Mississippi: Early Spring, 1936

he pudgy tow-headed boy tugged at the hem of his mother's dress.

"Mama," he whined. "Now!"

"Shut up, Lucas Joe!" The woman blushed faintly. "I'll be there in a minute. Go out back and wait for me."

"Okay Mama. Don't forget." The four-year-old walked down the hallway. His busy mouth gnawed sausage fat fingers. He wasn't hungry, but boredom made him think he was. He hated it when his mother had her women friends over and he was no longer the center of attention.

At the end of the narrow hallway he went in the small back bedroom and climbed onto the bed, not bothering to remove his shoes. His left hand picked at the French knots on his grandmother's crazy quilt. His right scratched a mosquito bite on his leg until it bled. Noticing the bright red color, he dipped a pinky in the liquid and tasted it. He grimaced at its metallic tang.

Genevieve willed herself not to watch him walk out of the room. She squeezed her legs tightly together in an effort to quiet the slow throbbing that began as soon as the boy tugged on her skirt. Making up some pretext about the boy feeling ill earlier, she excused herself from her company. With measured steps she followed her son down the dim passage. She clutched at the bedroom's doorframe a moment before she entered the room. Clumsily, Genevieve loosened her dress after locking the door. In her haste a button popped off and landed on the floor, rolling underneath a doily-covered bureau.

"Damnation!" She muttered. Not bothering to look for the button, she shrugged the dress over her head and hung it haphazardly on a wire hangar. She peeled the white cotton slip from her damp torso and it landed in a heap upon the well-scrubbed wooden floor. Clad only in her shoes, stockings, panties, bra, and girdle, she sat on the bed. Rivulets of sweat rolled off her face, down her neck, and between her breasts.

"Mama, now!" The child was insistent.

"Hush, Lucas Joe!" The woman's voice shook. "Help Mama unfasten."

With practiced fingers, the boy with chewed-off nails unhooked the offending garment. Bouncing the bed in anticipation, the boy pushed his mother back on the pillows. Pawing her, he tore off her bra and clamped his mouth upon her hardened left nipple. As he suckled he mindlessly fondled her other breast.

Heat enveloped Genevieve. A sharp bite from her son caused her back to arch and her breathing became shallow. An orgasm engulfed her, but she did not know a name for the sensation. She did not relate it to sex at all.

Sex was what Guthel had subjected her to on only four occasions. It was degrading, boring, and painful. She cursed him on their honeymoon and swore he would not touch her again. Lucas Joe's conception occurred while she was passed out drunk. Even Guthel did not remember that event. He didn't remember marrying Genevieve.

 

ehind the slightly shabby farmhouse, Guthel and the other men took long pulls from the jar of moonshine being passed among them. Fluidly, Guthel took a wooden match from his front shirt pocket, drew it across his callused thumb, the nail sparking the flame with which he lit the cigarette hanging from his lower lip. Without bothering to put out the fire, he flicked the match up in the air. He watched its arced flight and the man holding the moonshine skittered out of its path.

"Damn it, Guthel! You son of a bitch! You tryin' to kill me or somethin'?"

"Course not, Clyde. That shine'll do it quicker'n I can." Guthel smiled as he spoke. It was a slow smile, but genuine. He was a gentle, charismatic man. No one stayed angry with Guthel for anything very long. The exception, of course, was Genevieve.

 

enevieve?" A knock sounded on the bedroom door. "Did you know you locked this door? Is the boy bad sick? Genevieve?"

Shoving the boy off of her, Genevieve, somewhat out of breath, managed to answer her neighbor.

"He's not doing as well as I'd like him to be. I'll be out in a minute."

"Mama," the boy whined.

"Lucas Joe, you be quiet," Genevieve hissed. "Help Mama get her clothes back on."

She was shaken, but the red of her cheeks belied the state of her nerves. The color suited her. It made her almost pretty.

Genevieve was a striking woman. Her hair was a deep reddish brown and her eyes were so dark they were often described as being black. Her excellent figure was fully developed by the time she was thirteen. She liked to wear pretty clothes and being attractive, but she became enraged if anyone tried to touch her. Her son was the only exception.

A sullen Lucas Joe helped his mother gather her bits and pieces. He even managed to find the button lost in the haste of her disrobing. His brow furrowed and his bottom lip protruded in its perpetual pout.

"Genevieve? Do I need to call the doctor?"

