Mutherless chillun sees a hard time, when they muther is dead
Mutherless chillun sees a hard time, muther’s dead
They don’t have noooo place to go
They jus keep runnin frum door to door
Mutherless chillun sees a hard time, when they muther is dead.
“Motherless Children” Song
Emma didn’t stop running until she got to the railroad trestle. She stayed under it all night long, and as soon as the dark lifted at dawn, she got on the railroad tracks and hoofed it the twenty miles to Gilmer. Son Buddy was not hard to find. He was still living in the back room of the same hotel. He’d been working and living there for so long, he was practically a landmark.
He could offer Emma no refuge. His quarters were too small for two people; besides, the manager of the hotel wouldn’t allow it. However, he did know that the owners of the dry goods store were looking for some live-in help and offered to take her there.
“Thas awright, Son Buddy. You needn’ do that. Jes tell me how to git there, I’ll find it.”
Emma walked up to the lady behind the counter, “Mam?”
“Yes, can I help you?”
“Yes mam, I wuz by the hotel a while ago an the porter over yonner say the folks who own this store wuz lookin for somebody to work. Is you th’ one?”
“Yes, I am. Well, that is, me and my husband,” smiling. “We need somebody who can live-in. It’s just me and Jim and our three-year-old boy. We’ve been dropping him off at a woman’s house, but we’d rather somebody be at home with him while we’re gone. We spend most of our time here in the store,” adding, “and usually when we get home, I’m dead on my feet and need some help with him at night.”
“I kin do it Miz …”
“Swift. My name’s Mrs. Swift and that’s my husband Jim over there,” pointing to the man behind another counter.
“Miz Swif, I kin do it.”
“What’s your name?”
“Emma.”
“Emma, do you know anything about taking care of smaller children?”
“Oh yes mam, I growed up in a house full uv ‘em.”
“Where you from Emma?”
“Big Sandy,” dropping her head.
“What brings you to Gilmer?”
After taking a long breath, “I run away frum home Miz Swif.”
“Why on earth did you do that?”
“Cuz they whupped me all the time for nuthin.” With tears streaming down her face, Emma showed Mrs. Swift her scarred back.
Mrs. Swift gasped, “Lans sake! Why would they do a mean thing like that?” she exclaimed.
“Well, Miz Swif, afta my daddy kilt my mama, me an my other three sisters had to live wit Grandma. She already had other chillun uv her own an didn’ want us to begin wit. An afta the two biggest got grown an left, Grandma got meaner an meaner to me an my baby sister. We didn’ have nobody to go to or take up for us or nuthin an got whuppins all th’ time.”
Sympathetically, “Emma child, you just stand right here and I’ll be right back,” and fetched her husband. “Jim, this is Emma. She’s gonna be living with us and taking care of Bobby Joe.”
After hearing his wife’s version of Emma’s plight, he looked the young beauty over and smiled. “That’s fine Irene, but first we got to find her some clothes. I’ll take her home and let her git herself cleaned up.” Looking back at Emma, “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yessir.”
“Come with me then.”
With Emma cooking, the Swifts started taking turns coming home every day to look in on Bobby Joe and eat a hot lunch. It was Jim’s turn and he was seated at the kitchen table. Emma had her back to him, putting some things away in the cabinet. As she tiptoed to reach higher, he eyed her shapely legs and hourglass figure.
“Emma.”
“Yessir?”
“You’re honestly bout the prettiest colored gal I ever saw.”
“Thank you, Mr. Swif.”
“Why don’t you call me Jim … when Irene ain’t here,” and helped her down.
Soon after, Jim started giving her money and getting more than just a hot meal when he came home, while his wife tended the store. And, in addition, Emma could go to the dry goods store and Jim let her pick out anything she wanted. She quickly learned that a white man was willing to pay for “it.”
In her off time when she went to town, Emma expanded her profitable “trade” beyond Mr. Swift. Stopping by to visit Son Buddy, the conversation drifted to her pretty clothes. “Emma, I thought you wuz workin for them whitefolks for jes room an board. Every time I see you, you got on sump’n new. Where you comin up wit all them priddy new hats an shoes an dresses?!”
