The Escape of Bobby Ray Hammer, A Novel of a '50s Family

  "Okay, so how can I defend against it? Phyllis was asking me about Brenda the other night at the show."

  "Why did you go to the show without me?"

  Just about the time I get my hand on the doorknob, Chelsey has me by the arm, and his fingers are cutting into my meat. I don't much want to talk to him. God, he looks black today. I don't think he wants to talk to me either because, "You motherfuck," is what he calls me to start out with. So I'm trying to get inside the door, but the next thing I know he has me pushed up against the wall. I look around to see who's watching. Bev has stepped back a few paces and taking it all in.

  "Where ya want it, huh, Bobby Ray? Where you want it?"

  "Stay away from me, Chelsey. I don't need anything from you."

  "Well, I want somethin from you. I want those fuckin lips that you suck on little nigger girls with. I'm goin to put them back on the other side of your teeth."

  "Quit messing around. I need to get to class."

  He just stuck his hand inside my shirt and has a handful of meat that he's about to pull off my body. I knew I should've buttoned my top button. He just grits his teeth and squeezes while he's trying to get me to look at him.

  "Stop it. You're hurting me."

  "Little white boys can hurt, same as little nigger girls. Prissy hurts, Bobby Ray." 

  I wish he'd quit using my middle name like that. 

  "You thank you know something about hurtin? I want you, motherfuck. I'm goin to teach you what hurtin is."

  "I need to get to class."

  "I do too, so I can't fuck you up now. School's not the right place. But we got to have it out. You know that? We got to."

  "Chelsey," and it's Bev talking to him, "you leave Bobby alone. He belongs to me." And she has this forlorn look like she just scraped me out of the trash can, but I still belong to her. God I hate it when a girl takes up for me.

  Whew! I finally make it inside, and just as my seat hits the chair, the bell rings. Bev knows something about what I've done now. How am I ever going to explain about Prissy? Leroy's lying technique is the only way out of this one. Now I've got to think about physics.

  "Doesn't anyone have an idea? Did anyone bring their brain today?" asks Mr. Wood. "Thomas. Can you tell the class how the Roman arch stays up? Maybe make a guess?"

  Mr. Wood is standing next to the sink that he uses once in a while to demonstrate something he's trying to get across to the class. He runs his hand along the long metal gooseneck spigot. Thomas is sitting next to me. He kind of hunkers down, but it's too late to hide, Thomas.

  "Cause it can't fall down." That brings a laugh from the class.

  "As silly as that may sound to those of you who think you are more astute than Thomas, there's some truth to it. The Roman arch is in a state of equilibrium. I think that's what Thomas is trying to tell us. That right, Thomas?"

  "Yes." Thomas wasn't about to answer no to that one. He hasn't had the right answer to a question in this class all year. I snigger a little under my breath.

  "Bobby." Oh shit! Here I go. "Can you tell us why the Roman arch is in a state of equilibrium?"

  I have an idea, but I don't want to tell him. Read all about it in a library book the other day. I hope he'll just go on to someone else, but he's being real patient with me. "The forces all add up to zero," is what finally comes out of my mouth.

  I hear Thomas snigger next to me.

  "What forces, Bobby? Be more specific?"

  "The internal forces," says Brenda right quick.

  "Did I ask you, Brenda?" And he holds his hand up so she won't say anymore and looks at me.

  Brenda hangs her head. I wish he hadn't said that to her. "All the forces have got to be zero," is all I can think to say.

  "Which forces?" asks Mr. Wood.

  "What Brenda said, the internal forces."

  "And where does that principle come from?"

  "It was one of the things we learned during the first week. One of Newton's laws."

  "Newton's first law, as a matter of fact," says Mr. Wood. "A body at rest will remain at rest and a body in motion will continue in motion with constant speed in a straight line, as long as no unbalanced force acts on it. All the forces must add up to zero. So which part of this Roman arch does that apply to?"

  "Every piece in it. None of them are going anywhere."

  "Tell me more."

  "Well, you can look at each brick. Look at the forces the other bricks exert on it, and when you add 'em up, they have to equal zero."

