“You seem cheerful today,” Edie said.
“Ah got good news fo’ me. Fo’ me an’ Brother Banks. We be delighted that you dint box that sixty-three. Thirty-six hit.” She chuckled. “‘Magine hitting that fo’ five dollahs.”
“Oh, well,” Edie said, “as long as Brother Banks was pleased.”
Andy was confused. He didn’t know why Sister Henderson referred to boxing sixty-three. The gift had only been for five dollars. But he didn’t want to ask. It wasn’t cool to show too much curiosity. And sometimes it was not considered polite.
Edie had finished with Sister as quickly as possible so that Andy could complete the drawing of the dragon. She zigged and zagged, in and out of the detour around St. Vincent’s. The needlework would take a lot of time, and she wanted to get it started. Edie was almost as enthusiastic about the dragon pillow as she was about their garden. Andy leaned back in the car. Besides being a neat driver, Edie was an interesting sidekick/person. In private.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The following Thursday they zoomed over to Sister Henderson’s again. In and out of the detour and straight up to her porch. They again wanted her to finish as quickly as possible. There was still much work to do on Mary Jane’s pillow. But Sister was not ready. She was usually on the front stoop waiting for them, but today she was not. They waited in the car for a few minutes and discussed whether or not they ought to honk the horn. They thought that doing so would not set the good example they wanted to set for manners in the ghetto. Andy decided that he would walk to the front door and knock. Or he would ring the bell if they had them in the ghetto.
The screen door was closed. (No one in Foxmeadow had screen doors. Some homes had windows that couldn’t open. In Foxmeadow everything was air-conditioned except the jock things: the golf course, the tennis courts and the swimming pool.) Andy pressed his face against the screen (it left graph paper on his nose) and saw the whole inside of Sister Henderson’s house. She was sitting in the living room. He guessed that it was the living room even though there was a dining room table in it, right across from the sofa. She was watching out of a side window. She was so intent on looking at whatever she was seeing that she answered his hello without taking her eyes from the window. “Hey, Andy, how ‘bout you an’ Miz Yakots comin’ on in for a cup a Coke ‘fore we start?”
So, thought Andy, they drink Coke from a cup in the ghetto. “But, Sister Henderson,” he said, “we’d like to finish before three if that’s at all possible.”
“C’mere, Andrew,” Sister Henderson said. Andy walked over to the window, and Sister pointed. “See that gray Plymouth restin’ down the road a piece? That ain’t no ornary car. That car means gray evil. That man behine th’ wheel is waitin’ for me. He be waitin’ for me to colleck, then the minute Ah be finished, he’ll grab me, and there’ll go mah donations for the entire week.”
Robbers! Andy thought. Robbers! Robbers! At last.
He felt his heart begin to pound. He had to play it cool. Robbers were not as good as murderers to catch, but they were a start. The important thing, the most important thing, was to play it cool. He’d better not tip off Yakots, and he’d better just stay cool. If he hinted anything at all to Yakots, she would panic and ruin everything. He would take it one step at a time. Coolly. The first step was to get Sister Henderson out to the car. It was a sure thing that he would catch no crooks with her staying inside the house. She was the bait, and the crooks were the prey, and he would be the trap. He liked that thought, so he repeated it to himself. Sister was the bait, the crooks were the prey, and he was the trap. He didn’t exactly know how the trap would work, but first he had to give his prey the scent of his bait. He liked that thought, too.
He looked back out the window and said to Sister Henderson, “You say that the gray Plymouth is gray evil, then I say that the Devil is driving. He’s trying to undo the good church work you do. That’s the Devil, Sister, and I say that the Devil is driving a gray Plymouth today.”
Sister Henderson looked up at Andy with interest. Andy could hardly control the excitement in his voice. But he was determined to stay cool. And he felt that he had to talk very slowly to her. He had been brilliant so far. “Mrs. Yakots understands the work of the Devil. She is quite familiar with dragons, and I am known as the dragon master of Emerson Country Day School. Now, let us, you and me, go out to the car, and challenge that Devil.”
‘There’s two in that car,” Sister said.
Andy looked out the window again. He had been so busy thinking about traps and bait that he had allowed his powers of observation to slip. “Yes, well, those two Devils.”
