A Long Day in November Read online

  “I want pay Madame Toussaint for some advice,” Daddy says.

  “Little trouble, Brother?” Mr. Johnny asks.

  “Amy done left me, Johnny,” Daddy says. “I need some advice. I just got to get her back.”

  “I know what you mean, Brother,” Mr. Johnny says. “I had to visit Madame—you won’t carry this no farther, huh?”

  “No,” Daddy says.

  “Couple months ago I had to take a little trip back there to see her,” Mr. Johnny says. “Little misunderstanding between me and Sister Laura.”

  “She helped?” Daddy asks.

  “Told me to stop spending so much time in church and little more time at home,” Mr. Johnny says. “I couldn’t see that. You know, far back as I can go in my family my people been good church members.”

  “I know that,” Daddy says.

  “My pappy was a deacon and my mammy didn’t miss a Sunday long as I can remember,” Mr. Johnny says. “And that’s how I was raised. To fear God. I just couldn’t see it when she first told me that. But I thought it over. I went for a long walk back in the field. I got down on my knees and looked up at the sky. I asked God to show me the way—to tell me what to do. And He did, He surely did. He told me to do just like Madame Toussaint said. Slack up going to church. Go twice a week, but spend the rest of the time with her. Just like that He told me. And I’m doing exactly what He said. Twice a week. And, Brother Howard, don’t spread this round, but there might be a little Johnny next summer sometime.”

  “No?” Daddy says.

  “Uhnnnn-hunh,” Mr. Johnny says.

  “I’ll be doggone,” Daddy says. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “I’ll be the happiest man on this whole plantation,” Mr. Johnny says.

  “I know how you feel,” Daddy says. “Yes, I know how you feel. But that three, can you lend it to me?”

  “Sure, Brother,” Mr. Johnny says. “Anything to bring a family back together. Nothing more important in this world than family love. Yes, indeed.” Mr. Johnny unbuttons his top overalls pocket and takes out a dollar.

  “Only thing I got is five, Brother Howard,” he says. “You wouldn’t happen to have some change, would you?”

  “I don’t have a red copper,” Daddy says. “But I’ll be more than happy if you can let me have that five. I need some grocery in the house, too.”

  “Sure, Brother,” Mr. Johnny says. He hands Daddy the dollar. “Nothing looks more beautiful than a family at a table eating something the little woman just cooked. But you did say Saturday, didn’t you, Brother?”

  “Yes,” Daddy says. “I’ll pay you back soon’s I get paid. You can’t ever guess how much this means to me, Johnny.”

  “Glad I can help, Brother,” Mr. Johnny says. “Hope she can do likewise.”

  “I hope so too,” Daddy says. “Anyhow, this a start.”

  “See you Saturday, Brother,” Mr. Johnny says.

  “Soon’s I get paid,” Daddy says. “Hop on, Sonny, and hold tight. We going back.”

  4

  Daddy walks up on Madame Toussaint’s gallery and knocks on the door.

  “Who that?” Madame Toussaint asks.

  “Me. Eddie Howard,” Daddy says. He squats down so I can slide off his back. I slide down and let Daddy hold my hand.

  “What you want, Eddie Howard?” Madame Toussaint asks.

  “I got three dollars,” Daddy says. “I still want that advice.”

  Madame Toussaint’s big old jet-black dog barks three times, and then I hear Madame Toussaint coming to the door. She peeps through the keyhole at me and Daddy. She opens the door and let me and Daddy come in. We go to the fireplace and warm. Madame Toussaint comes to the fireplace and sits down in her big old rocking chair. She looks up at Daddy. I look for big old Rollo, but I don’t see him. He must be under the bed or hiding somewhere in the corner.

  “You got three dollars?” Madame Toussaint asks Daddy.

  “Yes,” Daddy says. He takes out the dollar and shows it to Madame Toussaint.

  Madame Toussaint holds her hand up for it.

  “This is five,” Daddy says. “I want two back.”

  “You go’n get your two,” Madame Toussaint says.

  “Come to think of it,” Daddy says, “I ought to just owe you two and a quarter, since I done already gived you seventy-five cents.”

  “You want advice?” Madame Toussaint asks Daddy.