“It ain’ none a yo bizness where I got ‘em frum. I sho as hell didn’ git ‘em frum you!”
“You didn’ answer me. Where you git the money for that stuff?”
“Mr. Jim give it to me.”
“Whutcha do to git it?”
“None a yo damn bizness!”
“Emma, you bet not be no whorish gal, messin roun wit that white man an takin money frum ‘em!”
“Who you to talk?! You been livin a few measly miles away frum us all this time an NEVER cum seen bout us, not one time! An you ain’ NEVER raised a finger to help us! So don’tcha be tellin me shit!!”
SMACK! The hard slap across the face sent her reeling. Soon as she cleared her head she lit into him, forcing him over backwards. Realizing he had a ferocious wildcat on his hands, he used his fists a couple of times to get her off.
Emma’s dress was torn and by the time she got to the Swift’s house, her bloody lip had swollen to twice its size and the bruised skin under one of her eyes was bluish black. Still fuming, she hurried straight through the house to her back room. Jim looked up from his newspaper in time to see her going past, and got a glimpse of the torn dress. He went to her door and knocked.
“Emma, can I come in?”
“Yessir,” she sniffled.
When he entered and saw her bloodied face, “What on earth happened to you? Who did this?” he asked angrily.
“Nobody Mr. Jim.”
Not masking his concern very well, he called into the kitchen, “Irene, come in here and look at what somebody did to Emma.” Irene got a wet towel and was wiping Emma’s face when Jim said, “I tried to git her to tell me who did it, but she won’t.”
“Well Jim, maybe she doesn’t feel like talking about it right now. Why don’t you go on out and let her lie down for a while.”
Her shiner had turned good and black by the time Jim came home for lunch the next day. Refusing to let it drop, “Emma, tell me who did it.”
“It wuz my brother.” And she told him why.
The following week Son Buddy was found dead in his little room at the hotel with a bullet through his chest. After a “thorough” investigation, the authorities were unable to come up with a suspect for the murder. Emma was questioned, and she said she knew nothing.
As she dressed for the funeral Emma had only one thing on her mind, raised the corner of her mattress and got her savings to which Jim Swift and a few others had so generously contributed. On her way out, she stopped by the kitchen doorway, “Mr. Swif, Miz Swif, I’m gone.”
Grandma Duck and her bunch had the three front benches on both sides of the aisle filled with family. Emma took a seat in the back of the little church and wouldn’t sit close to them. The old matriarch was watching her flock like a chicken does a hawk. It was clear she didn’t want them to even look around at her. Finally, Elzado got the chance to glance back long enough for Emma to catch her eye and gesture to go outside. She quickly passed the word down the bench to Grandma Duck, “Elzado gotta pee.”
Trying not to miss a word the preacher was saying, Grandma Duck looked down the bench at Elzado and whispered loudly, “G’on! But you hurry up an git yo behind back in heah, an don’t be talkin to that ol’ Charlie-lookin devil!”
Soon after Elzado left the church and Emma caught Grandma Duck not looking, she left. She met Elzado on the outside and they stole away. Emma had their getaway prearranged and handed the driver the thirty dollars for their fifty-mile trip. As they settled into the backseat of the car, Elzado asked excitedly, “Where we goin Emma?”
“We goin to Longview. They havin a oil boom up there, an men is comin frum ever where bringin lotsa money wit ‘em. Don’t worry. I got some saved up to rent us a house til we kin git started.”
“Emma, I don’t care if we ain’ got a pot to piss in. I’m jes so glad to git away!”
“I know El. I wuzn’ gon leave you behind again.”
They were dropped off in downtown Longview. Neither had ever seen so many people in their entire lives. Tin Lizzie horns honking, wagon mules rearing, and all the folks scurrying about had their hearts racing with excitement. Nestled in the piney woods of Deep East Texas near the Louisiana border, the town was flourishing. After finding a place to stay, it was time to sit down and go over the game plan. Elzado was ready and willing as she listened to Emma’s teachings.