"No Tildy. The boy's all right. He just wanted some of his mama's attention. Too many folks and all." Genevieve's fingers fumbled with the buttons on her dress. Finally getting most of them fastened, she came to the place missing the button. Thinking quickly, she found a pincushion with a threaded needle in it. She grabbed the loose button out of Lucas Joe's hand and walked across the room. After counting to ten slowly, she unlocked the bedroom door. Relieved to find no one waiting just outside, she turned to speak to her son.

"Lucas Joe, you stay back here a while. Mama will fetch you a tall glass of lemonade and some of that cake Miss Tildy brought over."

"Is it chocolate?"

"Would your mama bring you any other kind? Of course it is. Now you lie down for a few minutes and I'll be back before you know it."

"Yes'm." The boy lay on his back and looked at the ceiling. He imagined faces looking out of the cracks in the paint. One face seemed to laugh at him, so he stuck his tongue out at it and rolled over onto his side. Feeling the familiar tickle of heat rash, he stuck his hand in his shorts and fondled himself to quiet the itching. He wished his mother would hurry up with his cake. He wanted to go outside with the men.

 

ou goin' to town in the mornin', Guthel?" Willard Johnson squinted his eyes into slits. His wife was one of Genevieve's closest friends. Guthel didn't care for Willard much, but he tried to be civil to everyone.

"Wasn't planning on it. The government man won't be there 'til Thursday next."

"Well, I'll be down at the courthouse myself," Willard said. "Me and the boys have some business to take care of."

"What kind of business you got to take care of Willard? You're not fixin' to be deputized are you?" Guthel kept a straight face.

"Hell no! He'd have to turn himself in for makin' shine!" Clyde laughed.

Everybody knew Willard had stills scattered over this county and the next. All the men had helped him distribute, and drink, his wares before the repeal of Prohibition. Even Guthel used to carry Willard's shine out to Brandywine Island on hunting and fishing treks to trade with smugglers on the Mississippi. He'd been living right well for a guide. He even had money put by. But then came that wild night when he and Genevieve met and got married in the next state by an all-night J.P. Guthel felt he had to buy his new wife a house and get some land to farm.

Genevieve hated the farm. She'd grown up on one. Her daddy was a farmer. Once he started teaching at the Ag school though, things changed. She got wild then. She danced to Jazz music and drank most men under the table. Guthel was the first man she met who could match her drink for drink. It's why she married him.

Guthel dropped his cigarette butt on the ground and immediately rolled a new one and lit it. He'd started smoking when he was seven and didn't ever plan on quitting. He inhaled deeply and savored the fresh smoke.

"Daddy! Hey Daddy!" Lucas Joe came running out of the house. His face was half covered with chocolate icing. "Can I get a puppy? Can I? Miz Johnson says I can pick one out in the morning. Can I?"

"A puppy. Well I reckon so." Guthel grinned at his boy. "We'll have to build a doghouse. That means we'll have to go to town to the hardware store and get some paint and nails."

"Can we get red paint? I want my dog to have a red house." Lucas Joe clapped his hands with excitement.

"Now who's this li'l nigger boy, Guthel?" Willard smiled wryly. "He's surely not your boy. You been keepin' company over to Shacktown?"

"I ain't a nigger!" Lucas Joe's face reddened and his eyes shot sparks. "I'm whiter than you are Willard Johnson! I heard my mama say so!"

All the men but Willard chuckled.

"Lucas Joe, you are a sight with all that icing on your face. You'd best go wash up over at the pump before your mama lays eyes on you. She'll have your hide if her company sees you like that." Guthel, knowing Willard's temper, shooed his son along. "You lit him up somethin' good there, Willard. He's too young to be hearing such talk."

"They ain't never too young to learn they're better 'n niggers." Willard looked intently at the group of men. "You make sure that boy of yours is with you in the morning, Guthel. We'll show him what a nigger is."

The gathering broke up soon after Willard's comments.

 

he next morning Guthel decided to get an early start into town. He wanted to get in and out of the hardware store before Willard and his crew came around.

The hardware store was on a corner of the town's main square. Lucas Joe loved to go in the back and sit by the woodstove and listen to the old men swap fishing and hunting lies. That day, however, he was impatient.

"Come on Daddy. Let's go home and build the doghouse. I want to get my puppy today!"

"All right, boy! Leave off now. I've got to order some things for the farm from Mr. Wilson. Take that can of paint to the truck and I'll be right out." Guthel tried to sound stern, but he didn't fool anybody in hearing distance. The whole county knew how much Lucas Joe's parents doted on the bright little boy.

