10 minute read
Belle’s Boy 04
April 2, 1968
“Mama?”
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JULIA MALLORY
April 3, 1968
Ma Belle knew he was gone soon as she saw the detectives on her front stoop. Zeke left the collards in the garden to they own business when he saw them walk up. A dying bee threw its body into him yesterday and he knew it wasn’t a good sign. Now the sign flashed furiously in front of his door. Ma Belle couldn’t move. Her wide eyes tried to find a cloud to land on or a bird to move her mind from the shock that locked her body in place.
“Hank Hall’s body was pulled from the Ohio River this morning near McKees Rocks,” they repeated.
Zeke’s heart slid to his stomach. He felt Ma Belle move against his side. She needed to be off her feet. The detective on the left reached into his baggy olive-green suit pocket and handed Zeke a card.
“If you can’t get a hold of me, someone at the precinct can assist you. The coroner will need his next of kin to go down and identify the body as soon as possible.”
Zeke placed a hand on each side of Ma Belle’s arms as he guided her inside.
“Zeke?” She asked like he might not answer. Like she needed a witness for what she could only say untitled Artist: saronda v. Plate 6 once.
“My boy’s gone.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
He never heard someone cry so hard without sound. Her body moved like it was caught in an undertow. It tossed her until she shook herself slack in his arms as he anchored his feet on the deep wood floorboards.
“Somebody needs to get a hold of Big Ma,” Ma Belle said. Her voice, flat and clear, like it was coming from outside of her body.
Zeke had thought about it but was too focused on her.
“Do you want to lie down? I think you should rest some.”
She couldn’t understand why he was telling her to rest in the middle of the day like she ain’t have nothing to do. His tenderness made her wail.
April 4, 1968
“Belle, I think it’s time we get a hold of somebody at the precinct. You want me to call Detective Petroski?”
Zeke was holding the business card, rubbing his thumb over the bent edges. Belle was in the bed with her back to him.
“Isabelle, baby, you gotta eat something.” Big Ma was standing in the doorway with a tray of food.
“Zeke, y’all call them people yet?”
“No ma’am. I just asked her if she was up to it.”
“Don’t talk over my head. Her can hear just fine.”
“I’m sorry, Belle. Ain’t mean nuthin by it.”
“No. I need to go. They need to know my baby belonged to somebody.” *
Big Ma was people-watching on the bus and inching her heels back in her shoes. She tried to buy some space to keep the leather from rubbing against the top of her tender toes. She rocked in her seat to raise her body in preparation for exit.
“Mike Taylor is who we needed!” Lenny, the bus driver was trading sports talk with another passenger as he glanced in the mirror to see who had requested a stop.
“You have a good evening Ms. Sarah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Lenny nodded in Big Ma’s direction. “Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.”
“I know that’s right.” The football talking passenger chimed in.
“You be easy, Lenny.” Big Ma smiled at Lenny’s sincerity as she turned sideways and slowly eased her body down the steps while holding the handrail.
She was about three blocks from home when a boy who couldn’t be no more than 12 almost knocked her over.
“Chile, what got you in such a hurry that you ‘bout to knock an old woman down to her death?!”
“Sorry, ma’am! Aint’ you heard? King’s dead.”
April 5, 1968
Ma Belle had been dialing the precinct’s number so much that day, she could do it with her eyes closed. A few neighbors managed to bring a dish or two, then all they wanted to talk about was King. And poor Coretta with all those babies to raise by herself.
Coralee was the only one that seemeed to remember how Big Big Ma and Ma Belle took in folks and fed them. Or took in extra wash when a husband overplayed his hand in the gambling house. How Zeke kept them babies full, delivering fresh food from his garden. He never took credit, but they all knew it was him. They couldn’t fix her broken heart, but their kindness was supposed to fill in the cracks. It’s what they did for each other. Now their absence had her wondering why she didn’t deserve her share of tending to.
“Zeke, try that line one more time.”
“I’m still getting the busy signal.”
Coralee ran through the front door.
“The Shine Parlor is on fire!” King had said that riots were the
In an anti-black world, what is justice? What does it look and feel like to you?
language of the unheard. Seem like they had heard Black folk but wasn’t nobody listening.
April 1, 1968
“They say you Artie’s muscle. Just make sure you not being used, son.” It sounded like Ma Belle was asking Hank a question, full of worry and warning.
