OCR Text |
Show Go Love/188 possible, dwarves were in my blood. In the flesh, my Uncle seems like anybody else, flesh and blood. Beside him, Dora's swishing a folding fan, just like in the movies of southern funerals where somebody's about to breakdown and jump into the casket or shoot their first cousin. "A while back," I say, and the collective breath of this space is released, "Mama asked me to speak at her funeral. She believed I could say what needed to be said." In back of the dark room, the double doors swing open for a second so I can see actual light. A man enters, I can't tell who. Trace, my one sister, is sobbing. I feel for her-at least the sad organ's shut up. "So here I am. My name is Joey Harvell, Josephine's oldest. I'm honored. Can I ask that everybody please stand up, please." A few jaws drop and brother Dellwood clears his throat behind my back. O.W. stiffens-he's so close, I could reach out and tap him with a stick. "She was sick. Mama hurt bad for a long time. Please stand on up." One by one everyone who's not a Baptist rises. Uncle Bold and Aunt Judy rise, along with Dora and Davey and the score of black folk-Mama's Little Rock friends They rock back and forth on their heels, maybe sense the threat of jubilation in the air. The first of what will become looks of monumental confusion begin. The man in the back of the hall is standing. "Lupus didn't kill her. Thank you. Stand on up." Behind me, the years and years where tmcks roll uphill and postmen and dead little boys in sailor suits, painted ducks and museum mummies. The howl of tornadoes and thunder and dream fire. Before me, my mother and my family and all these faces between me and the double doors |