Fiction

Jeremy and the Magic Place

And she told him she’d call him when it was time

Jeremy slides on his bottom down the steeper part, his palms scuffed and burning from the pebbles and scrub bark. Distant mountains, like snuggled rodents, lose their hold on the darkness and give up their slumber to the glow of dawn. His bare feet search the dark for the chuckholes and roots that match the crude map in his brain. Night after night, he had lain on his cot next to soft-snoring Franklin on his cot, and Mama, the other side of the woodstove, moaning with each exhale, and he’d close his eyes and follow himself down every inch of the slope until it flattened out to the bank of the creek. But it was always a daylight map.

Stay way dat crik, boy. Dis ol’ heart cain’t tek two buryin’s.

Jeremy finds the chuckhole that stops his descent and squints back over his shoulder up beyond the smooth place at the ridge where he started, and past it, up under the huge ash-white moon to the drooping rooftop that Franklin cardboard-patched two days earlier out of the box Mister Pardoo put the milk cartons and flour bag in. Not once taking his eyes off Franklin, Jeremy had pulled away from the stove and began to rock on one leg and then the other with the argument hanging wordless in his throat and unblinkingly watched Franklin crack the four spines of the box he stood in with four swift punches from the sole of his bare right foot then looked up from his knees on the flattened cardboard.

Don’ do no good whinin’ big brudduh. Truth be I’s shit-scared misef goin’ up der. But I’s de onliest one t’do it. Looka you. See d’way you are, Jer? — you cain’t keep yer legs still. You’d fall through in a piss minute.

A silver shaft angled down from the crack near the ceiling and sliced the room in half between them. Any other time Jeremy would have allowed it to suck him into its fantasy and pull him into magical places. But the magic was not stronger than this moment. Even the room’s geometry, so suddenly severed by the silver blade drew his attention for only an instant before his own catching and lurching sounds crowded his throat and his brother blurred out with the sounds heard escaping.

See? See, now you blubberin’, Jer. You have mama comin’ in. Den she be skeered to let me go up dere. Hush, now, hush! You wan’ me t’take y’all down da crik, doncha? You wan me ta tetch ya boulder hoppin’ doncha? Den you best stop you blubberin’. An soon’s I come down, we gon to da crik, okay, Jer-Jer?

Coughing out some clotted dust, Jeremy resumes, inching on toward the sound of water churning over the pebbles. He murmurs the meaningless syllables, … have mama comin’ in, as he scoots his bottom over the raised edge that had previously been his foothold.

Her face puffy and splotched, Jeremy’s Mama pitched forward from the side of her cot, down into the sag of her blue cotton dress that covered the contour of her heavy thighs. She moaned into her lap where the drops fell and spread into a darker blue.

Jes’ us, boy, Jes’ you’n me now.

He rubbed his palms over the heat of the iron stove and darted glances at her. Franklin knew the words to lift her out of her dark places. He frowned at his hands and troubled over seeing Franklin again, like the girl said he would.

Ohhhhh, Why’d da Lord tek my youngest, an’ leave me da burdenest?

Jeremy’s eyes were drawn to the glowing nimbus of orangey light around the heavy iron stove covering. He didn’t touch it any more, even without another of Franklin’s warnings.

She laughed abruptly and he looked to see a snot-bubble gathered at her nostril. She swiped it with her wrist. Hers was a laugh without mirth. But Jeremy’s, in moments when it came, was spontaneous and innocent and always surprised him. He kept his smile on her even as she narrowed her eyes, took a ragged breath, and wagged her head.

I’s laughin’ — sure, she said. I’s laughin’ a’cuz I all’es had yer fool brudder to go ’long so’s to keep you from a’drowndin’. Now, ain’t that funny?

He listened to the laugh bubbling out of his throat again. She opened her arms. Oh, Jeremy, what we gon’ do? Her hands trembled. He shuffled in past her hands, bent down to where she sat, and felt the warmth of her enfold him. She held him long, then she pulled away, gripping him from the shoulders.

