Tru and Nelle Page 14

  Once we’d collected everything, she’d bring out the secret ingredients and dump them in an old black cauldron, but only if I had my eyes closed. Then we’d mix in everything else and boil it over a fire in the backyard for days. As the dark sticky liquid turned to thick molasses, we’d pour it through a strainer into bottles. My job was to keep the fire stoked and the pot stirred.

  “The medicine must be strong enough to chase illness from the body. When you can’t stand the stench no more, it’s ready,” she told me.

  The awful stuff stank all the way to the town square. It drove Bud and Callie crazy, but Jenny was understanding. “It’s the only way she earns her keep.”

  The black syrup became famous all over the county. People came at all hours of the day and night for her secret concoction. She’d sell it to anyone, colored or white, it didn’t matter.

  “Sickness knows no color,” she’d say.

  She acted like a wise old doctor when her patients showed up at the door (black folks had to come in the back way). They would show her their swollen joints or sores and she’d examine them without touching, mulling it over in her gray head. Then she’d disappear into the back room and return with a bottle, from which they were supposed to take one sip a day. She charged them a dollar.

  Word spread and she always sold out. I’d count the money and we’d use it to buy ingredients for Sook’s special fruitcakes, which she gave out for Christmas to people who deserved them, like the poor and President Roosevelt when he was elected over that scoundrel Hoover.

  Spies were a problem. She grew paranoid that everyone was trying to steal her recipe, even Jenny. That might have been one of the reasons she never left home: to protect the secret.

  I admit, after my parents split up, I worried for my mother, though she did not for me. When her show-business career didn’t take off, I wondered if there was some way I could earn enough money so she wouldn’t have to marry some old fool and she could come back for me. Sook and I had so many ideas but they always seemed like schemes Arch would come up with. But one day, we were sitting on the front porch with Nelle and Big Boy playing games, and Sook suddenly stood up with a look of surprise.

  “I got it, Truman. I know how you can make enough money so Lillie Mae won’t have to remarry.”

  She took me by the hand and led me down by our secret headquarters, leaving Nelle and Big Boy on the porch to wonder what on earth she was gonna reveal to me that would make me rich. As soon as we were out of earshot, she leaned in and said the magic words: “I’m gonna give you the secret to my recipe. With your smarts, you’ll make it the biggest thing in Alabama!”

  I couldn’t believe it. She explained how she was getting too old for all this work and how she hated that Jenny was always after the recipe so she could retire from the hat shop. She’d much rather I had it and use it to make me and my mother happy.

  Now I wish I could tell you what she told me, dear reader, but alas, I can’t. I have been sworn to secrecy for life, and not even Nelle or Big Boy could pry it out of me (though they sure did try).

  “Sook gave you the secret, didn’t she?” asked Big Boy upon my return.

  I glanced over at Sook, who was heading in for her afternoon nap. She didn’t say a thing; she trusted me that much. I smiled and said to them, “All I can say is, when I make my fortune, you two will be the first employees I hire!”

  They were not impressed.

  Unfortunately, the business was shut down before I could take it over. Jenny had tried to secretly patent the miracle formula herself and when word got out to the other local doctors, the health inspector came in and shuttered the service forever.

  Archulus Persons Is a Big Fat Liar

  Truman would never say it, but his daddy is a scoundrel. I mean to say, he’s nice and all when he wants to be, but he’s always working some scheme or other. I can never trust him when he says, “Nelle, I need a favor.” He’s constantly working the angles. And poor Truman was the one always getting ignored.

  Every time Arch Persons drove up to the house, it caused a stir. Either he pulled up honking and scaring the chickens in some fancy car with a driver or he snuck in the back way like he was a thief. Truman was always excited to see his daddy, but every time he ended up heartbroken because he was never the focus of his father’s attention.

  Arch was never boring, I’ll give him that. He was always coming up with foolproof plans and crazy ideas that would earn him plenty of dough in as little time as possible. Once, I was sitting on Truman’s porch on a rainy afternoon with Big Boy and Truman, all of us rocking on chairs, when a big black Packard roared down the road and came screeching to a halt in front of us. The driver’s door opened and out squeezed the biggest man we’d ever seen! He looked like Hercules himself but with dark skin. The man held out an umbrella for Arch and walked him to the porch.

