MisLiza was Soothsaid

"MisLiza was Soothsaid"

by Lucious Vaughn

This story took place on the Southside; this is the true account of it.

DING DING DING DONG --was when I heard Denny Chimes. I sat on my porch and looked away, toward those chimes. I saw MisLiza Jemisen arriving via Six Row. She possessed the gaunt ministrations of an olden woman. She sauntered. She staggered. Her individual liberty should not have nettled any of her admirers. As last night, MisLiza slumbered. Her window shade was pulled unto a hand’s length above her windowsill. A July night breeze blew the warm air into her slumber room. And a stalker walked through the row house alleyway. He paused by her window. He lit up a cigarette. He kept walking.

"If Your Sweetheart Sends A letter Of Goodbye- Cry, Cry, Cry!" That was her clock radio awakening her.

DING DING DING DONG- was when she heard Denny Chimes. She rose up and synchronized her movements to the chimes. She pattered barefooted to her kitchen.

She sung a ditty, "Corn Bread and Buttermilk is Good enough for me!"

"This refrigerator sure does keep buttermilk cool. Ooh, my rheumatism is below my back bone. No better. No worse. But I won’t rub with camphorated oil. The smell of camphorated oil is compulsory, in July heat."

She pulled on her favorite black dress. She looked at herself in the length mirror. She put on orthopedic stockings. She put some folding money and coins in a handkerchief. She stuffed the handkerchief down her bosom, into the top of her brassiere. She left home and walked some miles to the Southside.

She came by Fifteenth Street viaduct. She crossed the field of railroad tracks. She came by the Box Factory. She came through the pathway that was the valley of the blossoming phylum weeds. She came into the foreground where the new Beer Warehouse was recently built. She crossed dirt road Sixteenth Avenue, walked the plank over Six Row ditch. She arrived on Six Row---a row of six shotgun houses in a row---Six Row! MisJenny Dorling hailed her. MisJenny watered some yellow wild flowers within a flowers trough upon a porch banister. She exchanged her pleasantries with MisLiza.

“I admire you for your individual liberty. Your coming and going via Six Row does not nettle me, you are sauntering, walking like that. Don’t you catch heat? July heat is compulsory. Your amulet penny about your ankle is a new penny, your pendant about your neck is heart shaped. It is stuck in your perspiration. I am churning some ice cream, myself. Won’t you come and have some ice cream, for the Fourth of July?”

“I should keep on my way at this time, thank you for the kind invitation, though.”

MisLiza then came into the intersection of Nineteenth Street. Denny Chimes chimed at 8 a.m., in the year of our Lord, 1957.

There was some news heard on WAPT radio about Arthurine Lucey was enrolled at the University of Alabama, there was a strike, her enrollment was cancelled, she was ousted from the university. Clara and Maryliza were on the way to work as maids on campus. “If we cross the strike line, they will strike, on our asses-” They retreated from going to work that time.

Duny Boy hailed her, “Here comes MisLiza, and, Eddie man, do not shoot your chinaberry popgun and pop MisLiza with a chinaberry while she is arriving, she is retired, she is over 65 years old.”

MisLiza arrived at Blind John’s house. She was the babysitter for her favorite nephew Phan, and her baby niece Anne. She hoped Phan hadn't burnt the toast or scorched the grits when Blind John let Phan start the breakfast. MisLiza fried some bacon and scrambled some eggs to complete the breakfast.

Phan and Anne wrestled with MisLiza. They towed her. They rolled MisLiza’s heels over her head in a backward somersault. Her sandals sailed off her feet, landed in the red clay sand. Phan dived into the sand, retrieved her sandals, dumped the sand out of them, gave them to MisLiza. MisLiza surrendered to Phan and Anne in the wrestling jamboree. Baby Anne climbed into Blind John’s lap and went to sleep. Blind John rocked back and forth in his straight back chair; rockerty-tockerty. MisLiza sat upon the row house porch. She let her feet swing down. She let the red sand sift through her toes. The red clay sifted differently when it was bone dry sand like that. She languished, until sundown. She rubbed her lower backbone.

