The Friendship Read online

  Jeremy glanced from the store to us, watching, his lips pressed tight. I could tell he understood the seriousness of names too. Stacey moved toward me. It was then he saw Christopher-John inside the store. He bit his lip nervously, as if trying to decide if he should bring attention to Christopher-John by going in to get him. I think the quiet made him wait.

  Dewberry pointed a warning finger at Mr. Tom Bee. “Old nigger,” he said, “don’t you never in this life speak to me that way again. And don’t you never stand up there with yo’ black face and speak of my daddy or any other white man without the proper respect. You might be of a forgetful mind at yo’ age, but you forgettin’ the wrong thing when you forgettin’ who you are. A nigger, nothin’ but a nigger. You may be old, Tom, but you ain’t too old to teach and you ain’t too old to whip!”

  My breath caught and I shivered. It was such a little thing, I figured, this thing about a name. I just couldn’t understand it. I just couldn’t understand it at all.

  The back door to the store slammed and a man appeared in the doorway. He was average-built and looked to be somewhere in his fifties. The man was John Wallace, Dewberry and Thurston’s father. He looked at Mr. Tom Bee, then motioned to his sons. “I take care-a this,” he said.

  Mr. Tom Bee grinned. “Well, howdy there, John!” he exclaimed. “Glad ya finally done brought yourself on in here! These here boys-a yours ain’t been none too friendly.”

  John Wallace looked solemnly at Mr. Tom Bee. “What ya want, Tom?”

  “Wants me my sardines and some candy there, John.”

  Dewberry slammed his fist hard upon the counter. “Daddy! How come you to let this old nigger disrespect ya this here way? Just lettin’ him stand there and talk to you like he was a white man! He need teachin’, Daddy! He need teachin’!”

  “Dew’s right,” said Thurston. “Them old britches done stretched way too big!”

  John Wallace wheeled around and fixed hard, unrelenting eyes on his sons. “Y’all hush up and get on to ya business! There’s stackin’ to be done out back!”

  “But, Daddy—”

  “I said get!”

  For a moment Dewberry and Thurston didn’t move. The heat seemed more stifling. The quiet more quiet. John Wallace kept eyes on his sons. Dewberry and Thurston left the store.

  As the back door closed behind them Stacey went in and got Christopher-John. Mr. John Wallace took note of him, took note of all of us, and as Stacey and Christopher-John came out he came behind and closed the doors. But he forgot the open windows. He turned back to Mr. Tom Bee. “Now, Tom,” he said, “I done told you before ’bout calling me by my Christian name, it ain’t jus’ the two of us. It ain’t seemly, you here a nigger and me a white man. Now you ain’t used to do it. Some folks say it’s yo’ old age. Say your age is making you forget ’bout way things is. But I say it ain’t your age, it’s your orneriness.”

  Mr. Tom Bee squared his shoulders. “An’ I done tole you, it ain’t seemly t’ me to be callin’ no white man mister when I done saved his sorry hide when he wasn’t hardly no older’n them younguns standin’ out yonder! You owes me, John. Ya knows ya owes me too.”

  John Wallace walked back to the counter. “Ain’t necessarily what I’m wanting, but what’s gotta be. You just can’t keep going ’round callin’ me by my first name no more. Folks been taking note. Makes me look bad. Even my boys been questionin’ me on why I lets ya do it.”

  “Then tell ’em, doggonit!”

  “I’m losin’ face, Tom.”

  “Now, what you think I care ’bout your face, boy? I done saved your hide more’n one time and I gots me a right t’ call you whatsoever I pleases t’ call you whensoever I be talkin’ t’ ya!”

  John Wallace sucked in his breath. “Naw, Tom, not no more.”

  Mr. Tom Bee sucked in his breath too. “You figure the years done made you forget how come you alive an’ still breathin’?”

  “Figure the years done give me sense ’bout this thing.”

  “Well, you live long ’nough, maybe the next years gonna give you the sense ’nough t’ be grateful. Now put these here sardines on my charges.” He glanced over at the candy jars. “An’ give me two pennies worth-a them there candy sticks while’s you at it.”

  Mr. Tom Bee stood quietly waiting as if expecting his order to be obeyed, and to our surprise Mr. John Wallace did obey. He reached into the candy jar, pulled out a fistful of candy canes, and handed them to him. Mr. Tom Bee took the candy canes and gave John Wallace a nod. Mr. John Wallace put both hands flat on the counter.