“Ma, Artie raise hell to these white folks and they can’t stand him for it. He making sure us in the union are paid fairly.” Hank’s passion propelled him to his feet.
“Mmm, hmm.”
“I know you read the paper, Ma. When they ask Artie how they should pay for our increase. He told ‘em ‘Soak the rich!’”
Ma Belle repeated the lines. Quietly at first. Then proudly. “That’s alright. Soak the rich. You just be careful, Hank.”
“Ma, these people won’t let me forget my mistakes. I was a child, running around acting like I wasn’t raised right. I paid my debt. If they think my past can keep me from fighting, they got another thing coming. I’m a man, Ma. You see what they doing down in Memphis. We on the right side of this fight!”
September 27, 1948
Big Ma looked around the empty house and out the front windows towards the lawn. She had her eyes on everyone except, Isabelle.
“Isabelle! C’mon, girl. It’s time to hit this road, lest we miss this train.”
Isabelle walked towards Big Ma, wearing her widow’s black. Big Ma had tried to talk her into something with more color to signify the new beginnings waiting for them in Pittsburgh. Isabelle caught the end of her mother’s disapproving look.
“Ma, it ain’t been but three months since Lou been gone. I know you was wearing that widow’s veil for at least six months when daddy died.”
“Belle, that ain’t the point. I didn’t get a fresh start like you getting. Wasn’t no leaving behind my sorrow. I was sleeping in the bed with it. Packing yours up and taking it north feel like a choice to me.”
May 17, 1949
“How I look, Ma?” Isabelle held out the hem of her dress and twirled for her mother’s approval.
“If I ain’t know no better, I’d say you was tryna hook ‘em and hook ‘em, hard!”
“Ma!”
“You look mighty fine. Where you and Coralee off to tonight?”
“We’re going to that new spot down on Wylie.”
Coralee yelled up the stairs.
“Belle! Girl you betta come on before ain’t no more seats left.”
“Cora, ain’t nobody going out to sit. Imma be dancing all night.”
She was wondering if Zeke would be there while wanting him not to be. Isabelle, how you holding one hand open and closed at the same time, she smiled as she moved down the stairs.
“Whatchu smilin’ ‘bout?”
Coralee was peering over her cat-eyeglasses at Belle.
“What?”
“You heard me. Betcha you thinking ‘bout Zeke ain’t you?”
“Girl! Hush!”
“You just worry about if yo’ seat gon’ be occupied. I heard Audre’s lap is the best one in the house.”
“BELLE!”
“Don’t Belle me. C’mon before I leave you here.”
Coralee loved her spirited friend. Some days she couldn’t believe she was the same sad woman wearing black all the time who would forget to comb her hair for days on end. Then one day, just like that, she was different. Soon after, she started wearing a big, neat bun on top of her head. Rumor was, she kept a blade buried there for folk looking to play her for a backwoods country girl.
Of course, Zeke was at the cabaret. Flashing that big smile and ignoring all the eyes trying to catch his. He gave Belle a chance to settle in before asking her to dance. Just as they found the right rhythm, the music slowed to a creep and Zeke was singing along in her ear:
“…wishing you could feel what’s in my heart.”
Belle needed to leave the dance floor before Zeke opened her too wide.
“Sorry, Zeke. I gotta go find Cora.”
“Cora don’t need you watching her.”
“I ain’t said that. I need her watching me.”
Zeke kept his eyes on Belle all night. He gave her space but wasn’t ready to quit trying. He noticed they were getting ready to leave.
“Can I give you ladies a ride home?”
“Say yes, Belle. My feet hurt.”
Cora pleaded with her friend.
“You not gon’ let your friend suffer are you?”
“I can’t tell who would suffer more, you or her!”
After Cora went inside, Zeke moved in his seat to face Belle.
“Belle, I’m a good man. I mind my business and take care of it, just the same. Don’t you ever get lonely?”
“How Imma be lonely with my child and my mama close by?”
“Belle. You know what I mean. Lonely. Like the type that only a man can see about. Cuz, I get lonely. Then I see you and just the thought of you make me feel like I’m being hugged tight.”
“Since Lou passed, I try not to feel that feeling. Don’t seem to make much sense to me. Wanting after something you know you can’t have.”
“But what if you could have it? When Rosie died, I swore I’d never be able to feel for anyone else, let alone want someone else. Belle, will you have me?”