Pastor, he come tomorruh. He knows duh trouble we’s in. You — d’you know duh trouble? — oooooo … course you don’, chil’, course you don’.

He can stand now. There is just the five-foot drop to the soft sand on the bank. The exploding river, twenty feet farther, swirls around and over boulders as big as cars. He pushes off the edge and his body knows when his hip and knee joints need to soften in their sockets at precisely the right moment to absorb the shock of landing.

His eyes graze the far banks for her as he plods to the river’s edge, but even though he can sometimes see her hair stranding in silvery threads in the swift currents, then tangle in the froth at the boulders, he knows this is not her magic place. He follows the river downstream to where the twenty foot eddy whirls between two boulders. Rooting through his jeans pocket, he pulls out a shiny penny and a gum wrapper Franklin had given him for being good. He re-pockets the penny and tosses the gum wrapper in, keenly watching it journey twice, three, four times, around the fringe before suddenly dropping into the beyond. The girl planted in him the vision of a door opening at the bottom and Franklin going through it and everything being warm and dry and glittery for him on the other side.

Jeremy turns back and follows the river upstream. He rolls a crude tune over in his throat that Franklin liked to sing for him, and is startled out of it by the brief frameless form of Franklin when he opened their cabin door and pink and blue and yellow glitter shimmered, and some of it flicked off his shoulders and out from under his stepping feet, and he brought the flecks of glitter back to the cabin from magic place.

He is nearing the creek and the string of boulders. Excitement races through him ….

He really don’ know, do he? Come heah, boy. Jeremy took two steps closer to the Parson. I won’ bite cha, son. Another step. The cool weight of a hand on his tee-shirted shoulder and then one on his other shoulder. Warm, sour puffs with his words. Da hand o’ Jesus Christ be on ’im, Sistuh Co’nelius. But it was the Parson’s hand. Yo chil’ be da lily of da Lord’s field, Sistuh … or one o’ da li’l birds o’ da Lord. But he livin’ in an evil worl’ what don’t understand ’im. The Parson closed his eyes, mumbled some sour words, and removed his hands from Jeremy’s shoulder. You go on now, boy. Now go. He gave a whisking motion with his fingers. Jeremy wandered back to his cot and sank onto it, watching the Parson’s mouth.

Sistuh Co’nelius, it be two days since da fune-rel. Yo Sistuhs and Brudders, be prayin ’roun da clock. I attest to dat. Fact is da church get you a job, praise da Lord. A job, Sistuh. A good job. A ’spectable job.

Praise Jesus.

Precious be his holy name. Jeremy watched the Parson, pressing up close to his Mama’s face. Housekeepin’ job. Steady. ’Spectable. But da Lord, he test his chillin’s faith. He do.

She sank down into a rickety wooden table chair. Praise him, doh.

The Parson pulled a chair from under the table and sat knee-to-knee across from Jeremy’s mother. Yes … Yo Chil’, Sistuh Co’nelius, he be da test. The Pastor glanced over at Jeremy and reddened when he discovered he was being scrutinized in return. He turned back. He sure do seem t’ attend, Sistuh Co’nelius.

No, he — he don’, doh. He jes’ like folks ‘round ‘im. He sees — oh, he sees. He listens, but words — dey don’ get through.

How old?

Twenny-three.

Oh. I knowed he older dan — dan yo Franklin — who be wit’ da Lord now. I rec’lect he bein’ fifteen. But wit da Lord, praise be. But dis chil’ he like folks, doh. Tha’s good, tha’s good. He patted two fingers against his lips. Sistuh Clare Co’nelius, dey’s word yo chil’ is — is special.

He special awright. Who’s word?

Everbody. Everbody what knows you here’n da valley. They’s word da Lord workin’ through him.

No, no, Pastor. Ain’t nothin’ workin’ through him. I sees to it dat da boys — I sees dat Jeremy, he go to Sunny Scoo ever week. At the sound of his name, Jeremy’s head swung like a new calf to his mama. But I’d know — I’d know if sompin’ be workin’ through him.