  Madame Toussaint looks like she’s getting mad with Daddy now.

  “Sure,” Daddy says. “But since—”

  “Then shut up and hand me your money,” Madame Toussaint says.

  “But I done already—” Daddy says.

  “Get out my house, nigger,” Madame Toussaint says.

  “And don’t come back till you learn how to act.”

  “All right,” Daddy says, “I’ll give you three more dollars.”

  He hands Madame Toussaint the dollar.

  Madame Toussaint gets her pocketbook out her pocket. Then she leans close to the fire so she can look down in it. She sticks her hand in the pocketbook and gets two dollars. She looks at the two dollars a long time. She stands up and gets her eyeglasses off the mantelpiece and puts them on her eyes. She looks at the two dollars a long time, then she hands them to Daddy. She sticks the dollar bill Daddy gived her in the pocketbook, then she takes her eyeglasses off and puts them back on the mantelpiece. Madame Toussaint sits in her big old rocking chair and starts poking in the fire with the three sticks again. Her face gets red from the fire, her eyes get big and white. I turn my head and hide behind Daddy’s leg.

  “Go set fire to your car,” Madame Toussaint says.

  “What?” Daddy says.

  “Go set fire to your car,” Madame Toussaint says.

  “You talking to me?” Daddy says.

  “Go set fire to your car,” Madame Toussaint says.

  “Now, just a minute,” Daddy says. “I didn’t give you my hard-earned three dollars for that kind of foolishness. I dismiss that seventy-five cents you took from me, but not my three dollars that easy.”

  “You want your wife back?” Madame Toussaint asks Daddy.

  “That’s what I’m paying you for,” Daddy says.

  “Then go set fire to your car,” Madame Toussaint says.

  “You can’t have both.”

  “You must be fooling,” Daddy says.

  “I don’t fool,” Madame Toussaint says. “You paid for advice and I’m giving you advice.”

  “You mean that?” Daddy says. “You mean I got to go burn up my car for Amy to come back home?”

  “If you want her back there,” Madame Toussaint says. “Do you?”

  “I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t,” Daddy says.

  “Then go and burn it up,” Madame Toussaint says. “A gallon of coal oil and a penny box of match ought to do the trick. You got any gas in it?”

  “A little bit—if nobody ain’t drained it,” Daddy says.

  “Then you can use that,” Madame Toussaint says. “But if you want her back there, you got to burn it up. That’s my advice to you. And if I was you, I’d do it right away. You can never tell.”

  “Tell about what?” Daddy asks.

  “She might be with another man a week from now,” Madame Toussaint says. “This man loves her and he’s kind. And that’s what a woman wants. That’s what they need. You men don’t know this, but you better learn it before it’s too late.”

  “What’s the other man’s name?” Daddy asks. “Can it be Freddie Jackson?”

  “It can,” Madame Toussaint says. “But it don’t have to be. Any man that’d give her love and kindness.”

  “I love her,” Daddy says. “I give her kindness. I’m always giving her love and kindness.”

  “When you home, you mean,” Madame Toussaint says.

  “How about when you running up and down the road in your car? How do you think she feels then?”

  Daddy don’t say nothing.

 
; “You men better learn,” Madame Toussaint says. “Now, if you want her, go and burn it. If you don’t want her, go and get drunk off them two dollars and sleep in a cold bed tonight.”

  “You mean she’ll come back tonight?” Daddy asks.

  “She’s ready to come back right now,” Madame Toussaint says. “Poor little thing.”

  I look round Daddy’s leg at Madame Toussaint. Madame Toussaint’s looking in the fire. Her face ain’t red no more; her eyes ain’t big and white, either.

  “She’s not happy where she is,” Madame Toussaint says.

  “She’s with her mama,” Daddy says.

  “You don’t have to tell me my business,” Madame Toussaint says. “I know where she is. And I still say she’s not happy. She much rather be back in her own house. Women like to be in their own house. That’s their world. You men done messed up the outside world so bad that they feel lost and out of place in it. Her house is her world. Only there she can do what she want. She can’t do that in anybody else house—mama or nobody else. But you men don’t know any of this. Y’all never know how a woman feels, because you never ask how she feels. Long’s she there when you get there you satisfied. Long’s you give her two or three dollars every weekend you think she ought to be satisfied. But keep on. One day all of you’ll find out.”

