Seven
Hurricane Denise
1963
THE morning Denise hit Charleston, Daddy had gone out. Momma and I were in the kitchen making breakfast for everyone. Black cast-iron skillets were lined up on every burner—bacon in one, sausage in another, bacon drippings sizzled in a third, ready to receive four eggs to fry, and the fourth bubbled butter waiting for a spoonful of pancake batter.
I could tell Momma wasn’t feeling up to snuff because she kept leaning on the counter. I was so stupid I didn’t realize she was in labor, but they say low pressure can cause all kinds of things. Heart attacks, suicide and babies come early.
Livvie came rushing in the back door all in a tizzy because she was late. She was going on and on about Old Reverend Mr. Sam the bus driver, and how the bus had broken down on the causeway and how they had to wait for half an hour for her nephew to come with a fan belt. All she needed was to take one look at Momma and she knew.
“Where’s Mr. Hank?” she screamed. “Lawd, Miss MC! When did your pains start? Where’s Mr. Hank?” She took Momma by the arm and supported her. “Where?”
“Gone. Louis’s house. Borrow some tools. Better call him,” Momma said.
“Call him, chile! Be quick!” she said to me.
Mamma was breathing hard by now, and I started getting nervous. I ran to the phone but Uncle Louis’s line was busy. I figured Aunt Carol was probably working her jaw with one of her friends.
“Line’s busy!” I said. My heart raced.
“Get your sister! Now!” Livvie said in a quiet, firm voice.
My tail feathers were a blur as I took the steps and beat on the bathroom door for Maggie to come out.
“Momma needs you! Hurry! She’s in labor!” I said.
Maggie came out the door in a flash and we raced downstairs together. Livvie had turned off the burners and put Momma in a chair with a cold cloth on her head.
“All right, Miss MC! It’s all right. I gone with Miss Susan and we bring Mr. Hank here fast as we can.” Momma nodded her head and took a deep breath. “Start running,” she said to me. “Maggie, keep dialing the number!”
Livvie and I ran out the back door, heading for Uncle Louis’s house. We must’ve been some sight. I still had on my pajamas and Livvie’s apron was flying in the air. Even though I was barefooted I don’t think I felt a single thing on the bottom of my feet. I don’t even really remember running, all I know is that Aunt Carol was out front cutting roses when she saw us running toward her. She dropped the hose and ran off screaming for my daddy. Livvie screamed at her as she was running. She was provoked that she was calling for my daddy and not my uncle. She said, “I don’t care who you call! Just move your bony behind quick!” It was terribly exciting.
My daddy, Uncle Louis and Livvie finally got Momma dressed, packed and into the car. Aunt Carol wanted to go with them but at Uncle Louis’s insistence she agreed to stay with us. Nobody took Momma’s suitcase. Finally, Uncle Louis ran back up to the porch, grabbed it, ran down and threw it in the trunk. Sophie sat silent as a stone in that rocker when Momma asked her to go with her to the hospital. Momma was scared, I guess. I was standing next to her.
“Won’t you please come with me, Momma?”
Grandma Sophie just stared at Momma like she didn’t know her from a bucket of green paint. Old Grandpa Tipa answered for her. “Go with God, Marie Catherine, go with God.”
Finally, Livvie came and took Momma by the hand, led her down the stairs and put her in the backseat. Now, Momma’s face got all funny and I knew it was because she had never sat next to a colored person in a car, but Livvie took care of that.
“I see your face, Miss MC, but let Livvie tell you something. These men don’t know nothing about babies but I can deliver that chile myself iffin I have to, so move over!”
That was the end of that. Off they went, tearing down Atlantic Avenue, as they raced to Charleston to the hospital. I said a prayer that they wouldn’t kill themselves before they got there. Aunt Carol went back inside. The rain was beginning to fall and I went inside behind her. I made a sandwich and watched the weather outside the window.
