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

  "Aw, Thomas," I say. "How could you stop me? I'll never have another chance like that. Chance of a lifetime."

  I have my head down walking toward my car so I can sit and think if I should cut the rest of the day when I see some kids running toward Eighth Street. Then goddamn! Something hits me right in the back of the head so hard that I fall against my car, and I catch three more blows on the back and one in the side. So I bulldog that sonofabitch, and it's Chelsey, that stinking goddamn nigger, and I throw him off away from me. I remember the smell of that nigger stuff from Prissy now.

  I have to get away from Chelsey, or he's going to kill me, so I run a ways down the sidewalk with him right after me. I hear a couple of shouts and some scuffling, so I stop, look back. It's Thomas, Melvin and Jim Broden, and it's taking all three of them to hold Chelsey off me.

  "Goddamn, look what he did to me!" I say. "He already busted my nose." And I have blood all down my Levis. "This is my blood, man. Turn him loose."

  "He'll kill you, Bobby," says Melvin.

  "That's okay," I say. "I want him. He started this. Let's see what he's got." I just can't stand that sonofabitching nigger anymore.

  "Bobby Ray! Stop it! Just stop it!" It's Trish screaming at me.

  "Eugene? Where are you Eugene?" I shout.

  "Here I am, Bobby," he says stepping out of the crowd of kids.

  "Get her out of here. This ain't no place for a girl."

  Then Chelsey is on me again. And I've never seen so many punches come from only two arms. So I just cover up and take the rain of blows, and he's beating me in the ribs and on the arms and shoulder, and I feel the knots coming all over my body.

  But I dip down low, then I throw a punch, my first, and it's the one I have been saving ever since Lenny died. I throw the right hand that I wouldn't throw at Melvin or Thomas. I hear it crack like a gun going off. Goddamn if it doesn't put Chelsey down. There's a roar from the crowd.

  "Kill that fucking nigger," someone says. "Whoopee, son-of-a-bitch."

  So I have a little time now. I can't believe the crowd we've drawn. The entire school is here. There's little Becky Wynsum with front row standing room; I believe she's crying a little; Eugene has Trish by the arm, pulling on her, but she's not going anywhere. There's lots of freshmen with smiling faces like this is the biggest thing that ever happened to them, and a new crew of niggers is mixing in the crowd.

  Chelsey can't figure what happened. He shakes his head a couple of times and takes his time about getting up.

  "Take him, Bobby! Oh goddamn!" says Melvin. "You've got him. Don't let him up." He's dancing around like an Indian at a war party. "Hurt him, Bobby. Hurt him! Don't let him up."

  I have all these knots. I feel like I have bee stings all over my body.

  Here comes Chelsey again, and I see a little blood between his lips this time. He still has his machine gun fists going so I cover up, but it doesn't help this time. I put both fists over my eyes, but he's beating my ears off of my head, and when I move a fist he busts my lip, so I don't have any choice, I run. I run along the sidewalk with Chelsey right behind. He catches up with me and pounds a fist in my back. I stop in the intersection of Eighth Street and Humbolt, and we throw a few more punches standing in the middle of the blacktop. I hit him in the middle of that big black nose and he backs off. He's shedding a little blood through the snout now too.

  Here comes the whole damn school running after us, and they look like a herd of stampeding cattle. I don't think Sonnett's got the guts to come into this crowd because they've come to see a fight. Kids are packed tight trying to get close enough to see. A couple bump into me. I shove them back.

  Chelsey comes at me again. This time I listen for the sounds we make. I hear a thud or two. He likes to grunt when he throws a punch. Now some kids are cheering. I hear girls cheering. Every time he hits me, I start to swell. My left eye is almost closed now. I step under a right and swing my body, so that I have a little leverage, and pound my fist down into his ribs. That gets a grunt out of him, and then I bring in a sweeping left hook that I hear crack again and he goes down.

  "Goddamn," says Melvin, "you can't let him up like this. He'll chop you to pieces, Bobby. Get him while he's down."

