Bastard Out of Carolina - Dorothy Allison [77]
“Lord God,” he said again, and I knew before he spoke what he was going to say. It wasn’t me who’d surprised him.
“Child, you are the ugliest thing I have ever seen.”
Shannon froze. Her mouth fell open, and her whole face seemed to cave in as I watched. Her eyes shrank to little dots, and her mouth became a cup of sorrow. I pushed myself up.
“You bastard!” I staggered forward, and he backed up, rocking on his little silver heels. “You goddam gutless son of a bitch!” His eyes kept moving from my face to Shannon’s wilting figure. “You think you so pretty? You ugly sack of shit! You shit-faced turd-eating—”
“Shannon Pearl!”
Mrs. Pearl was coming around the tent.
“You girls ...” She gathered Shannon up in her arms. “Where have you been?” The man backed further away. I was breathing through my mouth, though I no longer felt so sick. I felt angry and helpless, and I was trying hard not to cry. Mrs. Pearl clucked between her teeth and stroked Shannon’s limp hair. “What have you been doing?”
Shannon moaned and buried her face in her mama’s dress.
Mrs. Pearl turned to me. “What were you saying?” Her eyes glittered in the arc lights from the front of the tent. I wiped my mouth again and said nothing. Mrs. Pearl looked to the man in the purple shirt. The confusion on her face seemed to melt and quickly became a blur of excitement and interest.
“I hope they weren’t bothering you,” she told him. “Don’t you go on next?”
“Uh, yeah.” He looked like he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t take his eyes off Shannon. He shook himself. “You Mrs. Pearl?”
“Why, that’s right.” Mrs. Pearl’s face was glowing.
“I’ve heard about you. I just never met your daughter before. ”
Mrs. Pearl seemed to shiver all over, then catch herself. Pressed to her mama’s stomach, Shannon began to wail.
“Shannon, what are you going on for?” She pushed her daughter away from her side and pulled out a blue embroidered handkerchief to wipe her face.
“I think we all kind of surprised each other.” The man stepped forward and gave Mrs. Pearl a slow smile, but his eyes kept wandering back to Shannon. I wiped my mouth again and stopped myself from spitting. Mrs. Pearl went on stroking her daughter’s face but looking up into the man’s eyes.
“I love it when you sing,” she said, and half giggled. Shannon pulled away from her and stared up at them both. The hate in her face was terrible. For a moment I loved her with all my heart.
“Well,” the man said. He rocked from one boot to the other. “Well ...”
I reached for Shannon’s hand. She slapped mine away. Her face was blazing. I felt as if a great fire was burning close to me, using up all the oxygen, making me pant to catch my breath. I laced the fingers of my hands together and tilted my head back to look up at the stars. If there was a God, then there would be justice. If there was justice, then Shannon and I would make them all burn. We walked away from the tent toward Mr. Pearl’s battered DeSoto.
“Someday,” Shannon whispered.
“Yeah,” I whispered back. “Someday.”
Driving backcountry with Mr. Pearl when he went on his prospecting trips meant stopping in at little rural churches with gospel choirs, shabby tents with a soloist or two, and occasional living-room prayer meetings that might shelter an extraordinary young singer. Following up Mr. Pearl’s tips was extended, tedious work requiring great patience and tact. All too many of the singers couldn’t sing at all, and hadn’t an ear good enough to know when they went off tune. A few were enthusiastic enough that Mr. Pearl cautiously encouraged them to try out for one of the existing gospel groups. But mostly all he found was an echo of the real stuff, a diluted blend of harmony and aspiration.
“Pitiful, an’t it?” Shannon sounded like her father’s daughter. “That sad old organ music just can’t stand against a slide guitar. ”
I nodded reluctantly. I still wanted to believe that spirit, determination, and hard work could