  “Morning, kids!” Arch tugged on his Panama hat. He gave no special notice to Truman. “I want y’all to meet Sam. He’s gonna be the next boxing champion of the world!”

  Sam was huge and had a clean-shaved head, which nobody did in Monroeville at the time. He had hands of stone and big elephant ears. He was all muscle and good-looking too, if I do say so.

  “Buon giorno!” he said in a funny accent.

  “Sam’s from Sicily,” Arch said. “I found him in Mobile teaching PE at the community college, if you can believe that. Never did I see a finer specimen. The man’s a natural-born fighter. And with me as his manager, we’re sure to make a fortune.”

  No matter that he knew nothing about boxing. “I was thinking, Truman,” he asked, “maybe you could be my assistant?”

  Truman’s eyes lit up. “Can I really?” he said.

  “Why, sure, son. And Big Boy and Nelle can help out too. We have to have a real team behind Sam to make this work. And you all can start now by helping to unload the car.”

  “Does Jenny know you’re coming?” I asked.

  He ignored my question. “Truman, you’re in charge. See that all that workout equipment makes it into the living room. We’re gonna change it into a gym!”

  Truman stuck his tongue out at me. “See? I’m in charge.”

  “I don’t think Miss Jenny will like seeing her living room turned into a gym,” I warned.

  “Hush now, Nelle, can’t you see he’s onto something?” said Truman. “Why, I bet Sam there could beat just about anyone, even Jack Dempsey himself. I’m sure glad he’s a nice guy or I’d be scared.” Poor Truman always believed his daddy. Or at least, he wanted to.

  Before Jenny came home from work, we had moved all her fine furniture and carpets aside and put in a system of pulleys and weights. Little Bit was so upset, she wouldn’t come out of the kitchen. When Jenny finally came home from work, she was shocked and furious at Arch. But somehow, the sight of Sam working out and flexing his muscles and the sound of him talking to her in his Italian accent won her over. Arch promised her that she would see some of the profits too.

  Arch said he had to go and make some deals with another promoter to get a big fight going in Monroeville. “We’ll hold it in the town square and folks’ll pay a dollar to see this man beat any challenger. Plus, there’ll be the usual side bets, which I know we’ll clean up with. Why, Sam here will be a regular moneymaking machine!”

  “How much will we get paid?” asked Big Boy.

  Truman shot him a look but Arch didn’t mind. “I like you, Big Boy. Always getting to the bottom line. Well, if you hold down the fort while I’m away . . . I think a quarter a day would be fair.”

  “Each?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Each. But it won’t be easy.”

  “Don’t worry, Father. We won’t let you down, will we?” He glared at us all.

  Well, every morning around six, Truman, who normally slept late, was up knocking at my window. It was time for Sam’s morning run. They all drove in the Packard, and me and Big Boy followed along on our bikes. Truman’s job was to hang out the side window with a wate
r bottle while Arch drove next to Sam. Whenever Sam got tired, Arch would honk his horn. “Don’t be lazy! You want to be world champ or not?”

  Arch would stop at the town square while Sam continued to run around and around till everyone took notice. Arch would then stand on a bench and yell through a megaphone: “See the greatest fighter who ever lived! Come this Saturday to see this legendary boxer in person before he’s too famous to see up close!”

  Arch was a natural showman, and Sam was a hard worker, but what they didn’t count on was the scandal of seeing a colored man running in shorts and, often, no shirt. Many of Monroeville’s churchgoing women had never seen a man’s bare legs before, and by the second day, the church had started a petition to ban the fight. By the third day, church women were marching in front of the house!

  Well, Jenny wouldn’t stand for it. She convinced sweet Sam that Arch would never deliver on his promises and offered him bus fare back to his job. The next morning, Sam was gone, and so was Arch’s dream.

