For the first time in some time, Tuck became silent, contemplative, almost reverent. He took a sip of malt liquor and leveled his rheumy eyes at Eddie. You lucky tonight, kid, he eventually murmured. He coughed and spat. Or, not lucky.
An otherwise skinny woman with a round butt, wearing a thrift-store blouse, backed out of the minibus and hurried toward the two of them. Approaching with her hand thrust out, she introduced herself as Jacqueline Faire-LePont, planted her pumps in the gravelly asphalt in front of them, and asked Tuck if he needed steady work. Before he answered, she announced that she had it to offer, and spoke continuously about a wonderful place where he could flourish professionally. She briefly stopped speaking and smiled down at Eddie.
Yes, we need work, he said. But have you seen my mother? Her name is Darlene Hardison.
Jackie brightened immediately. Darlene? Oh yes! She’s your mom? Oh, I know your mother very well.
Tuck put a hand on the back of Eddie’s neck and whispered, Don’t be too sure.
Eddie lurched forward, about to run over to the minibus and leap in. Tuck grabbed his shirt to stop him. I think this the same people, he warned Eddie, but this here lady gon tell you exactly what you want to hear.
Then Tuck attempted to walk him in the opposite direction. They got far enough to be out of Jackie’s earshot, but then Eddie hooked his fingers into the older man’s pocket, putting in extra effort to keep him stationary, and succeeded in slowing Tuck down and kicking up enough roadside dust to cake their shoes and pant legs.
We have to go! Eddie insisted. You have to come with me.
Hell no, Tuck grumbled. He pulled Eddie’s hand off his pants. You go yourself. Your moms might be out there after all.
I have to go! Eddie searched his mind for a trump card. But what if she’s not there? And what if they do things to little boys?
The comment made Tuck freeze as if Eddie had slapped him. Eddie pulled on his pocket again, but Tuck didn’t move. After a few moments, Eddie looked up to see wet streams running under both of Tuck’s eyes. The ploy had worked almost too effectively; Eddie was shocked.
Tuck wiped his face with his fingertips. Oh, okay, for God’s sake, he said. I don’t want that on my conscience again. He told a sad story about his late brother.
Of course your son can come along too, Jackie said, once they got nearer to the minibus. We’ll get him in school. Are you Darlene’s husband? Great to meet you. What’s your name, sir? They all introduced themselves and Jackie continued her pitch. Now, the agricultural cooperative for which you’ll be working is one of the best in the country, she said. It’s called Delicious Foods. She opened a brochure to a picture of a courtyard with a kidney-shaped pool, then stopped and looked at Eddie.
You can’t bring the bike, though. Why don’t you lock it up over there? she said, pointing vaguely toward the Party Fool.
It’s not mine, Eddie said.
Jackie smiled. You’ll be back soon enough, she said. Eddie walked over to the entrance of the Party Fool, wrapped the bike’s chain lock around one of the posts of the shopping-cart corral, and returned to climb into the minibus, whose door had remained open the whole time. By then Tuck was inside, slumped against the window, already starting to fall asleep.
11.
Eclipse
Fall kicking in. Nights was dipping into the sixties, and that made them Delicious people more comfortable in the evenings. Helped em rest easier, and damn sure kept them odors down in the dorm. Sometime Darlene took off one her gloves and put her fingers up on the sticky watermelon skins. She deliberately leaving fingerprints, hoping somebody gonna dust that damn melon for evidence and let her son know where she at. Way far away, folks from America and Canada and even farther be dropping them Sugar Babies and Golden Crowns on they Italian marble counters; blond children be biting down on that juicy red flesh, letting the sweetness ooze and dribble over they tongue and out the corner of they mouth. They wasn’t looking for no fingerprints on no damn melon. They just a-laughing and chasing each other cross a hundred acres of fresh green motherfucking garden full of yellow roses, flashing they bright brown and blue and green eyes, tryna spit seeds into each other hair. Them ginormous melons, the Parkers and the Sangrias, the Sunny’s Prides and the Crimson Sweets, they found homes too. The superiors said that some them Delicious watermelons made it all the way to Japan.
When the first harvest drawing to a close, the foremen start dropping hints ’bout pumpkins and squash and gourds, and the late-fall plantings of wheat and corn. They talking loud ’bout which ones of the feeble incompetents they gonna most enjoy letting go, like leaving gonna make them that much worse off. Crazy, but How could get a whole lotta workers in a tizzy ’bout that they gonna get fired. Of course that increased production ’cause everybody thought they gonna have to brave the streets on the holidays, dead broke and jonesing, going to beg mercy of they family when don’t nobody talk to em no more.