  So I have some more time. I sneak a peek, see Becky, Phyllis, and now Brenda brushing past Thomas to get a look at me, pushing past him but not paying him any mind, and there's Bev, or at least it looks like the top of her head, coming through the crowd, and now she's right up front. So I run again, this time into the empty lot on the other side of Eighth Street. And Chelsey tackles me in the dirt. We roll around a little in what feels like six inches of dust. When we come up for air, there's blood-mud everywhere. The crowd has followed us, like a flock of black birds flying in formation around us. Bev's on the other side of Chelsey, her tits heaving from the footrace. Broden's standing close by, and he puts both those big black arms out and backs into the crowd, pushing them back to get more room for Chelsey. His hand's pushing Bev back, and it's about as big as her entire chest. Thomas has a front row seat with Phyllis. She just looks shocked at what's happening. The fight's going to be finished here because we are both tired as hell.

  "Come on, Bobby," shouts someone. "Take that goddamn nigger's head off."

  We go at it again and I hear the pop and thud of fists against meat and bone, but I don't feel anything. We're kicking the dirt now, and it's powdery and boiling up, and the crowd's raising even more. We quit again and stand here puffing with dirt all over us. I have my head forward with blood dripping off my nose. I brush off some bloody mud.

  "You want some more, sonofabitch?" I ask.

  If Chelsey wants some more, he's not telling. He's just looking around like he wants to know if there's going to be a way out of this when it is finished. He looks over at Broden. Broden looks across at the big black nigger I don't know, then he nods to Chelsey. So we go at it again.

  I hear Wayne shouting, "Hit him! Hit him! Get that sonofabitch, Chelsey, take that motherfucker, take him. Goddamnit! Goddamnit! Goddamnit! Kill that bastard, Chelsey. Kill him!" I guess there's no mistaking whose side he's on.

  Off in the distance I hear a siren. A real one this time. Broden motions Chelsey off. Chelsey looks back at me. Starts to walk off. Turns toward me again. I go to meet him, but the siren's closer this time.

  "Bobby! Bobby!" It's Thomas. "Follow me. We've got to get you out of here. The police, Bobby! The police!" I take one last look at Chelsey. He's still staring at me. Then he runs.

  *

  The sun's going down now and we're over at the Beacon gas station on Robertson and First Street. I'm with Melvin and Thomas in the bathroom. I have my Levis off, and Thomas is washing the blood off them in the sink. We just finished my shirt, wrung it out. No choice but to put it back on wet. Couldn't get all the blood out.

  "Proud, so proud of you, Bobby," says Melvin. "Oh, god, am I proud of you. Be my brother. I know you keep saying you don't have one anymore since your papa run you off. My stepfather run me off again too. You and me'll always be nigger-fighting brothers."

  This bathroom just has a sink and a stinking toilet. Little mirror over it. Not enough room for two people, much less three.

  "I hate that nigger." I say. "I've never hated anyone before. But I hate him. I could fight him all day." I have my pants off but my shoes are still on. No sense in getting my feet nasty on the bathroom floor. My legs could stand a little suntan.

  "Well, your face couldn't take it," says Thomas. "Put some more ice on his eye. That left one needs it most. And you should leave Bobby alone, Melvin. He needs to calm down. It's been three hours since the fight and he's still high. Get down off it, Bobby."

  "But he was so good," says Melvin. "Goddamn, Bobby. I've never seen a right hook like that first one you put him down with. An absolute work of art. Chelsey's never been off his feet in a fight. Did you see that goddamn nigger's face, Thomas."

  "Sure. I see his face all the time. Every school day."

&nb
sp; "Na. Na. I mean when he hit the ground. Goddamn, when his ass hit the ground. Did you see his face?"

  Then Thomas laughs a little. "Alright. All right. I saw his face. But, Bobby, you've got to calm down. I've never seen you wired like this. And leave him alone, Melvin. Shit! He doesn't need to hear about how great he was. I can still see that vein in his neck and his heart's beating two hundred a minute."

  "Ah, but he's good. So goddamn good."

  "Good at getting his face beat in. It stinks in here. Did you fart again, Melvin?"

  "Smells like nigger," I say. "I got nigger on me, Thomas. Can't wash that off. Don't you like the smell of niggers?" I ask Melvin.

  "See what I mean about fighting niggers?" Melvin says to me. "God! There's nothing on earth feels better. Fucking a girl can't hold a candle to fighting a nigger. Wow! What a fight! You knocked him down! I'd give a million dollars to have done that. Knocked him down twice. And here he thought he was champion of the world."

  "You should just shut up, Melvin," says Thomas. "You know that? Just shut up. He didn't win that damn fight."