  “Tom, mind what I say now. My patience done worn thin ’bout ’mindin’ you ’bout what’s proper. Next time you come in here, you make sure you address me right, you hear?”

  Mr. Tom Bee cackled a laugh and slapped one string of fish on the counter. “These here for you, John. Knows how much you like catfish, so these here for you!” Then, still chuckling, he picked up his cans of sardines and stuffed them into his pockets, turned his back on John Wallace, and left the store.

  As soon as Mr. Tom Bee was outside, he looked down at Christopher-John and said, “How’d y’all younguns like a little bit-a candy?”

  “Like it just fine, Mr. Tom Bee!” spoke up Christopher-John.

  Mr. Tom Bee laughed and handed him a stick, then presented one each to Stacey, Little Man, and me. Stacey, Christopher-John, and I were mighty thankful, but Little Man only looked joylessly at his candy cane and stuck it into his shirt pocket.

  “What’s this?” asked Mr. Tom Bee. “What’s this? Ain’t ya gonna eat that candy cane, boy?”

  Little Man shook his head.

  “Well, why not? Mighty good!”

  “Don’t want they ole candy canes! They said I was dirty! I ain’t dirty, Mr. Tom Bee!”

  Mr. Tom Bee put his hands on his hips and laughed. “Lord have mercy! Course ya ain’t, boy! Don’t you know them Wallace boys ain’t got no more good sense’n a walleyed mule! Last thing in the world ya wantin’ to be doin’ is listenin’ to anything they gotta say! They say somethin’s red, ya best be figurin’ it’s green. They say somethin’ dirty, ya gotta know it’s clean! Shuckies, Little Man! You got more sense with them six years a your’n than them two boys ever gonna see. Don’t ya never pay them no mind!”

  Little Man thought on that, looked around at Stacey, who nodded his agreement with Mr. Tom Bee, then took the candy cane from his pocket and gave it a listless lick.

  Then Mr. Tom Bee noticed Jeremy and snapped, “You the kinda boy keep hold to yo’ promises?”

  Jeremy, who seemed taken aback by the question, nodded mutely.

  At that, Mr. Tom Bee pulled forth another candy cane and held it out to him. The boys and I waited, wondering if Jeremy would take it. Jeremy seemed to be wondering if he should. He hesitated, looked around as if fearful someone other than we would see, and took it. He didn’t actually say thank you to Mr. Tom Bee, but then the nod he gave and his eyes did. I had a feeling Jeremy didn’t see much penny candy either.

  As Mr. Tom Bee, the boys, and I started down the road, Jeremy called after us. “Stacey! May—maybe one-a these here days, maybe I go fishin’ with y’all….”

  “Yeah….” Stacey replied. “Yeah, one-a these days, maybe so….”

  We headed on toward Aunt Callie’s. Stacey sucked thoughtfully at his candy stick, then looked up at Mr. Tom Bee. “Mr. Tom Bee, something I been thinkin’ on.”

  “What’s that, boy?”

  “’Bout how come you to call Mr. Wallace plain-out by his first name. I mean you don’t call him mister or nothin’.” He paused. “Don’t know nobody else to do, nobody colored I mean. Fact to business, don’t know nobody colored call a white man straight to his face by his first name.”

  Mr. Tom Bee laughed. “He call me straight-out Tom ’thout no mister, don’t he now?”

  Stacey nodded. “Yes, sir, that’s a fact, but that’s the way white folks do. Papa say white folks set an awful store ’bout names and such. He say th
ey get awful riled ’bout them names too. Say they can do some terrible things when they get riled. Say anybody call a white man straight out by his name just lookin’ for trouble.”

  “Well, that’s sho the truth all right,” agreed Mr. Tom Bee. “But shuckies! I ain’t studyin’ they foolish way-a things and I ain’t gonna be callin’ that John Wallace no mister neither! He done promised me long time ago I could call him straight out by his name long’s I lived an’ I aims to see he holds to his promises.” He paused, then added, “’Sides, we used t’ be friends.”

  “Friends?” said Stacey as if he didn’t understand the word.

  “That’s right. Me and that John Wallace, we goes way back. Long ways back. Why, shuckies! I done saved that boy’s life!”

  We all looked up from our candy canes.

  “That’s right!” he said with an emphatic nod. “Sho did! That John Wallace wasn’t no more’n fifteen when I come along the road one day and found him sinkin’ in swampland and pulled him out. Asked him what his name was. He said, call me John. So’s that what I called him, jus’ that. John. But that there was only the first time I done saved his life.

