The Dry Grass of August(54)

The man facing Mary wore a white T-shirt that glowed in the moonlight. He slapped her. “Use your manners, girl.”

She didn’t say anything.

He socked her. Mary cried out, put her hand to the side of her face. “Please, mister, leave us be.”

I yelled for help. The man behind me jerked my hand higher and coughed against my neck. “I said shut up.” His foul breath washed across my face and I clamped my teeth so hard my jaw hurt.

The man in the T-shirt hit Mary in the stomach. She doubled over with a horrible groan.

“Go on,” the man behind me said. “Hit her again.”

“I got a idea about this girl.”

“Same idea I got about these li’l white gals?”

Mary struggled to speak. “Dey don’t know ’bout pleasin’ a man. I can show you boys a good time. All you.”

“Nigger gals are born wanting it,” said the one holding me.

“Yessuh,” Mary said. “Yessuh, yessuh, you right.” Talking colored again.

A car came down the street. Brakes squealed and a woman hollered from the car, “Let’s get outta here.”

The men who held Stell and me shoved us on the sidewalk together, facedown. One of them said, “Put the darkie in the backseat.”

Car doors slammed and they pulled away from the curb, tires squealing. The motor grew faint.

The pavement hurt my cheek. Crickets sounded loud again. A screen door banged shut. Stell prayed in a fast whisper, “Jesus, we offer ourselves for your care. Please be with us. Shelter us from our enemies.”

“Mary,” I said. “Ask God to protect Mary.”

“God, please”—she stammered—“what’s that?”

I listened, trying to separate the sound from the crickets and tree frogs. Metal clinking, a clicking. “A dog, coming down the sidewalk.” I smelled it, felt it snuffling around our legs.

Stell jerked. “It’s in my face.”

The dog licked my arm and I pushed against its hairy belly. “Shoo!”

Claws clicked on the sidewalk; the dog’s collar jangled as it ran away. I sat up.

Stell tugged at my sleeve. “They’ll come back.” She began to shiver.

I pulled her to me. She was my big sister and I wanted her to be strong. “You’re scaring me.”

We sat there, Stell shaking and crying in my arms, making me crazy. I touched my elbow where the dog had licked me and my hand came away wet and sticky. “Ugh,” I said, wiping my hand on my skirt.

“What?” Stell’s voice shook.

“Dog gunk.” I touched the spot again. “And I skinned my elbow.”

She got to her feet and took my hand, pulling me up. I caught my hem under my shoe and felt the skirt tear away from the bodice.

Stell said, “Mary’s dress was caught in the car door. Flapping in the wind.”

I put my cheek against her hair and sobbed. “What will they do to her?”

A door opened in a house across the street and a woman stepped out on her porch. “Who are you girls?”

“Help us!” Stell ran toward the woman, pulling me behind her.

A block away a car roared around a corner, came straight at us. Stell froze in the headlights. I pushed her up on the curb as the car stopped and two men jumped out.

“Somebody called the sheriff,” a tall man said.

“Thank goodness,” Stell said.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” we said together.

The lady came down her front walk. “Sheriff Higgins.”

“Mrs. Rainey.” The tall man was in slacks and a golf shirt, not a uniform.

“These girls’ve been making a racket.”

“They took Mary,” I said.

“She was hurt,” said Stell.

Mrs. Rainey looked at my dress. “You should cover yourself.”

My stomach showed where I’d ripped my dress. “Go after them,” I said to the sheriff, “before they kill Mary.”

“Who’s this Mary?”

“Our maid,” Stell Ann said.

“She colored?” asked the skinny man who was with the sheriff.

“Yes, sir.”

“What happened to her?”

“Some men beat her up.They put her in their car and took her away. They were talking about—”

“About what?” the sheriff asked.

“Tell him,” I said to Stell.

“He, the biggest man, he said he wanted to—that he was going to—attack her.”

“Sounds like they already did that,” the second man said. He was shorter than the sheriff, with a scratchy voice.

“Assault her,” Stell murmured.

“I’m sorry to ask you this, missy, but do you mean rape her?”

Stell looked down. “Yes, sir, that’s what they meant.”

“Oh, my,” said Mrs. Rainey. “If y’all don’t need me, I believe I’ll go back inside.” Her front door closed and the porch light went off.

“How old’s this darkie?” the short man asked.

“Her name is Mary Luther and she’s forty-seven,” I said.

The sheriff looked at me over the rim of his glasses. “Did she provoke them? Did she talk back?”