I felt like I was going to throw up. I could hear Timmy crying as the belt cracked across his back. Daddy hit him five times with all his might and then stormed downstairs. I went to Timmy right away, Maggie in my trail. I passed the top of the steps and saw my mother sitting at the bottom, whimpering. She would do nothing about it. I looked at her and she looked away. She was terrified of Daddy when he was like this. I was too furious to be terrified.
Timmy was slumped over, sitting on the toilet, head in his hands, crying. His nose was running and his face was flaming red. I started crying, covering my mouth. Maggie was frozen at the door.
“Please don’t cry, Timmy,” I said. “Oh, please don’t cry. I’ll help you.”
“He really hurt me, Susan. It really hurts.”
I lifted the hem of his shirt and his back had wide welts all over it, rising in blisters.
“Maggie, go get some ice,” I said.
Speechless, Maggie quickly went down to the kitchen. I took a hand towel and soaked it in cold water.
“Take off your shirt,” I told him, “it’s not that bad. If we put some ice on it, it’ll feel a lot better.”
“I hate his stinking guts.”
I twisted out the towel and as he leaned over the sink I spread the cool cloth across his bony back. “I hate his stinking guts too,” I said.
“I’d like to kill him.”
“Me too. Timmy, I swear to God, one of these days we’ll get even with him. And one of these days we’ll get out of here.” I wet another cloth and twisted it out. “I know we will. We just have to stick together and not let Daddy catch us doing anything to make him mad.” Though that answer didn’t seem right to me.
Maggie came back with a bowl of ice and a linen towel.
“Come on, Timmy, you can lie down on my bed and we’ll fix you up,” I said.
We went into my room and Timmy laid himself across my quilt. I took the towel and wrapped some cubes in it and then decided to make ice water and soak the towels in the bowl. Maggie brought some water in the bathroom glass. Timmy began to cry again, this time quietly, hopelessly.
“I love you, Timmy,” Maggie said.
“I love you too, Timmy,” I said. “It doesn’t matter, Timmy, we’ll take care of you.” And we wrung out the towels again in the ice water and spread them on his back.
“Why doesn’t Momma stop him?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” I said, “I guess she figures that if she gets involved, it’ll be worse.”
“Get down here, all of you!” It was Daddy screaming from the bottom of the stairs. Quickly, Timmy jumped up and dried his eyes. Maggie and I just looked at each other but we knew we had to be quick or there could be more trouble. Daddy was standing alone on the porch, waiting for us, holding three empty brown grocery bags.
“So, your mother tells me she gave y’all permission to go out tonight. Is that true?”
“Yes, sir,” we all answered together.
“Pardon me! I thought I was the head of this house!”
We said nothing. I wisely looked at the floor. Timmy cleared his throat.
“Did you have something to say about that, Mr. Timmy? Would you like the belt again?”
“No, Daddy, no. I was just clearing my throat. Honest. You’re the head of the house, Daddy. We all know that.”
Thick silence—like low pressure before a storm.
“Well, as long as that’s understood for the moment, I’d like y’all to do something to prove y’all won’t forget.”
“Sure,” I said.
“No problem,” Maggie said.
“I won’t forget, Daddy,” Timmy said.
Daddy looked at Timmy and for a moment I thought he was going to hit him. But, in spite of the sarcasm and anger in his voice, he held his temper.
“The yard’s full of nut grass. Do y’all know what nut grass is?”
“No, sir,” I said.
“I don’t think so,” Maggie said.
“Yes, sir, I think I know what it is.”
“Oh! Albert Einstein! Why don’t you tell your sisters what it is?”
Timmy began to stutter. He hadn’t done that since he was really little. “It’s that skinny green gr-gr-gr-grass that has a r-r-root on the b-b-b-bottom of it that looks like a n-n-nut.”
“That’s r-r-r-r-ight, s-s-s-on,” he said. “And here’s a bag for you, and a bag for you, and a bag for you. When you’ve filled them all with nut grass, connected to its r-r-r-roots, come see me and I’ll decide who’s going out! Not your mother! Is that clear?”
We all nodded our heads.
“I can’t hear you!” He put his hand to the side of his head and cupped an ear.
“Yes, sir!” we all said.