  “No sooner’n I done got him outa that swampland, I come t’ find out he was burnin’ up with fever, so’s I doctored him. Ain’t never laid eyes on the boy before, but I doctored him anyways. Doctored him till I got him well. Turned out the boy ain’t had no family round here. Said he was coming up from down Biloxi way when he landed hisself in that swamp. Anyways, I let him stay on with me till he got hisself strong. Let him stay on long’s he wanted and that was for quite some while, till the white folks round started meddlin’ ’bout a white boy stayin’ wit’ me. I done took care-a John Wallace like a daddy woulda and long’s he stayed with me, he minded what I said and was right respectful.”

  Stacey shook his head as if finding that hard to believe.

  Mr. Tom Bee saw the disbelief and assured him it was so. “That’s right! Right respectful, and all that time, I been callin’ him John. Jus’ that. John. Well, come the day John Wallace tole me he was goin’ up to Vicksburg to look for a job an’ I said to him I figured next time I see him, I ’spected I’d most likely hafta be callin’ him Mister John. And he told me things wasn’t never gonna be that way. He says to me, I’m John t’ you now, gonna always be John t’ ya, cause you been like a daddy t’ me an’ I couldn’t never ’spect my daddy to go callin’ me mister. He done promised me that. Promised me he wasn’t never gonna forget what I done for him. Said he was gonna always owe me. But then he come back down in here some years later to set up that store and things had done changed. He ’spected all the colored folks to call him ‘Mister’ John, and that there done included ole Tom Bee.”

  “Owww,” I said, “Mr. John Wallace done broke his word!”

  “He sho done that all right! Now I been thinkin’ here lately maybe it’s time I makes him keep his word. I figures I’m close ’nough to meetin’ my Maker, it don’t much matter he like it or not. I ain’t studyin’ that boy!”

  I took a lick of candy. “Well, Big Ma—she say you gonna get yourself in a whole lotta trouble, Mr. Tom Bee. She say all them years on you done made you go foolish—”

  “Cassie!” Stacey rebuked me with a hard look.

  I gave him a look right back. “Well, she did!” Not only had Big Ma said it, but plenty of other folks had too. They said Mr. Tom Bee had just all of a sudden up and started calling Mr. Wallace John. He had started after years of addressing John Wallace like the white folks expected him to do. Most folks figured the only reason for him to do a fool thing like that was because he had gone forgetful, that his advancing years were making him think it was a long time back when John Wallace was still a boy. I told it all. “Said you just full of foolishness callin’ that man by his name that way!”

  Mr. Tom Bee stopped right in the middle of the road, slapped his thighs, and let go a rip of a laugh. “Well, ya know somethin’, Cassie? Maybe yo’ grandmama’s right! Jus’ maybe she sho is! Maybe I done gone foolish! Jus’ maybe I has!”

  He laughed so hard standing there, I thought he was going to cry. But then after a few moments he started walking again and the boys and I got right into step. Still chuckling, Mr. Tom Bee said he couldn’t rightly say he hadn’t been called foolish before. In fact, he said, he’d been called foolish more times than he wanted to remember. Then he began to tell us about one of those times, and the boys and I listened eagerly. We loved to hear Mr. Tom Bee tell his stories. With all his years, he had plenty of stories to tell too. He had seen the slavery days and he had seen the war that ended slavery. He had seen Confederate soldiers and he had seen Yankee soldiers. He had seen a lot of things over the years and he said he’d forgotten just about as much as he remembered. But as we walked the road listening to him I for one was mighty glad he had remembered as much as he had.

  We reached Aunt Callie’s, gave her the head medicine and the fish, then headed back toward home. Mr. Tom Bee was still with us. He lived over our way. To get home we had to pass the Wallace store again. When we reached the crossroads, Mr. Tom Bee said, “Y’all wait on up jus’ another minute here. Done forgot my tobaccie.” A truck and a wagon were now in front of the store. Mr. Tom Bee took note of them and stepped onto the porch.

  Jeremy Simms was still sitting on the porch, but he didn’t say anything to us this time. He nodded slightly, that was all. I noticed he wasn’t sucking on his candy cane; I could see it sticking out of his pocket. He bit his lip and looked around uneasily. We didn’t say anything to him either. We just stood there wanting to get on home. It was getting late.

