Mayella

A Story by Jeb

A story about a girl in 1920's Oklahoma, written in her own unique point of view.

Mayella

Sometimes the emptiness of it hurt my eyes. Not all the time. Just sometimes, when I would think about home, around Christmas and stuff. Back in Georgia you look out and you stop seeing because there’s something there, a tree, a hill, a mountain. Here in Oklahoma you stop seeing because your eyes can’t do it anymore, or because there’s nothing to see. It sorta makes you feel weak, like its your fault you can’t see nothing, like you can’t see far enough. Jack figured out that if you look out at the oil rigs all lined up and squint real hard it looks like it could be mountains or really big trees. That’s what I started doing when I got to hurtin.

I never complained to Papa bout my eyes, never complained to Papa at all, even when he said we were loading up and heading west. I tried to, oh believe me I tried but I’d look up, into his face, his smiling face, chuckling, “Yes’m miss Mayella. What is it?” He always has called me miss Mayella, said it was respectful of such a fine young lady. I asked him once why he didn’t call Jack something respectable. “Well, he ain’t a lady is he?” That’s not the point though. I’d look up into that face, that beard, those eyes and I couldn’t do it, I just couldn’t. All I could do was think back to the day he got a letter from uncle Pete, he was so excited, easy street he called it. Of course I didn’t know what an oil rig was, but Papa was awful excited, said he was going to be a boss now, not just another muscle man. Then he said we were going to Okie, I tried then, but he was so happy, those eyes were so happy, better then I’ve seen them in a long time. I couldn’t, couldn’t see the disappointment, couldn’t kill that light in his eyes. Eyes. Always with the eyes. My eyes, his eyes, eyes of the lord, hell we eat black eyed peas for supper every night. Don’t tell Mama I said that. She’ll whoop me somethin fierce.

I kept on trying to tell him what I thought but I kept putting it off and before I knew it, it was three weeks later and we were in a town called Interior. There ain’t a school house in Interior since most of the people who live there are only there for the work for a short while and didn’t bring their families but Papa was the manager for Uncle Pete who owned it. That meant we were gonna be here all the time, not ever going back home. At first I think even Papa was a little homesick, kept saying how much more money he was making like he was trying to make himself feel better. I guess that is true. First thing Papa rode out to Oklahoma City and bought us a radio, the only one in Interior, and it was nice too. Jack liked the radio plays but I would just put it on the music and pretend like I was a conductor or a guitar player. I think my way was a lot more fun.

There wasn’t a church when we got to Interior neither. That was the second thing Papa did when he got into town. We got into town on Wednesday but that church, thanks to a good old barn raisin’, was up and ready by Sunday. I asked one of the men what they did on Sunday since they didn’t have no church before and he said they just worked and that the rigs needed to be worked on every day. Surprised that he hadn’t been struck by lightening already, probably the devil’s doin, I backed away right quick. On that Sunday all the men packed into the new chapel till people were standin’ outside the door. Took till about fifteen past seven to realize that we had a church all built up but we didn’t have a preacher. None of the men could do cause they hadn’t been in so long none of ‘em knew the Scriptures right. Papa woulda done it but he was always horse and quiet, wouldn’t no body be able to hear him. People started to leaving when Jack decided he could just pop up and take right care of it. Now, I had heard him give Grace quite a few times when Papa weren’t home but that weren’t nothing like this. He gave the most beautiful sermon I ever heard, about community and new beginnings, we were so proud.

After that Jack gave the sermons every week and people around town started calling him Reverend Jack. “I ain’t no reverend, I just love the Good Book,” he’d always tell them. Well, if he weren’t a reverend he shoulda been an actor because he could play the part good. It wasn’t long before Jack was spending all week gettin his notes together for Sunday. After about two months people stopped sending telegraphs to Oklahoma City for a preacher every time someone died on the rigs, they just called Jack and he would come out and do the service, a little ashamed at first but he got used to it and was a right pretty speaker and was real good at making everybody feel better, except Papa. Papa always felt like whenever one of the men died it was his fault, and he carried it with him for days. I remember when Grandma died Papa did everything he could not to look sad, trying to keep all of us happy, but now when he felt like he was responsible for everything the men did... it was real tough on Papa.