“The first time you may have to grit yo teeth. Lak I did wit Mr. Jim. But afta that, you git useta it an it don’t hurt or nuthin. White men want to git thru quick is they kin an go cuz they don’t want nobody knowin it. You kin put on a little baby whine an they’ll give you jes about anythang you ask for. They always in a hurry, so the only thang you gon git frum ‘em is money. An thas all we want! Soon as he do his bizness, suck yo belly in an git up an pee that stuff out. We gon git us two uv them long pocketknifes an we don’t never wanta be on our backs at the same time. Understand?”
Elzado answered with a laconic “yeah.”
“While I’m doin it, you stand guard an be ready to use that knife. When you do it, don’t be scaid, I’ll be guardin for you. We gon be awright, but we gotta stick together an not git separated frum each other. You understand?”
“I unnerstand Emma an don’t worry, I ain’ scaid. Not half as scaid is I wuz to eat that corn you put poison in that time.” They hugged and laughed in remembrance of the occasion. After so much talking, sleep came tinted with solidarity. Even though Elzado was big for her age, she wasn’t quite fourteen when they hooked up as a team and took to the oilfields.
Emma’s guts shone like pearls in the moonlight as she and Elzado walked toward the oilfield derrick lights. The cool autumn night air was stenched with pungent odors of burning oil and gas. The closer they got, the brighter the glare of the lights and the harder it was to see. Emma could barely make out the figure of a man walking to meet them. “Here cum somebody. ‘Member whut I tole you, El.” They stopped. He kept coming.
“Whut in Sam Hill y’all doin out heah this time uv night?” the white man asked.
Emma stepped closer to him. “Lookin.”
“Fer whut, gal?”
“Whutever we kin find.”
The roughnecks welcomed them with open arms and billfolds. Very seldom did anybody give them a hard time. When they did, it usually was the foreman rushing somebody back to work so he could take his turn in the tool shed.
Emma and Elzado had been molded by their environment and were bold and hard as nails. Emma was the schemer, cunning and smart, slick and smooth. Since Elzado’s style was to just do shit and let the chips fall where they may, Emma knew if any thinking or planning was going to take place, she would be doing it for the both of them. She caught tricks three to Elzado’s one.
Elzado was gangly with a boyish figure and wore her kinky hair in plaits. The ugly harelip Grandma Duck left her with after hitting her in the face with a skillet for “bristlin back” made her no match for Emma’s drop-dead good looks and natural gift for bullshit. Whenever Emma got on her about “fixin” herself up, Elzado would say in a funk, “I ain’ gon play lak I’m priddy when I know I ain’t,” and wouldn’t touch the rouge and lipstick Emma offered. “Anyhow, afta he git on toppa me to do his bizness, he don’t give a damn whut I look lak.”
Their notoriety spread quickly. The other whores in town even noted how much “guts an gall” it took to be out in the fields tricking, “jes the two uv ‘em.” Danger or no danger, the team kept hiring the taxi driver to haul them from one site to another, and wait. Taking it directly to the frontlines, they were shortstopping the traffic before it got to town. They bought plenty of baubles and beads and pretty clothes, and eventually filtered into the “streets” mainstream.
Soon thereafter, Baby Norris joined their team. Semi-foxy but with an air of cheapness about her, she was five or six years older than Emma, didn’t have a steady man, was tired of waiting on the tricks to come to town, and had the guts. Emma and Baby Norris were about the same build and complexion, and she was passed off as the third sister. To enhance her chances at a greater share of the tricks, she and Emma dressed alike to confuse the “bulls” who picked her thinking she was Emma. But Emma had enough tricks to keep them both busy.
Even though the tool shed business was very lucrative, it was getting old and the trio started having the workers come to the little shotgun house instead. With a few tips from Baby Norris, Emma got in touch with the right people and expanded her enterprise to include bootlegging. As soon as the other whores found out about the crowds that came to her house for a “good time,” they started coming too.