“Sister MisLiza, I believe it was pan trout frying I smelled-"

“The Willing Workers Club fish fry has begun. Their lawn party is in the combined back yards of Clara and Maryliza!”

“Sister MisLiza, go and purchase four gourmet fried pan trout fish sandwiches and Upper Ten bottled pops. I’m treating all of us-”

MisLiza came to the fish fry and lawn party to purchase Blind John's order.

"If Your Sweetheart Sends A Letter of Goodbye- Cry, Cry, Cry-" played on the club stereo.

Avalora and Gwen hailed MisLiza, in unison. “Hell-o MisLiza!”

MisLiza went to the condiments table. She ordered four pan trout fish sandwiches and Upper Tens. She wanted the works. Hot sauce. Mustard. Catsup. Maryliza and Mag hosted the condiments tabled. They wrapped MisLiza’s order in Cut-Rite wax paper. They put in some club condiment napkins.

“I want a shot of red seal whiskey,” MisLiza said.

“Pay that club coffer to Mrs. Moot.”

Big Sister and Little Sister were the best duo. They came to the fish fry and lawn party, without JT.

The lawn party children made themselves at home when they were strewn up and down Clara’s steps. They leaned aside and allowed Big Sister and Little Sister to stretch their long legs up the steps onto the high back porch.

Big Sister and Little Sister turned, looking out, scanning. The fish fry and lawn party was surrounding the combined back yards. They spotted Boochie.

Redee dunked his hand into the tub of ice and beer. He pulled up two cans of Falstaf. He passed a can of beer to Cedee. The cans of beer made shsst-pop sounds when they pulled off the tabs. They paid the club coffer to Mrs. Moot.

Mr. Blackhair, Mr. Anonize and Theowood came. They took their seats at a card table. Mr. Anonize tapped the deck of cards. Theowood dealt them a hand of Gin Rummy. Mr. Blackhair put a fifth of red seal whiskey on the table. He beckoned for a club hostess. Hostess Josephine came. And so did hostess Mrs. Moot come with a round hostess tray. Mr. Blackhair hugged Josephine around her midriff. He ordered the set ups of ice and shot glasses. He ordered Upper Tens. “The drinks from our fifth are on the house! And we paid for complimentary pan trout fish sandwiches for all club members. That is, times seventy-five cents each. And do not pass on our offer, and do not resell these particular drinks on the house to someone else!”

“It pays to be a Willing Workers Club member,” cooed Mrs. Moot.

Big Sister and Little Sister went inside Clara‘s kitchen. The party stretched unto Clara’s middle room. “Stop right there, one to another Sister Girls. My grandson has the front room for his curfew. You two sisters are distinguished; you adopted your daughter, Lela Rae. She was an orphan, now, she is both of your daughter! Our club members Johnnie and Mrs. Moot are a Big and Little Sister team-”

“We want four gourmet fried pan trout fish sandwiches and Upper Ten drinks. Both of us want a shot of red seal whiskey--Red Seal, only! Not bootleg; we heard that Mrs. Perzetta was purging from her mouth when she died. She was poisoned from a whiskey she peddled it herself, possibility!”

“Distillery-”

“Boochie just ate you up when he and you made the moonshine delivery?”

“He chewed me out; when he and I took a gallon of it out of his car trunk, I was the one not taking it out, correctly. I could not do anything like that correct, if you let Boochie tell it.”

“I tell you the truth, Little Sister, I felt sorry for you, and, it was like I said; you came away from him at the still location looking like you fought for life and death about a mistake, your arm was in a sling--are you and Boochie secretly married?”

Big and Little Sister departed from the party inside. They came down the steps.

“He ate her up!”

“He chewed her out!”

The lawn party children moved aside. Avalora and Gwen said in unison, “Excuse us, one to another Sister Girls!”

When Mrs. Moot went away to hostess a table, the lawn party children commandeered the stereo. They took off Bobby Blue Bland and they put on Tossin’ And Turnin’ All Night for some rock and roll, by Bobby Head.

Lucille had a shot of whiskey from the complimentary fifth on the house. Lucille kicked off her sandals and danced the Sloop barefooted by herself and she shuffled her bare feet over some clumps of Johnson grass and kicked up some red sand.