Sistuh Clare, I best jest say it … He paused long enough to gather her eyes. Da Fed’ration Fo’ Christ, up Memphis — dey heah ‘bout Jeremy. Dey been prayin’ ’bout Jeremy. Some … some … Sistuh Clare Co’nelius. Deys some prophesyin’ goin’ on ‘bout yo chil’, bout Jeremy.

Prophe — Oh, no no no no ….

Oh, yes Sistuh Clare, prophesyin’, an’ da Fed’ration Fo Christ, dey wants to study ‘im der at Memphis.

No, I — I couldn’t let dem.

Jeremy felt the weighted and barbed intrusion of their pitched sentences. Like a tethered rowboat in a storm can be protected from the open water only to be dashed to pieces against the dock, he felt hopelessly buffeted between them. A wordless heaviness pressed down on him. He flailed against it, but it was hot and oppressive and now heavy steel bands of it wrapped around his chest, clamping his arms to his side. Panic gripped at his throat. He tried to cry out for his Mama but only random, raging syllables leaped from his throat.

Da spirit! He be in da spirit. Praise da Lord, Jesus! The Pastor sprang to his feet and whipped around toward Jeremy.

But Jeremy’s mother raced to her son first, sat on the cot beside him, pulled his head to her breast and softly rocked him. He jus’ skeered, Pastor, tha’s all. He’s quietin’ down now. Das good, Chil’. Mama’s heah.

Doncha see, Sistuh Clare? It’s a message from da Lord Amighty hissef. He hold Jeremy in his hands — Sistuh, yo chil’ — in his Hands. Da Lord borrowin’ Brudder Jeremy’s tongue to deliver his message. An’ dis is his message —

You read tongues, Pastor? She gave Jeremy a kiss on the cheek and returned to her chair.

The Pastor waited until she was seated to answer. I have da gift, yes, Sistuh Clare. De Awmighty, he say dis — he say he choosed you to do da Lord’s work.

Why don’ he use my tongue if’n he want me to do his work?

Why, Sistuh Clare Co’nelius are you hankerin’ to reason with da Lord?

No, Suh, Pastor. I sure ain’t. She squared her shoulders. He — he tell you what my work be?

Jeremy watched with widened eyes as the Pastor made two full circuits around the table, then stopped across from his Mama and leaned his weight into the back of the chair. He want you to let go yo chil’.

His Mama made a noise and then put her hand up near her throat.

He want you to RELEASE yo chil’ to da Lord, Sistuh Clare. She kept shaking her head and the Pastor went halfway around the table and stood behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders. I know, I know. It won’t be forever doh, Sistuh Clare. An’ da Lord, he say dis, an’ he know. He say dat you cain’t care fer Jeremy an’ work at yo new job. He released her shoulders, then took another chair catty-corner from her. Their knees jarred together and she pulled hers away.

I jes thinked — I thinked they’d let me tek my boy … Her words dissolved into silence when she saw him shaking his head, ponderously.

Dis be a ’spectable job, Sistuh Clare.

I knows, it but —

An’ da Lord, he teks good care o’ his own.

But Memphis. Cain’t they study him here?

The Pastor sighed but didn’t say anything.

How long?

A year, da most, da Lord willin’. He eat good, doh, sleep good, lots o’ scripture.

I don’ know ….

Sure you do, Sistuh Clare. ’Cause you doin’ da will o’ da Lord. How you gonna not do da will o’ da Lord? Tell me dat, Sistuh Clare. Tell me dat.

Jes a year. She blinked a big drop that Jeremy watched fall from her chin to her lap. An’ da Lord — you sez it be … his will ….

Jeremy removes the penny once again from his pocket, studies it a moment, then returns it to his pocket. Upstream, the river narrows slightly on the incline until it comes to the silvery-curtained waterfall, its liquid fabric gathering to a frothy tumble where it joins the river. He clambers over the rocks on this side of the river, his eyes drawn to the underbelly of the fall, and then scrabbling over the last rock he drops down the other side onto the cool bank of the creek.

