The Devil Take the Blues--Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Beatrice

If blood was spiritual currency, then the earth was a bank. The magnolia perfumed the air with its heady scent, along with the jasmine. Everything dying so everything could live. My sister was hacking away at weeds, digging her fingers into the fresh dirt when she I entered the back gate. She lifted a hand to keep the bright sun of her eyes.

“Beatrice? Something wrong? You look like you haven’t slept none. You got bags under your eyes.”

It was the morning after Angelo invited me to go with him and part of me wished that I had. Just leave fate to fate. I was so tired of fighting, but I couldn’t give up. Not for anything or anyone.

A week that passed by before didn’t ever matter to me before; one stretch of time flowed into the next, just as easily as a leaf gliding down a river. But now I was aware of every painful second that scraped along my skin. Two weeks had already passed when I made my deal with Frank; only four remained.

Drifting strands of wisteria brushed my head as I walked underneath the trees, and a few flowers fell into hair. Even though Agnes was younger than I, I still went to her for advice, for insight. Or even just to vent. That was what sisters did.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Uh-oh, sounds serious, Sister.”

I hugged Agnes but I was surprised by how little force was behind her hug. Like she was trying to stop it as soon as possible. If there were ever a cold hug, that was it.

I bit her lip. “I think my husband may be evil.”

Agnes turned her face away to hide beneath her wide-brimmed hat. The snap of the shears against the stubborn weeds was as sharp as a grandmother’s scold.

“Evil’s a strong word.”

“And he is.”

“Well, what makes you think so?” Agnes turned to me, a bemused smile playing across her lips. “Don’t you think the flowers are lovely this time of year? They will go absolutely perfectly on the dinner table. And put Tim’s spirits to right, again,” she added.

Snip…Snip…Snip

I ran a hand along the silky, verdant grass. “I think he means to hurt people.” She glanced up.

Agnes laughed. “Frank? Frank is wonderful. He had me in stitches the whole time at your wedding.” She nudged me. “Did you have a lover’s quarrel? Tim and I are always fighting about this or that.” She sighed. “But then again, that’s marriage.”

“No, I mean, I think he’s…he’s possessed, or something.”

“Too much energy, for you, then?” Agnes said with a wink. “Sometimes, Tim comes home in such a…a passion, he just grabs me, even on days I don’t really feel like it. I shouldn’t really complain, though. Better passion than a lifeless husband. I’m glad you came, because I wanted to ask you, something, and—ugh!” Agnes threw down her sheers and scrambled backward. “Kill it!”

“What is it?”

She pointed between the camellias and rhododendron.

“What, this?” I plucked up the snake. “Agnes, it’s not even poisonous. Look, it’s just a harmless ringsnake.”

“Can you please kill it? Or at least get rid of it?”

“Agnes, it’s only the size of a pencil. Are you still afraid of snakes?”

Agnes had her eyes squeezed tight. “Yes. I have our cousin to thank for that.”

“You’re still thinking of that? After all this time?”

“You would too, if you had pulled your sheets back and dozens of snakes crawled out.”

“Yeah, you did scream bloody murder. Pretty good prank, though.”

“Is it gone?”

I walked a dozen steps to the swamp that lay at the edge of their property. “It is now.”

“Thanks.” She gave a shaky laugh. “I should use Pecan. Cats are excellent for killing snakes.”

“Anyway, like I was saying, I wanted to ask you about what happened that night.” She whispered it, as if someone would hear them listening. They just might. You never knew in a town like Azoma. “You know, with that Negro.”

The image of Angelo leaving on the train burned against my retinas. I jutted my chin out slightly. “Nothing.” Then, my shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Well, more than nothing.”

Agnes was fit to be scandalized. “Are you saying you slept with—”

“No.”

A flock of ravens took to the air, cawing their way across the sky. “Nothing physical happened between us,” I said, rubbing my arm. “He escorted me home like the gentleman he is, and we got caught out in the rain. It wouldn’t have been decent to send him packing soaking wet, so I invited him in to dry off.”

Agnes drew her mouth into a line.

“That’s it,” I said firmly. “Then that fool Johnny ran his mouth to Beau, and they dragged him out and nearly killed him.”