Mrs. Moot came back to the stereo. She demanded that the lawn party children turn it over to her. For the adults.

“And lawn party children should have curfew now!”

“Aw, not now, Mrs. Moot-” Avalora and Gwen said.

“Yes, now-” Josephine agreed.

“Fix us up, then, with another fish sandwich before we go to curfew.”

“You know not to bribe me, before you obey me, go to curfew, like Mrs. Moot said- but, take this money. Get as many sandwiches and pops as it will purchase!”

The lawn party children had stayed up until a fish fry and lawn party shut down past 11 p.m., by tradition. The lawn party children were ordered to their first curfew. The Willing Workers Club members were the lawn party children’s parents. The lawn party children set up the party tables. Strung the party lights along the clothesline. Ran the errand to McPherson’s Store. Purchased the pan trout frozen with the heads off in boxes of twelve each. The trout were thawed. The lawn party children scraped off the scales and cut open the trout. The lawn party children crowded around the condiments table. Mag and Maryliza breaded the trout for gourmet frying.

Her fish order was completed. MisLiza said, “And I’ll have another shot of red seal whiskey.”

“We are glad you came; thank you for your kind patronage, we must impose a limit now; that one more shot is your last one and pay that club coffer to Mrs. Moot and good night to you, MisLiza.” MisLiza went away from the fish fry and lawn party.

I passed by MisLiza on my way to curfew. I said, “Good night, MisLiza!” I went to curfew upon Clara’s front porch. The porch light was on. I sat in the metal glider. I rocked forward in it and slid out. The chair fell back and banged upon the porch.

Larry said to me, Junior, “Cooch, come inside and watch Friday Night Boxing. Open and close the screen door quickly so the candle flies won‘t fly inside.”

The television light flickered through the screen door. I peered inside looking through the screen door. Will and Sid were at curfew with Larry. We purchased deck pants alike so we match the way would dress for the Fourth of July. Mrs. Moot said our deck pants made us look like knickerbocker deck hands on a patriot ship.

Friday Night Boxing was “Brought to you by Falstaf Beer and Garchaux sugar.”

I saw the boxers were not Joe Louis and Walcott. I sat back in the glider.

Phan and Anne let go a gleeful- whoopee and a hug upon MisLiza when she got back to Blind John’s. Their porch light was on. The candle flies circled around the light.

“I’ll pick the bones out of your trout. Here’s your Upper Ten, you pulled the crusts off the Merita light bread. You strewed the crusts over the porch. The crusts are the best part of Merita bread, wipe the crumbs off your mouths with the condiment napkins!”

DING DING DING DONG. She was ready to leave Blind John’s at 11 p.m.

“Arber came home from Reformatory School and the children’s mother was on vacation from her live-in maid’s job and we got together and we celebrated and we served some vanilla fudge ice cream--didn‘t we?”

Phan and Anne waved MisLiza double good-bye.

She sauntered. She staggered. She went into the dark entrance to Six Row.

The hunting dogs Black and Blue barked inside the dog pen at her passing. She walked the plank over the ditch. She crossed dirt road Sixteenth Avenue. She was in the foreground. A shaded bulb light on the Beer Warehouse lighted the conveyor doors. She went through the pathway through the valley of the blossoming phylum weeds. “Phew!”

And all those crickets chirped o’ crickets!

Neon lights glowed over the Shoppes of AGS. The neon lights lit up all of Greensboro. The hill houses were dark silhouettes over the field of railroad tracks. And Zippier came into the shadows. Zippier whiffled, as a running and sweating horse. Zippier warbled, as thirst was lodged in the throat of a thirsty bird. Zippier dashed. And MisLiza was stultified. She stumble-blundered. Zippier had up a railroad trestle build-up rock. Zippier hit MisLiza with that rock. Zippier bludgeoned MisLiza to death. Without an outcry, she bled from that gash upon scalp. Zippier dashed away from that blotter scene.