  Arch had already collected money on the promise of the fight, so he had to sneak out of town just to keep his investors from finding out. Poor Truman was beside himself. He’d really thought Sam was going to be Arch’s ticket to fame and fortune.

  His next act was even bigger than Lazarus himself. The Great Hadjah had almost supernatural powers. He had to be seen to be believed.

  A Monster Fish and the Two-Headed Chicken

  It all started down by the river one day when me and Big Boy were out for a walk. “Truman, look!” Big Boy said, pointing at a bunch of fishermen drying their nets and traps on a tree. They were gathered around a small washtub, arguing over something that was causing a fuss. So we went over to have a look-see and there it was: a huge prehistoric catfish. It had a strange jaw like a swordfish’s and appeared to be otherworldly.

  “That is the weirdest-looking fish I have ever seen,” I said. “I’ll give you a dollar for it.” The fishermen agreed.

  “What in the world are you gonna do with that thing?” asked Big Boy.

  “I have an idea. And we’re gonna make lots of money.”

  Me and Big Boy waited for the fishermen to deliver the monster to Jenny’s. We were sitting on the porch when Nelle came up. “What’re y’all waitin’ for?”

  “Truman’s gonna make us all rich,” said Big Boy.

  “Really? How?” asked Nelle.

  Just then, the fish arrived on the back of a flatbed truck. Truman pointed. “That’s how.”

  Two fishermen carried the tub over to a small pond Jenny had built for her goldfish. “Put it in there,” said Truman.

  When Nelle saw what was in the tub, she jumped. “Good golly! What is that thing?”

  The fish slid from the washtub into the fishpond and slowly moved around. The other fish darted for cover. “That, Nelle, is the eighth wonder of the world—the dinosaur catfish!”

  We all stared at it. It was ugly as sin and nobody had ever seen anything like it. “We’ll charge a nickel for anyone who wants to see it,” I said. “They’ll be lining up!”

  Nelle tilted her head, and the sea monster slowed down and came to a stop. “I think it’s dead,” she finally said.

  I poked it with a stick, and the monster rolled over onto its back. “Tarnation! I paid a whole dollar for that.”

  I sat down and thought for a good long while until it came to me. “I got another idea.”

  I ran over to the shed and found some wire and an old brick. “Grab that fish, will ya?” I said to Big Boy.

  “I ain’t touching that thing,” he said.

  “Well, how’m I gonna stick it with this wire unless you hold it?” I asked.

  “I’ll do it,” said Nelle. Any time she could show up a boy, she was game. She knelt down and paused.

  “What’sa matter, scared?” asked Big Boy.

  She grimaced and reached in to grab it by the tail. “Eww, it’s gross.” She spun around and shoved it in Big Boy’s face. “Kiss me!”

  Big Boy ducked and ran to the other side of the pond to avoid the fish. Nelle laughed, and she and the fish gave chase.

  After circling the pond a few times, Nelle got tired of chasing him. “It smells. What’re you gonna do?”

  I ran the wire through its innards and back out again, then tied it to the brick. We plopped the whole contraption back into the water, and the fish stayed upright.

  “But he ain’t moving,” said Nelle.

  I stuck my hand into the water and caused a little ripple. It looked like the fish was swimming. “Good enough?”

  “I don’t know. If we’re gonna charge money, I think we’ll need some other spectacles.”

  My mind raced. “We can make it into a carnival sideshow! We just need a few more freaky things like we see whenever the carnies pass through.”

  “Doc Hines got a pickled pig baby in a jar over in his office,” said Big Boy.

  “Ooh, that’d be perfect,” I said. “We can make up a story about it, like how on a full moon it comes back to life and wanders the fields digging up grubs.”

  Nelle rolled her eyes. “You might as well get a two-headed chicken while you’re at it!”

  Eureka. “Nelle Harper, that’s the best idea you’ve had yet!”

  Nelle made a face. “And just where on earth you plan on finding a two-headed chicken?”