***

With Jack gone all the time, out preacherin and whatnot I had to find some new friends and since there weren’t any other kids, much less girls in Interior I decided to go right up to the littlest man in town. His name was Ng and he was from China. Now back in school we learned about a big wall they had in China and I asked Ng about it but he said he’d never been there. I figured he musta lived in the middle of China, like the Oklahoma, cause the walls woulda been on the outside. I asked him if America had a wall and he said he didn’t think so or he would’ve seen it when he was trying to get in. “Maybe the East coast, though,” he added. Ng was sort of an outcast among all the men who worked the rig cause he didn’t speak English too good and he was the only one there who was a Chinaman. There was one other peculiar thing about Ng, though. See, the rest of the men all looked real serious while they were working, like they could die at any second. The whole time he worked he would just look happier and happier, he always wore a big smile, until it pulled up his eyes even tighter. That was another peculiar thing about Ng, his eyes. They were smaller then ours, that’s just a fact, but there was a certain twinkle to them, like there was something he knew that made him so happy and he was bursting to tell us, but didn’t have the words to do it.

The only person other than me that seemed to like Ng was Uncle Pete. Whenever he would stop by the rigs he would make a point of walkin right past Ng and sayin, “Whatcha up to there Ng?”

“Just try to dig a little deeper here, boss,” he’d reply and go back to humming some old Chinese tune.

On the first day I talked to Ng was he told me about Uncle Pete and him. See, I had seen him whistlin’ down the street on one of the evenings he had off and given his sunny look, and my desperate need for attention, I decided to pop over and introduce myself right off. Ng was a little surprised at first, I guess he was not used to someone being quite so friendly, but he caught on quick we struck up a conversation best we could. From that first talk I picked up that he had a wife named Mae who was working as a maid in San Francisco and that he had worked on a railroad with some very bad men before he had come here to ask Uncle Pete for a job, the best one he had ever had. That surprised me a bit cause I had only heard all the men grumblin about how hard the work was and here was somebody how was so pleased to have it. Maybe thats why Uncle Pete liked him so much, good to finally have an employee who appreciated the work he got. After that first day I found Ng everyday that he had off and when I could slip away from Mama. We got some odd looks form people in town at first, partly cause we were the biggest misfits in town bein an eight year old girl and a chinaman and partly cause of all the hand motions we had to use just to be able to understand each other. It got down right ridiculous when I was telling him about my cousin Jenny and I had to try to act out the word “ballerina”. One Sunday we were headed back to the rig from the general store, me chomping on a gumball that I bought with a penny I found on the sidewalk (John the store keeper started stocking gumballs since we came to town) and Ng trying to get out the word “car” with a lot of “chugga chugga” sounds. Bout the time we got to the church Jack comes runnin up to us all in a tussle.

“Mayella, I need to see you, right now,” he sputtered out.

“Why? What is it Jack?”

“Now, Mayella!”

Jack had never been so force full before, and it scared me, thinking something had happened to Mamma or Papa. I turned to Ng and apologized for runnin’ off so, and then followed Jack back into the church. It was getting dark outside and the church was all dark except for a few spots near the far window. It made me think of Jack’s sermon that mornin, which had been darker that usual, all about danger and temptation. Jack kneeled down in front of me and grabbed me by the shoulders, his eyes the only thing really visible ‘bout him.

“I don’t want you talking to Ng anymore, you hear me?”

“But, why Jack? We just…”

“No more, Mayella. He ain’t good people. He’s not even born Christian.”

“But he come to church, don’t he?”

“Only cause Uncle Pete obliges him to. I see the way he look shifty eyed every time he comes in here.”

“Did Papa tell you to tell me this?”

“No. Papa don’t know about you two, and he doesn’t need to either. He’s got enough to worry about without his daughter runnin’ about town with a heathen.”

“He is not a…”

“No more Mayella. I’m not gonna argue about this.” Then he just stood up, turned around and walked out the door without another word.

***

The next day I was sitting on a fence behind the store, squinting out at the rigs when Ng came up. “Miss Mayella! I got a card from Mae. You see?” Ng tried to hand me the card, but I didn’t turn to look at him.