Picking up the paint can with both hands, Lucas Joe hobbled awkwardly to the store's front door. An entering customer held it open for him and he crossed the threshold in a rush. He dropped the paint can onto the curb in front of the store window and sat beside it. Feigning exhaustion for anyone who might be looking in his direction, the little ham produced a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow. Shaking the handkerchief out, he folded it neatly. Seeing he had no audience, he sighed and shoved the hankie haphazardly back into his pocket.

He watched as people did their town errands. Some folks went into the general store and others into the post office. A few stopped in at the Copper Kettle Café for a cup of coffee, a doughnut, and some gossip.

Lucas Joe tapped his foot impatiently while he waited for his father. After several minutes he observed Willard Johnson's faded blue truck pull up to the square and park. Willard and two men got out. They wore long white robes and pulled hoods over their heads as two other trucks full of hooded men pulled up. A few of the disembarking passengers carried shotguns and two began stringing a rope onto an iron lamppost in front of the courthouse. Several men went inside and emerged dragging a black man in shackles. The robed men hauled the man to the sidewalk and shoved him down on his knees. One ghoul held a piece of paper and read something aloud ceremoniously.

Across the street, Lucas Joe carefully balanced on top of the paint can to watch. When the man reading was finished, the boy saw another one point a gun at the kneeling man and shoot him in the chest knocking him flat to the ground. Then the robed men lifted their victim up, placed a noose around his neck and hanged him from the lamppost. After that they got in their trucks and sped off, leaving the body swinging. The entire event took less than five minutes.

Having heard the shot, Guthel and several other people rushed out of the hardware store. Grabbing up Lucas Joe, Guthel shoved the boy into the farm truck. Barely remembering to pick up the quart of red paint, Guthel climbed in the truck and headed back home.

"Daddy, why did those men wear such funny clothes? What did they do to that man? Did they kill him? Why? What did he do? He looked like Miz Ruby's nephew. Was he? Did they really shoot him?" The boy's questions rang in his father's head.

Guthel tried to explain away what the boy saw, but he knew he was doing a poor job of it. He had no idea how to explain the lynch mob and why they killed a defenseless man. Finally he distracted the boy by mentioning puppies and Lucas Joe spent the rest of their journey thinking up names.

Once home, Guthel and the boy spent the afternoon building a doghouse and painting it fire engine red. Lucas Joe went to bed immediately after supper, exhausted after his unusual day. Before he fell asleep, he heard his parents talking.

"Why did you take the boy with you? You knew Willard and them were up to no good. Whatever possessed you?"

"Genevieve, I know I ought to have left him at home, but I figured we'd be in and out of town before those boys showed up. He wanted to pick out the paint himself. He was right far away from what was going on. He didn't see too much."

"What happened anyway? Tildy called and said there was trouble, but she didn't know any more. Did it have to do with Miz Ruby's nephew? The one that raped that café waitress?"

"They never proved that, Genevieve. You know Miz Ruby raised that boy good. Hell, I don't think that boy would know what to do with a woman if he had one. That girl is trash and everybody knows it."

"Never mind that. Did they shoot him or just string him up?"

"Both." Guthel was despondent. "Willard and his crew wore their whole get-up. Looked like a bunch of ghosts going after one lone nigger." Guthel shivered involuntarily.

Lucas Joe listened to his parents talk from his room. His daddy was right; those men in robes did look like ghosts. Then he shivered and pulled his covers over his head.

 

he next morning Guthel carried Lucas Joe over to the Johnsons' house to pick out a puppy. Guthel was relieved to find Willard away. Lucas Joe ran straight to the dog pen.

"Willard's lyin' low for a while Guthel. He'll probably set up some new stills while he's gone." Mrs. Johnson looked worn out. "Now then Lucas Joe, pick out your puppy. I'm gonna have to drown whichever one you don't pick. We got too many critters around here now."

The puppies crawled all over the excited little boy. One was black, the other white.

"Drown! Why you can't do that! Can I have 'em both Daddy? I can't decide one over the other. Please?" Lucas Joe looked at his father imploringly.

"I can hear your mama hollering now, but I don't see why not. Ask Miz Johnson if it's fine with her."

"Can I take 'em both Miz Johnson? The doghouse is big enough. Please?"

Mrs. Johnson readily agreed and Lucas Joe and the puppies rode home in the back of the truck.

His mother didn't raise much of a fuss when she saw how happy the puppies made Lucas Joe.

"What are you going to call them?" Genevieve smiled as she watched the puppies licking her son's face. She was relieved to see he wasn't adversely affected by the previous day's events.

Lucas Joe thought a moment, his brow wrinkled in great concentration. Then,
with a slow smile very like his father's, he said, "Nigger and Ghost."

 

[END]

© Virginia Lee 2002