“Then get moving, on the double!” he screamed.
They can hear you in Goose Creek, I thought. God, he had a big mouth. We went down to the yard and began the impossible job of filling a bag with nut grass. It was five o’clock in the afternoon and getting chilly. We picked for a while, but it wasn’t long before we realized it would be dark before we could fill our bags. Timmy started crying again. Next, Maggie started crying. Her hopes of meeting Lucius were shattered. I just got madder and madder.
“He’s a no-good son of a bitch,” I said to Timmy.
“No shit,” he answered.
“It’s not right,” Maggie said.
“That’s the understatement of the year,” I said. “One of these days, he’ll get his, and the sooner the better.”
“Why not today?” Timmy said. “Why don’t we just hold him down and beat the shit out of him? Let him see how it feels!”
“Oh, sure! Daddy weighs about two hundred pounds. He’d rip off my arm and beat me to a pulp with it,” I said.
“Don’t even talk about that kind of thing. Y’all scare me,” Maggie said.
“I’ve had it,” Timmy said, “I’d like to kill him. I’ll spend the next twenty years in a jail. I don’t care! ’Cause you know what? If I don’t kill him, he’s gonna kill me!”
He might be right, I thought. Daddy seemed capable of anything. Then we heard the screen door slam and stopped talking. Mr. Horrible came down the steps with a Budweiser in his hand and a big smirk on his face. He kept cracking the sides of the can. He looked in Maggie’s bag and then in mine.
“Nice job, Maggie, you make your daddy proud. Hope you don’t ruin your manicure.”
She said nothing, but fought back a second brimming burst of angry tears.
“Oh, Susan! What have we here! Half full! Maybe when you grow up you can get a job picking tomatoes with the migrant workers! A natural talent!”
It didn’t matter what he said. He was a stranger, an imposter. There had been a horrible mistake made at the hospital when each of us was born. It was obvious to me that we’d been switched with Satan’s children.
“And how’s my sissy boy doing picking weeds?” Daddy said, leaping from sarcasm to poison.
My stomach lurched and Timmy’s face went from the white paste of hopelessness to a young warrior. He flew at Daddy’s face with his fists clenched. Daddy dropped his beer and lost his balance. He recovered and turned to Timmy.
“Come on, you little queer! If you think you can take your old man, come on and try. You’re nothing but a girl anyway.”
“You suck, do you know that? You’ve got no right and no reason to call me that.”
Timmy began to fight for his life. He was not Daddy’s equal. Daddy threw him to the ground and in one great whirling motion sat on Timmy’s stomach, pinning his arms.
“No!” I screamed. “No!”
Daddy slapped Timmy hard and then backhanded him, jerking Timmy’s head from side to side like a rag doll again and again. Timmy got one arm free from under Daddy’s legs, and he balled his fist and landed a weak punch in Daddy’s stomach. Maggie started screaming and screaming, and tried to pull Daddy off. He swung around and knocked her off her feet. She landed on the ground with a thud.
&n
bsp; I couldn’t bear another minute. I couldn’t stand there and let him kill my brother. It had to stop. I saw a low branch, dangling by a thread from a tree. I don’t know where I found the strength, but I pulled it free from the vines that covered it, swung it around and cracked Daddy but good. Blood gushed from the wound in the side of Daddy’s head. He fell sideways to the ground and just lay there, still. Inanimate. I felt the breeze cool the heat of my face. I heard my breath as my heart raced. I dropped the branch.
It took a moment to realize what I had just done. I looked from Maggie to Timmy. We were all terrified that he was dead, or, worse, that he wasn’t.
“Oh, my God!” Maggie screamed.
“Shut up and think! Is he breathing?” I said.
Timmy’s lip was split and his shirt was covered in blood. He rolled over the grass and checked Daddy’s breath.
“He’s alive.”
“What are we gonna do?” Maggie said.
“We’d better get the hell out of here,” I said.
“Where?” Timmy said.
“Aunt Carol, let’s go to her house,” Maggie said. “If we tell her and Uncle Louis, maybe they can make it right for us.”
“No way in hell I’m going there,” I said.
“Why not?” Maggie asked.
“Because! That’s why!”
“Then where, Miss Genius! Do you realize what Daddy’s going to do to you when he wakes up?”
