THE 1999 WADE EDWARDS
SHORT FICTION CONTEST

   A PROJECT OF THE WADE EDWARDS FOUNDATION  RALEIGH, N.C.   WWW.WADE.ORG

Second Place Winner

Dawn to Dusk

By

Kasey Poole

The spring sun lifted from the horizon and propped against the faint gray mountains set far beyond the countryside foothills. The dawn’s climbing rays spread shafts of light across the farmyard and on the crackled white washed house. The steady climb of the morning rays stretched with consistency towards the dew-coated, shadowed ground beneath the front porch. The beams of warm light shot underneath the porch, locking target on a pair of hazel brown eyes. Buford, a hound dog with the hide of mosaic spotted browns, shrank back from the intruding sunlight. Buford stretched out his stiff joints, rotated several times in his worn place in the cool dirt, and lay down with his tail flopped across his moist nose. His serene trance, embellished with spastic, muffled sighs, was abruptly broken by the creak of the porch door and the appearance of soft brown two-toned feet cascading down the three sun and weather beaten steps. Buford immediately perked up and struggled from his warm spot to meet the woman’s feet with a gentle slop of his flimsy tongue.

The woman, Lola, stooped down to deliver Buford’s daily scraps of greasy pork fat. She gingerly settled down on the porch steps so not to pick her cotton dress on the cracked wood. Buford positioned himself in front of her bent knees in anticipation of a morning scratch. Lola leaned over and rubbed her dull fingernails on his flaky, oily back. Once the rubbing was initiated, Buford immediately stood taller and began to lap the air with his tongue. Lola paused and regarded the newly spread manure pile steaming in the chilly morning atmosphere. Her son Nathan emerged from the barn with a wheelbarrow full of green, moist manure, pushing it along the beaten red dirt path towards the pile adjacent to the peeling barn. Nathan’s shoulders were hunched until the load was dumped, then returning with a quicker pace, he let the wheelbarrow bounce the bumps along the path.

Lola watched with peace and pride as her sons worked the morning chores. Her other two boys followed Nathan in hopes of winning the privilege to push the wheelbarrow, but once the wish was granted, their small arms buckled in the attempt to push such a heavy load, and they swore to their amused brother it was the bumpy path. Lola realized how much Nathan favored his father. He was tall and stocky, with rich brown skin drawn over his cheekbones like stretched deer hide. His hair was black and glossy, with tufts of curls. His eyes were ebony pearls embedded in a chiseled face. Lola’s admiration was broken by a small pain in her belly. She looked down and noticed her stomach becoming more round and soft. She knew it would be soon that she wouldn’t be able to see her feet, and that the little boys would have to help her slaughter the animals and carry in buckets of water for cooking. The rising sun warmed her face and arms, but since her dorsal side was still frigid and plagued with chill, Lola pulled herself up from the steps and entered the cool house.

Lola lifted the letter soiled from many admiring hands from the smoothly worn wooden kitchen table. The letter was an acceptance from a colored industrial school in Virginia, a very primitive version of the Tuskegee Institute. Lola read it over in joy as she has been doing for every day the past six months. The porch door creaked, and Nathan stooped over his mother’s smooth shoulder and glanced at the letter.

"Mama, I’m sorry that I didn’t go this fall, but you knew that Papa needed help with harvest."

Lola turned and fell into his dark ocular abyss. She smiled and replied, "You know that we’s just happy to see you go tomorrow. That’s better than never. Your daddy is mighty proud of you, and it hurts him that he held you back."

"Mama, don’t worry. Our dreams will start tomorrow. I can see it now. Once I’m finished, I can get a job up North and make good wages for a colored man. I’ll save up money and buy this farm from Mr. Gardner so ya’ll won’t have to break your backs everyday and be nothin’ but sharecroppers all your lives." As Nathan spoke, his nostrils flared and his chest billowed out.

Lola smiled and kissed her boy on his glistening forehead. She knew that this dream was still a good distance away. Her main goal was just to make sure Nathan got on the bus and had plenty of clean underwear and white shirts. She dismissed Nathan and looked out of the window. Her husband Cal stepped out from the tobacco barn. His hands were blemished with the black gum from the leaves. She joined him outside with curiosity over the grin spread across his shiny face.

"I picked up the spectacles yesterday." Cal had taken a trip to town and bought the pair of reading glasses that he had been wanting for Nathan from the pawnshop. They were golden rimed glasses with bifocals. It took Cal and Lola some time to save, Cal doing extra work and Lola washing clothes almost for nothing for the wealthy white ladies in town. Lola was pleased that the gift was finally ready for presentation. She looked at the smile on Cal’s face. Wrinkles from hard work gathered up at the corners of his mouth and sable eyes. They stood in silence as she thought of the hard work that lay ahead. Cal’s father was moving in from South Carolina to help with the farm. His sassy father was as old as dirt, with leathery black skin and rough, callused hands, but he insisted that he still had the stuff to run a farm. Lola gazed at Cal, wondering if such a hard life will be destined for them forever. She shook herself from those thoughts and stood with Cal until he felt rested and took on another task for the day.

The family spent all Saturday preparing for Nathan’s departure. Lola cleaned the house and starched Nathan’s clothes until they could take a figure on their own. She sent the boys to pull weeds and gather vegetables for supper while she plucked the matted down of a hen. It was some hours later when the boys arrived with little vegetables but big holes on the knees of their britches. Lola bit her upper lip and sent them to find switches, feeling overwhelmed and frustrated. After their whipping, the boys cried and called their mother a monster, but they were soon pacified when she allowed them to help Nathan and Cal in the fields. She watched them run off, disappearing beyond the hills with Buford trailing along.