  I knew Sook and Little Bit were gonna make chicken for supper tomorrow. “When Little Bit gets her chicken, I’ll ask for the head. Then we’ll just glue it onto another chicken. It’ll be perfect! We’ll get Little Bit to play accordion and I’ll be the master of ceremonies. I’d say that’s a show kids’d pay a dime for!”

  “I can see you learned something from your daddy,” said Nelle.

  “Say, don’t Bud keep a Confederate sword from his daddy? We can show that off too,” said Big Boy.

  “Good idea. He also has a pistol his daddy stole off a Yankee,” I said. “This is gonna be a show to remember!”

  Two days later, we had everything in place. Making the two-headed chicken required some glue and wire, though the chicken didn’t take kindly to its second head. I got Doc to lend the dead baby pig, and Nelle and Big Boy made signs advertising the show and talked it up around town.

  On the day of the show, kids were lining up. We were gonna be rich! What I didn’t know was that Preacher Blake and his family was going to stop by for a visit. The preacher was a serious man of the cloth and his wife a regular pillar of the community. When Jenny came back to get me and saw what was going on, she threw a fit.

  “Truman, did you not remember the preacher and his family were coming over? You have to send your friends home now!”

  “But, Jenny, they already paid, and we made good money too!” I said, holding it out for her to see.

  Jenny noticed Little Bit dressed up with her accordion. “Little Bit, why aren’t you in the kitchen with Sook?”

  “I done prepped everything this morning, Miss Jenny. I was just going to play one song and be done with it,” she said. “You know, for the kids.”

  Just then, the preacher and his lovely family wandered through the back door and saw the spectacle before them. He saw one of the signs we’d made. “A carnival? Why, we love a good show, isn’t that right, Mrs. Blake?” he said.

  Mrs. Blake grimaced through tight lips. “As long as it’s a decent show and not like those horrid carnies.”

  “Why, they just kids,” said Little Bit. “It’s a innocent little entertainment.”

  Well, things didn’t go quite as planned.

  First, the preacher wasn’t so pleased about his family being charged a dime per person to see the show. I didn’t feel bad, considering how much he makes off us every time we go to church. Business is business, am I right?

  Little Bit was doing her thing, pumping the Delta blues through that old accordion and really getting into it. I think Mrs. Blake was a bit miffed by the whole thing, because she grew flustered by the suggestive words of the song. Mr. Blake see
med to be enjoying it, though.

  When they got to the fish, I made up a fantastical story of a dinosaur catfish frozen in time that came back from the dead. Only problem was, the fish was clearly dead, because the other fish had started eating it. Mrs. Blake looked horrified, but her children giggled in delight.

  I quickly took them to pig baby–two-headed-chicken exhibit. They seemed fascinated by the chicken until Mrs. Blake noticed something. “Is that second head . . . falling off?”

  The chicken had been picking at it and now it was hanging at an odd angle. I quickly drew her attention to the pig jar, which was under a towel. “And now for the next wonder—” I said as I pulled off the towel.

  Well, Mrs. Blake screamed so loud, it almost popped my eardrum! “They got a dead baby! They got a dead baby!” she cried out.

  I tried to calm her down, explaining it was a pig, but she jumped back in fright, knocking over the two-headed-chicken display. “The two-headed chicken escaped!” screamed her son. “Someone catch the two-headed chicken!”

  Pandemonium broke loose. In the scramble to catch the chicken, Little Bit got her dress torn to where you could see her undergarments, which caused Mr. Blake to back up into the pointy end of the Confederate sword. He let out a bellow of pain—“Of all that is holy!”—and fell back into the fishpond.

  Mrs. Blake almost fainted; she leaned against the bench that held the pig baby, which collapsed, sending the jar crashing to the ground. When Mrs. Blake saw the pig baby roll onto her feet, she fainted for real.

  Me and Nelle and Big Boy were standing there gawking when we heard two shots ring out. We ran to the road in front of the house where Sheriff Farrish was standing with a smoking pistol. “Did anyone see that? I just shot a two-headed chicken! I think I hit it in the head, but it just kept going!”

  That night, Jenny banned carnivals forever.