Maggie was scared out of her wits. So was I. She was right. This whole incident was beyond reason. Unless we got help, we were all as good as dead. We were already in enough trouble.
“Marvin Struthers. I’m going down to Mr. Struthers. He’ll help.”
“He thinks we’re awful! He won’t help us!” Timmy said.
“Look, he’s the mayor and all this bullshit has got to stop!”
I don’t know where I found the words, but they were true. We left our father lying on the ground and sprinted toward the Struthers’s house.
When Mrs. Struthers opened the door and saw us, she nearly fainted. Mr. Struthers called the police to check on Daddy and haul him over to the emergency room if he needed it. I thought it odd that he told the policeman not to disturb Momma but just to get Hank away from the house. He sat us down with a Coca-Cola each. He cleaned up Timmy and put ice on his swollen face and eye. Like a grandfather, he listened to the story of what drove us to do this to our father.
“I couldn’t take it anymore, Mr. Struthers,” Timmy said.
“I understand, son. But y’all know a child should never raise a hand against their parents, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I know that, but you don’t know what it’s like for us, for me especially.”
“He’s not lying, Mr. Struthers. Look at his back,” I said.
Timmy stood up and raised the back of his shirt. The welts were deep red now and Mr. Struthers let out a low whistle.
“Why’d he do this to you, Timmy?”
“I was using one of his deodorant pads to shine my shoes,” Timmy answered. “We were going to the dance at the church and my shoes needed shining. I know I shouldn’t have done it.”
“That’s all you did?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I was there, Mr. Struthers, so was Susan. He’s telling the truth,” Maggie said. “It’s always like this for Timmy, and not much better for us.”
Mr. Struthers raised his eyebrows and sighed again. I understood the expulsion of so much breath to be an expression of his understanding and vindication for us.
“If we go home and he’s there, he’s gonna finish us off like a tomato sandwich!” I said this as emphatically as I could so he’d comprehend the depth of our trouble.
“Does y’all’s momma know y’all’re ’eah?”
“No, sir. We just took off running once we knew Daddy wasn’t dead,” Timmy said.
“Momma’s in bed anyhow. Sleeps all the time,” I said.
“Why’s that?” Mr. Struthers asked.
“Guess she’s tired or something,” I said.
I wasn’t about to tell the world that both of our parents were crazy. Besides, I didn’t want to embarrass Momma.
“Well, let’s get y’all home. I’ll stay there and talk to y’all’s daddy. Don’t worry, nobody gonna hurt y’all chillrun ever again or I’m not the mayor of this Island. Let’s go now.”
We didn’t budge an inch.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Silence from the choir.
“I’m telling y’all, it’s gonna be all right! Now, trust me, okay? I’ve been knowing y’all’s daddy since before y’all were born. I know him! If I tell him to keep his hands off of y’all, he will! Understand?”
We nodded.
“All right, then, let’s go. It’s getting late and y’all’s momma is gonna be worried sick about y’all.”
I rolled my eyes at Maggie and, for once, she rolled hers back in agreement.
Mr. Struthers led the way up our back steps. Maybe Daddy was afraid of Mr. Struthers; after all, he was the biggest man on the Island. That was a comforting thought, the first one I’d had in a while.
“Go tell y’all’s momma I’m here.”
Maggie went to tell Momma, Timmy sank into a chair at the kitchen table and I opened the refrigerator. My first inclination was to stay with Timmy and Mr. Struthers. I’d do my duty and feed them.
“Mr. Struthers? Would you like a beer or some tea? Timmy? Do y’all want a sandwich?”
“Sure. Whatever you have is fine, Susan. Thanks.”
Mr. Struthers took a chair at the table. He was preoccupied with what he would say to Momma and, most likely, to Daddy when he got back from the emergency room. The whole situation had to be stunning to him. It was to me. I felt like Jell-O inside. I wondered if I could get arrested for attempted murder or assault and battery. It didn’t matter because there was nothing I could do about it. The deed was done. I had knocked my own father out cold with the branch of a tree. Jesus Christ. I still couldn’t believe I had done it. My life could be over, I thought, it could be over and I could wind up in some horrible juvenile detention center until I’m old enough to go to the state penitentiary. At least Timmy would be there with me, but probably in a boys’ center. I’d never even see him.
