Cry of Angels

33

33 NOTHING MORE WAS HEARD FROM THE MAYOR OR THE GRANITE association, but the very next day Doc Bobo began quietly buying the property around Mr. Teague. One by one the shacks were emptied, their occupants relocated in the cheap prefab little houses that began springing up along the south side of the hollow. "Let him clean 'em all out," said Mr. Teague, "till I'm the only one left over here, just help to see the store better." To the great relief of the boarders and myself, who had been on edge ever since we learned that our new landlord was Doc Bobo, Mr. J. J. Bearden came by the next day to tell us that for the time being at least, the boardinghouse property was in no danger. It was that area below Sunflower Street, including the Teague property, that was under primary consideration. Should the quarry operations expand to require more ground later on ... well, we would take that as it came. That would be months, anyway, perhaps years. "If he's countin' on Teague to sell," said Mr. Burroughs, u he better figure longer than that!" 290 B O O K T H R E E "Well," said Mrs. Bell, "it was nice of him to send us word so soon anyway." "He didn't want you to worry a minute," said Mr. Bearden, bowing his way off the porch. "Hey, J.J.," Mr. Rampey called, "how come Bobo was so shy about lettin' us know he'd bought the place?" Mr. Bearden came back to the steps. "Well, confidentially," he said, "he didn't quite know how you folks might feel renting from . . . ah, him. You know how it is." "Yeah," said Mr. Rampey. "He's asked me to make every effort to see that you feel—comfortable here." "We'd feel a lot more comfortable if he hadn't upped the rent," said Mr. Jurgen. Mr. Bearden turned toward his car and stopped, remembering something. "Oh, yes"—he was looking at Ruby Lampham—"I don't quite understand . . ." "About our extra cook?" said Mr. Burroughs. "Don't worry, J.J., she won't cost you a cent." "Oh, well . . ." "Slave labor, tell Bobo. He'll like that." "Yes, well . . . whatever." Mr. Bearden worked the door open and climbed in his car. "If you need anything now, just call . . ." He was backing out the drive. "We're still gonna dock him when we eat out!" Mr. Jurgen yelled. It was true, Doc Bobo had always walked very gingerly around white people. I remember the time Miss Esther had Em destroy Bobo's shack across the road where the Kitchens woman lived and he'd never said a word. And he obviously knew that I was back and living in the garage with Em, and yet a word had never been said. Remembering suddenly that we would continue to have that place in the woods to live, I rushed uptown to break the good news to Em. Em was more interested in his game of pool. He took his time, carefully lining up his shot, slowly stroking the cue through his fingers. He shot, and scratched. The stranger across the table laughed. "That's the one, big feller, you just set my supper on the stove." The stranger, a stringy country fellow in white shirt, khaki pants and a cowboy hat, leaned across the table and easily sank the shot. Em got another beer and stood by 291 A C R Y O F A N G E L S swigging and scowling as the other man continued to sink balls as though he knew secret ridges in the table. "There you are, I've been looking for you two everywhere." It was Jayell, sweaty and grimy, his denim jacket covered with rock dust. "Em, I'm building a retaining wall around the yard. You and Earl want to help me haul some rock?" Em smiled. "The missus got you buildin' her a wall now, has she?" The sarcasm didn't go unnoticed, but Jayell brushed it off. "Up there you got to have one, or the whole damned yard washes away. What do you say?" "I don't know," said Em, scratching his head, "little woman told me not to come about the place anymore." "Well, you won't . . . we'll be out at the ... look, damnit, I don't need your mouth...