Bored to death, I curled up in my room with my journal and wrote predictions about the weight and sex of the baby and made a list of names. I liked Theodore Chalmers Moultrie if it was a boy and Bettina Helena Rebecca if it was a girl. I loved historic names for boys and musical names for girls, and my list got longer. Naturally the baby would have to have a saint’s name for baptism. I liked Michael or Bernadette. I was fully occupied with the business of labeling my new sibling and didn’t even hear the phone ring. My concentration was broken by Aunt Carol’s screaming all over the house. I ran downstairs and found her on the porch.
“Twins! Uncle Louis just called! Can you believe it?” Aunt Carol was hugging Maggie.
“Did you say twins? Oh, my God!” I said, stunned. Twins? Jesus! I knew she was fat!
“Yes! Oh, glory! Twin girls! Born not ten minutes after they got to the hospital. Y’all have two, not one but two, new sisters!”
Maggie had this awful look on her face.
“What did Uncle Louis say?” I asked.
“Oh, heavenly days! Let’s go make a pot of coffee! No, let’s have tea! Oh, goodness, I’m so excited, I don’t know what I want! Maybe I’ll have a bourbon to celebrate! Yes, that’s it! Now what would you girls like?”
“A new life,” Maggie muttered, so that only I could hear.
Aunt Carol had left the porch and we followed her, slamming the door for the hell of it. Down the hall to the kitchen in a row, like a family of ducks, we went. Aunt Carol was so excited you’d think she’d given birth herself. But she’d never have babies. She said to everyone on the whole planet that she didn’t want to wreck her figure.
She helped herself to Daddy’s bourbon and Maggie and I poured ourselves a Coke. Aunt Carol made a list of people to call to deliver the news. Maggie wandered out of the room and I stayed behind because I had a few questions.
“Is Momma okay?”
“Oh, she’s fine! But Louis said she was so surprised she almost passed out! And he said your father is strutting around St. Francis Hospital like a rooster!”
“I’ll bet! When are they coming back to the Island?”
“Oh, right away! Uncle Louis and your daddy are bringing Livvie here right now. The storm is coming. I mean, they can’t possibly expect me to stay here all night! I have to go feed my dogs and empty my porch! And your momma’s safe and sound where she is.”
“That’s true. How about Livvie? Did she say anything?”
“Yes! I’ll tell you a secret. She had to pull your momma off the curb when they got there. Your momma was fixing to deliver those babies in the gutter! Have you ever heard of such a thing? Louis said MC just got out of the car and collapsed on the curb and started panting like a dog! My word! Your momma can be so undignified sometimes! But I suppose she couldn’t help herself. You can ask Livvie all about it when they come back. They should be here any time now.”
“You know, Aunt Carol, I guess that you wouldn’t understand something like sitting down on the street, since you’ve never been pregnant like Momma. I would’ve been terrified if I were her today.”
It was the best retort I could come up with on the spur of the moment. It wasn’t clearly rude but it made her wonder if I meant to be rude. I went outside to feel the rain, letting the door slam. It was a good day for making noise. I wasn’t going to let Aunt Carol spoil my good humor. Twins! I spun around in the rain. Good Lord! Pretty soon this family was gonna burst. How would we all get in one car?
I went back inside.
“Where’s Maggie?” I asked Aunt Carol.
“Hush, I’m trying to hear the weather report. Don’t track water on the floor.”
“Sorry,” I said, thinking, Bump you.
She was hunched over the radio trying to tune the thing to a station, but all she was getting was whining and static.
“Where a
re your brothers?” She looked up with panic on her face. “I forgot all about them!”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not in charge here. You are.” It just slipped out of my mouth.
“Don’t you speak to me like that! Shame on you! You go and find them, Susan Hamilton, or I’m going to report you to your father!”
“Fine!” I said, not caring if she did. Daddy wouldn’t beat me today. He was in a good mood. I breezed by her and went toward the front porch. Maggie was out there hanging on a banister. “Where’re the boys?” I asked, letting the door slam with a huge whack.
“Who cares?” she said.
“Listen, this damn storm is coming and they’re not here. I haven’t seen them all morning, have you?” She wouldn’t look up. “Maggie, it goes like this: The boys get killed in the storm and Daddy has us shot, okay? I think we’d better find them. Aunt Carol’s threatening to tell Daddy if we don’t and they’re gonna be back from the hospital pretty soon.”
