Mama Black Widow Page 16

  Mama seemed more than eager to see the pastor destroyed. She agreed to boycott church services the next day. The plan was to zing the pastor at a special meeting in midweek to be arranged by Reverend Owens who would convince the pastor to face and strangle the vague and wild rumors that he had been keeping a white harlot with church funds.

  Reverend Owens was naturally going to conceal from the pastor the fact that hanging witnesses and evidence had been gathered until the terrible session of truth. Marva, the main witness, was to continue with the pastor in a manner not to alert him to the solid threat to his ministry.

  Just before the trio left to recruit other church members to the cause, Reverend Owens’s face became solemn and he boomed, “Sisters, don’t this mess make you sick? When I was a boy, the majority of black preachers were dedicated good men that everybody, especially young men, looked up to and respected.

  “A mule kicked my papa’s brains out when I was twelve years old. Sure, I missed him because I loved and honored him. But my hurt was healed and my need for a strong man in my life was filled by the pastor of our church.

  “Prisons and gutters across America are crawling with black men. Many of them could have been saved for a better way back in their boyhood. But too many pulpits in our black churches are filled with flamboyant crooks and racketeers, many, of whom, are also drunks and sex maniacs that corrupt and prey on attractive young women of their congregations. They betray religion, our race, and our young people. Reverend Rexford must go!”

  Late Sunday night one of the pastor’s flunkeys brought a sealed letter to the door. Mama slammed the door in his face. Sister Pike came by Monday night to tell Mama that the special meeting was to be held on Thursday evening at eight P.M.

  Junior had promised Mama that he would go with her. But at eight P.M. she was still waiting for him to come home. She took me with her, and the pastor hadn’t arrived when we got to the church at eight thirty.

  The front rows of pews were crowded with about sixty grim-faced sisters and brothers who had begun to shift about impatiently. We squeezed into a center front pew that was in a direct line with the pulpit.

  In about fifteen minutes the pastor and a dozen lackeys and deacons came through a rear doorway behind the pulpit. The pastor had a beatific smile lighting his corrupt face, and he oozed oily charm as he approached the pulpit. And then the light went out in his face as he saw that no one was standing except his henchmen to honor his entrance.

  He gazed blandly at the hostile faces before him and leaned forward with insolent grace. His long fingers were tented innocently beneath his chin like a pickpocket lulling a sucker. His brooding black eyes were devious pools of cunning.

  Then suddenly he threw back his head and snapped it forward close to the microphone and screeched, “Satan!”

  The sound tortured the nerve ends unbearably like the prongs of a fork scraping the bottom of a tin pan.

  And then he screeched it three times in rapid succession before he shouted, “He’s here tonight. Children, my heart is aching with sorrow and love for you because I am looking at the mean expressions on your faces. But I am going to forgive you because I know that Satan sent you here tonight to do his work.”

  Then the crafty little charlatan vibrated the church with fake evangelical fury when he shouted, “God! God the Father is here tonight standing beside his humble servant knowing that I’m pure in heart and deed.

  “What was that you said, God? Hallelujah! Amen! Bless your precious name. But please, God, don’t punish the sheep for the poisonous lies of the wolf that brought them here tonight with evil minds.

  “God, you are reading my secret heart, and you see that I lead a life of strictest celibacy, and I, as a black man, aware of the white man’s crimes against my poor people, would rather be dead than have sexual interest in his women.

  “But, God, you taught me to love and to help everybody regardless of race and color. And it was you, Lord, who directed me to go everywhere I was needed. You sent me to the Northside to lay my healing hands on a poor white spinster sick in mind and body. And some black lying snake in this church is trying to show my good works as evil. And about the church’s money, you know how I sacrifice many of my comforts to save church money. I would never steal the church’s money for—”

  The pastor cut off his defensive ranting with a gasp, and his jaw hung loosely as he stared toward the rear of the church like a condemned man seeing the electric chair of his first and last name.

  Everyone turned to follow his stricken stare and saw Sister Pike enter with the church bookkeeper and treasurer, Marva in tow and a tired-faced black woman who had been the maid in the pastor’s love nest, hobble ahead of them down an aisle toward the front of the church.