I took out some boiled ham, iceberg lettuce, half a tomato and the mayonnaise and began making sandwiches. If I kept busy I didn’t have to think so much and maybe I could show Mr. Struthers that I had promise beyond the jailhouse.
Timmy fixed his eyes on the sugar bowl in the center of the table and he just kept shaking his head back and forth.
I put two plates in front of them and made a new ice pack for Timmy’s eye. My mind wasn’t screaming but plotting the next move, trying to guess how this game would play itself out. Maggie returned with Momma. Momma took one look at Timmy, whimpered and the automatic tears flowed like the Cooper River.
“What’s happened? Oh, my God, what’s happened to you, Timmy? Tell me!”
She leaned over Timmy and kissed the top of his head. He resisted her attempt to remove the ice pack. She stood back with some indignation and realized the mayor was sitting at her kitchen table eating a ham sandwich and drinking tea. The fog in her eyes seemed to clear.
“Marvin! What’s going on here?” she said.
Over the next few minutes the details of the incident were laid before our mother. She claimed not to have heard a blessed thing. She never heard Daddy beat Timmy. She said she didn’t know. She never heard him order us out to the yard. She never heard Daddy, Timmy, Maggie and me screaming. She said this was highly unusual. She never heard the patrol car arrive and take Daddy away. She had no knowledge that Daddy was at the emergency room.
Momma seemed shocked and surprised by what she was hearing. At first I thought she was lying to Mr. Struthers. But I realized that the truth about her husband was so terrible that she couldn’t hear it or make sense of it. If she never told anyone or interfered with our father’s
violence, perhaps it didn’t exist. And Mr. Struthers’s presence violated her perfect imaginary world. Now Mr. Struthers knew the truth.
Mr. Struthers went on saying, as nicely as possible, that taking care of her children and her mother were probably too much for her, but that she still had a responsibility to us. Even though the burden, on such a delicate and refined lady, was overwhelming.
“What are you telling me, Marvin?”
“I’m telling you that Hank can’t do this to his children. In the least case, it ain’t right. In the eyes of the law, it’s criminal behavior.”
“Criminal!”
“Yes, MC, criminal. Child abuse. It’s against the law.”
She reached in the drawer and took out a pack of cigarettes. I’d never seen my mother smoke.
“What am I supposed to do, Marvin? Tell me that!”
“That’s why I’m here, MC. I’ve been knowing you all my life. I know what you can face up to and what you can’t. I’m gonna talk to him.”
She inhaled and exhaled a billowing cloud from her Salem 100. The smoke was sucked up to the ceiling fan, dispersing itself into nothingness. She had to choose. Either she would take Daddy’s side or ours. In her classic bob-and-weave fashion, she chose neither.
She told Timmy to go lie down. She sent Maggie to get Henry and the twins from Aunt Carol’s, where they had been for the day, playing with her pack of dogs. She ignored me, probably furious that I had had the nerve to protect her child against her husband. Or maybe she was glad. I couldn’t tell.
I poured her some tea and refilled Mr. Struthers’s glass. He asked for the newspaper and began to read while Momma fidgeted, finally announcing she was going upstairs to change from her bathrobe into a dress or something. She had at least realized that it was unusual for a normal person to be in her nightgown at seven in the evening.
Soon Maggie came back with the twins and Henry, who immediately ran for his room. Maggie heated up two bottles for Sophie and Allie, announced she was going to put the twins to bed and said she was going to bed herself. I stayed in the background until I heard Daddy coming up the back steps. As fast as I could, I hid myself in the hall closet.
It was hard to hear from behind all the coats, which muffled their voices, but I heard enough to know that Mr. Struthers bought us some time. He explained the difference between normal discipline and child abuse to Daddy and Momma. Every time Daddy raised his voice to object, Mr. Struthers would calmly ask Daddy if he’d prefer to settle this dispute in court. Every time Momma would try to defend Daddy, probably out of fear for her own safety, Marvin would remind her of the definition of negligence. I was too young to understand the implications of all that he said, but I was old enough to know we would all be safer for a while. The most frightening thing of all was that I had to be protected from my momma and daddy. It filled me with shame.