“I hate this family,” she said. “I’ll go get shoes. Wait here.”
She, too, slammed the door. Boy, without Livvie here it didn’t take us five minutes to revert back to all our bad habits, I thought. She reappeared, slammed the door again and we were on our way.
“Let’s take the bikes, it’s faster,” I said. “I’ll go to the Lockharts’ and you check the Brockingtons’, okay?”
After beating on doors and not finding them we decided they must’ve been at the forts.
“Which one?” I screamed through the rain.
“Battery Thompson. Come on! Let’s hurry!”
We raced against the wind toward Battery Thompson, which was where the Island kids most liked to play—although it was forbidden by the police and worrywart mothers. It was built after the Spanish-American War as part of the coastal defense system and named for the brave man who defended Breach Inlet against the British in 1776. (I just love Island history.) The first thing we usually did when a good storm was brewing was climb the ramparts to watch the ocean. The Battery Thompson was the best place on the Island for this because it was the most secluded. Fort Moultrie was on Middle Street, where Fat Albert, the Island lawman, could spot you too easily. He was no fun.
Sullivan’s Island, named for Captain Florence O’Sullivan, had always been a lookout island for Charleston harbor. In the Dark Ages of the 1670s, he was given the job of firing a cannon to warn Charleston that enemies were coming by water. The original settlers had enough to worry about with malaria, starvation and hurricanes, without dealing with surprise attacks from pirates. So this guy O’Sullivan was picked to settle the Island. They say he was terrible, awful and just mean as hell and that he didn’t give a damn what anybody thought about him either. Wasn’t it just perfect that it was a rabble-rouser with a loaded cannon that put this island on the map? I was sure he was somehow related to Big Hank, which would also help explain why my idiot brothers were still outside when a hurricane was coming. Maggie and I were soaked to the skin by the time we got there.
Voices traveled across the air, and when we saw the pile of bicycles, all of them collapsed in a heap on the soft sand, we knew we’d found them. Dropping our own bicycles, we heard alarm in the boys’ cries, not playfulness. Without taking a breath, we ran to the nearest ladder and began to climb up to them. Battery Thompson, a decommissioned and basically abandoned fort—like all the others on the Island—was made of poured cement and the years of salt spray and peeling paint had given it a spooky personality. Perfect for playing, or for sneaking off to smoke a stolen cigarette. Or doing something stupid like what we were about to find.
“Help! Get me out!”
“Jesus! That’s Henry! Maggie, come on!” I threw my hand out to Maggie, who grabbed it and pulled herself up to the platform.
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know!” I looked all across the horizon of the fort and spotted a bunch of boys at the top. “Look! Up there!”
Timmy saw me and Maggie and called out to us, waving his arms. “Hurry! We need help! Henry’s stuck!” His voice cracked as he screamed.
When we reached his side seconds later, we saw the feet of our baby brother sticking out of an air shaft. He was screaming at the top of his lungs.
“Get me out! My head! My head! Do something!”
“Henry! It’s Susan, Maggie’s here too. Don’t worry, we’ll have you out in a minute. Hang on, honey, it’s all right.” I spun on my heels to face the boys and starting cussing at them. “What the hell happened here? Just what the hell happened?”
“We told him there was pirate’s treasure in there and it would take somebody real small to get in and get it!” This explanation came from the boy we all loved to hate. Stuart had white skin and thousands of brown freckles. He was allergic to everything, a chronic nose picker, a liar and an all-around troublemaker. On top of that, he picked on little kids.
“Stuart Brockington, looking at your ugly face is enough to make me puke,” I said. “When I get my little brother out of here, if he has one scratch on him, I’m gonna wipe the streets of this Island with your sorry ass. Do you hear me? Now get your good-for-nothing behind on your stupid bike and get some help! Move! Go get some help!”
I screamed so loud that I frightened Henry, who started wailing. Stuart jumped down from the fort and raced to his bike followed by two other boys.
“Timmy! How could you let this happen? If Daddy finds out, he’s gonna kill every one of us!” Maggie said, unnerved by the magnitude of the storm and the situation.
