Cry of Angels

Epigraph

71 CRY OF 7IN6GLS This page intentionally left blank The storm broke and thrashed along the river in the summer darkness , with water slanting, leaves flying, trees bent and writhing in the wind. Beyond the metal crying of Dirseyy s beer sign, wrenching violently on its pole, behind the rattling windows of the rough board and tarpaper building crouched at the mouth of Twig Creek, work-stained men in clay-crusted brogans stood silently in the yellow light and watched the drunken Indian dance in the circle of beer bottles on the floor. Round and round he circled and swayed, a seven-foot giant in khaki clothes, his long hair brushing the flypaper coil, arms outstretched , heavy boots squeaking the boards. Lightning slashed across the late August sky, tree branches sprayed the roof. The Indian was aloft, soaring now, moving slowly to the rhythm within him, mumbling his wordless chant. <( Unh-huh . . . unh-huh . . . unh-huh/' 3 A C R Y O F A N G E L S He was finally home, after four months of his legendary rambling trips on the road. With considerable reluctance my great-aunt had sent me to guide him back to the boardinghouse. Normally Miss Esther forbade me to go anywhere near Dirsey's place, but when word had come after supper that the Indian was back in town, she sighed and nodded acquiescence: "Better for the boy to lead him out of Dirsey's tonight than for me to have to pay him out of jail in the morning." A man at the bar started to sway and clap. The farmers and quarry hands began to take it up, dirty overalls and rock-dusted caps swaying back and forth tauntingly in the light. "Unh-huh . . . unh-huh . . . unh-huh." Jutting black bands of hair shrouding his eyes, the Indian clamped his felt hat on tight. Head tilted back, he stared glassy-eyed through half-closed lids. The great body bounced and dipped, rolls of fat bobbing in the Sam Browne belt he had taken off a cop in Memphis. "Hallelujah!" someone shouted, and they were all laughing and clapping. They slid out of booths and off stools and everyone crowded around. One dared another to touch him. "Leave him alone," ordered Dirsey. "He pays his way. Stand clear and leave him alone." I crawled up on a stool at the end of the bar to see over the heads of the men, straining through the smoke and dimness for his eyes. They were still glazed. Full of pain. And danger. Suddenly he scooped the twelfth bottle of beer off the bar and turned it up, chugalugging, the frosty liquid foaming between his great thick lips. He bent over and set the empty down with the others, completing the circle on the floor. The monotonous chant was beginning to die. I knew now it wouldn't be long. "Aiiiiiiiyah!" He was rigid, staring frozen-eyed from a puffed red face. I jumped down and took cover behind the bar. "Aiiiyah!" With a savage kick a bottle went skidding under the booths. A startled farmer jerked up his feet. "Aiiiyah! Aiiiyah! Aiiiyah!" One by one in rapid succession the other bottles went spinning away, over the ducking heads, off the walls, rapping against table legs and spinning little jets of foam across the floor. The men were 4 A C R Y O F A N G E L S laughing and jumping in mock jright, climbing the bar, jostling one another. A bottle struck a burly ledgehand across the head and the others cackled with glee. Goaded by the laughter and pointing fingers, he stepped forward to protest. The Indian seized him and hurled him into the wall, and returned to his ferocious, kicking dance. Dirsey leaned a fist on his hip and shook his head. When the last bottle was gone, the Indian stopped. The ledgehand was crawling to his feet. The Indian looked down on him. Waiting. The man feigned grogginess and sank into a chair, scowling, salvaging pride. The Indian stood sweating, gathering his breath. I crawled out from behind the bar and moved slowly through the crowd toward him, watching his face darken with recognition as I came. His face was a mask of rage looking down on me from near the ceiling. "Em, it's time to go now," I said gently. He didn't move. He stood staring down at me, the hatred hot in his face. "Come on . . . come on." I reached out and touched his arm and felt the muscles, knotted steel, quiver beneath his sleeve. He shook me off, fury dancing in his eyes. "Better git that kid away from him!" someone said. "Shhh," said Dirsey, "shhh . . ." "It's all right, Em," I said. "You're home" Abruptly he jerked away and shoved through the crowd. Dirsey stood at the cash register, smiling, jingling the change in his pockets. The Indian dug in his pockets and emptied all the money he had on the counter, then turned briefly to the crowd that stood grinning back at him. He watched them a moment, his eyes flitting from face to face, then, with a shiver of disgust, he turned and lunged out the door and stumbled away through the rain. 5 This page intentionally left blank ...