Agnes resumed ripping the weeds out. “I don’t know, Beatrice, that was nice of you, but you’ve been stirring up too much around here. First you let all the coloreds use your store—”

“Am I supposed to let the Chinamen have all the business?” I demanded. There were exactly two stores in town. Mine store was supposed to be for white folks only, and the Chinese family let Negroes come in. “If I turned away every Negro who wanted to buy from the store, I’d go broke.”

“—then you ruffled Johnny’s feathers with that colored woman, and you got thrown in jail by Beau?”

I stared at my sister. “Was he supposed to die, from getting wet from the rain?” I couldn’t even say his name.

“Of course not, but it’s…it’s just not right.” She set the shears down. “You’re headstrong, and that did us a world of good when Daddy left us, but…you just need to be careful. You know Tim’s trying to win the election, and it just doesn’t look good, you and Frank throwing all those parties letting the coloreds come? People will start to wonder. If I’m going to be a politician’s wife, I need to act like a lady and not associate with people who associate with Negroes. Love takes sacrifice, and if that’s what Tim needs, then I’m—happy to do that.”

I grasped her hand suddenly. I needed to feel the connection with my sister that was slowly being lost. I didn’t know how it was happening. It was like Agnes was becoming someone else, a person who wore a mask. I heard it in the way she laughed; she had a real laugh and a fake laugh, and now all I heard from her was the fake. I saw it in the way her shoulders hunched, as if she were shielding herself from the world. I saw it in the way that she cared about pleasing Tim every second of every hour of the day. That was not my sister. I didn’t know who sat before me. If I could just hold her hand, like we did as children, if I could just touch her again, then maybe what was lost between us could be found.

What could I tell her without unintentionally endangering her? Why not just tell her the truth? That Frank was the Devil, and she would die in five months.

Because she would think I was crazy.

I suddenly seized her hand. “Agnes, you saw what the board said. I think someone wants to do you harm. Will you go away for a little while? Go on up north somewhere.”

Agnes slowly took her hand away. “Why on earth would I do that? You’re getting hot and bothered over a dumb board game. I can’t just up and leave Tim. He needs me.” She gathered the flowers into her arms. “There. Won’t that be exquisite?”

“Listen.” I ripped the flowers from her grasp and tossed them into the basket. “This is more important than some damn flowers. I think you might be in danger.”

Agnes dragged her eyes from the flowers to me. Then she laughed. Cold. So very cold. “You know I love you, but you’re sounding crazy. I’m fine. Honestly. As long as that snakes stay away from me.” The light changed overhead, a cloud giving us a dousing of shade. “But stay away from those Negroes. They could hurt you. I daresay you’re the one who’s in more danger if you go sneaking around over there, doing lord-knows-what.”

“Please? Just go away for a little while. For me?”

“No. Beatrice, you’ve always been hovering over me. Let me alone a little while, yes?”

I rose to her feet. “You’ll see. I swear.” I began to leave.

“Wait!”

I turned around.

Agnes rose, the basket of flowers in her arms. “Will you at least get baptized? You never were. Daddy never took us. I should get baptized as well. Besides, the preacher is going to say something this Sunday about Tim’s campaign. We can both get baptized! Think of how good that’ll be for Tim.” She nudged me. “And you. You’ll be protected by the Holy Spirit.”

Protected by the Holy Spirit.

Ha. When had that old ghost ever done me any good?

“Agnes, I can’t get baptized. The only place they do it is in the river.”

She gave me a poignant look. “It’s just at the edge. The water doesn’t even flow.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“It’s not any deeper than your ankles.”

You can still drown in ankle-deep water.

But I didn’t say that. My luck had run out with the Ouija board. I doubted that I could convince Frank to take me back to New Orleans to find another one. I had no idea how I was going to find the Axeman or stop him when I did. But I could go with my sister. If she wanted to get baptized, I could be there for her.

“I’ll go with you.”

*

Me and the Devil Was walkin' side-by-side Me and the Devil, ooh Was walking side-by-side I'm going to beat my woman Until I get satisfied

-Robert Johnson

Frank

After they rudely chased me away, I crawled into Agnes and Tim’s house. Don’t they know that snakes were excellent for plants? We eat the pests and parasites that would otherwise destroy the glory of the garden. I was in the Garden for a reason. I was the watchman, and I still am. After their rejection of the natural balance of creation, I crawled to Agnes and Tim’s house to observe Agnes. Part of me wanted to approach her to sing and record music—I knew she wanted to, but she seemed consumed by a fervor for house cleaning that bordered on demonic.

