The Sittin' Up by Shelia P. Moses Page B

lies in his eyeball.
    â€œFolk like-like who? I worked today and I didn’t hear that.” Papa was determined to break his brother-in-law from lying. I reckon breaking Uncle Goat from lying was harder than trying to bring Mr. Bro. Wiley back from the dead. There was no need for me to sit in there and listen to them make a fool of him, so I kissed Ma on her fat cheek and headed to the front porch to wait for Pole.
    â€œWhat about the dishes?” Papa asked.
    â€œLet him go. I can do the dishes faster and I want my kitchen clean ’fore folk start to come,” Ma said as I rushed down the hall. But then Ma said, “Bean, stay right where you are. You need to pay your respects to Mr. Bro. Wiley before company come.” Papa still didn’t tell her I saw Mr. Bro. Wiley earlier through the window.
    Papa, Ma, and Uncle Goat and I stood together in the hall. Uncle Goat reached over my shoulder and opened the door. My heart began to hurt. All I could hear as I walked across the floor was the knocking of our shoes.
    When I got to the casket, Papa put his hand under my arm to make sure I didn’t faint. Ma wrapped her warm body around me and pulled my head close to her big belly. I could feel the baby kicking real hard. Uncle Goat was breathing hard as he stood over me. We stared down at the ole slave man. I looked real hard. He did have a smile on his face just like Pole said.
    â€œYou want to touch him?” Papa asked as he rubbed Mr. Bro. Wiley’s head.
    â€œYes, sir, I do.” My mouth said yes, but my hands froze. Ma pulled my hand away from my leg and moved it towards my friend. I could hear Mr. Bro. Wiley’s voice in my head.
    â€œDon’t be scared of dead folk, Bean. The living are the ones you have to watch out for.”
    I touched him right where I reckon his heart might have been. Ma was holding me so tight that I could feel the life growing inside her move again, but Mr. Bro. Wiley’s life was over. I touched his hand. Those old hands were hard and stone-cold.
    â€œWhy is he so hard, Ma?”
    â€œChild, that’s just Mr. Bro. Wiley’s shell. He ain’t here at all. Mr. Bro. Wiley’s in heaven with the angels.” When Ma said that, Uncle Goat got to crying like a little girl.
    Then I heard a thump. I turned around and there he was—Uncle Goat had fallen down on his knees just like the womenfolk do on Sunday.
    â€œBless you, Mr. Bro. Wiley, bless you!” he said over and over. I felt sorry for him because he loved Mr. Bro. Wiley just like I did. Papa helped my uncle up, so I turned around and looked in the casket again to study his face. His skin didn’t look so wrinkled. He somehow looked younger and his black suit looked some kind of nice up against the ugly necktie Ma made him out of the dead folk fabric.
    I reckon it was Mrs. Gordon who combed his hair straight back from his face with a little part on the left side. She didn’t know Mr. Bro. Wiley like we did ’cause he didn’t wear no part in his hair.
    â€œYou got your comb with you, Bean?” Ma asked. She noticed it too.
    â€œYes, ma’am. I got it right here.” She reached down and touched Mr. Bro. Wiley’s head like she was touching a piece of cotton and combed the part away.
    â€œThere,” she said. “That’s our Mr. Bro. Wiley.”
    â€œIt sho’ is, Ma.”
    I think she laughed for a second, but I couldn’t hear ’cause Uncle Goat was still carrying on.
    â€œMa, why is Uncle Goat carrying on? Does he know Mr. Bro. Wiley didn’t think much of him?” I whispered.
    â€œOh, child, that ain’t so. He thought the world of Goat. He just wanted him to stop his lying. He wanted him to be a better man. Now hush ’fore your uncle hear you.”
    â€œI don’t want to look no more, Ma.”
    â€œOkay. You all right?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. It’s sad to see him in that