  “Couldn’t I sell the car or something?” Daddy asks.

  “You got to burn it,” Madame Toussaint says. “How come your head so hard?”

  “But I paid good money for that car,” Daddy says. “It wouldn’t look right if I just jumped up and put fire to it.”

  “You, get out my house,” Madame Toussaint says, pointing her finger at Daddy. “Go do what you want with your car. It’s yours. But just don’t come back here bothering me for no more advice.”

  “I don’t know,” Daddy says.

  “I’m through talking,” Madame Toussaint says. “Rollo? Come here, baby.”

  Big old jet-black Rollo comes up and puts his head in Madame Toussaint’s lap. Madame Toussaint pats him on the head.

  “That’s what I got to do, hanh?” Daddy says.

  Madame Toussaint don’t answer Daddy. She starts singing a song to Rollo:Mama’s little baby,

  Mama’s little baby.

  “He bad?” Daddy asks.

  Mama’s little baby,

  Mama’s little baby.

  “Do he bite?” Daddy asks.

  Madame Toussaint keeps on singing:Mama’s little baby,

  Mama’s little baby.

  “Come on,” Daddy says. “I reckon we better be going.”

  Daddy squats down and I climb up on his back. I look down at Madame Toussaint patting big old jet-black Rollo on his head.

  Daddy pushes the door open and we go outside. It’s cold outside. Daddy goes down Madame Toussaint’s three old broken-down steps and we go out in the road.

  “I don’t know,” Daddy says.

  “Hanh?”

  “I’m talking to myself,” Daddy says. “I don’t know about burning up my car.”

  “You go’n burn up your car?” I ask.

  “That’s what Madame Toussaint say to do,” Daddy says.

  “You ain’t go’n have no more car?”

  “I reckon not,” Daddy says. “You want me and Mama to stay together?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Then I reckon I got to burn it up,” Daddy says. “But I sure hope there was another way out. I put better than three hundred dollars in that car.”

  Daddy walks fast and I bounce on his back.

  “God, I wish there was another way out,” Daddy says. “Don’t look like that’s right for a man to just jump up and set fire to something like that. What you think I ought to do?”

  “Hanh?”

  “Go back to sleep,” Daddy says. “I don’t know what I’m educating you for.”

  “I ain’t sleeping,” I say.

  “I don’t know,” Daddy says. “That don’t look right. All Frank Armstrong had to do was put salve on Julie’s big toe every night. All Johnny had to do was stop going to church so much. Neither one of them had to burn nothing down. Johnny didn’t have to burn down the church; Frank Armstrong didn’t have to burn down his house; not even a pair of pants. But me, I got to burn up my car. Charged us all the same thing—no, even charged me seventy-five cents more—and I got to burn up a car I can still get some use out. Now, that don’t sound right, do it?”

  “Hanh?”

  “I can’t figure it,” Daddy says. “Look like I ought to be able to sell it for little something. Get some of my money back. Burning it, I don’t get a red copper. That just don’t sound right to me. I wonder if she was fooling. No. She say she wasn’t. But maybe that wasn’t my advice she seen in that fireplace. Maybe that was somebody else advice. Maybe she gived me the wrong one. Maybe it belongs to the man coming back there after me. They go there three times a day, she can get them mixed up.”

  “I’m scared of Madame Toussaint, Daddy,” I say.

  “Must’ve been somebody else,” Daddy says. “I bet it was. I bet you anything it was.”

  I bounce on Daddy’s back and I close my eyes. I open them and I see me and Daddy going ’cross the railroad tracks. We go up the quarter to Gran’mon’s house. Daddy squats down and I slide off his back.

  “Run in the house to the fire,” Daddy says. “Tell your mama come to the door.”

  Soon ’s I come in the yard, Spot runs down the walk and starts barking. Mama and all of them come out on the gallery.

  “My baby,” Mama says. Mama comes down the steps and hugs me to her. “My baby,” she says.

  “Look at that old yellow thing standing out in that road,” Gran’mon says. “What you ought to been done was got the sheriff on him for kidnap.”