After Beatrice left to attend her duties at the store, Agnes washed the dishes, wrote the menu for next week, dusted every inch of the house, polished the furniture, then the silverware, and then pounded on the carpets to rid them of debris, and that was before lunch. After a quick meal, she scrubbed the bathrooms, changed the sheets and flipped the mattress in the bedroom, then swapped the wilted, dying flowers for fresh ones that she had plucked with Beatrice in every room.

I was by no means lazy, but Agnes worked as though she truly believed that idle hands are my playthings. Which is insulting; people will work their own trouble without idleness.

Agnes finally collapsed on the couch, propping her feet up for a moment. I can appreciate a hard-working woman. Anyone who put that much effort into keeping a clean home deserved some degree of admiration. Plus, like her sister, Agnes sometimes stepped outside the bounds of what she thought was proper. Hadn’t she gone to my music joint? Hadn’t she tried out that silly little board game of Beatrice’s?

Huh. What do you know. I actually started to like Agnes.

Then the front door opened, and Tim strode into the living room.

“I know you have nothing to do all day, but can you at least get up and help me find my shirt?”

Agnes snapped her eyes open and sat straight up.

“Shirt?”

“Yes, shirt.” Tim’s voice became pinched. “My nice one, the one that I always wear to meetings. I asked you at least three times to iron it, to have it ready for today. Now, where is it?”

Agnes’ bolted up. “Tim, dear, I forgot, I’m so sorry—”

“You’re always forgetting. I asked you to do one simple thing, and you can’t even do that?” Tim sighed, as though he had to put up with a particularly stupid child. “My meeting with Dixon is in two hours, and I need that shirt to be ready.” He walked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out the crystal decanter, where the amber liquid only barely covered the bottom. He swirled the juice around, watching it as though it would sprout wings and fly away. Then took a swig straight from the crystal neck of the bottle.

Agnes was already walking toward the stairs to ascend to the room where they kept the electric iron. “I’ll have it ready in just a moment.”

“Good.” Tim walked to the icebox and yanked it open. “Did you not go to the store yesterday like I asked?”

The blast of cold air from the icebox rushed across my skin, and I zipped away. I already had enough of the infernal cold of a meaningless existence, unrequited love, and loneliness beyond measure; I did not need more from ice. The stairs were a bother, but I managed them. Thankfully, Agnes left the door open.

Dragging the heavy iron out, she called down to her husband, “No, yesterday is when I went to the church.” She swallowed. “For choir practice.”

Agnes readied the ironing board and shirt. After she had plugged in the iron into the socket on the ceiling, she placed the dial on the hottest setting.

She ironed, singing softly to herself.

“And though this world, with devils filled,

should threaten to undo us,

we will not fear, for God has willed

his truth to triumph through us.

The prince of darkness grim,

we tremble not for him;

his rage we can endure,

for lo! his doom is sure;

one little word shall fell him.”

I had no rage; I had no cruel hate, nor craft, nor any of the other attributes that the hymns heaped upon me. The only thing I hated was injustice; I could not control that, though. I only was a liminal state, guiding those toward the inevitable conclusion, creating and recycling, keeping the balance.

The heat of the electric iron filled the room. Even though the advertisement said that this it wouldn’t make the room roasting hot, like the charcoal one, Agnes wiped a bead of sweat from her brow.

“Agnes!”

Her head jerked like a puppet on a string. Ran downstairs. Left the iron on the shirt.

“Yes?” Her voice was faint but audible.

“Are these camillas?”

I flicked my tongue and tasted burning cotton.

“Yes, do you not like them? They’re fresh, like you wanted.”

“You know I’m allergic to camillas.” The creak of the back door opening. “Do you want to torture me or are you just cruel?”

Dark gray smoke curled around the iron, a miasma of soot and disgrace.

“No, Tim, I—I—I guess I forgot.”

I could practically see the sneer on Tim’s face. “Right. Forgot. You just don’t pay attention. You just—” Tim stopped short. “Do you smell something burning?”

Panicked steps on the staircase. Agnes burst into the room. She ripped the cord out of the socket. Lifted the iron off the shirt, which now sported a scorched black outline, marring the creaminess of Tim’s best shirt.

Tim was not far behind Agnes. She held the shirt in her arms like a baby, her mouth quivering. She turned around to face him.