An amorphous phantasm rose up in that pathway through the valley of the blossoming phylum weeds. That amorphous phantasm was MisLiza’s haunt. Her haunt rose up without her bones. It was a boneless haunt. Her haunt gave chased after Zippier. Zippier crawled under an idle strand of freight train boxcars. He was over the field of railroad tracks. He was below the hill houses. Her haunt came where Zippier was----and was blatant! Zippier retreated back across the field of railroad tracks. He crawled under the boxcars. He turned away from the pathway through the blossoming phylum weeds. He went up the portal turn in dirt road Sixteenth Avenue. That road became the first part of Eighteenth, a paved street.

On the middle part of Eighteenth, without JT at home, Big Sister and Little Sister said Lela Rae could have the extra fish sandwich and Upper Ten drink.

Zippier arrived on the corner of Eighteenth and Fifteenth Avenue. Zippier went into the high thorn bush. The high thorn bush respected a tradition of respectfully segregating White Mrs. Day’s house from Black Mrs. Snow's yard next door. Zippier held up there.

Inside her house, Mrs. Day commented to Mr. Day how Clara used Faultless starch and starched her doilies and ironed them and made them doilies stand up stiff as wire mesh around her porcelain whatnots and Clara picked up and delivered the ironing.

Now, a thirsty bird warbled, in the thorn bush- “Who-” asked Mr. Snow-

"The hoot says Whoo-” said Mrs. Snow.

MisLiza’s haunt came upon Zippier, who was still hiding in that thorn bush, and was greatly blatant. Zippier tore out of the thorn bush. Some thorns ripped through his torso and tore the flesh. Zippier dashed on Fifteenth Avenue. The haunt trailed Zippier to the gravel pit. Zippier tore off his shirt and threw it away----around the gravel pit perimeter.

Her blatant Haunt spoke unto Zippier.

----“You could have admired MisLiza. Her liberty nettled you! The postman left her pension in confidence with Blind John. You did not rob her. You stalked her, not far from where Phan and Anne waved her double good-bye. She was not fragile, as yellow wild flowers yield an oration; she languished in that pathway, the valley was through the blossoming phylum weeds. She did not do a two-step dance with you! You dashed upon her, she stumble-blundered. You hit her. She fell, you had the railroad trestle buildup rock picked up. Was a railroad trestle build-up rock any rock for you to pick up and bludgeoned her to death? Your throat pulsated for a shot of red seal whiskey. She did not have a flask of it stashed down her bosom to share a shot of it with you, that reason--and rude force. You dashed away from that scene; a Zippier dash was a dash over an otherwise blank space on a police blotter, a blank otherwise left without a dash to show nothing precise was omitted in the blank space! So, do finally let them know who you are Zippier and the swarm of gnats will swarm like a halo around your head.”

Zippier let out a throaty holler that was heard far into the night.

Crow Man escorted his neighbor Mrs. Moot home from the fish fry and lawn party last night. They talked about the curfew that came for the lawn party children was when the shots of whiskey were on the house was strictly for adults to consume, not for the lawn party children to hang out about. For what was that scream about. Crow Man said it reverberated through the alleyways of Nineteenth Street. Crow Man came upon the gravel pit in the morning. He found JT was wandering around the perimeter. He was aimlessly boxing the air around him. Nothing he aimed for boxing could be seen around him. Crow Man picked up the shirt. He compared it to his shirtless torso. He got a seemly statement out of him about the blood on it was from his tattered torso from the thorn bush. And the swarm of gnats swarmed like a halo around his head-

Saturday morning was bright with the sun already hot at 7 a.m. All the leaves were chinaberry tree green. You were up early anticipating Mag stirring to get ready to go to work. I went outside and sat on the porch. I walked barefooted around to the combined back yards. I walked on some sun hot rocks. The bottoms of my feet got burnt. I cooled off my feet on some patches of Johnson grass. Dew was on the grass. Dew came off the grass onto my feet. Some sand clung with the dew on my feet- it was red clay.

It was a sizable blue sky that morning, meshed like, out of the blue sky came Sky King. The ghost of last night’s fish fry and lawn party already hung over the back yards--ready like the same kind was going to continue Saturday night. Dew was on the glossy white condiments table. And the cast iron skillet. Heat rivulets rose from the mound of fish fry ashes.

