smart, too, of course, she’s not seeing things too clearly right now, taking bad advice from well-intended friends maybe, but blame? Hannah? Me? Not a chance, not a snowball’s chance in aitch ee double-el, pardon my parly voo, no ma’am, uh-uh, let me set the record straight, it’s not anybody’s fault, not that good woman’s fault that she unfairly, unexpectedly, cruelly, and with no provocation whatsoever, save only vicious and unsubstantiated rumors and lies, kicked me out of my own house and gave my clothes to the Salvation Army and changed all the locks on the doors, no way. I’m not saying anything is anybody’s fault. Not at all. Not entirely. There are things I could have done differently, too, probably, I’m sure there were. There probably were things I could have, you know— Darn straight. I’m not blaming Hannah.”

  Elsie put her hand on Harris’s hand.

  She said, “And don’t blame yourself either, Harris. You’re too good a person for that. I hope you will believe that.”

  Leroy said, “Will you teach me to yodel?”

  He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He might as well say this. Nobody paid any attention to him anyway.

  Elsie withdrew her hand and sat back in her chair.

  Swami Don said, “But is Hannah all right? Does she know where you are? I mean, should you at least call and let her know where you are?”

  Leroy said, “You don’t hear a lot of yodelers. I was thinking I might take it up.”

  Everyone looked at him as if he had just walked in from another planet.

  Harris smiled. He said, “As a hobby?”

  Leroy said, “Right. You know.”

  “One of Captain Woody’s puppets can yodel,” Harris said. “I may have it out in the car.”

  “A yodeling puppet?”

  “Right.”

  “Wow.”

  Elsie said, “Let’s don’t rush him, Donald. Let’s just let Harris make all his own decisions, in his own time. Okay? Is that okay with you, Harris? Let’s let him teach Leroy to yodel first, okay? Is that a Swiss puppet, Harris? There used to be a yodeler on the “Grand Ole Opry” show, didn’t there? Well, I don’t guess he was Swiss, though. So, anyway, Harris doesn’t need anybody rushing him right now, do you. Okay, Donald? Isn’t that okay, not to rush him? Rushing is the last thing your sweet brother needs right now, what with yodeling lessons and all. Just tell me if I’m wrong. If I’m wrong, I’ll be the first to admit it.”

  Harris shrugged helplessly.

  He said, “She changed all the locks. On the doors.”

  Swami Don said, “You don’t need a door key to dial a telephone.”

  Elsie gave him a poisonous look.

  Leroy made a gargling noise in his throat. It was the closest he could come to a yodel.

  Harris wagged his head slowly, side to side.

  “I just don’t know,” he said. “I only wish I knew.”

  They sat for a long time in the silence of the deepening evening. A cool breeze blew through the screens. Heat lightning showed silent yellow reflections on faraway clouds. Leroy had started thinking about what to do if he got sent to bed.

  Harris made a puppet out of Molly’s rag doll. He gave Leroy that bright smile. He made the puppet talk in a comical voice. The puppet yodeled, “Hold the old man while I kiss the old-lady-oh!”

  6

  By the next morning Harris had moved into the attic and transformed the whole house, filled it with high spirits, flags, banners, might as well have been flying, circus horns, jugglers, and magicians. The days passed and were filled with laughter. Leroy had never laughed so much. His cheeks ached from laughing. Laughter was Uncle Harris’s constant companion. He had a wonderful laugh, too, Leroy realized, loud and sturdy but also childlike, high-pitched at times, almost a squeal. A strange musical instrument with bells and banjos seemed to be playing when Uncle Harris laughed, that was how rich Leroy found those refrains to be. No matter how corny the joke, how tall the tale, you couldn’t keep from laughing with Harris when he laughed that laugh of his. It was contagious, oh what a laugh it was. Leroy watched his daddy who almost never laughed. Sometimes he only stood with wide-open eyes, a scared little smile, but other times even Swami Don could not contain himself. Uncle Harris told a tale about a blue runner snake that chased a man down and hid in his asshole. Leroy’s eyes widened. “It’s in a blue runner’s nature,” Harris said, “to hide in a man’s asshole, ask anybody, look it up, it’s a
fact, it’s science, Leroy, the asshole aspect of the Mississippi blue runner.” Leroy thought he might actually faint. “Slithered right up in his asshole and nested down,” Uncle Harris said, and laughed that fine big rich laugh of his, and then everybody else laughed too, even Swami Don. Leroy knew this was a joke, but he believed it anyway. He whispered, “Yikes.” What health seemed to follow Harris wherever he went! Even the sad marital split that had sent Harris here became a part of the joking, the clothes in the street, new locks on the doors, the Salvation Army on the march, it was hilarious, all of it, how could anybody be so funny? Sadness scurried before Uncle Harris like geese before a child’s cane. Then Hannah disappeared from conversation, from memory, almost. Harris’s grief seemed to fade in the glittering presence of that laugh. People begged him to repeat their favorite stories, even little Molly.