Sister Henderson gathered together her purse and her first bag. Andy was surprised that he had been as persuasive as he had hoped to be. It made him a little nervous to think about it, and that wasn’t helping his cool.
“Miz Yakots, thass a lady Ah c’n count on,” Sister Henderson said as she closed and locked the door behind her.
“What took so long?” Edie asked when they got to the car.
“Just get this heap moving, Yakots. We’ll discuss it later.”
“Sure, boss,” Edie said, and she pulled away from the curb, into Rutgers Avenue.
Andy tried to keep his eyes front, but he could not resist. He looked behind and saw that the gray Plymouth had pulled out when they had. He tried to keep his eyes forward, but he could not.
“What do you keep looking back for?” Edie asked.
Sister Henderson did not give him a chance to answer. “We might catch some trouble today, Miz Yakots. There’s always the Devils to pay, and today they ‘pears to be ridin’ in that ole gray Plymouth.”
Andy would have liked to pull the steering wheel out from the front and give it to Sister as a hat. A hard hat. He was furious. Couldn’t she keep her mouth shut, for God’s sake? Now Edie wouldn’t stay cool, and now his big chance to catch some crooks would be all messed up even before he had a chance to think of how he would set the trap. “Listen, Yakots,” Andy said, “just stay on Rutgers until you have to turn off at the hospital. We’ll take our regular route to Sister Coolidge’s. Our regular route, do you hear, Yakots? Now stay cool and take our regular route. Our regular route right to Sister Coolidge’s. You’re not telling me if you’re hearing me, Yakots.”
“You don’t give me a chance, boss. I can hear you.”
“Now, what did I say that you were supposed to do? Let’s hear it, Yakots.”
“I’m supposed to stay on Rutgers until the detour and take our regular route to Sister Coolidge’s.”
“Aha! See, Yakots? I said stay on Rutgers until the hospital.”
‘That’s where the detour is, boss.”
“Well, yes. But I was just checking your listening. Now, stay cool, Yakots, and drive.”
When they stopped at the red light just before the detour, Andy saw a van carrying eight portable toilets start to pull out. It straightened out and took its place in the line of traffic, just in back of them. There was now the van and one other car blocking a clear view of the Plymouth. The crooks might lose sight of them, too, and then they wouldn’t start anything, and then he couldn’t catch them. There was a clear stretch just beyond the detour, and the cars seemed anxious to make up for the delay caused by the construction. They zoomed down the open boulevard. Edie did the same, and Andy was furious. The van carrying the Port-ALets had to shift gears and couldn’t make as fast a getaway. There was a half block distance between them and the van, which meant that there was that distance plus the distance of one additional car between them and the gray Plymouth. Just as the van was catching up with them, Edie jammed on the brakes. The van carrying the Port-A-Lets did the same, stopping only inches from them. The portable toilets were jerked loose, and two of them fell off the truck and landed on the street. Three others had sloshed forward and were dripping all over the back of the truck. Magnolia Boulevard had suddenly become the largest outdoor bathroom in Gainesboro.
Every bit of traffic b
ehind the truck was delayed. Every bit, including the gray Plymouth.
“Well, boss,” Edie said, “we’ll make it home by 3:15 after all. Mary Jane’s dragon needs some flowers, I think.”
“So do Magnolia Boulevard,” Sister Henderson said, chuckling.
Andy said, “Listen, Yakots, I expected to outsmart those crooks, not outhouse them, for God’s sake.”
“Well, Andy,” Edie answered, “we don’t have time for any dragons except Mary Jane’s today.”
“You be right, Andrew,” Sister Henderson said. “You be very right. Miz Yakots do unnerstan’ dragons.”
CHAPTER NINE
Edie wanted to have Mary Jane’s dragon finished—stuffed and ready—on the Friday before the wedding. By Thursday there was still work to be done, but they had to take time out again. Andy had asked Edie if she were going to use foam rubber or dacron to stuff the dragon, and Edie had replied, “Not a wedding-gift pillow. They’re stuffed with rice, some laurel for smell and a penny for luck.”
