Shaking the Sugar Tree Part 29

Noah crouched down at my side, a frantic look in his eyes.

"You better tend to him, Mama," Bill said.

I wiped at my jaw. My hand came away wet with blood.

Noah turned around and charged at Bill, throwing himself against my brother as I had, pounding at him with his tiny, enraged, but useless fists.

Bill seemed surprised.

"Bad!" Noah shouted over and over. "Bad! Bad! Bad!"

I got to my feet.

Sh.e.l.ly grabbed Noah, startling him. He whirled from her arms, shrinking away from her, not wanting her to touch him. Then he opened his mouth and began to wail, hugging his arms to his chest, screaming an agonized "Aaaahhhhhhhh!" like he used to do when he was little.

It was a sudden, shocking display of fear and grief.

I gathered him to me, and he shrieked and moaned and wailed like he was dying. I sat down in a wooden rocker on the porch, took him on my lap, held him, rubbed his back.

"Hush, baby," I said. "Daddy's all right. Daddy's fine. Ssshhhh."

"Hmmmmm!" he keened in the back of his throat in between frantic efforts to catch his breath.

"It's okay," I said, running my fingers through his hair.

"Billy, what in Sam Hill is wrong with you?" Mama demanded.

"Why is Noah crying?" Eli asked.

"Boys, go back inside!" Sh.e.l.ly ordered in a tight, bewildered voice.

Noah grabbed his hair with his small fists and pulled as if he meant to yank every last bit of it out.

"Wiley, watch him!" Mama exclaimed.

"Stop it," I said, grabbing his hands.

He threw his head forward, banging it against the bottom of my jaw. Fresh pain raced into my brain. He banged his head again, slamming it into my collarbone.

I squeezed him to my chest so he couldn't move.

"Haaaahhhhhh!" he screeched in angry frustration, trying to get away from me.

"Jesus!" Bill exclaimed.

"Go away!" Mama said to him. "Haven't you done enough already?"

"I forgot about Papa Wiley and the Crack Baby Show Papa Wiley and the Crack Baby Show," he said, going to his truck to get a beer.

I sang into Noah's ear very softly. He settled his ear against my throat, listening to the vibrations.

"Ooohhhhhh," he moaned quietly. He made a noise that sounded like a braying donkey. Then he said "hah," which sounded like "hand." They were his own private noises, his way of expressing grief.

During this time, Jackson had gotten a first-aid kit from his Jeep and a wet washcloth. He stood by the rocker now, wiping at my busted lip with the cloth, frowning at me and not speaking.

"We're actually a pretty nice family," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

"a.s.sault and battery is a nice family?" he said, the anger in his voice evident. "I think you should call the police."

"Oh please," I said.

"That's how they are," Mama said, as if this explained me and Billy and the way we behaved.

"He's mad and this is what he does when he's mad," I said. "And now he's going to think about it, and then we'll talk about it, and we'll figure it out, and he won't be mad anymore, and that's how we do things. So just leave it."

"You don't have to make excuses for him," Jackson said.

"I'm explaining, not excusing."

Noah had settled down into a quiet sobbing against my neck.

"I think he might have loosened some of your teeth," Jackson said, fussing over me.

"Would you leave me alone?" I demanded.

"I've never seen Noah like this," Mama said.

"He's just scared," I pointed out.

Jackson dabbed at my lip.

"At least you got to meet the family," I said.

40) Not the Waltons

"WOULD YOU YOU mind explaining what the h.e.l.l that was all about?" Jackson asked on the drive home. mind explaining what the h.e.l.l that was all about?" Jackson asked on the drive home.

"We're not the Waltons," I admitted.

"Your brother is a h.o.m.ophobic piece of c.r.a.p!"

"Among other things."

"It's not a joke, Wiley!"

"Welcome to the South."

"I couldn't believe the things he was saying."

"He was being nice, too," I pointed out. "It's usually a lot worse."

"Why?"

"You ever gone to a Baptist church?" I asked.

"No."

"I have yet to meet a Baptist preacher who wasn't some fatuous gasbag spewing the most violent rhetoric he can think of just to compete with the others. Whenever you hear some over-the-top bit of nonsense from these folks, it's a Baptist. Remember that preacher in North Carolina who said gays and lesbians should be imprisoned behind a barbed wire fence and left to die out? That was a Baptist. The G.o.d Hates f.a.gs guy? That's a Baptist. If you ever listen to these guys start whining about states' rights, you'll understand why we had a Civil War. They know how to get people stirred up."

"I could not believe some of the s.h.i.t he was saying."

"He gets it from American Family Radio."

"What's that?"

"It's like a religious version of Rush Limbaugh. They're on the air all over the South with millions of listeners. They talk about how gays can be cured-"

"That's bulls.h.i.t!"

"They don't let the facts get in the way. I was listening the other day after the Supreme Court came down in favor of gay marriage, and they were saying that crime will increase, and more people will go to prison, and state social services will be overwhelmed, and the children of gay parents will suffer and become criminals when they grow up-they don't have a shred of proof for anything they say. They just go out there and say it."

"Is that legal?"

"I guess."

"How can they get away with that?"

"This past year we finally started staging protests outside their headquarters."

"Where is that?"

"In Tupelo. Not far from the hospital where you work. We show up, carry a bunch of signs, argue with them when they come out, sing a few songs. Most of the news media is too afraid of them to provide coverage, so it doesn't really do much good. The mayor, our city councilmen, our state representatives, our senators and congress people-they don't want to be seen with us. They don't want to risk p.i.s.sing off the AFA because they'll go on the air and destroy them."

"It's the twenty-first century, Wiley."

"Maybe in Boston, but not here. A few months ago the first openly gay candidate for mayor of a small town in Mississippi was murdered. Not far from here. Police say they don't know what happened. But you don't think people down here want a f.a.ggot for a mayor, do you? It's all hush-hush, and the news media is too afraid to dig too deep because they might lose some advertisers. That's just how it works down here."

"That's incredible."

"I'm just trying to answer your question," I said. "When Billy talks nonsense, that's where he gets it. On the radio in the morning on his way to work. From his pastor, Brother John. All these fatuous Baptists. Plus I made him really mad by telling him I wouldn't wipe my a.s.s with his precious Bible. I shouldn't have said that, but I get so frustrated with the bullc.r.a.p."

"Is he always violent?"

"Not really. I went out of my way to make him mad."

"That doesn't give him the right to hit you."

"I like to cut through the c.r.a.p and get to the point."

"How is your lip?"

"Busted it pretty good. Of course, that's the standard Baptist answer anytime you can't get what you want."

"I don't think I want to visit your house anymore."

"Sometimes neither do I."

"And your grandfather...."

"Leave my Papaw alone."

"He's crazy."

"We don't hide crazy," I said. "We put it on the porch and let it entertain the neighbors."

41) Some TLC

"OUCH!" I said. said.

Jackson smiled apologetically as he dabbed at my busted lip with an alcohol-soaked cotton swab.

We were at my kitchen table. The overhead fan did little to ease the stuffiness and humidity of a Southern night. Noah was in bed and I was reluctant to let this weekend end.

"I've got to get going," Jackson said again. "It's almost midnight. I've got to be at work by eight."

"I know," I said. "What's stopping you?"

"Are you going to be all right?"

"It's just a fat lip."

"I feel like I should stay here and take care of you. I could call in sick tomorrow."

"I'm not a baby," I said. "I'll be all right. Your sick kids need you more than I do."

He put the cotton swab aside, a look of unhappiness stealing across his face.