  They sat in a front pew and Marva gave the pastor a withering look as she tightly clutched several green fiber-bound ledger-type books in her lap. The pastor watched with shocked awe as the Reverend Owens rose from his seat behind the pulpit and went to sit beside Sister Pike.

  Brother Elijah, the garbage man, popped up brave and tall from his seat as if on cue and said loudly, “Reverend Rexford, I ain’t got the slew of brains and book learnin’ you has, but my eyes is good as your’n or anybody’s. And you been lyin’ up there ’cause I saw you ticklin’ tongues and swappin’ spit with a young pretty white lady on my route.”

  The pastor’s lips quivered, and his yellow face seemed to change to an unhealthy aqua hue. Several of his hooligans rose threateningly from their seats flanking the pulpit. The pastor commanded them back to their seats with an airy slash of his palm.

  He curled his mouth contemptuously and said sweetly, “Dear Brother Elijah, that rot gut gin he guzzles has him seeing what is not.”

  Then his voice came sibilantly through the microphone, “Sit down, you drunk lying feckless bumpkin.”

  Brother Elijah mumbled and sat down.

  A frail-looking jet-black woman waved work-battered hands as she stood and said in a whiney voice, “Oh, Reverend Rexford! We loved you with all our hearts, and could forgive you for anything but messing with a white woman. I thought you had some sense.”

  Tears started brimming in her eyes, and she sat down abruptly.

  A husky black sister stood and said angrily, “I ain’t got no education neither and doesn’t know what that name is you called Brother Elijah. But I hope you know what I mean when I call you a heartless bastid to throw away my sweat and blood money on your white whore. Long time ago I sent a nigger to the graveyard for fooling with my money like that. I should—”

  Reverend Owens jumped to his feet and said quickly, “Brothers and Sisters, we didn’t assemble here tonight for bloodshed. We are here to determine the truth or falsity of the rumors concerning our pastor and certain church funds. Now I think Sister Marva Pike, our secretary-treasurer, wants to cast a little light on the situation.”

  The pastor’s reaction was instant, extreme and shocking.

  He screamed, “Reverend Owens, you goddamn Judas! You can’t hurt me. God sent me like Jesus to endure the abuse and vilification of my enemies.”

  Mama startled me when she leaped to her feet and shouted, “Niggah, yu shet thet blasphemin’, lyin’, suckin’ mouf uh yose. Jesus hepped po’ peeples. He nevah stole frum ’em. Yu uh dirty low-down niggah thet’s goin’ tu th’ basement uh hell.”

  The pastor’s hooligans were halfway to Mama when the mob in the pews stood and glared at them. They halted and looked up inquiringly at the pastor.

  He shook his head and said loudly, “I am bringing this meeting to an end.”

  A burly sister shouted, “This is our church, and we want some satisfaction about our money. Who do you think you are? We want to hear what Sister Marva has to say.”

  The pastor grinned fiendishly and screamed, “You damn idiot! This is my church. Mine! Mine! Understand? I am the king here, the boss of my church. Whatever I do in or out of my church is my personal business. Now, I declare this meeting at an end!”r />
  The pastor turned away to leave.

  The ex-murderess sprang forward shouting, “You shit-colored sonuvabitch, you ain’t gonna’ misuse me like this. And the rest of the sisters and brothers slaving in the paddies’ filth ain’t going to let you get away with throwing their money away on your white bitch. We gonna’ whup the pee outta’ you and fire you.”

  The pastor walled fear-wild eyes back at the mob surging toward him. He galloped through the rear door behind the pulpit with his spooked hooligans trampling his heels.

  The mob followed through hallways and the church kitchen in profane pursuit. But when Mama and I reached the backyard, the pastor’s limousine was torpedoing away and several of the mob were struggling up from the alley floor.

  I looked up at Mama, and the round bright moon shone full on her face. I will never forget her face that night. It seemed so strangely evil and witchlike. And as we walked home I had the overpowering feeling that Mama wasn’t ever going back to church.

  Just as had been planned, Reverend Rexford was driven from his pulpit and Reverend Owens became the new pastor of The Church Of Divine Holiness. And just as I had felt that night when the sinful slicker took flight, Mama never went back to that church or any other.

  But on several late, dark nights, I heard Mama up and about. She would go out the front door almost without a sound. I’d go to the front window and watch her go into the mysterious blackness of Prophet Twelve Powers’s house.

