Blackwater: The Complete Saga

by Michael McDowell

a smile that was neither brave resignation nor studied indifference, but a smile that seemed to mock credence.

No trace of Buster was ever discovered, but no one expected it to be otherwise.

“Miss Elinor,” said Zaddie, “I have grown up in this house. I have never lived anywhere else. I am gone grow old here, I guess. I have never got married. I have never had anything to do with colored men, ’cause I belong to you.” “You’re mine,” Elinor assented. “And living in this house,” said Zaddie, “I’ve seen things and I’ve heard things. But that don’t mean I pay much attention. All I know is I belong to you, and I’m gone grow old here waiting on you and yours.”

After a week, Miriam declared that she didn’t know why she hadn’t got married before; sleeping with a man certainly was a great deal more fun than sleeping alone.

After Bray’s death, Oscar had borrowed various men from the mill to act as his chauffeur, but this was an unsatisfactory arrangement. Oscar declared that he just didn’t feel right unless there was a Sapp behind the wheel. Sammy Sapp had his driver’s license, but he was still in the eleventh grade over in Babylon. Oscar convinced Sammy that he had no need of graduating from high school, which wasn’t a very good school anyway, and promised to pay him more than he would ever get working at the mill. Sammy, already very attached to Mr. Oscar, didn’t need much convincing. Oscar got Sammy a uniform, and bought a new Lincoln Continental in Sammy’s honor.

“Mr. Wallace,” Oscar declared, “is coming down hard on your people. Don’t you think you and I better send Sammy up there with a letter or something and ask him to ease up a little bit?” “You write the letter,” said Zaddie, “and I will pay for Sammy’s gas.” “Are you looking for equality, Zaddie?” Oscar asked, with a little of his old high-flown courtliness. “Equality with what, Mr. Oscar? Equality with who?” “Don’t you want to be better paid? Don’t you want not to have to pay your poll tax? If all your people voted, Zaddie—if they didn’t do anything but register all the Sapps in this town—why you could take over. You could have a colored mayor, and a colored sheriff, and a colored I-don’t-know-what-all.” “I guess we could,” said Zaddie. “Then do it. If you did it, you could be the mayor, Zaddie. I’d vote for you. So would Elinor. And Miriam and Malcolm, too. You’d be the first colored female mayor in Alabama, I bet.” “I bet I would,” said Zaddie. “But who’d read the paper to you every day?” “I don’t know, Zaddie, I don’t know. Maybe you ought not run for office after all. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t hear the obituaries every afternoon. Maybe you ought to give up this idea of politics. But I tell you what: in my will, I’ll leave you enough money to start up a campaign and beat Mr. Wallace out of office. I bet you could turn Selma and Sylacauga right-side up again.”

No matter what you’ve gone through, no matter what you’ve done and suffered, no matter what horrible mistakes you’ve made, no matter what you’ve given up that you should have held on to, no matter what you’ve held on to that you should have let go, no matter what has happened to make you unhappy, you cannot wish for it to have happened any other way.”