It is so much more peaceful here, as though through a trick of nature, the curtain of the waterfall was itself a veil between that other world and this one — Jeremy’s world. His mouth corners twitch at the sound of the warblers hidden in the Red Oak trees. He fills his lungs with the magic of his world, and holds at the back of his throat the wet-ash scent and taste of the smiling girl even though she is still distant from him, there on the other side where she lies alongside the brook that flows down to empty into the river. He takes in another breath and a small smile forms as his eyes roam the farthest edges of the bank where the hidden mystery of her languishes on the cool moss, her legs hanging over the bank and her feet dangling in the brook.

Keeping the image of her a moment longer, he glances over at the boulder tops strung across the creek. He can’t swim. Franklin gave up trying to teach him, way up-creek above the waterfall and in a little cove where there was no undertow. Some thangs you ain’t nev gon learn big brudduh. But Jeremy caught on to boulder hoppin’ fairly quickly, following Franklin’s lead. Franklin taught him on the practice boulders and he was always the next boulder away, and ready to leap into the creek if Jeremy did fall — though he knew it would serve no purpose to tell Jeremy, that if it happened while they were crossing the real boulders, down the river by the falls, both would almost certainly be sucked away by the undertow and swept over the falls, if not to their death against the rocks below, then surely downriver in the whirlpool.

Jeremy removes his tee-shirt and then his jeans and hangs them over a tree branch. His foot in the cool water, something from that last time with Franklin troubles him.

Then an impression of his mama’s face develops and as quickly vanishes and his fingers touch the elastic band of his underwear.

No, no, Jer, tek off dem daggone unerpants, like me. If I hafta pull y’out, y’ain’t gonna have no wet unerpants uner yer jeans, turnin’ dirt ta mud onna way back. Dat happen, Mama, she skin us to n’inch o’ our lives.

His lips open and close twice, silently forming Mama as he removes his underwear and lays them atop his other clothes.

He lines himself up with the first boulder and without hesitation, uncoils his lean thighs and perches easily, spiderlike, atop it. All the boulders, zigzagging across the creek, some three feet apart, are cupped like the mushrooms Franklin used to always point to each spring, just peeking out of the soil. The second and third boulder, likewise, present no challenge to him, but his right foot slips on the landing of the fourth and the rough surface of the boulder scuffs the side of his calf and knee. When the initial jolt of pain subsides, he doesn’t wait, but pushes off the boulder and lands as lithe as a cat onto the next, and the next after that.

His final leap takes him well onto the grassy bank where he bounces about the way he saw Franklin do last time. And, remembering Franklin, Jeremy tries to pull down fistfuls of clouds and continues snapping his jaws, the way a puppy or kitten might, at dawn’s first shafts of sunlight slicing through the limbs of the oak trees that hover on the hillside.

He is abruptly drawn away from that heroic celebration — just as he had before — toward the voice that is meant for only him. He follows it up-creek in long strides ….

Franklin had followed him that last time and had trouble keeping up. Slow down, Jer. Where y’all goin? But her voice grew louder, drawing him round the bend. He stopped where the brook dumped its suds in the creek and surveyed the hillside.

What the be-galdang ya looking at, big brudduh? They’s only a burned out oak tree up der. I ain’t climbin’ no hill to look at no dead tree. I be waitin’ for ya back at da boulders. Don’ be long, heah? We gotta go back soon.

Jeremy watched his brother striding down the bank of the creek, and then he scrambled up the hillside, staying close to the brook but careful not to slide into it.

As he neared the charred carcass of the oak tree, her voice joined with the wet-ash in his throat and drew him to her side. He kneeled at the cusp of her hip and lowered his gaze.

Franklin’s image formed behind his eyes and her voice perplexed him when she said, your little brother needed my instruction. Then, after a moment, he obeyed her voice and laid his head upon her breast. Her skin was warm though a little rough against his ear and carried a faint smell of smoke. Her head was elevated by a grass-covered root at the charred trunk. Her eyes were on him and a smile parted her lips. You are bothered by what I said.