March 28, 1968
Hank turned his head to shield his face from the spring wind. When he turned it back, his eyes were on the man they nicknamed “Manny the Monster” at Morganville. He was talking to Hank from the driver’s side window of his car, parked up against the curb.
“Why are you following me?
“So, you do remember me. What else do you remember?”
“It ain’t right what you did to those boys.”
“What did I do Hank?”
“That’s between you and God, now.”
Hank ain’t sleep for three days.
April 8, 1968
Ma Belle had the sudden urge to clean. Pulling out boxes she hid from Zeke, or he’d tease that she was a packrat. I ain’t studyin’ you, old man. Somebody gotta keep the the memories. Who you come to when can’t find something? First thing she touched was a stack of letters from
Hank from when he was away at Morganville. She was prideful and still pleaded with them white folks to give her boy another chance. They sentenced him to nine months and sent them white boys he was running with back to the streets.
She slid the newspaper clippings from the trial about abuse at Morganville to the bottom of the stack she was holding. Hank ain’t sleep right for a full year when he came home. Nightmares every time he closed his eyes. Belle would tell him betta out than in and rub his back until he fell asleep.
Dear Ma, This place ain’t right. I want to come home. I’m sorry, ma. I promise never to touch nothing that don’t belong to me. They got some of us working on nearby farms.
Please can I come home?
Your son, Hank
She could feel him.
Ma, read the newspaper. And hear him?
“Hank, you know I loves my paper.” She released into the sweet, musky air that the old papers stirred up.
She dropped the stack. The pile of fragments gave her something to do. She reached for one of the clippings and those eyes were staring straight through her.
“Zeke! Zeke! Baby! You gotta see this.”
“Belle, what you carrying on about?
She handed him the newspaper clipping.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Emmanuel Petroski. This can’t be a coincidence, Belle. It can’t be.”
April 12, 1968
Zeke returned from the front door with Detective Petroski and invited him to sit on the deep red velvet sofa.
“Detective Petroski, thank you for stopping by, especially with the world on fire.”
“Sure thing.”
“I just want to find out what happened to my boy.”
“Trust me. We want the same thing. Did he have any enemies or was he involved in any illegal activities?”
Ma Belle raised her voice. “No!”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Pardon my manners. Would you like some sweet tea?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Zeke, answer any questions he has. I’m going to grab the tea from the kitchen.”
When Ma Belle returned, Detective Petroski was questioning Hank’s union affiliation.
“I’ve heard that Hank and Artie Mills weren’t exactly some people’s favorites around here.”
Detective Petroski gulped his tea until there was only a single amber tear in the corner of the glass. “This tea is some- thing special. Maybe you can give me your recipe to pass along to my wife.”
“It’s an old family recipe, but I could try and write it down before you go.”
“Would you? I can’t get enough of it.”
Ma Belle extended her hand towards Detective Petroski. “Lemme refill your glass, but I’d like to hear your questions just in case I may be of some help.”
Detective Petroski turned up the fresh glass of tea to his mouth, his slurping sent a shock to Ma Belle’s already thin nerves.
“As I was saying, the labor bosses didn’t take too kindly to their threat to drive up wages and the workers were worried about losing their j—”
Zeke caught the empty glass Detective Petroski dropped along with the end of his sentence. His eyes widened when he realized that he couldn’t move.
Ma Belle was now standing directly in front of him. “Something special, huh?”
April 13, 1968
“Hey Big Ma! When did you get in?”
“Zeke, don’t be asking me no questions.”
“Can’t a loving son-in-law worry?”
“Ain’t no law involved in what y’all doing.”
“That’s on account of your daughter! She said she jumped the broom once and that was enough.”
“You know she stubborn!”
“She get it honestly.”
They laughed deep and wide until tears flowed from their eyes.
“What you doing out here in the garden. Ain’t it a bit early to be turning over the dirt?’
“Gonna let it breathe a bit for
I put the cucumbers and peppers in the ground.”
“I’m sure you know best since you the master gardener around here.”
May 13, 1968
Big Ma was pressing out biscuit dough with a drinking glass when Isabelle entered the kitchen.
“Belle, can you turn that radio down and read me the paper while I fix these biscuits?”
“Sure, mama.”
“Whose picture is that front and center like that? He somebody important?”
“It says his name is Detective Petroski and he’s been missing since last month.”
“What in the world? Oooh, yeah. Read me that story.”