A zephyr rolled over John as he sat in a rocking chair on his front porch, puffing on his pipe with his eyes closed. By the yap he heard, he knew the postal carrier would be at his house in about a minute.
The mixed-breed beagle yapped at John’s feet, and John’s eyes snapped open. He bent forward and rubbed the dog on the head.
“John, how you be today?” the postal carrier said.
“Howdy, Mr. Weems,” John said to the postal carrier. John had been in a contemplative mood about the war. “Now that war’s been declared on Germany by the government, I’ve been thinking about my oldest boy and whether he’s going to be drafted.”
“I’ve been delivering draft notices for the past week. Looks like you can stop wondering.” Mr. Weems handed John a bundle of mail; the one from the government was on top.
“Talk to you later, John.”
“Good day, Mr. Weems.”
Mr. Weems pivoted and walked down the three steps to the ground. The yapper continued on his route with Mr. Weems, keeping him company as he often did when Mr. Weems would first round the corner to start his deliveries. But before he continued with Mr. Weems, the yapper turned and yapped at John as if to say goodbye.
John looked at the envelope from the United States Government. He shook it mindlessly, contemplating whether to open it. But he quickly settled in his mind, since it was Theo’s mail, Theo had to be the one to open it.
“Tilla,” John yelled.
After a few seconds, she appeared at the door.
“Sit here, sweetheart,” John said, pointing to the rocking chair next to him.
Tilla wiped her hands on her apron and sat next to John.
“Where’s Theo?”
“I don’t know where he is. He’s twenty-two years old now; he’s a grown man. He’s not checking in with me when he comes and goes.”
He had stopped checking in when he started slumming with his buddies. And when he wasn’t slumming, he found time to take up boxing, dreaming of being the next Jack Johnson, known as the Galveston Giant, former boxing heavyweight champion. He wanted the women just like Jack had.
“Now watch where’re you going,” Tilla said to Willie, who darted to the door to go outside and resume playing. “Wait,” Tilla yelled. “Come here and let Mama kiss you.” She kissed him on his cheek, and he resumed his sprint to the front door.
Peace and quiet resumed in the house. Bessie and Eunice were married with children and living several blocks from John and Tilla. Willie, Claude, and Charlie were outside playing, and Maggie and Pearl were at Junior and Goldie’s house, playing with their two youngest daughters. “Honey, I want to talk to you,” John said. “Let’s talk in the living room.”
After fifteen years, Ann’s picture still adorned the back wall in the living room. Tilla or one of her girls kept it clean. The living room walls were mottled and needed a fresh coat of paint. The furniture had been purchased when John made good money working at The Messenger. The sofa and couches were now dated and the wear and tear were now evident from extreme use by their boys bouncing on them. Tilla didn’t complain; after all, she was happy to see John spending more time at home with her and their children.
They sat on the settee, where they often found themselves when discussing a serious family matter. At forty-six years old, John looked like he did at the turn of the century, except that he’d grown sideburns, and there was slight evidence of bags under his eyes. Eight kids had had an effect on Tilla’s body. Her pulchritudinous looks of so many years had begun to vanish. Her radiant smile and high cheekbones were still present, but her middle more resembled a bee’s waist than the wasp-like waist she had maintained for so many years. And even her backside, the same backside that Goldie said needed more meat about seventeen years ago, was more padded. Her togs had changed, too; they were no longer modern and sassy. Money and fabric were needed for the children. While John maintained his raven hair, Tilla’s auburn hair now had a few strands of gray. But even with her slowly fading looks, she still was capable of turning the heads of men.
“This was delivered today,” John said showing Tilla the white envelope that had Theo’s name on it.
She knew what it was. “John, you know how I feel about this. I don’t want Theo going to war. He might never come back.”
“Ma, Pa,” Theo said as he entered the house through the front door.
“We’re in the living room, son,” John said.
His handsomeness as a boy never dissipated as he went through his teenage years into his adult years. He was rangy and muscular at six feet, three inches tall, and had wavy brown hair, pearlescent hazel eyes, his mother’s slender nose, father’s full lips, and blemish-free tawny skin. “Sit down, son,” John said.
He sat on a couch a few feet away from John and Tilla.
“Son, this has your name on it. It’s from the United States Government,” John said. He waved the envelope for Theo to retrieve it.
Theo sliced open the envelope with his right index finger. Although he knew what was inside, he hesitated before removing the contents.
There it was in black-and-white: Lawrence County men between the ages of twenty-one and thirty years of age had finally received their notices when to register for the draft. The notice directed Theo to register at the Sixth Precinct in Mount Hope on June 5, 1917.
“What does it say?” Tilla asked.
Theo hesitated with his answer as his head moved as in the direction of words written by the federal government. “They want me to fight in the war. I need to register with the draft board by June fifth.”
“What’re you going to do, son?” John asked.
“I don’t know, Pa,” he said expressing feelings of anxiety. He added: “I reckon I gotta register.”
“We know that, Theo, but what we want to know is what do you want to do?” John asked.
Theo looked at Tilla and felt her heavy heart; he quickly turned his eyes to John. “They say we’re going to be shipped off to France. Never left the country before.”
“Son, there’re a lot of colored men going to be drafted. If they see what we’re doing for this country, the government will make it right for us,” John said.
What better way to hasten the day that would cause the sclerotic system of bigotry to collapse in on itself than having colored men fight for their country, John thought. He paused, then added, “They just have to make it right,” he said, with abundant doubt in his head but with plenty of hope in his heart.