  “Tell the blue snake in your asshole,” she pleaded.

  Elsie said, “Molly!”

  Harris said, “Not my asshole!”

  “Yes!” Molly shouted in joy.

  Harris told some stories that were supposed to be true. He claimed to have met John Dillinger, the famous outlaw. “I was just a baby,” he said. “So I don’t remember it well, but it’s the truth, the God’s truth, I’ve got a photograph around here somewhere to prove it if you don’t believe me, swear to God, cross my heart and hope to spit. John Dillinger, listen here, the famous outlaw held me in his arms, sure did. He had on a hat, I do remember that much.”

  Laurie said, “Did the blue runner catch John Dillinger?”

  “Nobody could catch John Dillinger,” Harris said seriously. “John Dillinger was uncatchable. You might as well forget about catching John Dillinger. Even the blue runners gave up on ever catching John Dillinger. Here’s a fact few people know about, historical fact, I’m glad to share it with you. John Dillinger had the only snake-free asshole in Mississippi for many years.”

  Elsie said, “Harris!”

  His laughter was like banjo music.

  “Oh, you!”

  Every day was a party. You couldn’t keep from enjoying yourself. Evenings Harris held “grog rations.” This was what he called cocktail hour. It was a nautical term he had picked up from his foster daddy, Captain Woody, he told Leroy. The fact that there was alcohol in any form in Leroy’s daddy’s house made Leroy’s head spin. Literally he felt quite dizzy the first few times he realized grog rations was becoming a regular element of the daily party, and the true amazement was that nobody really objected. Was this really his own house? Had he been transported somehow, taken to another world?

  Each day Uncle Harris brought forth some new alcoholic concoction. Each day the new drink was introduced dramatically. Sometimes he covered the drink tray with a clean white cloth that he whipped away at the last moment, as if he were a magician revealing a hidden rabbit or flight of doves. Always there was laughter. Frosted glasses sparkled, ice cubes clinked. Even Swami Don looked forward to what the day’s alcoholic confection might be, so much color it brought through their doors, so much romance, Elsie would have insisted. Of course no one but Harris ever tasted the alcohol, no one else in the house drank, and he made no demands. No one was expected to drink if they didn’t want to, only to enjoy the party. Leroy was fascinated, but for this bit of permanence he felt grateful. The fact that nobody in the Dearman household drank alcohol was one thing he felt he could hold on to. In this way the world still turned on its axis, the sun still rose in the east, set in the west.

  Still, the party never seemed to end. Harris produced cocktail shakers and little paper umbrellas, cherries, sprigs of mint, even a hollowed-out pineapple, whatever was necessary. He bought a blender. He crushed ice to a fare-thee-well. Brandy alexanders, stingers, rusty nails, piña coladas, banana daiquiries—these were the new words Leroy and the girls added to their vocabulary, along with Elsie and Swami Don. Harris was no boozer, he was not a hard drinker. Life was a party, that was all, a big fat wonderful party with Harris on board, man you couldn’t beat it, life was good, you better believe it was. Nutmeg and citrus rinds and a fragrance of coconut and tropical fruits. Grog rations was as good as love, some days it seemed that way to Leroy, to Elsie, too, maybe to Elsie more than to anyone.

  “Grog rations!” Harris would sing out at the same hour each evening.