I went back to the front just in time to see Mama off to be at work at 8 o’clock. She hugged my chin and kissed me goodbye. She went via Six Row and went through the pathway, through the blossoming phylum weeds.

Upon the Hill of Nineteenth Street, the red clay was undulating and heat mirages were rising at 8 in the morning.

Crow Man came over the hill and down the hill with some folks. They went via Six Row. Crow Man stopped in the intersection. He looked over at me. He issued me a silent summons. You too, come and witness! And Crow Man went via Six Row. I went via Six Row. I walked the plank over the ditch.

I gathered with them in the foreground. Some flora in the foreground was yellow wild flowers; the valley was the pathway through the blossoming phylum weeds. The Beer Warehouse would not open for the morning shift until 9 a.m. I saw them when they strung the outline and the mound of sand where the Beer Warehouse was to be built and the concrete blocks went up and up. The first beer rolled from the freight car down the conveyor was Flagstaf beer. That boxcar emptied of its freight stayed idle standing there.

Later that day, I told Mag, that she went through that pathway and did not see MisLiza’s dead body lying there. But I went there. I saw her dead body. I had never seen anybody found dead, like I saw MisLiza, in that pathway through the valley of the blossoming phylum weeds, on the Southside, in Tuscaloosa!

July heat was compulsory. Two-uniformed policeman were already there when we gathered. One knelt in the phylum weeds. He examined the scene around where her body was sprawled. The policeman broke a twig off a phylum weed. He tapped the twig atop her head. It went deep like an arrow into the blood clotted in the matte crop of her gray hair. The blood was swollen olden blood. Her dress hem was slid up. To the top of her opaque hosiery was exposed. The policeman lifted up her dress hem with the phylum weed twig. Her undergarment had not been disturbed. That heart shaped pendant was in-situ about her neck where her perspiration had cooled and dried.

The standing-up policeman asked us gathered, “Does anyone know this lady?”

MisJenny Dorling swooned.

“Yes, officer, she was MisLiza Jemisen. She was retired. I’d say from Northern General. She was over sixty-five years old. She taught baby niece Anne her first steps. She cuddled her favorite nephew Phan when he knocked out his two front teeth. Her next of kin, her brother Blind John was not yet notified MisLiza was dead. The gnats have swarmed like a halo around her head! We had gathered together. MisLiza was soothsaid.

"When I saw MisLiza last Easter, I was stepping high soled in some yellow patent leather shoes. I came off Six Row. I nearly collided with her in the intersection. I swayed this way and back. My shoe heels sunk into a gully--it was red sand; all other ground was sinking sand. I came up out of the sinking sand. I said, MisLiza, it is you; what are you doing on the Southside the first thing on Easter in the morning? You must be prepared to go to church with me; you do have on your favorite dress, the high shoulder pads rivaled my style. My Easter bonnet was yellow matched my yellow frock. It was my bonnet arrayed with mine own MisJenny yellow wild flowers that caught on in the intersection. Quote me, ‘Come and go to Saint John Church with me, MisLiza’--MisLiza said no, ‘Go along to your Church service without me, MisJenny.’--She would not go with me. MisLiza sauntered. She staggered. I said did you come to the Southside for a shot of red seal whiskey on Easter in the morning--in dry Tuscaloosa? MisLiza said the red seal is a tax stamp the state put on the whiskey--and it made us to call it--- red seal whiskey. One shot in a shot glass was a shot of red seal whiskey. Wet or dry! Well, Sir, MisLiza’s language would be salty, but, I was not salty-daunted, I soothsaid MisLiza!”

Maggie-"Lord have Mercy," and sung a hymn a cappella.

Clara-"Do have Mercy Lord."

Maryliza-"Do have Mercy Jesus."

Mary Alice-“Oooh--MisLiza is a haunt!”

JT was Zippier; he was at large circumstantially.

Her funeral was at Saint John Church.

A spray of MisJenny yellow wild flowers swayed the Bunton bier, AJ Bunton, LFD.

Her haunt did languor, the swarm of gnats were swarming like a halo.


(c) 2007 Lucious Vaughn