Emma hung a long piece of cloth over the open doorway separating the one small room from the kitchen. She bought a cot and placed it just inside the kitchen beyond the “curtain.” Then she laid down the law to the visiting whores. “Don’t ketch no tricks in my house an take ‘em off somewhere else. You found ‘em here, leave ‘em here. When you wanna trick an I ain’t usin it, you kin pay me to use the cot in the kitchen. An don’t be rollin no drunks, it give my house a bad name.” Although Elzado had moved out and was on her own, living with a white man in the Northcutt Heights, she was still tricking and spent much of her time at Emma’s.
The “good time” house was fast becoming the most popular place in town. The bootlegging business was thriving and, with the other whores hanging around, the shotgun house was always crowded with oilfield workers, black and white. This soon brought the gamblers. “Where there’s hoes an boozin, there’s sho to be gamblin,” Baby Norris explained. With the lure of easy money, some of the “real” gamblers started drifting in. That’s how Emma met Allen.
He was a tall, good-looking black devil, so black his friends called him “Blue.” He was streetwise and smooth as butter, a touch of arrogance mixed with caution. His worldly manner ofttimes betrayed his mere twenty-three years. He stood apart from the herd. His expensive tailored clothes fit snugly, accentuating his slim, muscular frame. He was a gambler by profession and always won big at Emma’s.
She had smoked him over on several occasions when he was down on his knees shooting dice. Aside from his outright handsomeness, she was magnetized by his gambling skills and always stopped what she was doing to marvel at the way he took them to the cleaners. When he propositioned her about paying her to let him “manage all the gamblin,” she jumped at the chance to enter into the contract.
He started coming early and staying late. For the first time in her life, Emma was infatuated and didn’t view him as just another trick. She dropped her guard and fell head over heels for this impressive young hustler who ignited her fullest passions with every touch. He soon took up permanent residence and they worked as a team. She tricked on the cot and took care of the bootlegging while he cleaned up with the dice. All the money that came in the house stayed there, one way or another. They became the talk of the streets. The top whore in town hooked up with the beautiful black stallion. All the whores envied her for nabbing the number one hustler; the men envied him for having won over the cream of the crop.
Emma realized that Allen was making more than she was and much quicker. However, many times after he’d won all the money in the game at her house, he left and went somewhere else to gamble, only to lose. When he got broke at the other places, he sent his hat by a runner for identification and she sent money back to him. He wouldn’t quit until he used up all of her money too.
Being in the hole was tampering with the bootlegging business. With both of them broke, she had to accelerate her tricking to come up with the money to pay for the loads of whiskey. It was becoming increasingly apparent to her that he was blowing it faster than she could make it. They began to argue about it more and more. “Hell,” she told him, “I don’t need nobody to help me fuck it off! I kin do that by myself.”
It was late morning when he finally made it home. Clothes rumpled and his eyes bloodshot, he’d been up all night gambling. She noticed it right off; it had looked so good on him. “Where’s yo hat?” she asked as he headed into the kitchen.
Stalling for time, he hated to face her, “Whut’d you say Emma?” in between swallows from the dipper.
“You heard me. I said, where’s yo hat?” She had paid sixty-five dollars for that Borsalino.
“I hocked it last nite.”
“To who?”
“Aw, I let Pinch hold it for twenny dollars. I’ll git it back this evenin.” Walking toward the bed, he stretched his arms, yawned and told her, “Baby, yo man is beat.”
She’d been up and down all night herself, waiting on customers who dropped by for bootleg whiskey and getting up to send him money. Irritable and in no mood to cut him any slack, “You don’t look real tired to me,” she countered, testy. Wheeling out of the bed, “I’m gon git the crap blanket an spread it down on the flo. You gon teach me how to gamble an shoot dice, right now. I’m sick uv this shit!” She spread the army blanket out and got down on her knees at its edge. “C’mon, you got some dice in yo pocket, gitcha no-gamblin ass down here,” she taunted.
