Ring Shout(17)

“When my man put it on me, he make my legs shake!” she bursts out.

I almost spit my sweet tea.

Did I mention Auntie Jadine only talks in song? Don’t know where—or when—this one from. But the meaning clear enough. If I didn’t have this wonderful sun-kissed skin, I’d be a perfect shade of scarlet.

Auntie Jadine grins, and I catch a hint of fox teeth. “He got dat good, good, good,” she sings. “Dat good, good, good!” She jumps off the swing and walks over, yellow dress flowing across long black limbs as her bare feet tread grass. All three barefooted. Say shoes too hard to think up. She plants the softest kiss on my forehead before easing into a chair and taking up a jar of tea.

“In any case,” Auntie Ondine continues. “We needed to talk. Ill tidings are afoot.”

“The enemy is gathering,” Auntie Margaret adds sharply.

The enemy what they call Ku Kluxes. Reason they gave me the sword was to fight them—their champion against that evil. Suddenly I remember my dream.

“And he say he the storm, this Butcher Clyde,” I finish.

The three was quiet as I talked. Now they looking at me hard.

“Did this Butcher Clyde harm you in any way?” Auntie Ondine asks. “Give you anything to eat? Answer me!”

Her intensity surprises me. “Nothing— Wait, that really wasn’t just a dream?”

“Not no dream!” Auntie Margaret snaps, jabbing a stitching needle at me. “You let the enemy in, girl!”

“What? I ain’t let nobody—”

Auntie Ondine puts a soothing hand to mine, her doting voice back. “You likely didn’t mean to, baby. They find ways in, through some trouble you might keep deep down inside. Like leaving a door open. There something you can think of like that?”

I remember then the other dream. Back at my old house. The girl and her warning.

They like the places where we hurt.

“No,” I answer, looking Auntie Ondine in the eye. Only way to tell a lie right.

“I know this lady who carry her troubles,” Auntie Jadine sings in a bluesy voice. “Carry her troubles, all on her back. She gon’ let them troubles weigh her down, she keep on carrying ’em round like that…”

I narrow my eyes at her, but she busy tracing a finger in her sweet tea.

“Well, we’ll just have to be careful in the future.” Auntie Ondine smiles.

“What’s happening? Nana Jean can feel something too.”

Auntie Ondine shakes her head. “We can’t see. There’s a … veil, and it’s growing.” She gestures to a patch of dark in the blue sky I hadn’t noticed before. “Now this Butcher Clyde appears. An unlikely coincidence.”

“None of it good,” Auntie Margaret frets.

“You think this Butcher Clyde a Ku Klux?” I ask.

Auntie Ondine’s face sours. “The enemy has more minions than we know.”

I remember Molly’s talk. “You mean ones that’s smarter than Ku Kluxes?”

“Smarter and more dangerous. You must be careful now.”

Her words eat up all the good feelings I’d held on to this night.

“Who are they? These Ku Kluxes and the ones minding them? What are they?”

Auntie Ondine looks like she’s measuring what to tell me. Always seem like they measuring. I start to press again, but it’s Auntie Margaret who talks.

“There were two brothers, Truth and Lie. One day they get to playing, throwing cutlasses up into the air. Them cutlasses come down and fast as can be—swish!—chop each of their faces clean off! Truth bend down, searching for his face. But with no eyes, he can’t see. Lie, he sneaky. He snatch up Truth’s face and run off! Zip! Now Lie go around wearing Truth’s face, fooling everybody he meet.” She stops stitching to fix me with stern eyes. “The enemy, they are the Lie. Plain and simple. The Lie running around pretending to be Truth.”

I listen, wondering, What’s plain and simple about that?

“Don’t let their smile fool you,” Auntie Jadine sings. “Or take you in.”

“We should get you back,” Auntie Ondine says. “Been here long already.”

They strict about the time I spend in this place, though none at all will have passed back home. I grab my sword, getting another hug from Auntie Ondine.

“Be mindful what we tell you now. Stay clear of this Butcher Clyde.”

“I will,” I answer, certain to look her in her eyes.

As I walk away, I can hear Auntie Jadine at my back.

“When the devil come to town, you betta watch how you get down … watch, watch, watch out for the devil!”





FOUR

I’m near Cherry and Third in downtown Macon. People passing by glance to me. Probably because I’m back in knickers—blue with gold pinstripes tucked into gaiters and Oxfords. Or maybe because I’m whistling a tune named “La Madelon” Chef picked up in France. Mostly, though, it’s the sword strapped to my back peeking over a cream-yellow shirt. Don’t see that too often on a Thursday morning.

Butcher Clyde wasn’t hard to find. His name in fresh red paint on yellow right over the shop across the street: Butcher Clyde’s Choice Cuts & Grillery. The leaflet I’m holding announces the store’s grand opening, offering free meats to patrons. Well, white patrons. Because the leaflet makes plain this here is a Klan establishment. It got a drawing of Uncle Sam hugging a man that resemble Butcher Clyde, both holding sausage links, reading: Wholesome Food for the Moral White Family.