Thrown-away Child

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    Perry had been a reader of books just as Ruby had, providing them both the ability to transcend rude surroundings. The fastidiousness of Perry’s handwriting— a common trait among prison inmates, she remembered Hock once telling her—was certainly a contrast to Perry’s sloppy room. Ruby kicked three empty, crushed Dixie beer cans over the edge of the bed, along with a dirty ashtray and a girlie magazine. Then she settled into reading page one of the ruminations 0f her thieving cousin Perry Duclat:
     
    I remember a cracker from up to West Monroe always trying to get some politics going on inside of Angola. Warden be spreading it around this boy was a communist agitator and therefore unprofitable to be associating with. Communism is dead and gone. But damn if it’s still a word like to get a jailer all frothy. Don’t ever get any kind of rise out of a jailee though. Anyhow they take this cracker and lock him down in what the officers call the coon wing. Cracker in the coon wing’s supposed to shame a sorry white ass, but it don’t really. Besides this here cracker he just about pure delighted to have us niggers all round him. They cage him just one trap over from Clete and me. I am referring to my cellie Cletus Tyler.
    Oh my but this boy was a fright to look at. Yellow hair so wild you think his skull maybe on fire. Lumpy skin the color of old bubble gum. Had him a big mouth too.
    Now some boys with the big mouth you don’t remember a word they say even if they holler day and night. But this here one name of Rusty was smarter than he look I give him that. Real interesting to listen to. He made you recollect him because he had this way of putting across a big idea so even a man who been just about belittled to death can understand. Like for instance what he say about a fat man at the chow table.
    He ask my cellie—You ever been to a great big old barbecue in your life? Clete he lie and say—Course I have, I got a family you know and we got us reunions in lhe summertime. Rusty say—Okay let me ask you would you let just one fat man eat up ninety pounds out of a hundred pounds of meat on the table? Clete say — I’d sooner eat a bug. Rusty look at Clete like a proud papa would and he say — That’s right you’d make that fat man Put back that grub he don’t need.
    Well that is a good lesson I hold in my mind now while I’m setting here after I finish chores for the cripple man and try to write my way to some sense out of a belittling life. I am referring to my own life and to the back porch of old peg-legged Mr. Newcombe place that when I was a young boy used to be my Uncle Willis place before a couple of good old fat boys come take it clean away by using tricks they don’t lock you up for so long as you pull them on poor folks. I am referring to a couple of hogs whose time will come by and by.
    What do you know about that! I just look up and see Miss Hassie Pinkney from next door peeping on me out her kitchen window. First I thought some old mule be peeping from a barn then I know it actually Miss Hassie scowling face in that window. Hassie spreading it all round the lane and down by the levee like I am Jack the Ripper dangerous. The woman don’t own half the sense of a mule and none of the mercy of a ass either. Lucky thing for Miss Hassie lack of thinking ain’t the same as lack of air. Elsewise when she start her ignorant yapping her head would blow out like a flat tire.
    No matter what Miss Hassie say I am surely no danger to nobody. Truth is I am nothing but a fortysomething-year-old nigger can’t figure how them decades pass or who done steal away my happy days—maybe just the thief of time or maybe people themselves.
    You know I can think back in time and feel my Mama Rose touch on my skin? That sound crazy I know. Also I know Mama touch a lot of mens she got no business touching. But she never touch nobody true and tender like she touch her little boy. And oh my I remember that touch same as I remember five minutes ago. Sure I know what my Daddy Toby call Mama and what some nasty-mind others like Miss Hassie call her too. Don’t take away from the fact Mama was a beauty and it was beauty touching me.
    My Aunt Violet and my Uncle Willis they never say one hurting thing about Mama, even though she let me go. That is the worst thing people do, throw they kids away. My daddy Toby Jones is evil, so I expect he do the worst thing. But poor Mama not