He whined and hem hawed around awhile but, in hopes of soothing ruffled feelings, agreed reluctantly. “Oh, awright. First off,” picking up the blanket, “you don’t want it spread all the way out lak this, it’s too thin,” folding it into a four-by-four square and lying it back on the floor. He took the dice out of his pocket and got down on his knees next to her. “The softer the surface, the easier it is to control the dice when you roll ‘em, lak this,” demonstrating. “You don’t want ‘em bouncin roun lak this,” as he precariously threw them out on the blanket. “You want to hold ‘em wit yo fingers lak this, an jes rollll ‘em easy lak this. Jes sorta push ‘em ‘cross the blanket so they stay together an tumble side by side. You hafta learn how to control the way they roll wit yo fingers. You wanna keep ‘em rollin side by side an not let whutever you got locked in th’ middle cum up.”
Taking the dice, one in each hand, he showed her what he meant. “Look, I got a three an a two in th’ middle,” joining the two together. “I’m gon roll ‘em so they stays where I put ‘em.” He “rolllled” them time and time again and the three and two never showed up. “Anutha thang, they’s forty-two dots on a pair uv dice, three sevens on each one.” Rotating them in his hand, “See, all the dots equal seven. You got five-deuce seven, four-trey seven, an six-ace seven. So—”
“So,” she interrupted, “if you know alla that an kin do it so good, how cum you git broke all th’ time?”
“Cuz Emma, you know well as I do, most uv th’ whitefolks an nigguhs that hang aroun over here don’t know shit bout gamblin. They be jes havin fun an don’t hardly know one dice frum anutha. I kin git away wit cold-blood murder in a game wit them.”
“How cum you can’t do it when you be gamblin in them other games?”
“Cuz they won’t letcha set ‘em an roll ‘em lak that. All uv them nigguhs know how to gamble, an all uv us know how to roll. So they serve ‘em to you. Every time you shoot ‘em out there, the houseman picks ‘em up, shakes ‘em an puts ‘em back in yo hand. You ain’ got a chance to set ‘em an you be goin on luck. Specially when we be shootin on a hard pool table cuz them dice be tumblin every whichaway.”
“Well, if they won’t letcha do whut you showin me, whut the hell do you keep goin over there for an luckin off all our money?”
He looked at her for a moment, “I guess for the same reason you keep on trickin. C’mon, les git back to whut I wuz tellin you. The best way to learn bout the bets is to watch the game. You bet the straight-make on six an eight, an you bet the bar on four, five, nine, an ten. When you throw seven …”
Emma went to Shivers Drugstore and bought several pairs of dice. All during the day when she wasn’t busy, she devoted her time to playing with the pair she carried in her hand, squeezing them, matching them, fitting them and learning to hold them the “right way.” When the crap game at the house started, she got down on her knees and watched. When the game ended, she practiced on the blanket by herself. She had emulated the roll down pat, and could “rollll” them across the blanket so close together they looked like they had been stuck with glue.
Emma added the third dimension to her repertoire. No longer was she a mere observer, she had served her apprenticeship. Now when she got down on her knees at the blanket’s edge, she got down there to gamble and “run” the game. Allen’s managing steadily diminished and she took over. She loved it and gambling became her life’s blood. Dedicating herself to the perfection of her talents, she became a whiz with the craps and was “lucky as a shithouse rat” in the eyes of the other gamblers.
Along the way, she developed into a pretty fair card shark. She dealt Maude, Georgia skin, cotch, poker, blackjack, and was a damn good cooncan player. Allen had been a good tutor and as soon as she learned the ABCs of gambling, he taught her how to cheat. Explaining, “The first ‘law’ in gamblin is ‘know how to cheat an know when you bein cheated.’” She knew how to “pike” under each card off the bottom or from the middle of the deck without anyone ever noticing. It was hard for them to imagine such a good-looking woman cheating. She also developed a gift of gab for distraction purposes when she was performing her quicker-than-the-eye-could-see card antics.