  "No shit, Thomas! If I didn't know better, I'd think you were mad at me."

  "I'm, goddamnit! I said, shut up! Can't you tell he's still pumped up? He's got to go home. He doesn't need you yanking his fighting chain again."

  I hear a car pull up outside. I think I hear nigger voices. "Let me see," I say. "Who's that?" I crack the door a little. "Gimme my pants. My nigger's back."

  "Stay in here, Bobby. Keep that door shut," he tells Melvin.

  So now I have my wet shirt and my wet pants on. Feels like a wet tarp wrapped around my legs. "Let me out," I say. "My nigger's waiting."

  "Listen to me," says Thomas. "I'll get rid of them. Just give me a couple of minutes."

  "You don't understand," I tell him. "I want to fight him. I need him. Again."

  "No, Bobby. Not now. Wait till tomorrow. If you still want him then, okay. But let it rest a day."

  " Uh-uh. Not on your life."

  When I throw the door back, there're four of them milling around this old beat up Studebaker that has the bumpers held on with baling wire. It's Jim Broden, Stanley and that black nigger I don't know the name of. Chelsey's standing behind them. I step out and catch a whiff of fresh air. I don't smell nigger anymore.

  "You hiding, Chelsey, or you just real bashful? Maybe you came to kiss and make up?" I ask.

  He comes running at me, almost knocks Stanley to the ground to get to me. I put my shoulder into him, throw him up against the side of the car, pound on those black bones. He kicks me off him.

  I have blood dripping off my nose again, and he has a bruise on the side of his head that looks like a bunch of grapes under his brown skin. I'm learning to hit him in the ribs cause he can't take much of that. Backs him off every time. We fight between the two cars, bouncing off of them like they're ring ropes. I keep trying to break his ribs and take a few shots to the head for my trouble. Since I ripped his shirt off him, I have his red and blue ribs, where I've been beating him, to shoot at.

  Then I take a big right hand, and suddenly, it's like I don't know where I am. I'm down on one knee, for some reason. Chelsey's backed off a little. I hear a buzz, off in the distance, think maybe I hear Mama call my name. Someone says, "He's coming to." Think maybe it was Thomas. I look off and see a crop duster in the distance, down low to the ground. Couldn't be though. The cotton is just barely tall enough for chopping now. I'm trying to stand when I hear the screech of rubber and a black car shines a red spotlight in my eyes. Brock and another policeman get out.

  Thomas comes to me. Puts his hand on my shoulder, bends down to talk in my ear. "You okay?" he asks.

  "I'm fine, but what's Brock doing here?"

  "Bobby," Brock's talking now, "I want you in the backseat. Chelsey, you go home."

  Brock gave me a good talking to. Something about my papa and mama. He knows about Aunt Loretta. Said he knows what I'm going through. He says I can only push the law so far.

  *

  It must be one o'clock in the morning. I'm with Chelsey again. We've been fighting for two hours. I haven't been home, been out with Melvin. I couldn't face Aunt Loretta looking like this. We're in the peach orchard that Brenda and I used after the football game when she had me between her legs. Thomas showed up a few minutes ago. He gave up on me after the police caught me. Went home. Someone went to get him again, I guess. He just watches us for a few minutes, shakes his head and walks off. You can't possibly bleed anymore, he told me. You couldn't have anymore blood. He won't look at us. I hear crickets off in the dark between trees. Even the mosquitoes won't leave me alone. It must be the car lights shining on me. Every time I knock Chelsey down, he gets up. Every time he gets up, he beats my face in. I've knocked him down several times, but now I'm afraid to. I've gone through several stages. There was a time when I wanted to kill Chelsey. I asked Melvin to get me a tire tool, a wrench or maybe a knife. I broke a limb off a tree and chased Chelsey with it. I wanted to kill him so bad. Chelsey just stood there while I tried to talk Melvin into getting me a sledge hammer. Then I got real calm. None of the blows to my face seemed to hurt. Even the one eye I can't see out of just seemed like it wasn't there. Like I never had a left eye. His blows to my body just went through me, like my body didn't even exist. But now, everything he does to me hurts. And I like it. It's like the first time in my life I've ever felt anything that happened to me. I feel my feet in the earth. I feel the wind on my skin. I feel how sorry Thomas feels for me. I feel how much Melvin wants me to win this fight. I feel my clothes everywhere they touch me. And when Chelsey hits me, it's like a earthquake running through my body. I can tell all my teeth are loose in my gums. My old head is huge from my eyes up, and I don't have a voice anymore. All I can do is grunt. At times, I've thought that I could feel horns growing out my forehead. My hair feels like baling wire or maybe a mess of snakes.