Her communication with him continued without words and what followed were conveyed mostly by images thrown on the screen of his mind. Just now he saw Franklin sinking beneath the water and knew that he was then to return to her. You mustn’t be frightened and you must come back. Then she beckoned him and his unpracticed lips found the map of her mouth and traveled it.

As he descended the hill, he glanced over his shoulder. She still lay as he left her, gazing languorously down her nakedness to her knees her calves dangled over the bank, her feet in the swift-moving brook.

At the base of the hill, he could only see the top half of the oak tree. He quickened his stride toward Franklin and the string of boulders.

‘Bout time Big Brudder. Mama, she gon’ send a search party. Le’s go.

He turned and Jeremy yanked him back from the shoulders.

What da Pete sakes you, doin’ Jer? We’s gotta go. Mama take a hikry stick ta both us.

He wrestled himself from Jeremy’s hands, took three running steps and leaped off the bank to the boulder.

Now come on! Cain’t get two’ve us on one boulder, so I’m goin’ to the next. Be keerful.

Franklin leaped and landed agilely on the second as Jeremy made it to the first.

Jeremy’s body was trembling, though, and he felt a whimpering rise in his throat as Franklin vaulted himself with such energy onto the third that he overshot the center. Helplessly, Jeremy watched as his brother flailed his arms trying to keep his balance. She-ut, Brudder, Franklin whined, just before he tumbled off the far side.

The top part of his torso came out from behind the boulder, thrashing the water with one arm and the other, trying to swim up-creek. Then he slipped back behind the boulder and for a moment Jeremy expected to see his brother’s hands, arms and head emerge and have him pull himself to safety. Instead, he saw Franklin’s body shimmering dark under the surface and sliding away from the boulder’s rear.

At first he just stared. Then he began to rock, slowly, rhythmically, and his throat produced jagged and disconnected sounds. Out of it, something steady and compelling urged, you must come back now.

He turned and bounded off to the bank and sprinted alongside the creek, shrieking. He didn’t stop until, breathless, he dropped to his knees beside the girl who hadn’t seemed to move a muscle since he left. As before, he rested his ear against her breast until his breathing slowed. Her hand stroked the long slope of his back.

There was nothing you could do. He was being called home.

Slowly, patiently, image connected to image in his mind and he saw Franklin sliding around the rim of the whirlpool just as the gum wrapper had, and he looked peaceful, and when he dropped, the image took Jeremy with it and he and Franklin floated slowly down between the narrowing whirl.

Then a door that he didn’t really see, opened and he got just a glimpse of his brother strolling among the trunks of red oak, hickory, and flowering dogwood trees, and with every step puffs of green glitter and pink glitter and blue glitter rose from Franklin’s feet and swirled their colors together to settle on his arms, shoulders, and head. And bunny rabbits, half Franklin’s size hopped by him from all directions, while lazy, purple cows swung their thick necks toward him.

Jeremy wanted to stay here, but he found himself traveling back up through the whirlpool to the surface of the water, then above it and looking down at it.

Franklin is happy there her voice came through his ear pressed against her. You will be with Franklin again, Jeremy. In the days ahead, there will be much sadness you will not understand and people you will not know. But you will wait until you hear my voice again and then you will return. And then you will be with Franklin again.

It was as sad as she told him it would be, sad because he didn’t know how to make his Mama understand. He wanted her to know that Franklin was alive in a beautiful world that he, himself, had seen. They buried someone in the ground they said they pulled from the water a mile downstream from the whirlpool, and they tricked Mama and tried to trick him into believing it was Franklin. The Pastor was at their cabin to help Mama, but when he left, Mama cried the whole night through on her cot by the stove and that made Jeremy cry, too.

Still, he waited on his cot for the voice that would call his name.

In the deep darkness before dawn on the third day after the funeral, the voice woke him. Come now, Jeremy. It is time. And while his mama slept, he began his descent in the predawn darkness, scooting down the steeper part of the hill.

Thank you for reading ….

JS