  "How do you go about that?"

  "You do it once for the horizontal and once for the vertical."

  "And how do the vertical forces differ from the horizontal forces?"

  "One of the vertical forces acting on the brick is due to gravity."

  "And how large is this gravitational force?"

  "It's equal to the weight of the brick." I've been looking at Mr. Wood while I talk, but I feel eyes on me, so I glance around the room. How come everybody's looking at me?

  "So an arch only has to hold up its own weight. But how about a bridge?" Then he's looking around for someone else to call on. "Brenda. Can you answer that one?"

  "It has to hold up its own weight plus that of whatever is going across. Like a horse or a car, maybe a train." Then she looks over at me, raises her eyebrows and smiles. I haven't had a whole lot of smiles from her since homecoming night.

  Mr. Wood goes to the board, draws an arch with a white piece of chalk. That old board is so scratched, looks like it's been around a hundred years. "Bobby and Brenda must be hanging out together," says Mr. Wood with his back still to us, and damn if Thomas doesn't turn the brightest shade of red I've seen in a while. Then Mr. Wood turns back around. "So how do we make this arch into a bridge?"

  I know the answer to that one. "I'd go get the tractor with a scraper on it, and spread enough dirt across the top to make it flat and put a road across it." I knew I should have kept my big mouth shut because now I have the whole class laughing at me.

  *

  "What came over you?" is what Thomas is asking me after class. "I've never seen you act like that in class." I think he's a little disappointed in me.

  "I read a lot about bridges." I have Thomas on one side of me and Brenda on the other. "I want to get to college someday. I've started studying some at home."

  "You're the most unpredictable human being I know," says Thomas.

  "The most undervalued," says Brenda. She keeps brushing her hot arm up against mine.

  I keep looking out for Chelsey. I don't need to see Bev again right now either.

  CHAPTER 35: Papa's Problem with Delbert

  Here comes Papa out into the field where me, Curt and Delbert are working on the planter. I can tell he's mad because he's walking fast and has on a straight face. When Papa's mad, everything better be working right, or else. But we've been broke down all morning and now it's noon and we don't have anything done. Sometimes Papa's mad when he comes back from town and I always wonder if he's not feeling guilty for sloughing off like that. But he wanted us to finish this field here on the home place today, this being Saturday, so we can move on tomorrow to the forty acres we've rented from Mr. Grissom because he's been talking to Papa about how come we don't have it planted yet.

  I feel guilty anyway because me and Delbert have been talking a lot about how I might get the money for college instead of putting my mind to getting the planter fixed. Curt's been talking about the County Fair that comes up next month. He's been kicked out of school for fighting and I think he's kind of happy about it. Guess Papa'll have some more help for a few days. All morning, Curt's been talking like he's Papa and then like he's talking to Papa, sometimes like I'm Papa. We've all been having fun about the way Papa is, but that has to stop. Delbert's pulled off his cowboy hat and set it on the planter and now he and Curt are between the planter and the tractor, trying to adjust the height of the wedge that separates the ground so the seeds can fall through. I guess Curt's so hard at i
t that he doesn't know Papa has come up and standing right above him, blocking the sun, and Curt thinks it's me, but he's still acting like I'm Papa.

  "Get out of my goddamn light, Hershel," Curt says, then looks up with a smile expecting to see me.

  "I've told you about that cussing, Curt," says Papa and when Papa has a reason to be mad it seems to calm him. So now he hardly seems mad anymore, just puts on his calm face and starts pulling off his belt.

  Curt looks thunderstruck. That face of his goes from smiling to crying so quick, it's hard to believe it's the same face. He's looking for a way out from under the planter, but Delbert's on one side on his knees and he's starting to move back but not very fast. Papa's on the other side, and he can't help but smile a little at Curt's predicament.

  Curt has on a long sleeve flannel shirt with a big collar, and Papa raises him clean off the ground with it before he turns him loose. Papa hits Curt once with the belt, jerking it so that it pops hard, before Curt can get away, then he falls in the soft dirt and Papa's on top of him, flailing with that doubled up leather belt like he's thrashing wheat. Curt scrambles away from him, but Papa gets a kick in on the seat of Curt's pants as he runs off toward the house crying. Papa starts to run after him then changes his mind.