“If she doesn’t decorate her sofa with it, she can feed it to the birds.”
“Oh, I hope not,” Edie said. ‘They can get copper poisoning from the penny, I think. Maybe. Maybe birds don’t.”
Sister Henderson was waiting on the corner of Rutgers and Magnolia Boulevard, the very intersection where the Port-A-Let van had pulled in back of them the week before. Sister flagged them down with her umbrella. She scooted into the back seat and said, “Best go to Brother Folk’s place first. He say that he gone haf to carry his auntie to the throat doctor ‘long ‘bout now. Best we start with him and run the run backward this week.”
“But, Sister Henderson,” Edie protested, “that’s so roundabout, and we have to finish the needlepointing before we can do the stuffing.”
“Won’ take too much extra time, an’ doin’ it this-away may jus’ save me from doin’ lotsa time later. Nex’ week, I figgers we be back to normalcy. It’s in the springtime that the Devil rise wit’ the sap. It happen every year.”
After they finished their duly appointed (backward) rounds, they headed toward Brother Banks’s house. As Edie slowed down and signaled that she was about to make the right-hand turn onto the dirt road that led to Banks’s house, Andy spotted a car coming toward them. It wasn’t Brother Maytag’s. It was the gray Plymouth. As the car passed theirs, he saw two men. The man beside the driver rubbernecked to see into Edie’s car as they passed. Edie was concentrating on making her turn and seemed not to notice.
Andy was convinced that the car was the one which had followed them the week before (the Devil’s car). He wondered if Sister Henderson had noticed it. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to arouse Edie’s suspicions. He looked back at Sister Henderson, raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes in the direction of the Plymouth. Sister nodded. Andy put his finger over his mouth, indicating to her to say nothing.
Sister Henderson could not read sign language. At least not normal, nonghetto sign language. Because he had no sooner signaled her to be quiet than she blurted out, “Y’know, Andrew, Ah done tole Brother Banks a lot ‘bout you. He be anxious t’ meet you. Howdja like t’ carry the donations on to his place here this afternoon? While you doin’ that, Miz Yakots an’ me c’n run down to the Minute Market an’ pick me up some aspurn. Ah feels a mos’ appropriate long headache comin’ on.”
Edie said, “I’ll take the donations in to Brother Banks.”
Sister Henderson looked astonished, “Then who gonna drive me fo’ mah aspurn?”
‘That’s right,” Edie said. Then turning to Andy she added, “I’ll buy the rice for the dragon while Sister is buying her aspirin.”
Andy got out at the end of the drive leading to Brother Banks’s house. He walked down the dusty, unpaved path and wondered how, for God’s sake, was a person expected to stay cool in all this heat? And how was a guy expected to look cool carrying all these dumbsized, awkward paper bags? Before he had reached the end of the drive, Sister Henderson poked her head out of the window and yelled, “Ah thinks Ah’ll take a bus ride to home from the Minute Market. Bes’t’ tell Brother t’ hoi’ up mah part.”
Andy continued walking down the drive. “Got that, Andrew?” she yelled.
Andy turned and gave Sister a haughty look. “No one has to repeat things to me. I am trained. The only thing I didn’t hear is please.”
‘Tell Brother I say to please hoi’ mah part ‘til nex’ week.”
“It’s me you should be saying please to, for God’s sake.”
“You min’ yo’ manners, son. Don’ you go takin’ the name of the Lawd in vain.”
“You telling me to mind my manners is like the pot calling the kettle black…” Andy said, “…but of course that’s perfectly all right. Black is beautiful.”
“Now, jes’ you tell him to hoi’ mine, y’hear?” Sister Henderson then turned to Edie and said, “Once he in the house, he be safe. Once he outta the house an’ emptyhanded, I be safe. Now, Miz Yakots, let us move us to the Jacksons’ Minute Market.”
Andy walked across the porch and knocked on the screen door. That made the second screen door within two weeks that he had looked through. He couldn’t see much; there wasn’t much to see. A man yelled, “C’min,” and Andy did.
“Are you Brother Banks?” he asked.
“Been that for fifty-four year jes’ las’ Monday gone,” the man answered.
“I’ve got Sister Henderson’s donations,” Andy said.
