Death In The Family, A - James Agee [112]
“Both of us together is a whole orphan,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Don’t say ‘huh,’ say, ‘What is it, Rufus?’ ”
“I will not!”
“You will so. Mama says to.”
“She does not.”
“She does so. When I say ‘huh’ she says, ‘Don’t say “huh,” say “What is it, Mother?’ ” When you say ‘huh’ she tells you the same thing. So don’t say ‘huh.’ Say, ‘What is it, Rufus?’ ”
“I won’t say it to you.”
“Yes, you will.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, you will, because Mama said for us to be good. If you don’t I’ll tell her on you.”
“You tell her and I’ll tell on you.”
“Tell on me for what?”
“Listening at the door.”
“No you won’t.”
“I will so.”
“You will not.”
“I will so.”
He thought it over.
“All right, don’t say it, and I won’t tell on you if you won’t tell on me.”
“I will if you tell on me.”
“I said I won’t, didn’t I? Not if you don’t tell on me.”
“I won’t if you don’t tell on me.”
“All right.”
They glared at each other.
They heard loud feet on the porch, and the doorbell rang. Upstairs they heard their mother cry “Oh, goodness!” They ran to the door. He blocked Catherine away from the knob and opened it.
A man stood there, almost as tall as Daddy. He had a black glaring collar like Dr. Whittaker but wore a purple vest. He wore a long shallow hat and he had a long, sharp, bluish chin almost like a plow. He carried a small, shining black suitcase. He seemed to be as disconcerted and displeased as they were. He said, “Oh, good morning,” in a voice that had echoes in it and, frowning, glanced once again at the number along the side of the door. “Of course,” he said, with a smile they did not understand. “You’re Rufus and Catherine. May I come in?” And without waiting for their assent or withdrawal (for they were blocking the door) he strode forward, parting them with firm hands and saying “Isn’t Miss L ...”
They heard Aunt Hannah’s voice behind them on the stairs, and turned. “Father?” she said, peering against the door’s light. “Come right in.” And she came up as he quickly removed his oddly shaped hat, and they shook hands. “This is Father Jackson, Rufus and Catherine,” she said. “He has come specially from Chattanooga. Father, this is Rufus, and this is Catherine.”
“Yes, we’ve already introduced ourselves,” said Father Jackson, as if he thought it was funny. That’s a lie, Rufus reflected. Father Jackson left one hand at rest for a moment on Catherine, then removed it as if he had forgotten her. “And where is Mrs. Follet?” he asked, almost whispering “Mrs. Follet.”
“If you’ll just wait a moment, Father, she isn’t quite ready.”
“Of course.” He leaned towards Aunt Hannah and said, in a grinding, scarcely audible voice, “Is she—chuff-chuff-chuff?”
“Oh yes,” Hannah replied.
“But does she Whehf-wheff-whehf-whef-tized?”
“I’m afraid not, Father,” said Hannah, gravely. “I wasn’t quite sure enough, myself, to tell her. I’m sorry to burden you with it but I felt I should leave that to you.”
“You were right, Miss Lynch. Absolutely.” He looked around, his head gliding, his hat in his hand. “Now little man,” he said, “if you’ll kindly relieve me of my hat.”
“Rufus,” said Hannah. “Take Father’s hat to the hat rack.”
Bewildered, he did so. The hat rack was in plain sight.
“Now Father, if you won’t mind waiting just a moment,” Hannah said, showing him in to the sitting room. “Rufus: Catherine: sit here with Father. Excuse me,” she added, and she hastened upstairs.
Father Jackson strode efficiently across the room, sat in their father’s chair, crossed his knees narrowly, and looked, frowning, at the carefully polished toe of his right shoe. They watched him, and Rufus wondered whether to tell him whose chair it was. Father Jackson held his long, heavily veined right hand palm outward, at arm’s length, and, frowning, examined his nails. He certainly wouldn’t have sat in it, Rufus felt, if he had known whose chair it was, so it would be mean not to tell him. But if he was told now, it would make him feel bad, Rufus thought. Catherine noticed, with interest, that outside the purple vest he wore a thin gold