“Henry? It’s Maggie. I’m gonna pull on your feet a little and you see if you can push yourself out, okay?”
“I can’t move! I’m stuck! I can’t!” Henry was blubbering now. “Help! Get me out of here!”
“I’m going to get Mr. Struthers,” I said. “That stupid Stuart won’t have a clue what to do.”
“I’ll come with you,” Timmy answered. “Maggie, stay with Henry and try to calm him down.”
“Henry!” I called, “listen to me! This ain’t the first time this has happened, I’m sure. Just hang on and I’ll be back in ten minutes with Mr. Struthers!”
“Okay,” he whimpered.
We got to our bicycles and raced toward the volunteer fire department, where Marvin Struthers had his office. He was the town mayor, fire chief and Little League coach. The oddest thing about him was that he always wore sandals—except to church. No decent man wore sandals, our momma always said. She thought they were immodest or something. I just thought they were disgusting. Hairy feet. Nasty.
The wind was blowing harder and the palmetto trees bent over double. Fortunately, the wind was behind us. Timmy and I dropped our bikes in front of the town hall, and ran for Mr. Mayor, Coach Struthers. When we swung open the door, Mrs. Smith, this old lady with a big nasty wart on her chin, who has been his secretary for the last million years, was putting on her coat. She smelled like peppermint.
“What do you children want now? Y’all should be in your home with your parents! Storm’s coming!”
“Yes’m. We know, but we kind of have an emergency here and need Coach Struthers. Is he here?”
“What’s the matter? Maybe I can help.”
I tried to be polite, because she was old and all.
“Yes’m,” I said. “We don’t have much time. Our little brother has his head stuck in an air vent over to the Battery Thompson, and we couldn’t pull him out, and our daddy is gonna blister our behinds if he finds out.”
She looked up. “Are y’all Hank Hamilton’s children?”
“Yes’m.”
“Mr. Marvin! Hurry! It’s an emergency!”
The sound of a toilet flushing came to our attention. In a split second, Mr. Marvin came running out of the bathroom, trying to zip up his pants. He was a big man, taller than Daddy and twice of him in the gut department.
“What’s the matter, Lois?” Then he turned around to see us. “Oh, the Hamilton children, I should’ve known.”
I na
rrowed my eyes at him. We weren’t any worse than any of the other Island children, there were just a lot of us and we got caught all the time.
“Mr. Marvin,” Mrs. Smith gasped. “They say that they brother’s stuck in an air shaft down to the fort.”
“Mr. Marvin, iffin we don’t shake it, Henry’s gone be laid out at McAlister’s by tomorrow. And y’all ain’t gone have us bothering y’all no more, ’cause we’re gone get beat to death.”
“Ain’t nobody beating nobody like that on this Island while I’m at the helm. Y’all children come and get in the truck.” He hiked his pants up over his stomach like men do and headed out the door. We ran after him. I looked at his feet. Sandals! Even in the rain!
I thought riding in the truck was sort of fun with the siren blaring and all, even if my little brother’s life was hanging by a thread. Jesus, I thought, he’s probably passed out by now, but when we got there, no such luck. You could hear everybody screaming and somehow, Aunt Carol had gotten herself on top of the fort and her skirt was blowing in the wind every which way except down. When we climbed up we could see her underwear and maybe it was my imagination, but I thought Mr. Struthers was staring at her butt.
“Afternoon, Carol,” Mr. Struthers said to our aunt.
“Oh! Marvin! I’m so glad you’re here!” She clutched her bosom and wiped her eyes. “Please! Get this child out!”
“Carol, everything’s all right now. You boys move aside. Henry?”
“Uh-huh?” Henry sounded so pitiful to me.
“You just relax now, I’ve got some motor oil, and I’m gonna drip it around your head, all right, son?”
Motor oil? Anyway, Mr. Marvin started pouring and Henry started screaming again.
“It’s up my nose! Help! It’s in my mouth! I’m gonna barf!”
Sure enough, the next sound we heard was our little brother barfing down the air shaft. Mr. Struthers shook his head and yanked on Henry’s feet. Henry popped out of that thing like a piece of toast from the toaster and continued to barf and cry for the next few minutes.