“Tim, I—I’m so sorry. I can fix it—”

“Like hell!” Tim yanked the shirt from her hands. “Look what you did,” he whispered. “Just look at what you did.” Tim threw the shirt on the floor. Daniel’s lion could not have stalked the floor better than Tim did. He laughed. An ugly sound.? “Ruined. And I have the meeting in an hour. What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?”

On the last word, Tim picked up the iron and threw it with all his strength at the window. The glass shattered with a great explosion. Glass flew into the air like doves shot down during hunting season. Agnes yelped. The wind blew through the window, ruffling the lace curtains, dispersing the acrid odor of singed cotton. Tim’s chest heaved.

I could sense Agnes’ fear. I tasted it in the air, in her sweat. I heard her tiny heart fluttering, just like the mice I caught and squeezed and swallowed. I felt it in the vibrations of the floor, when her knees trembled. She stood rooted to the spot. She did not breathe.?

Tim walked toward her and she flinched. He pushed her out of his way. “I swear if I lose this donor, there will be hell to pay.” He stopped at the door. “And it’s not my fucking account.” Then he slammed the door.

Like hail in the South, he was gone as quickly as he had come. Agnes backed up to a wall. Slid down. Trembled. And wept.

*

Frank

Perhaps I saw something of myself in Agnes. Someone who was trapped by control and domination; I had broken out of that particular dynamic, but I remembered how it felt. Cold. Dark. Lonely. I almost wish I had a better reason why I wanted to help her, but isn’t that what humans do? They don’t help someone unless they remind them of themselves, and they are able to personalize someone only in relation to them.

Against my better judgement, I went to Agnes. I at least wanted make her last few months more comfortable. Agnes did not seem particularly happy, and if she were going to die, she deserved at least a little happiness. She didn’t have to be under the thumb of anyone, except fate.

Tim strode through the door the next day carrying a huge bouquet of red roses. I saw everything through a window that was not shattered by Tim’s anger.

“Tim,” started Agnes. “What—”

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I know I lost my temper, and I’ll never do it again. I swear.”

“Tim, I’ve never seen anything like that. I was so frightened. You’ve been drinking so much…”

“I’ll cut back. Look, there’s only a little whiskey left, right? I’ll have to stop drinking. When the bottle’s empty, I’ll stop. I promise.”?

She accepted the flowers as though they were ancient artefacts: fragile, precious, rare. She went to set them in a vase. “I’m sorry that I ruined your shirt, but my mind was on a thousand different things at once. I’ve been so tired lately, and I know that I should have been more careful.”

Tim wrapped his arms around her, and Agnes melted into him. The bile in my throat rose. Was this human trust? Or forgiveness? If this were forgiveness, no wonder humans were miserable. She should have tossed him out, yelled at him, something. But instead she looked at him like a worshipers look at Christ on the cross while singing.

“You are wonderful, but you haven’t been the best wife lately.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve had so much work lately, and between running to the store, and going to choir practice, and church, I feel like I’m at wit’s end.” Agnes self-consciously patted her hair, sure that there were flyaway strands sticking out.

Tim kissed her fingers. “Well, perhaps you should re-think what is really important to you.”

“What do you mean?” Agnes looked into his eyes, and reproach blazed from them.

“You say that you’ve had not had much time, and I agree. I don’t think that this would have happened if you hadn’t always been so focused on other things. Singing, for example.” Tim kissed the top of her head.

“I think you’ve been spending too much time in the choir. It’s wonderful that you’re a God-fearing, church-going woman, and the people will see that when they vote for me in the polls.” He took her chin in his hand and lifted up her gaze to him. “But I think you should stop going to the choir. It’s a waste of time right now, when you could be concentrating in other, more important matters.”

Agnes tried to draw away, but Tim held her fast. “You mean…quit singing?”

“I’m glad you agree. This way, you will have more time, and incidents, like this will never happen again.”

Agnes dropped her gaze. “Of course, darling.”

Tim kissed her on the mouth, long and deep. I did not believe in the sincerity of the kiss, but I believed that he believed in the sincerity of it.

Agnes waited until he broke away to say, “Dinner will be ready in a bit.”

Tim only kissed her once again and said, “Don’t bother. I’ll be late with Pastor Dixon. We’re planning on how to get more people to vote for our party.”

Agnes clutched his arm. “But you’ve been away so much lately. Surely you can come home tonight?”

“No. Not this week. It will be worth it.”