  We've stopped for a second, while Chelsey blows the blood clots out his nose, again. He has to stop and do that every once in a while. And now there's another car pulling up. Just another set of headlights. More light just means more pain for my one eye that still sees. I don't know who's here anymore. People come, some go. Some are niggers, some are white. All the same to me. But something has happened. Someone else is here now. And I feel so ashamed of myself. I hear a girl scream. Who is it? Who's that person? Who's that girl?

  "Why doesn't someone stop them? Thomas! You son of a bitch! You could stop them. Why're you letting them do this to each other? Bobby Ray. Oh no, Bobby Ray. Why are you killing yourself? Thomas, why are you letting Chelsey hurt my brother? Oh God. Please stop them, God. Please don't let them keep doing this."

  Chelsey's standing in front of me with his arms down. He has blood all the way to his knees.

  I feel like I'm a hundred years old. Turning my head is like turning a house on a pivot. I only see out through one window. But that window sees Trish.

  CHAPTER 43: Now Jesse Has Something to Say

  "I can't get the smell off me, Jess."

  "Get in the car. We can talk about the smell later."

  It's three in the morning, and I'm standing in front of Farnesi's talking to Leroy's Uncle Jesse. He wants me to get in his car. I've been feeling like crying, and choking it back is harder when I have to talk. So I don't say much. Jess was in Farnesi's having a hamburger when Melvin took me into the bathroom to clean me up. Turned a few eyes when I walked inside. It's kind of strange, but Jess had been out looking for me. Aunt Loretta called him. Why would she do that? Mama and Papa always let me go about my business. I didn't recognize myself in the mirror. I looked like a Mongoloid idiot.

  "I need my pistol, Jess. Can you take me to my car? I need my pistol. We better hurry, too, because my other eye's closing." Goddamn, won't my face ever quit swelling?

  "Why do you want your pistol?"

  "Two people need killing."

  Jess shakes his head, but he takes me back to the high school anyway, and
now I'm rumbling around under my seat trying to find my pistol. It'd help if I could see a little better. When I bend over, my eyes go completely shut.

  Jess hasn't said a lot to me. He just looks real down hearted for some reason, seems to be thinking a lot. And Trish has gone crazy. She wouldn't let Eugene take her home. She was out with Eugene when she heard I was fighting Chelsey in that peach orchard. After she broke up the fight, she made Eugene leave, gave his ring back to him right there for some reason. She told him how sorry she was and hugged him. Told him good-by like she was leaving town. Then she started cussing Thomas and chasing him around the peach orchard. Threw clods at him. But Melvin told me that it was Thomas who took her home.

  I finally find my pistol. It slid out from under the seat onto the floorboard in back. The metal's cold in my hand, and that feels good because my hands are still swelling too. Too fat to make a fist. I've told Jess that he can leave, but he's still standing around like he's waiting on a train.

  "I thank you for bringing me to my car, Jess. But I'm leaving now, so you can go on home."

  "Bobby..." Jess just has on a T-shirt, so I get to see his tattoos on his arms through this little slit in my right eye.

  "You're holding me up," I tell him. "Can you make this quick?"

  "I can't let you do it." His skin's so tan from working in the field that he looks almost like a nigger himself.

  "This is my business. You don't have a say-so."

  "Yes I do."

  "How's that?"

  "Maybe we should talk."

  "Jesuschrist, Jess. I appreciate you helping me out by bringing me to my car, but now I've got to take care of my business."

  "Who you going to kill?"

  "First Chelsey, then Charles Kunze. If you really think it's any of your business."

  "Why don't we talk first? Give you a chance to think it over."

  "Goddamn you, Jess. Now see what you've done? You kept me out here talking like this, and now my other eye's closed. I can't see anything." And then I start to cry. "If it hadn't been for you, I'd a been alright."

  "There's more truth in that than you know. Go with me to my place and we'll see if an ice pack and a cold shower won't stop the swelling."