“Whassa matta with Sista? Why she don’ bring her own?” A different man asked that. He was sitting behind an old kitchen table that had an adding machine on it.
Andy winked. The two men stared at him. He winked again and smiled. They still did nothing to show they understood. Oh, for God’s sake, if they couldn’t understand a cool signal like that, he’d just have to tell them. “The gray Plymouth,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth.
The man behind the adding machine said, “Speak out, plain, boy. This may be a checkup house, but don’ take it personally. Nobody checkin’ up on you. You c’n tell us straight out.”
“The men in the gray Plymouth are trying to hold Sister up. She led them to the Minute Market where they won’t cause trouble. Then Mrs. Yakots will come back to pick me up.”
The man behind the adding machine said to Brother Banks, “Some pickup lady you got. She be pickin’ up childern and troubles.”
Brother Banks answered, “Don’ go faultin’ Sista. She be one a the best. She be wary.” Brother Banks then began opening the bags. They were full of paper slips and coins and some paper money, nothing bigger than a one. He made a neat pile of the crumpled slips and handed them to the other man who began totaling them on the adding machine. Then Brother Banks started counting the money, sliding one or two coins to the edge of the table and letting them drop into his palm. “Four twenty-two, four forty…”
“What church do you belong to?” Andy asked.
“Church?” Brother Banks looked up, holding an index finger on top of the quarter he was ready to count. “Church of God,” he answered. “Four forty…”
“No,” Andy corrected. “That would be four sixty-five. You’re past four forty.”
“How you know, son?”
“I’m trained. Trained myself. I count a lot of things. All churches are churches of God. Which one is yours?”
“Which one of what be mine?”
“Which church of God are you minister of?”
“The Church of God’s Good Fortune. Four eighty…”
“Nope,” Andy corrected again. “You’re still at four sixty-five. You counted that quarter, but didn’t palm it yet. Are you a Holy Roller? I mean in God’s Good Fortune? I have heard that a lot of Blacks are Holy Rollers.”
“Ah’ll tell you what,” Brother Banks answered. “When a seven comes up on my very first roll, Ah say that Ah am a Holy Roller.” He looked back down at the table and said, “Four eighty.” His eyes rolled up toward Andy. Andy nodded yes, and Broth
er Banks continued, “Five dollahs an’ thirty.”
Andy didn’t interrupt further. He looked around the room. It was almost bare. In one corner he noticed a stack of newspapers. All the New York Times. He wandered over to the stack, looked through them and noticed that they were all Friday editions. While he glanced through the papers, Brother Banks and his friend talked to each other. The man behind the adding machine rolled some bills together and wound them around with a rubber band. He tossed the roll to Andy. Andy tossed it back.
“Too hot for you?” he asked.
“No,” Andy answered, “but if that’s your contribution to Sister Henderson, she said to hold it for her.”
The two men looked at each other and shrugged. “That’s what she said,” Andy repeated. They said nothing, and Andy didn’t know whether or not he was supposed to leave. To cover his awkwardness he said, “Well, it was nice meeting you two.” They still said nothing. Andy felt himself begin to blush. “It’s nice to meet someone who reads the New York Times right here in Gainesboro. My mother, now, my mother likes to read the book reviews in the New York Times. She says that it saves her from having to read the books. That’s what my mother says. Of course, she says it about the Sunday Times mostly.” The men folded their arms across their chests, both of them staring at Andy and saying nothing. But they were smiling. Andy cleared his throat. “Now, as for the local paper, I prefer the Thursday edition. It’s got more in it in the way of ads, paper towels and stuff.” They still said nothing. “Uh,” Andy said, “what do you most enjoy about the newspaper?”
The man behind the adding machine folded his arms across his chest, tilted back on his chair and said, “When it comes to newspapahs we mostly enjoys the New Yo’k Times Friday editions. What we mostly enjoys has mo’ t’ do with makin’ book than with readin’ them. Now, you tell Sistah Hendahson that nex’ week she to bring huh own. Y’heah, son? You tell that t’ Sistah when you sees huh. Now, so long t’ you an’ don’ forget t’ tell Sistah like Ah tole you.”