The Cottoncrest Curse: A Novel

Chapter 84

281 Today Chapter 84 “I pretended at first not to know anything about Kenneth Ganderson . I asked Hank Matthews who Ganderson was and why he spit on Ganderson’s grave. “‘A meddler,’ he said. ‘My Daddy didn’t want any handouts. He didn’t want any sympathy. All he wanted was to do a day’s work for a day’s pay, but although he worked from almost dawn ’til twilight, the pay wasn’t there. The century had turned. We passed through ought-six and ought-seven, and the blacksmith business kept dropping off. And yet there was still old man Ganderson coming by once every six months or so. Bringing a basket of food. Paying too much to get his horse shod. Slipping me candy and, as I got older, sometimes slipping me money. He would see me on the street and stick out his arm. Put ’er there, little fella, he’d say, and when I reached out to shake his hand, in his palm would be a quarter. “‘Made the mistake of telling Daddy about it one day. Do you know what he did? Went over to Ganderson’s house and told him to stop it. My Daddy told Ganderson that he could take care of his own family without the help of anyone.’ “‘Without the help of anyone,’ I repeated as I wrote that down in my notebook. ‘So Ganderson stopped?’ I asked. “‘No. It kind of became our secret. As I got older, the handshake I received contained four bits, then it contained a dollar bill. A real dollar bill. My Daddy sometimes had to work three days or more for that, and I got it only for a handshake. “‘Do you know what found money does to you? Makes you lazy. Makes you fail to appreciate hard work. Makes you forget how difficult earning money can be. Also makes you think like you deserve it for doing nothing. 282 “‘It was when I turned sixteen that it ended.’ “‘Why?’ I asked. “‘My Daddy was reduced to taking odd jobs. No better than nigger work. I had dropped out of school years before. I pretended to work, but I was living off the money that Ganderson slipped me. Gave half of it to my Daddy—my mother was dead by then—letting him think I was earning it across the river. But I was really spending it like I owned the world. Spent the week drinking and whoring in Baton Rouge. Came back on the weekend, saw Ganderson, and then gave half of what I got to Daddy and saved the other half for my trip out on Monday. Enough to last the rest of that week, and then it would start again. “‘I got to the point where I think my Daddy was embarrassed to talk to me. We didn’t talk much, the older and the bigger I got, and when he did talk, it was about niggers and Jews and Papists and Tee Ray Brady. He kind of lumped them all together. “‘The Friday of the week I turned sixteen, I showed up at Ganderson ’s, expecting the usual handshake. What did he do? He handed me one hundred dollars. That was more money than I had ever seen. My Daddy, I don’t think, ever saw that much in his lifetime. I know he never had that much, ever. “‘Did I thank Ganderson? Did I say anything? No. I just took it, like it was my right. My Daddy wasn’t home. I left twenty on the table. That would take care of him for a long time. “‘As for me, I took the ferry to Baton Rouge and from there got on a train to New York. Lived like a king. And when the money ran out, I joined the army. It was just a few weeks before the First World War broke out. “‘Didn’t make it back in time to see my Daddy before he died. Didn’t write him. He couldn’t read anyway. “‘Daddy died hating Jews and niggers and the high and mighty on plantations and all. And Ganderson. That’s why, when I got back, I spit on Ganderson’s grave.’ “And then, as Matthews finished off his glass of bourbon and poured himself a fourth one, he said something I’ll always remember. ‘Crazy old Ganderson. Thought he was trying to help me. But all he did by giving me money...