  Me and Mama go back on the gallery.

  “I been to Madame Toussaint’s house,” I say. Mama looks at me and looks at Daddy out in the road. Daddy comes to the gate and looks at us on the gallery.

  “Amy?” Daddy calls. “Can I speak to you a minute? Just one minute?”

  “You don’t get away from my gate, I’m go’n make that shotgun speak to you,” Gran’mon says. “I didn’t get you at twelve o’clock, but I won’t miss you now.”

  “Amy, honey,” Daddy calls. “Please.”

  “Come on, Sonny,” Mama says.

  “Where you going?” Gran’mon asks.

  “Far as the gate,” Mama says. “I’ll talk to him. I reckon I owe him that much.”

  “You leave this house with that nigger, don’t ever come back here again,” Gran’mon says.

  “You oughtn’t talk like that, Rachel,” Uncle Al says.

  “I talk like I want,” Gran’mon says. “She’s my daughter; not yours, neither his.”

  Me and Mama go out to the gate where Daddy is. Daddy stands outside the gate and me and Mama stand inside.

  “Lord, you look good, Amy,” Daddy says. “Honey, didn’t you miss me? Go on and say it. Go on and say how bad you missed me.”

  “That’s all you want to say to me?” Mama says.

  “Honey, please,” Daddy says. “Say you missed me. I been grieving all day like a dog.”

  “Come on, Sonny,” Mama says. “Let’s go back inside.”

  “Honey,” Daddy says. “Please don’t turn your back on me and go back to Freddie Jackson. Honey, I love you. I swear ’fore God I love you. Honey, you listening?”

  “Come on, Sonny,” Mama says.

  “Honey,” Daddy says, “if I burn the car like Madame Toussaint say, you’ll come back home?”

  “What?” Mama says.

  “She say for Daddy—”

  “Be still, Sonny,” Mama says.

  “She told me to set fire to it and you’ll come back home,” Daddy says. “You’ll come back, honey?”

  “She told you to burn up your car?” Mama says.

  “If I want you to come back,” Daddy says. “If I do it, you’ll come back?”

  “If you burn it u
p,” Mama says. “If you burn it up, yes, I’ll come back.”

  “Tonight?” Daddy says.

  “Yes; tonight,” Mama says.

  “If I sold it?” Daddy says.

  “Burn it,” Mama says.

  “I can get about fifty for it,” Daddy says. “You could get couple dresses out of that.”

  “Burn it,” Mama says. “You know what burn is?”

  Daddy looks across the gate at Mama, and Mama looks right back at him. Daddy nods his head.

  “I can’t argue with you, honey,” he says. “I’ll go and burn it right now. You can come see if you want.”

  “No,” Mama says, “I’ll be here when you come back.”

  “Couldn’t you go up home and start cooking some supper?” Daddy asks. “I’m just’s hungry as a dog.”

  “I’ll cook when that car is burnt,” Mama says. “Come on, Sonny.”

  “Can I go see Daddy burn his car, Mama?” I ask.

  “No,” Mama says. “You been in that cold long enough.”

  “I want see Daddy burn his car,” I say. I start crying and stomping so Mama’ll let me go.

  “Let him go, honey,” Daddy says. “I’ll keep him warm.”

  “You can go,” Mama says. “But don’t come to me if you start that coughing tonight, you hear?”

  “Uh-huh,” I say.

  Mama makes sure all my clothes’s buttoned good, then she let me go. I run out in the road where Daddy is.

  “I’ll be back soon’s I can, honey,” Daddy says. “And we’ll straighten out everything, hear?”

  “Just make sure you burn it,” Mama says. “I’ll find out.”

  “Honey, I’m go’n burn every bit of it,” Daddy says.

  “I’ll be here when you come back,” Mama says. “How you figuring on getting up there?”

  “I’ll go over and see if George Williams can’t take me,” Daddy says.

  “I don’t want Sonny in that cold too long,” Mama says. “And you keep your hands in your pockets, Sonny.”

  “I ain’t go’n take them out,” I say.

  Mama goes back up the walk toward the house. Daddy stands there just watching her.

  “Lord, that’s a sweet little woman,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s a sweet little woman you see going back to that house.”