Even though she became very adept at cards, her passion was shooting craps. She learned to use every trick in the book to throw her opponent off balance and make him break his rhythm. Anything to sidetrack. She’d put on her sexiest dress and a pair of her best black gunmetal hose. She flashed a little dab of thigh and leaned forward enough to let them have a quickie at the breast. When she got the attention she was after, she made her move with the dice, “the hull-gully,” setting them as she quickly scooped them up to make her “Hudson” shot. She released them with a side motion, killing the die she had cupped in her little finger and careening the other one out with top-spin English. Coming out, that die she cupped in her little finger always stopped on five, eliminating the possibility of throwing “craps”—a two, three, or twelve.
Most of the time she was the only woman in the game, but she cursed just as loud, squabbled just as much, hit, got hit, and hit back. She stood her ground and was just as cold, hard, callous, cunning and tough as need be, with a natural sense of humor to get by with it. They’d fight one minute and be back gambling and drinking the next. Involving herself in the whole game environment, when the players were bally-hooing and passing the bottle, she took her turn and got just as mean and ornery as the rest of them. When that firewater hit the pit of her stomach and her shot came, she started “talking” to the dice.
First roll, coming out, “Oh! Don’t forgit ta take the dough! ELEVEN! Bless joy, there it tis!!” Snapping her fingers as loudly as she could with each roll, Emma begged for each point incessantly while the dice propelled down the blanket. Coming out again, with her Hudson shot, first roll, “Oh! Don’t leave me here! Take me witcha when you go!” Got nine for a point, “I bet I bar it.”
“You got a bet you don’t bar it, Emma. Shoot ‘em.” She rubbed the dice on the blanket, back and forth, talking to them. “C’mon Emma, quit fuckin roun an shoot th’ damn dice!” the fader said, admonishing her.
“How cum you in such a great big hurry for me to make nine on yo ass?” she quipped, still rubbing the dice slowly and deliberately to antagonize.
“C’mon, bitch! Shoot th’ fuckin dice!” he said gruffly, irritated by her delaying tactics.
“Whut’d you say, muthafucka?”
“Shoot th’ dice.”
“No, whut’d you call me?”
“Bitch. You ain’ no better’n my sister an dey calls her a bitch.”
Emma dove over on him and whupped his ass good. He was out cold. Blue and another crapshooter dragged him over to the other side of the room and propped him up in the corner.
Going for nine with a different fader, “Oh Lady! Please be good. Quinine! is a bitter dose! Oh Alek! Iron, you cold black shine! Oh Baby! We ain’ but NINE MILES frum home! NINE! times outta ten!” Still no nine. She stops and rubs the dice again, looks around at the players, “Bet somebody some mo I bar nine.”
“Thas a bet, Emma. Brang ‘em on.”
“I’m fixin to make nine on y’all’s asses. Watch me make it wit six-trey,” and sent the dice on their mission. “EVER! now an then you meet a stranger. STOP! an invite him in.” Nine.
Got eight for a point. She “cocked the trigger” (set the combination) and fired. “Oh Ada! Black gal. Let! yo hair hang down! Oh Ada! Ross wuz a pacin good hoss!” Sweat rolling down her face, “Oh Baby! don’t leave me here. Cum back an git me. Oh! if you please! Ada!! frum Decatur, the county seat a Wise. EIGHT! babies too soon!”
Taking another big swig from the bottle, gets ten for a point, “Oh! Tennessee Toddy! All asshole an no body! Oh BIG BEN! Bend double. OH BEN! Bend down an lift it up. OH! Tom Pane, thas Black Annie’s ol’ man!”
Five. “Oh, Fantail Fanny! Fanny Fites! Ugliest woman in the Northcutt Heights! Oh Phoenix! Arizona. OH! lemme off! AT! yo next stop …”
Emma and Allen were making “damn good money.” When the crap games ended they had most, if not all, of the money. A band of regulars, black and white alike, made coming to their place to drink and gamble a daily ritual. The workers, gamblers, and whores kept money in circulation at the house all the time. With it rolling in, Allen got Pinch to come over and run the house for two or three days so he and Emma could get away.