He left, and for a moment, Agnes held her arms out still, as though expecting him to come rushing back. But once Tim was halfway down the road, Agnes took up a broom.

I crawled down from the tree, now in human form. I couldn’t take it anymore. To get Beatrice to love me, I had to do something for Agnes. Angelo, I could rid of. But Agnes? Now I knew how deep those bonds ran.

I rapped on the door then took a step back and waited. The hinges creaked as Agnes opened the screen portion.

“Frank? What are you doing here?”

What, indeed? Developing a human heart? Watching out for my fellow man? Sewing the seeds of destruction?

I motioned upward. “I was walking by the lane and happened to spy the shattered window. Thought I’d stop by and see if all was well.”

Talk about it. Say something.

Agnes colored but managed a laugh that was as fake as a store mannequin, and just as unnerving. “Oh that? You know, it’s the funniest thing…” Agnes fidgeted with the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. “Won’t you come in? Fall is here, but the sun don’t care about that.”

I stepped inside, hating the lingering traces of Tim’s scent that he left behind. Agnes smelled of sunflowers and flour, and something like crushed pinecones.

Once I was inside, I prompted her. “The funniest thing, cherie?”

Agnes blinked. “Right, well, you know I’m so absent-minded, can’t tell my feet from my head sometimes. I was ironing, and my feet became tangled in the cord, and I tripped, and the iron smashed so hard against the glass, and I near about sailed out the window myself.” She shook her head slowly, grinning at herself. “Quite silly, actually. But that’s just me.”

“Hmn. I thought iron cords attach from the ceiling? Seems pretty difficult to get it tangled around your feet.”

A cloud passed over the sun, plunging us both into darkness.

“Well.”

“Plus,” I began. “Someone told me that they heard shouting the other night.” Not a lie if it was my very self who told me.

When Agnes frowned, the scar above her eyebrow made her look especially severe. “Who’s going around spread stories like that?”

“Doesn’t matter. But I’ve noticed that your husband is…”

Agnes turned away. “I need to put some biscuits in the oven.” She walked toward the kitchen, and I followed. A dozen biscuits lay like obedient pets in even rows on the tray. Agnes did not look at me as she opened the oven and slid the tray inside. She straightened back up.

“Tim has a temper, it’s true, but it was my fault in the first place for forgetting the iron.”

“Agnes…” I wanted her to see the truth. We could lead people as close to the truth as possible, but we could never make them see. “Has Tim ever hurt you?”

“He would never hurt me.”

“I don’t mean physically.”

Agnes started greasing a pan for the chicken that lay on the counter, recently plucked and beheaded. “Well, all couples say things they don’t mean. You and Beatrice must have experienced the same?”

“But surely this is not the behavior of a Christian husband?”

Agnes sighed as she picked up the chicken to dip into egg and roll it in breadcrumbs.

“I can’t reach him anymore, and that’s my fault. We were so in love when we met. I honestly loved him the first time I saw him. He was handsome, a decorated military veteran, and who seemed like he had a sense of ambition about him. He was everything that I had ever wanted.”

“But what do you want? Truly? Isn’t there more than dusting and scrubbing and darning?”

Agnes broke a wing off the chicken, the bone cracking. “What do you mean? My role, my pride is in keeping a clean and fine household. A place that we can call home. A place where Tim can rest at night.”

I tried to make her see. I once was blind…

“But I mean more than even that?”

Agnes gazed out the window, dead chicken guts on her fingers. She raked a piece of hair with the back of her hand out of her face. “Maybe a little baby, to remind Tim of his gentler side. He wants to be a father, you know. We’ve talked about it.” She continued to dip chicken in its own offspring. “That would make me happy. That is what is missing in my life.”

“But I mean—”

“I think you should go.” Agnes cast a glance toward the front door. “Tim wouldn’t like another man in the house. Even if that man is my brother-in-law.”

“Of course. I never stay where I’m not wanted.”

Agnes escorted me to the front door. “I’m glad you stopped by,” she said once we crossed the threshold. At least Beatrice was a better liar than her sister.

“Sister, forgive me if I said anything out of turn. All I meant to do is to invite you to a small gathering I’m planning for Halloween. I’ve heard you sing, and I’d love for you to provide the night’s entertainment.”

A rush of air. A hitch in her throat. “I’ll think about it,” she said, as she slowly closed the door.