  I pick up the wrench Curt was using, thinking I'd like to have a try at fixing Papa with it.

  "I'll give you more when I get home," Papa shouts at Curt. "I'm warning you. You leave us short handed out here in the field, I'll get you. Better come back and take your medicine." Then stands watching him run on off with his head down.

  Meanwhile, me and Delbert are working extra hard on that wedge. Delbert's put his hat back on.

  "You worthless farm hands have been screwing around with this goddamn piece-of-shit planter all afternoon and haven't got this field planted yet. I can't believe I pay out good money for help like this."

  "I realize it sure doesn't look good, Mr. Hammer." Delbert doesn't ever call Papa by his last name.

  I see Papa out of the corner of my eye, bent over scratching through the dirt to see if we've been getting the seed in the ground right. He straightens up and looks out across the field then back at us. I'm working fast with that wrench now, because I don't want him all over me.

  "Maybe we could get that bolt tight enough if we both got our hands on that wrench, Bobby," says Delbert.

  "Crookedest goddamn rows in the state of California. I'm ashamed for people to even see my field," is what Papa comes up with next.

  "I was hoping myself we could do better than we have been," says Delbert

  But I know there's nothing wrong with the rows we've planted.

  "I don't see how you let these kids plant these seeds so deep. We're going to have to plow this field up and plant it over for sure."

  "Well, maybe I'm wrong, Mr. Hammer, but I was thinking that maybe it should go a little deeper because of the wind we've been having. It might dry out too quick."

  "You don't get paid to think, Delbert. I do the thinking. You do the working." I haven't ever heard Papa talk to Delbert like that. And he's been working for Papa for ten years. Delbert don't know what to say about that so he just turns back to helping me.

  "Why don't you let me pull on the wrench with you, Bobby. Maybe both of us can get it tight," says Delbert, being about as helpful as he can.

  But I'm straining real hard already and damn if I don't shear that bolt off.

  "Delbert, you sonofabitch. You just coaxed him to breaking that goddamn bolt. I ought to fire you. No wonder this thing's not fixed. You're more harm than good."

  I don't think Papa should be talking about firing Delbert. He might quit and we have to have his help to get all this seed in the ground. I'm thinking about saying something for Delbert and hoping he'll take up for himself, but neither of us say anything.

  "You've been out here with these kids screwing around all morning like you're on welfare and getting paid for work you don't have to do." And then damn if Papa, and I can tell he's real mad but I don't expect this, he makes a run at Delbert. And Delbert is backing off fast. "Get off my land, you sonofabitch! Second thought, come back here. I want to whip your ass." And Papa gets close enough that he throws a punch at Delbert. "You're fired. You hear me? You're a fired son-of-a-bitch," Papa shouts, and he raises his chin like he's lofting the words to get more distance out of them. Delbert's just running on out of the field with his hand holding that Texas hat on his head.

  Well, Papa's run both of them off. Now what has he got for me? That's what I'm wondering.

  *

  "I don't know, Bobby Ray, I hated to fire Delbert like that. But bygod, he had it coming. I don't know why he did it anyway. Shearing off that bolt like that. He's been around long enough to know he can only push me so far. He knew what he was doing. Sometimes I feel kind of sorry for him, him being no smarter than he is. But I can't keep the likes of him around. I'll go broke. This isn't a welfare organization."

  Me and Papa are in the house just finishing lunch. Mama put the fried chicken and potato salad on the table and then got out. I haven't seen her since.

  "I don't have any handouts to give to people. I've been broke once in my life. During the depression and the dust bowl. Back in the '30's. You study about that stuff in school now. I'm never going to see a time like that again if I can help it. And Delbert's sure as hell not dragging me down to that level again. It may be tough on you and me and Curt before I can find someone to take his place, but we'll make it. May not get to see as much of the Fair this year as we'd like. But you're not working up to snuff lately either, Bobby Ray. Your mind's wondering off work. I'm going to have to lean on you if you don't start taking up some slack. Damn Delbert. Why couldn't he have waited until after the Fair to pull a stunt like that anyway? I'll never understand the likes of him. Sometimes I think he's the meanest man I've ever met. Stripping that bolt off like he meant to do it. Leaving us shorthanded at a time like this."