He loved to show her off at other gambling places and they’d take special train excursions to Shreveport regularly. At some of the games gamblers bet five hundred dollars on a shot, shooting on a pool table! Allen took her there to let her see all the excitement of a big bettor’s game. But Emma couldn’t content herself to stand at the table and watch.
During one of their trips she could take it no longer and elbowed her way to the crowded pool table. When she tossed fifty bucks on the table, all the players shied away from such a small amount. “Say,” she said righteously, “don’t stand there an look crazy. Somebody fade me. They’s plenny mo where that cum frum. I kin make mo money in fifteen minutes then y’all seen all day!” Looking at Allen, “Ain’t that right, baby?”
“Thas right, baby.”
“I got somethin that’ll sell when cotton an corn won’t.” She had them laughing with her. All she wanted was just ONE shot!
Finally one of the players decided, “Hell, I’ll fade a pretty woman lak you ANYTIME. I got you faded fifty. Shoot ‘em.”
Emma had never shot craps on a pool table before, but she knew the dice would be bouncing. Just like Allen had said, it was pure D luck. Rubbing the dice gently on the green felt until she was ready, her first roll was a natural. “Shoot the hundred,” she snapped.
“Shoot ‘em.”
Eleven, a winner. “Shoot the two.”
“Damn!” the fader said, and tossed up two hundred more. “Shoot ‘em again. I gotcha one mo time.” Eight, and she made it. “Somebody else kin fade her. She’s too heavy for me.”
She pulled down and shot two hundred again and caught FOUR! Gamblers generally hate four and hope to never catch it! It was her favorite point! She bet her other two hundred that she’d bar it. She took two or three more shots and got all the money Allen had in his pockets, and bet that. Still not satisfied after a few more rolls, Emma wanted to bet some more. She KNEW she was going to make that four. They had no more money to bet. She paused a moment to rub the dice on the felt, then looked around at Allen, “Lemme have yo coat.”
“Whut for?”
“Never mind, jes pull it off an give it here.”
He began to take it off, but very slowly. She had paid the tailor, Louie Rickey, five hundred dollars to make Allen’s imported camel-hair overcoat. When he handed it to her, she laid it on the table and gave a brief on it. One of the players opened it up and saw the Louie Rickey label and asked, “How much you wanna bet ‘ginst it?”
“Three hundred.”
“Hell naw. I’ll go two an no mo.”
“Put it up.”
More than a thousand dollars was riding on four. She threw the dice out on the table and the ace stopped immediately. The other spun off down the table and was still spinning as she hollered, “Oh! Little Britches! C’mon!” It settled on three. She won BIG that night and became famous for making “Little Britches.”
The nightly game at the good-time house ended and everybody was gone. Allen had something on his mind, “Emma?”
“Yeah, Blue?”
“I wantcha ta stop trickin wit them white men.”
“Why?”
“Cuz I thank me an you oughta git married. How long we been livin together? Three … fo years?”
“Yeah, been bout that long an thas the way we need to keep it. That way, you don’t own me an I don’t own you. Anyhow, I thought you wanted me to do it.” Fighting her case and defending her livelihood, “I been trickin since I wuz fifteen an I ain’ never had to ask nobody for shit.” Playing up to him, “You oughta be happy. Havin a good hoe is lak havin money in the bank.”
“I wantcha ta stop or you kin find you anutha man! I don’t wanna see no mo white men comin in an outta here ‘less they wanna gamble.”
“How cum you jes now gittin mad bout it? Thas whut I wuz doin when you met me.”
“I don’t give a fuck whutcha wuz doin! I’m tellin you I don’t wantcha doin it no mo! Fuck that shit!”
“Say, we don’t have to git married for me to stop trickin wit them white men. Jes cuz you want me to, I’ll quit.”
“I ain’ for no bullshit Emma. I mean bizness. I wantcha ta stop doin it.”
“Awright, awright, I’ll stop. I won’t do it no mo.” Allen searched her eyes for the truth as she vowed, “I won’t Blue, I swear I won’t. I promise.”