Lola walked across the creaking wood floors to the boys’ room. On Nathan’s bed, his clothes where in orderly piles and his books rested on his pillow. Lola lifted the book and tried to discern the words. She knew only a few and finally set the book down after her head ached in concentration. She closed her eyes and envisioned life up North. She had heard that colored folks there drove cars and wore suits, even if they weren’t preachers. Up North, people said colored folks could show up to work on their own will and keep all their wages. Lola wished this the most for her child. She held the place where her thin wedding ring once settled. Nathan didn’t know that’s how they had afforded the books, and Lola was set that he never would.

In the late afternoon, the small house was filled with the fragrance of frying chicken and seasoned boiling potatoes. The men came into the house smelling like horse sweat and soaked with salty perspiration. Lola sent Nathan to pack the remainder of his belongings. Cal turned to her and said, "The mare’s girth is about to split, and I’m going to take her to Mr. Paxton’s to see if he can fix the saddle." He searched her face for slight approval despite that he already made plans. He saw that her forehead wrinkled up at her brows and reassured her, "I’ll be home before you set the supper on the table."

Lola watched as Cal gingerly mounted the sorrel and rode across the grazing field towards the woods. It wouldn’t be too long before the sun would be burrowing in the Carolina hills to repose. Lola carried in the water for the large wash basin and started scrubbing the boys for Sunday. Lola’s upper body was splashed with water as she attempted to wrestle the boys to take their weekly bath. After half an hour, the water in the basin was cloudy and the lye foams fizzled to nothing.

The pounding of hoofs invaded from the outside. Lola knew the sorrel was eager for her oats awaiting in the barn. The pounding grew louder and harder with Lola anticipating the routine slackening of pace Cal would coerce as he entered the barnyard. This time, the pace grew faster. Lola peered out the window. The glazed sorrel was in full stride towards the barn. Its foamy back was bare with only the braided leather reigns dangling from the metal bit. Lola’s heart stopped. With alarm, she watched the sorrel plunge into the barbed wire fence. She heard the crack of bones and the horse’s frantic shrills. She threw open the porch door and ran with her soft bare feet hitting the solid red path down the field near the woods.

Nathan looked from the window in horror at the sorrel’s heavy pants escaping into the dusk sky like pieces of the soul. Tears pushed the lower brims of his eyes. He turned towards his clothes, starched and folded in precision for the trip, and his books enclosing crisp and sweet smelling pages. The blank brown journal from his mama’s grandmother fell from the grip of his long and slender hands, falling with the face down, crippling the new pages. Nathan stepped out onto the porch with the shotgun. His gazed focused on the black trees near the barn silhouetted against the fiery sky and the mare underneath. The boys began to follow him across the barnyard, naked with droplets of water running from their backs.

"Go back inside and put some clothes on," he replied to their whimpers for Mama. They stood there until Nathan shooed them like barnyard chickens, fleeing into the house. Nathan turned to the horse, and headed across the yard. The boots Lola had just polished were now caked with chicken and goat manure as he gradually grew closer, with the shotgun set on his shoulder slightly bobbing along with his gait. Nathan could now see the whites of the mare’s almond eyes and the bone of her right foreleg popping out from beneath her torn red hide. The spurred wire entangled her, and with every move, the barbs dug deeper in her skin. She was shrilling frantically. Her round and muscular buttocks twitched as she kicked with her hind legs. Nathan backed away and approached her from the front. He loaded the shells and swiped the salty sweat from his temples. He pressed the butt of the heavy shotgun on his right shoulder and set the aim on the soft spot above the mare’s eyes. She had a star-like patch of pink skin where dingy white hair grew in contrast to her rich auburn color on her broad forehead. It seemed to be a perfect target. Nathan focused on the point until all other colors faded except the star patch. His gaze finally broke, and he stretched his neck beyond the hill by the stream. He paused for a moment, waiting for something but heard nothing but the trees stirring in the air and the cricket’s thrashing beat that pumped along with the force of his temples. Nathan aimed, closed his clammy eyes, and snapped the trigger.

Lola had pulled Cal from the blood-encrusted rock and gingerly placed his head in her lap. She rocked gently back and forth, with the breeze of oncoming nightfall ruffling her dress, so worn that it resembled white lace laid across sable velvet. She stroked Cal’s cheeks and sang hymns to him, but her lips moved slightly. Tears prickled down the dry skin of her face and fell into her lap. She looked down, and saw Cal’s ruby blood pooled between her thighs. Her thin dress was no barrier to the warm blood that trickled down her legs. Lola continued to caress Cal’s face and sing, despite the shakiness of her fingertips and voice. The booming echo of a distant shot caused her to shiver and moan. Her heart felt heavy and her soul dead. The chill of twilight soon enclosed her. She joined her toes with her husband’s feet as he lay cradled in her lap. She savored on the chilly nights in bed when she would curl her cold toes next to his. Her desperate attempt was unsuccessful, with nothing in return but the coldness of his clay encrusted boots. The sun’s final ray of light and warmth was engulfed by the dusky silhouette of distant hills. Lola looked across toward the eastern sky where she had watched the sun’s bright birth that morning. The once burnished side was midnight blue and frigid. Across the west horizon, the sun commenced its farewells with bursts of red, orange, and fuscia. With this dwindling fire, Lola saw her dreams fade. She felt powerless. Her fears heightened as she thought of what period of darkness awaited them, and if she survived this darkness, she feared the dawn would never come. Her hymns grew to a whisper and then to silence, with the rushing of wind as the only sound. The night invaded and embraced the long, cold silence.

The children with Buford at their heels emerged from the humble farmhouse, walked down the front porch, and scurried towards the stream, but they stopped in silence when they saw the dark silhouette of their mother’s curved spine stooped over their father against the vast cobalt canvas of the sky.