My Drowning by Jim Grimsley Page A

blowing as I went inside. We had eaten our Sunday dinner of greens and cornmeal dumplings. I had brought water for the dishes and Nora boiled it over the stove, herself drenched in the heat. The sound of a storm coming was welcome all through the house.
    Inside everybody was saying hey to Uncle Cope.
    Nora held Madson in her lap and played with his curls. Mama sat beside her in the rocking chair that was missing a slat at the back. She had a feather pillow under her. The baby she was now carrying lay low, and you could tell she was nearly done with this one. I missed the look on her face when Uncle Cope appeared in the door. But I remember the wayshe watched him as she rocked in the chair smelling the sudden cool edge to the afternoon. She narrowed her eyes like a sow when it wants to gnaw off your arm or your leg.
    The expression remains so vivid as I remember it that I am seeing things new all the way back to then. How could she have hated him so much, just because he lived with us? What had he done to her in the long ago? I had no such curiosity then, but now that I have the luxury of reflection, of dwelling on her expression and remembering, I can see more. What did Uncle Cope do to Mama?
    Daddy was saying, “Good God, Cope, I bet you’re glad to have your scrawny ass out of that jail.”
    â€œYou know it. You got something to eat, Louise?”
    â€œIt’s some greens,” Mama said, tucking the skirt down between her legs. Mama rarely wore step-ins, but remained as modest as her skirts allowed. “Help yourself, ain’t nobody going to wait on you.”
    â€œLord, I’m tired, that’s a long walk from that highway on these crutches.”
    â€œWhen did you get out?”
    â€œYesterday. But I was with Bob Yates last night, you know him? He’s Roe’s oldest brother.”
    Daddy nodded his head.
    â€œI was with him last night,” he repeated, blowing and looking down at the grayed floorboards. “I went up there to see Daddy but he put me out. So I come on down here.”
    â€œDaddy put you out?”
    â€œHe damn sure did. It’s that new girlfriend he’s got. He’s got a new one. And she put him up to it.” Uncle Cope sighed.
    â€œWell, you know you welcome to stay here.”
    Mama held still so that only her face twitched a little.
    Otis came inside somewhere along in here. He nodded to Uncle Cope. Seeing him, Nora said, “Otis has been sleeping out here in your bed, Uncle Cope. He ain’t going to be too glad to see you.”
    â€œWhat has this youngun been doing sleeping in my bed?”
    Uncle Cope’s tone was joking, but Mama took offense anyway. “The youngun ain’t done nothing to your bed. It wasn’t any harm in him sleeping on it.”
    â€œI ain’t said nobody could use my bed. This is my goddamn bed.”
    â€œShut your mouth,” Mama said, though Daddy was laughing softly. This was the kind of a scene that always pleased Daddy.
    Otis ducked his head a little but his face had turned red. “I ain’t done nothing but sleep on it, and I like it, and I don’t see why I can’t keep sleeping on it and let you have my bed with Carl Jr.”
    â€œYou white-ass son of a bitch, listen at you.”
    â€œCarl Jr. ain’t sleeping with Uncle Cope,” Nora said. “You can count on that.”
    â€œHe kicks me all over the bed, and I’m tired of it,” Otis said.
    â€œWell your little ass is going to get kicked all over Carl Jr.’s bed again,” Uncle Cope said, pointing at Otis with the crutch. He sat on the edge of his own bed, neatly made in the corner of the kitchen. “This one is mine.”
    â€œNobody wants you here anyway.”
    â€œHush that,” Daddy warned Otis.
    â€œI mean it. Mama don’t want him here, and I don’t.”
    â€œWell he’s staying here, no matter what you or your mama want.”
    â€œYou hear your