  11

  BESSIE’S RED SATIN DRESS

  Around the middle of June in 1940, Sally Greene left home and became one of Grampy Dick’s whores. I heard Junior mention to Bessie several times that he had seen Sally and Grampy together.

  Bessie had Railhead’s nose wide open and quivering for her. When he wasn’t out front in the street overhauling the motor on his Buick, he stayed underfoot in our flat night and day to be near her.

  His presence kept her from flirting freely and joy riding with the slick guys in the sharp cars. Bessie treated Railhead like a mangy dog.

  He’d blow up and stalk away vowing never to look at Bessie again. But he was so weak for her, he couldn’t stay away for a full day. He’d come back sniffing after her with a terrible pleading look in his eyes. I felt so sorry for him. I really did.

  One afternoon in June, a day or so after school had let out for the summer and about a week after Silly left home, I saw Bessie leap up from the sofa and run excitedly out the front door.

  I looked out the front window and saw her get into Grampy Dick’s blue LaSalle. Railhead stood comically in the middle of the street smeared with auto grease and watched open mouthed as Sally roared the LaSalle away.

  Railhead stopped working on his Buick when the sun started to fade and hung around our flat waiting for Bessie to come home.

  Mama got in around eight thirty P.M., and Bessie was still out. Railhead was so upset he finked to Mama that Bessie had left with Sally in Grampy Dick’s LaSalle.

  Junior paced the floor and raved about what he would do to the pimp he caught his sister with. Mama was grim faced when Railhead and Junior left at eleven and Bessie still hadn’t come in.

  I went to the bedroom around twelve, where I had started to sleep again because the nightmares about Carol had stopped. I could hear Mama moving restlessly about in her bedroom.

  Junior came in, and I heard him tell Mama that he and Railhead had searched on foot for Bessie or Grampy’s LaSalle, but had seen neither. I heard Junior go down the hall to the living room to bed down on the sofa for a rare night at home.

  I was jarred awake, close to daybreak, by Bessie reeling drunkenly against the bed near my head. Through sleep-clogged eyes I saw Mama standing grimly in the doorway watching Bessie struggling out of her clothes.

  Bessie took a radiant red satin dress to the closet and put it on a hanger with loving care. Mama was still motionless in the doorway with a hand hidden behind her back.

  Bessie turned and walked toward the bed. And then Bessie’s cloudy eyes focused on Mama, and she angrily flung her bra toward the top of a chest of drawers beside the doorway.

  The bra whipped across Mama’s face as Bessie mumbled something that sounded like, “Goddamn spy.”

  Mama just stood there swelling up and breathing fast.

  Junior peered nervously over Mama’s head and said, “Bessie, don’ yu be cussin’ Mama . . .”

  Bessie sat down heavily on the side of the bed and started to undo the fasteners on her garter belt from her stocking tops.

  Mama lunged furiously and seized a fistful of Bessie’s long hair as she gripped a sturdy wooden leg from a broken table. She jerked Bessie’s head back toward her spine. There was a cracking sound as Bessie’s throat formed a curve.

  Bessie’s mouth and eyes popped wide open, and she groaned gutturally like perhaps a deaf mute in agony. Mama literally thrust her contorted face against Bessie’s face.

  Mama showered spittle when she screamed, “Yu evah cuss me agin, yu stinky-butt whore, an’ Ah’m goin’ to bus yo’ brains out. Yu heah me, heifer?”

  Junior put his hand on Mama’s shoulder and said, “Hell, Mama, come tu yosef. Yu gonna break Bessie’s neck.”

  Mama flung Bessie away, and she fell across my feet nodding her head and sobbing.

  Mama stood glaring down at her and said, “An wheah yu git thet dress? Yu ben turnin’ yo’ ass up tu mens fuh money?”

  Bessie lay there shaking her head and staring at Mama with utter hatred.

  Mama raised the club and shouted, “Heifer, yu goin’ tu tell me wheath thet dress come frum?”

  Bessie sat up and said softly, “Grampy Dick th’ pimp bought it fo’ me ’cause he loves me. Ah tole him Ah wuz wishin’ fo’ uh red satin dress almos’ since Ah wuz born an’ he bought it fo’ me.”