“Jack says I’m not supposta talk to you anymore cause you’re not a real Christian.” For the first time since we met I saw the twinkle fall right outta Ng’s eyes.

“Oh, I see.”

“Are you a real Christian, Ng? It would sure help if you were. I mean, you come to church, right?”

“Yeah, church. But, I’s mama make me Buddhist.”

“What’s Buddhist?”

“It’s no important. You listens to what Mister Jack says. He is a smart man. I have to go to work now Miss Mayella.” And just like that he shuffled back toward the rig.

I was still on that fence two hours later when I heard an explosion. Everyone who lived around an oil rig knew that was one sound they didn’t want to hear, but everyone knew what to do if they did. By the time I made it to the rig all of the off duty men were pulling people from fiery metal, while Uncle Pete, Mamma, and Jack were trying to put out parts of the fire. About fifty yards from the wrecked rig I saw Ng leaned up against a tree with his hands over his face. I sprinted over to him, prayin hard as I could that he was okay. When I reached him I saw that Ng was alive, but his whole left half was covered up with blood.

“Ng! Are you okay?”

“I fine Miss Mayella, don’t worry about Ng.”

“What happened?”

“A pump started throwing little fires… the uh…”

“Sparks?”

“Yes. Sparks. They got down in the oil and… boom. You papa tried to stop it, close off the well, almost did. He save me.” I had forgot about Papa. The old guide-man Bill caught the consumption last week and Papa was filling in for him until a replacement came from Dallas.

“Is Papa okay?” I asked him, getting sorta panicked.

“I don’t know Miss Mayella. I no see.” I handed Ng my handkerchief to stop wherever he was bleeding from, I assumed his face since he never moved his hand from it, and then ran off to find Jack and Mamma.

***

Jack did the rights at Papa’s funeral. Five other people’s too. Ng was the worst hurt out of those who didn’t die; he lost his left eye and was burned bad all over. Mamma cried real hard for days, I didn’t understand, why it’s not like that was gonna bring Papa back. I just wanted to be home, and out of Oklahoma. Uncle Pete agreed, said there wasn’t any reason we needed to stay, what with Papa not around. I didn’t see much of Jack that last week, and with him gone all the time, Mamma holed up crying, and Ng cooped up in the hospital, I was awful lonely that week. On the day we left Jack pulled me into the church again to talk. It was a lot brighter this time, so I could see more of Jack’s face, but I didn’t like it. He looked much too old to be only 17, and his eyes were down right scary, even though his voice was kind.

“I’ve decided I’m gonna stay here, Mayella.”

“What? But, Jack we get to go home.”

“These people need me. They need someone to keep God in their lives.”

“They can get another preacher, Jack. A real preacher.”

“I am a real preacher, Mayella. This is my calling from God.”

“Well, Ng said that in China when…” Jack didn’t like me bringing up Ng, and his voice got a lot deeper and scarier.

“Ng, doesn’t know a damn thing about callings from God.”

That was the last thing Jack ever said to me. On the day that me and Mamma were headed back to Georgia, Jack just sorta stood there, staring like every other preacher I’d seen, looking sad but confident. Ng, on the other hand, was out of the hospital and as happy as he could be to see me. He used a crutch on his right side, and the left side of his face was all bandaged up, but his one good eye sparkled so much it looked like it was making up for the other one.

“Can’t you come with us Ng? We got plenty of room in the house since Jack’s not coming home,” I pleaded with him.

“No, no Miss Mayella. I has a good job here. Mister Pete says that when my leg gets better he’ll make me a riveter. You only need one eye for that.” He chuckled that little laugh he always did. “Soon, I’ll have enough money to bring Mae here, and we can build a cabin like the one you lived in, and we will live her for good, have a family, build a school so other people can bring their childrens. Then all the childrens won’t have to talk to Ng.” With that I heard Uncle Pete’s new ’28 Ford pull up behind us, to take us to the train station.

“Goodbye, Ng.”

“Goodbye, Miss Mayella.” Ng, bent down a little and I hugged his neck, and while I was doin it saw Jack over his should give us some awful looks.

The last thing I heard before the car engine picked up again was Ng, whistling that same old Chinese tune, and while we pulled away from Interior I took one last squint out at all the rigs, just as a little taste of what was coming when I got back home.