  Always he spoke in a funny voice that was supposed to sound like Popeye the Sailor Man. He would squint one eye hard and wrinkle his face in a Popeye sort of way. He had a stubby corncob pipe and a billed cap that made everybody laugh.

  Leroy’s mama would literally squeal with delight.

  Harris would whistle a tune, which might sound a little like a bos’n’s pipe, or sometimes he would sing a bit of a song that he called a sea chantey. Elsie and the children learned some of the words and sang along with him.

  “I yam that I yam!” he would mug, and everyone would laugh again.

  Elsie didn’t drink the alcohol, but she was always a part of Harris’s party. She piped nautical tunes right along with him. She was always as gay as he was. He never made a drink for himself that he did not make a nonalcoholic version for her. She sipped through straws, she allowed whipped cream to stay on her lip as a moustache until Harris wiped it away with a comical sweep of a napkin. Leroy kept an eye on all this. She said, “Eek!” when bubbles went up her nose. Eek became her favorite word. Leroy wished she would stop saying eek so much. She acted tipsy, just for fun. She put a paper umbrella behind her ear, or two cherries in her eyes, or pretended orange slices were earrings, and giggled at the smallest joke. She was positively girlish in Harris’s presence, or anyway at grog time. Harris said, “Party girl!” No words could have delighted Elsie Dearman more, Leroy could read this in her face.

  Swami Don joined in, in his way. He was more reserved than Elsie—always he was—and yet he was not left out. He loved Elsie’s laughter. Leroy watched his daddy watch his mama and thought this must be the meaning of love. That was the main thing for Swami Don, Leroy could tell, he loved to see Elsie happy. He drank a Coke sometimes, just to join in; he raised his glass for Harris’s silly toasts. He didn’t drink the nonalcoholic version of his brother’s drinks, though. He only said, “Aw, no, no thanks, I don’t think so.” He didn’t say why. Maybe he didn’t know. Once Laurie picked up one of Elsie’s drinks and was ready to take a sip and he took it firmly from her and set it down. No one mentioned it, not even Laurie. What Swami Don really seemed to like, though, even more than grog rations, was the time he now spent each day with his younger brother, with Leroy’s Uncle Harris. Leroy watched his daddy, saw him in a new way. He wondered what it was like to have a brother. He wished he had a brother. What was he saying? He didn’t want a damn brother. Often Swami Don and Harris spoke quietly at night, out on the porch. They recalled living together in the hills, before the family broke up. They remembered an owl they saw once, in the moonlight. They recalled a Pentecostal minister who wore an Indian warbonnet. They talked about their Old Mammy’s death, the gunshot that crippled Swami Don.

  Leroy lay beneath a soft quilt on the porch glider in the cool of the evening and listened to their quiet talk.

  Swami Don said, “You sure had a way with the girls.”

  Harris said, “I felt guilty for having two good arms.”

  He said, “You could have used four!”

  Leroy could hear the laughter.

  Later, when his mama came in to say good night, Leroy said, “Tell me the story,” and Elsie said, “Oh, honey, no, not tonight, not that old story.”

  7

  Leroy’s Uncle Harris was a wonder to behold, Leroy couldn’t take his eyes off him. One morning he was dressed in a brightly flowered Hawaiian shirt and white duck pants and deck shoes, and the next morning in khaki safari shorts and belted bush jacket and pith helmet. Another day he wore tennis whites; another the white Panama suit and straw hat; another a Nehru jacket and beret and double-knit bell-bottoms. Each day was a fashion statement of some demented sort. Where did all these clothes come from? How had he smuggled them into the house? Had he somehow fitted them all into his carpetbag? It was not possible. He was like Ginger and Mrs. Howell on the “Gilligan’s Island” reruns. Was this the way all divorced men dressed? This seemed impossible as well. Leroy remembered that Hannah had thrown away all of Uncle Harris’s clothes, given them to the poor. He had been cast out, naked and homeless, he had been desperate. Was this the wardrobe a man with no clothes comes up with on short notice? Did he shop each day when he went out on his rounds away from the farm, at junk stores, used-clothing places, such as Leroy had noticed, places with names like Second Hand Rose and Twice Told Tales?