  "He didn't do it, Papa. I did. Let's get that straight."

  "Well, he was coaxing you. I heard him. I might even go see him at home. And this wasn't the first time either. I've been watching him lately. I think maybe he just plays dumb, like maybe he's a lot smarter than he lets on. He never has cared for me much. Ever since he failed at farming and had to come work for me, he's been jealous of my success. I've heard him talking before that I had a lot of blind luck, particular with the weather. And I admit that I am good at guessing the weather, better than those goddamn weathermen. They ought to shoot a bunch of those bastards just on general principles. They're always getting the farmers to thinking they know a little something, and then when it gets important, like maybe planting time, they get it wrong every year. There's a reason for that I tell you. They can't be that wrong by accident. But I do feel bad about Delbert. That poor dumb sonofabitch getting himself fired like that, and him with six kids and two in high school. To tell you the truth, I don't know how they're going to make it. I don't see how he could get himself fired like that."

  "Well, it's sure not anybody else's fault but yours," I tell him. "And it's your fault cause you fired him." I've had it with Papa. I don't mean to talk back to him, but some things just need saying.

  Papa's through talking, after me saying that, and just doing a lot of swallowing, so we sit here quiet like for a while. I push back my plate because I'm through eating lunch. Then Curt comes in real slow, testing the water. But when Papa sees him, he remembers what he told Curt out in the field, so he gets up slow like maybe he's tired and like maybe he doesn't even want to do what he's about to do.

  "Come on, Curt. You know what I promised you when you left us shorthanded out in the field."

  "Oh, Papa, don't whip me, Papa. I don't want to be whipped again, Papa. It hurt so bad the last time," is the way Curt is taking it.

  But Papa's coming on, pulling off his belt. Curt starts crying and asking for Papa to use his hand, because then Papa will hurt too, every time he hits and he won't hit so hard. P
apa's just really mean with that belt. Curt's lost his courage this time for sure. He's had too much time to think about it.

  I get flashes of the last time Papa whipped him. I remember Curt in the back room, taking that belt across one shoulder and then the other. I still can't stand to think about the welts he had. I start to breathe fast and my legs are getting weak because I'm following right behind Papa as he's following Curt into the far corner of the living room. It's like my legs made the decision by themselves and just got up and are carrying me after him.

  "Papa," I say, and I can tell my voice is real calm even if I'm not on the inside, but he doesn't even notice.

  "Papa!" and this time I have a little force behind my voice, so Papa turns part way round to see what I'm up to.

  "You're not going to do it, Papa," but my voice starts to quiver.

  "What did you say, son?"

  "You're not whipping Curt." And now out of the corner of my eye, I see Trish standing in the doorway to the hall.

  "You're my son, too. You're not telling me what I'm going to do to Curt."

  "Yes I am, Papa. I don't want to. But this time I am. He's too big. You're not whipping him. Not now. Not ever again." I'm just afraid I'm going to cry before I can get this over with.

  So Papa comes to me. "Well, I guess I've got some for you that I'll got to dish out before I can give Curt what I promised."

  "No you're not, Papa, cause I'm not taking it anymore either." And now I'm standing my ground, looking down at him and he's right in front of me, looking me straight in the eyes. And I swear to God, I'm not afraid of him, but I'm still shaking. He doesn't take his eyes off mine, but he rears back the belt and whacks me once across the shoulder and I catch the folded leather belt in my hand, feeling that hot stripe down my back.

  "Turn it loose, Bobby Ray," he says, almost like he's begging me, and I can see tears forming in his eyes.

  "It's all over, Papa. I feel just as bad about this as you do, but if you can't quit by yourself, then I'm going to stop you."

  And so he jerks at the belt once, but I still won't let go.

  "So you want to run the house? What the hell's wrong with you? You're not a man yet."

  "I just want you to quit whipping Curt. You whip him too hard."