It was the same fin de siècle hope and optimism that he held onto at the end of the nineteenth century, notwithstanding the darkness that had crowded colored life, which was woven into the fabric on Alabama’s Constitution of 1901. Even though the new Constitution outlawed interracial marriage and imposed stringent suffrage restrictions on coloreds, Theo’s generation would make a difference, he thought.
The light that had been filtering in through the drawn curtain began to fade. But the gathering darkness outside did little to dissipate the heat that had built up over the course of the day. While John continued to wax philosophically about the war, Tilla stood and turned on a small lamp next to the settee. She picked up a folded newspaper and began to fan herself as she looked at Theo massaging his goatee.
Theo was contemplating his navel. War was raging in Europe. He could possibly be with some of his buddies overseas. He’d get away from his parents’ carping about his libertine behavior. He’d have an income, a place to live. The thought of boxing in the army could be a possibility. Change could be a good thing, he concluded. It was settled. “Pa, Ma, looks like I’m going to war.”
“How many days before you register?” Tilla asked.
Theo looked away from Tilla as he counted the days in his head. “Eight.”
“What did they tell you when you went to the precinct to register?” John asked Theo as they sat on the front porch in rocking chairs.
“They’re shipping me to New York in two weeks,” Theo said.
“Me, you, and Junior are going hunting tomorrow,” John said. “We got some things to talk about.”
“Okay, Pa.”
“You going to need a good night’s sleep. The roosters will wake us up,” John said. “Junior will be here waiting on us.”
Theo didn’t get much sleep; his mind was jammed with thoughts about the war over in Europe, and what he would be asked to do. He wondered whether he’d come out of it alive. He arose before the rooster’s cock-a-doodle-doo, dressed hurriedly, and walked to the kitchen where he saw John and Junior sipping coffee. “Good morning, Pa, Uncle Junior.”
“Good morning,” they said in unison.
It was time to start their early morning hunt. “Everything’s ready,” Junior said.
Two of Junior’s steeds were hitched to a dray as Theo loaded it with hunting accoutrement. Theo hopped on the camion and John and Junior rode the horses. Theo lie supine on the camion and rested his head on strands of hay he used as a pillow. The ride was too bumpy to fall asleep. He wanted to think of anything but the war and his impending departure, but he found himself thinking about where he left off before he arose just a short while ago.
After about a twenty-minute ride, they reached the part of the woods where fowl and whitetail deer were known to be found.
Junior tied the reins to an elm tree and placed feed bags over the horses’ snouts.
Theo retrieved the three Winchester rifles from a box on the dray. He gave one each to John and Junior.
John looked at one of the rifles. “Theo, this is your rifle. You need to claim ownership of your weapon, son.”
“How do you know this one’s mine?”
“Look here,” John said, pointing to Theo’s name that he had etched into the surface of the barrel.
“Do y’all have your knives and cartridges?”
John and Theo nodded.
“We’re hunting deer and any kind of fowl,” Junior said. “Let’s go.”
After about twenty minutes of walking and looking for a target, they found themselves deep in the carpeted woods. There was no sight or sound of any animal except for a few dogs sniffing for food. They sat down to rest against a large rock in the canopied woods. John took out his carving knife from his haversack and began to whittle on a thick tree branch. Junior practiced his troat calls, an effort to attract deer.
It sounded funny to Theo. “Hey, Uncle Junior, what are you doing?”
“What do you do when you want the attention of a young lady?” he asked rhetorically. “You whistle at her. You may dress a certain way. You talk to her. Well, I’m talking to the deer.”
“But they’re not listening,” John said laughing.
“Look,” Theo said softly, pointing to a whitetail buck about fifty yards away.
John pointed to a tall maple tree a few feet away. They crept from the rock to the tree. Theo was to get the first shot.
“Easy and steady,” Junior said. “Don’t shoot until you’re ready.”
The bullet hit the buck in the flank, felling it. Theo moved toward the deer.
“Wait, son,” John said. The deer seemed to be sending out a distress call to other deer. “You hear that?”
After ten minutes, the buck took his last breath. “All right, son, go claim your prize. It’s your catch.”
John and Junior stayed near the tree.
Theo stood at the side of the carcass and kicked it just to make sure it was dead. Theo was impressed by the buck’s huge rack. It was too big to transport to the dray; they’d have to carve the meat on the spot.
As Theo turned and looked at John and Junior, a doe appeared quickly and stood within three feet of Theo, ready to mete out revenge on the person who felled her stag. Theo had placed his rife on the ground.
John moved closer to the cauldron to intercede on Theo’s behalf. Theo was frozen with fear; all he could manage was to raise and wave his arms to make himself look bigger to the revenge-seeking doe. Before John or Junior could reload their rifles to shoot, the doe raised off her hind legs and began to kick at Theo as though she was a prizefighter in a boxing ring.
With his rifle reloaded, John fired off a shot that whistled past Theo’s left ear and hit the doe in the belly. The doe limped away and collapsed a few feet away. Junior fired another shot into the doe just in case she possessed a phoenix-like ability.
Theo was bleeding from the head, mouth, nose, and arm; he was dazed, unsure of what had just happened. He needed attention.
“Can you walk, son?”
“I think so,” Theo said groggily.
He felt woozy. “Put one arm around my shoulder and the other arm on Junior.”
They walked slowly to the large rock where Theo sat. “We gotta get you home. You know your mama’s going to be upset,” John said.