  Mr. Tom Bee entered the store. “’Ey there, John!” he called. “Give me some-a that chewin’ tobaccie! Forgot to get it I was in before.”

  The boys and I, standing by the gas pump, looked into the store. So did Jeremy. His father, Mr. Charlie Simms, was in there now, sitting at the table by the stove along with his older teenage brothers, R.W. and Melvin. Dewberry and Thurston Wallace were there also and two white men we didn’t know. They all turned their eyes on Mr. Tom Bee. Dewberry and Thurston glanced at their father, and then Mr. Charlie Simms spoke up. “Old nigger,” he said, “who you think you talkin’ to?”

  Mr. Tom Bee wet his lips. “Jus’…jus’ come for my tobaccie.”

  Mr. John Wallace glanced at the men, then, his jaw hardening, set eyes on Mr. Tom Bee. “You bes’ get on outa here, Tom.”

  Mr. Tom Bee looked around at the men. His back straightened with that old, sharp-edged stubbornness. “Well, I sho do that, John,” he said, “soon’s I get me my tobaccie.”

  Mr. Simms jumped up from the table. “John Wallace! You jus’ gonna let this here old nigger talk t’ ya this-a way? You gon’ let him do that?”

  Suddenly Stacey bounded up the steps to the store entrance. “We—we waitin’ on ya, Mr. Tom Bee!” he cried shrilly. “We waitin’! Come on, Mr. Tom Bee! Come on!”

  Mr. Tom Bee looked over at him. He took a moment, then he nodded and I thought he was going to come on out. But instead he said, “Be right wit’ ya, boy…soon’s I get me my tobaccie.” Then he turned again and faced John Wallace. “You—you gonna give me that tobaccie, John?”

  Dewberry pulled from the counter. “Daddy! You don’t shut this old nigger up, I’m gonna do it for ya!”

  Mr. John Wallace turned a mean look on his son and the look was enough to silence him. Then he looked around the room at Mr. Simms, at R.W. and Melvin, at Thurston, at the two other white men gathered there. The store and all around it was plunged into silence.

  Mr. Tom Bee glanced nervously at the men, but he didn’t stop. He seemed bent on carrying this thing through. “Well?” he asked of John Wallace. “I’m gonna get me that tobaccie?”

  Silently John Wallace reached back to a shelf and got the tobacco. He placed it on the counter.

  Mr. Simms exploded. “What kind-a white man are ya, John Wallace, ya don’t shut his black mouth? What kind-a white man?”

  Mr. Tom B
ee looked at Mr. Simms and the others, then went and picked up the tobacco. “Thank ya, John,” he said. “Jus’ put it on my charges there, John. Jus’ put it on my charges.” He glanced again at the men and started out. He got as far as the steps. The boys and I turned to go. Then we heard the click. The explosion of a shotgun followed and Mr. Tom Bee tumbled down the steps, his right leg ripped open by the blast.

  The boys and I stood stunned, just staring at Mr. Tom Bee at first, not knowing what to do. Stacey started toward him, but Mr. Tom Bee waved him back. “Get ’way from me, boy! Get ’way! Stacey, get them younguns back, ’way from me!” Stacey looked into the store, at the shotgun, and herded us across the road.

  The white men came out and sniggered. Mr. John Wallace, carrying the shotgun, came out onto the porch too. He stood there, his face solemn, and said, “You made me do that, Tom. I coulda killed ya, but I ain’t wantin’ to kill ya ’cause ya done saved my life an’ I’m a Christian man so I ain’t forgetting that. But this here disrespectin’ me gotta stop and I means to stop it now. You gotta keep in mind you ain’t nothin’ but a nigger. You gonna learn to watch yo’ mouth. You gonna learn to address me proper. You hear me, Tom?”

  Mr. Tom Bee sat in silence staring at the bloody leg.

  “Tom, ya hear me?”

  Now, slowly, Mr. Tom Bee raised his head and looked up at John Wallace. “Oh, yeah, I hears ya all right. I hears ya. But let me tell you somethin’, John. Ya was John t’ me when I saved your sorry life and you give me your word you was always gonna be John t’ me long as I lived. So’s ya might’s well go ’head and kill me cause that’s what ya gon’ be, John. Ya hear me, John? Till the judgment day. Till the earth opens itself up and the fires-a hell come takes yo’ ungrateful soul! Ya hear me, John? Ya hear me? John! John! John! Till the judgment day! John!”