  Mama wheeled and stomped to the closet and snatched the shimmery dress from its hanger. Bessie cried out and flew at Mama with her long fingers slashing the air like spastic claws. Junior moved swiftly and bearhugged her from behind.

  Mama said, “Don’ hol her. Ah need tu beat thet whorishness outta her.”

  Mama started ripping the dress to pieces. Bessie struggled so desperately that Junior had to put a full nelson on her to keep her from breaking away.

  Mama looked down at the pile of torn fabric and said to no one in particular, “Ah’m jes’ uh po’ black widow woman tryin’ tu hol mah famli tugethah an’ mah gurls ain’t wearin’ nuthin’ uh nasty pimp bought.”

  Junior released Bessie and stood between her and Mama. Bessie guffawed bitterly and said, “Mama, yu sho uh black widow, uh black widow spidah. Yu say you gurls? Yu forgit Carol’s dead? An’, Mama, how ken yu forgit yu killed her an the baby? Mama, Ah’m gonna hate yu fo’ Carol an’ fo’ mah dress ’til Ah die.”

  Junior turned gray with shock and leaned against the edge of the open closet door for support.

  Mama’s stricken eyes locked on Junior’s face as she blurted, “Thet lyin’ heifer. She jes’ evul ’bout thet dress. Don’ lissen tu thet lie ’bout yo’ mama.”

  Bessie said quietly, “Carol tol’ me ’bout yu beatin’ on her belly an’ Sweet Pea seen yu do it. Ah ain’t lyin’, Junior. Mama got uh evul haht an’ thet’s why we ain’t got Papa and Carol enymo.”

  Bessie burst into tears and hurled herself across the bed. Junior shifted his eyes from Mama’s face and studied my face for a long moment. I couldn’t block the tears, and Junior knew that Mama was guilty. He snatched the table leg from Mama’s hand and turned toward the doorway. Mama grabbed his arm, and tears flooded his eyes as he violently pulled himself free.

  Mama followed him down the hall pleading, “Honey Pie, don’ treat me lak uh dog. Don’ bus’ mah haht opun. Lemme tel yu sumpthin’. Cum heah an’ lemme tel yu sumpthin’, Honey Pie.”

  Junior went out the front door and slammed it in Mama’s face.

  Mama got dressed to go to work. She came into the bedroom and kissed me on the forehead. She moved toward Bessie sitting o
n the foot of the bed. Bessie leaped to her feet and fled around the end of the bed into a corner.

  She crouched there breathing heavily and with her eyes blazing hatred like a wounded jungle cat at bay. Mama halted, and they were tense statues staring into each other’s face for what seemed like forever.

  Finally, Mama heaved a sigh and turned and left the flat for work. In less than an hour after Mama left, Bessie had dressed in a red cotton dress and packed some of her things in a shopping bag. I cried and told her I was afraid for her and begged her not to leave.

  She hugged me close to her and said, “Sweet Pea, Ah luv yu, an’ Ah’m goin’ tu miss yu, dahlin’. But Ah cain’t stan’ Mama no mo’.

  “Don’ be scahed fo’ me ’cuz Grampy gonna look out fo’ me, an’ he tol me some day he goin’ tu set me up en mah own sportin’ house, an’ Ah’m gonna have twenty gurls takin’ mah orders. He said Ah’m gonna be the fanciest, richest black madame en th’ wurl. An’ Ah’m gonna have uh dozun red satin dresses en different styles.”

  She kissed me good-bye and was gone. I ran to the front window and watched her wiggle wickedly through the golden innocence of the June morning and disappear.

  I didn’t eat or take off my pajamas for the rest of the day. I was so worried and lonely I stayed at the front window until Mama came at eight P.M. I was hoping to see Junior and even Bessie coming home. But it didn’t happen.

  Mama and I scarcely ate or slept for three days after Junior and Bessie left. I had never before seen her face so drawn and her walk so leaden. And I wasn’t looking like a model in a health magazine either.

  Railhead popped in often to ask if we had heard anything from Bessie. He swore to Mama that he didn’t know where Junior was, and then lied and said he didn’t have the slightest idea where Ida, Junior’s girlfriend, lived.

  Railhead vowed that when he got his Buick running, he would find Bessie and bring her home forcibly if he had to.