The Depression was on the horizon and things were “gittin tighter’n the little E string on a cheap guitar.” Both of them hustling barely maintained their style of living and paid for the whiskey. Bootlegging had fallen off considerably after the oilfields trade slacked off. In order to keep on buying Allen a new Borsalino whenever she felt like it, Emma started back to “seein” one of her old standbys, Mr. Albert the cotton broker. Unbeknownst to Allen, she met him somewhere two or three times a week.
Lying beside Allen early one morning, the spirit moved within her; she had to do something quick. She rolled off her side of the bed, ran to the door and barely got it open before she started vomiting.
Half-awake, Allen asked, “Whut’s th’ matter Emma?!”
“Damn! I’m sick at my stomach! Git me a wet rag so I kin wipe my face. I’ll be awright in a few minutes.”
“Whut the hell you eat? I been tellin you bout eatin all that damn garlic an peppers an onions an shit.” Handing the damp cloth to her, “It’s a wonder you don’t blow up.”
She threw up again. Regaining her composure somewhat, she got back in the bed. “I ain’ been that sick since I wuz a kid an et all them half-green huckleberries. G’on back to sleep, I’m awright now. Musta been somethin I et.”
Later that day, she sneaked off to see Doc Falvey. After hearing about the vomiting, he examined her and broke the news, “Emma, you’re pregnant.” Speechless, she just stared blankly. She’d missed the count! She ought to tell Allen; no she ought’n. She decided to just sit on it awhile.
The time had come, “Say Blue, I been thinkin bout whut you asked me, you still wanna do it?”
“Do whut?”
“Git married.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“Les do it tomorrow! I know where we kin git our blood tested.”
“Okay. I love you Blue.”
“I love you too, baby.”
That night after making passionate love, Allen fell asleep as Emma lay staring at the ceiling, stirring the sauce of deception over in her mind. Like shooting dice without getting to set them, the best she could do was go on luck.
The next day they got the marriage license from the county clerk and headed for the Justice of the Peace. Allen handed the license to the old judge. “Awright, ketch hold uv her hand, boy. Do you, Allen Sample, take this woman fer yore lawful wedded wife?”
“I do.”
“Do you, Emma Barnes, take this man fer yore lawful wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“You got a ring, boy?”
“Nawsuh.”
“By the powers vested in me by the State uv Texas, I now pronounce y’all man an wife. That’ll be three dollars, boy.”
After a couple of months Emma began to show, and Allen commented, “Hey baby, you suuure gittin full roun th’ middle!”
“I got ever reason to be,” she toyed. “I’m pregnant.”
“Since when?”
“Since you know when! Wuzn’ you there?”
“Well, I’ll be damned! I’ll jes be damned!” he shouted with joy.
They moved into another shotgun house with wider rooms. It was located right behind the old, condemned calaboose. The regulars still showed up as usual, but today they were asked to go outside and be quiet. Doc Falvey was inside. Waiting anxiously, Allen mingled in the yard drinking with the others to keep warm.
After Doc Falvey cleaned the baby, he laid it in Emma’s arms and left to make the announcement. Then she got her first look at what the stork just “brung.” “Aw shit,” she uttered in dismay, “white as the drifts uv snow.”
Doc Falvey walked out onto the small porch, “It’s a boy.”
Allen beamed proudly while the others patted him on the back. He rushed inside, stepped to the bed, took one look and knew it “wudn’ his’n.” He spat on Emma, wheeled around and walked out on her that snowy Friday afternoon in 1930, slamming the door so hard it almost jarred the little house off its blocks. She had dealt him a blow right between his balls. Pride dangling, he kept his eyes glued to the ground and didn’t speak as he brushed past the gathering.
Bewildered, they just stared at one another until somebody said, “Damn! Blue look lak he jes seed a ghost.”
The yardbirds filed into the house and stood around the bed gawking at the infant cradled in Emma’s arms. Shaking their heads and grunting “umph, umph, umph,” one of them piped up, “Dat sho ain’ none a Blue’s baby.”
“I wuz born in a lion’s den, and suckled by a bear …
I growed two sets uv jaw teefs and a double coat uv hair.”