A Wave From Mama

Chapter 5: Thomas & Horace Washington

Chapter 5

Thomas & Horace Washington

BY THE END of August, Vent had developed strong bonds with Esther and Mabel, but Thomas Washington worried about the boy and the reality of another mouth to feed. One afternoon, when he was alone with Vent in the house, Thomas decided to assert himself. “Vent, you need to respect me as the head of this family and do as I say.” Thomas paused to give Vent an opportunity to respond, but in his characteristic style, Vent offered no reply.

“Listen here, Vent. What you did to the Brown brothers can’t ever happen again. You don’t swing no hatchet at anyone and the only thing you gonna bite is food, you understand me, boy?”

Again, no response.

Thomas tried to force his head up, and realized he’d made a mistake—Vent rushed away and took refuge in the corner of the room. His downward-pointing head rocked from side to side and then all movement stopped, as the boy slowly raised his head to stare down the man who would dare touch him. The rage in Vent’s eyes was so intense Thomas retreated to another corner of the room. Vent offered his standard threat, “I’m going to kill them all, everyone who killed Mama.” Thomas had no doubt he would, and this time, he was the one who offered no response—time to talk to Esther.

Thomas found her later that afternoon by the stove preparing the evening meal and said, “Esther, Vent’s got to go—he fights with everyone and he almost killed the Brown brothers. This boy is the devil, and even though he’s only been here for a while, he’s caused every kind of trouble. We need to send him somewhere else. He only listens to you, but you not always ’round—it can’t work this way, Esther. Somethin’s got to change.”

Esther took a deep breath before she responded, “Thomas, think about what you’re saying. Where we going to send him? Who is going to want a scrawny, misbehaved Black child? What you want me to do? Throw this little boy away? Why do you think he attacked the Brown brothers? Protecting himself is all, but he didn’t understand they weren’t the enemy. Yes, he’s rough, and yes, he fights real dirty, but what chance do you think that little bitty boy has fighting fair? No one knows what he went through—he won’t tell us, but I’m hopin’ one day he will. Please understand, we’re all he’s got, and we can’t throw him away, Thomas. With his light skin, he don’t fit nowhere, but I promise, Thomas—he’ll be better. Somethin’ is gonna change.”

In the weeks that followed, Thomas did appreciate the difference in Vent as they spent time together in the shop. Vent did what he could to help Thomas with chores and deliveries, and Thomas became pleased Esther had ignored his plea to remove Vent from the household. Vent didn’t quite understand how to greet people properly or read body language, but the Washingtons understood he didn’t process things the same way as most people. Despite the occasional awkwardness, Vent became a good fit with most of the family. The one exception was Horace, who never had any use for him. To make matters worse, Vent’s attack on Alex brought more attention to his existence in the Washington household, and impacted Horace’s standing at school; he hated the constant question, “Why is that crazy person still in your house?”

Horace also never got over the fact that he gave up his room on the second floor to Vent. Not that his new room paled in comparison, but why did he need to move? Was it because Vent did this weird climbing thing and came in through the second-floor window, or did the family still feel the need to block the outside of Vent’s door if he went into one of his fits? Both reasons seemed either stupid or scary to Horace, who, as one of the top students in the local school, considered himself to be the most logical person in the house. By late August, everyone else in the family accepted Vent but, to Horace, he was still nothing but a nuisance.

Toward the end of the summer, Horace met his match in a competition for a girl. Despite his natural advantages in appearance and intelligence, he couldn’t fathom how he seemed to be losing the battle for the young lady’s affections. Horace rarely resorted to physical violence, but given his size advantage over his competition, he decided to attempt intimidation. He waited for the boy after a meeting at the school and pushed him toward the back of the building. With one last shove, the boy was on his knees in the dirt—the plan was going well.

“You gonna leave Candace be—she’s mine, you understand?”

The boy stood up and answered Horace with his fists. Despite his smaller size, his first three punches bloodied Horace’s face. A passerby screamed, “Fight,” and ten other students rushed behind the building and witnessed Horace’s beating as the boy finished up with a final flurry of punches to both the face and abdomen. All of the children laughed at Horace, who lay face down in the dirt. He raised his head in time to see the lovely Candace walking off with the boy who just delivered his beating.

When Horace came home with a black eye and bruises all over his face and arms, he grabbed the mirror and went to his room to inspect the damage—his nose appeared like it might be broken and a black bruise formed around his right eye. Horace started to cry as he thought, I’m no longer the best looking. Tears streamed down his face as his plan for retribution began to unfold. When he emerged from his room, he spun a different story to his family, “That boy beat me for no reason, Mama.”

Esther answered, “I know his mother, I’ll speak to her—”

Thomas interrupted, “Horace, stop trying to be such a pretty boy. You old enough to take care of your own business and better learn how to fight.” Thomas waited for Horace to look him squarely in the eyes before continuing, “Your mama done fought her last battle for you. Now you gonna stand up for yourself and take care of this on your own.” No response from Horace, other than a retreat to his room for a further inspection of the damage. The more he stared at his disfigured face in the mirror, the more he swore he would exact his revenge.

Venture listened to the story and remembered the rule—Horace was family and had been hurt, so he walked back into the woods and spent the better part of an hour scouring the fallen branches to find one sturdy enough to do some damage, but light enough for him to swing with force. Once he located a suitable branch, he whittled down one end to fashion a handle small enough for someone his size.

That evening, Venture asked Horace if he needed help dealing with his attacker. Horace answered without hesitation, “Yes, but this got to be between me and you. Understand?”

Vent responded, “Okay, but you need to point him out for me. Let’s go.”

Horace’s chest puffed out as he made the short walk with Vent to the boy’s house. I started the fight, but he shouldn’t have taken it as far as he did. If I won the fight, I would have stopped beating him before everyone started laughing, but he didn’t do that for me, so I’m going to get even.

Glancing to his right, Horace took note of Vent’s confident gait and absence of fear, but after taking inventory of Vent’s short, skinny body, Horace didn’t like his chances against the older boy, and began to have second thoughts. Maybe I should find another way. Vent is too small to handle this. He’s not confident—he’s crazy. This is a mistake. The boy came into view, and Horace pointed him out. Vent’s calm confidence became more of a determined fury and Horace lost his concern about a bad outcome. The bastard is going to regret what he did to me.

Vent told Horace to hide behind a bush as he put the handle of his club between his teeth and scaled a nearby tree as if he were attached to it. Vent started to mumble and count as the boy approached, “Five, ten, fifteen, twenty…” The boy passed by his position in the tree, and Vent jumped down, swinging his makeshift club before landing on the ground. He hit the boy in the lower back from behind with tremendous force.

“You killed Mama and I’m gonna kill you.”

The boy tried to turn to see his attacker, but instead started to cry from the pain in his back. Vent hit him again in the same spot. The boy didn’t move. Horace enjoyed the first hit and celebrated the second, but rushed over to grab the club from Vent, because a third shot might permanently injure the boy. Vent turned to Horace and screamed, “But he killed Mama. He has to die!”

“He didn’t kill anybody, Vent, go home.”

Horace brought the boy back to his house, left him on the stoop, and whispered words of warning in his ear. “If you want Vent to come back, you’ll say what actually happened. Otherwise, you’ll be smart and realize I just saved your life. I want you to tell everyone I came back and did this to you in a fair fight, and you better stay away from Candace.”

Vent walked slowly back home as he considered Horace’s words. Why did Horace stop me from beating the boy? Doesn’t he understand Miss Esther’s rule? Didn’t he himself ask for the boy to be beaten? I only followed the rule. Why did he stop me?

The night ended in typical fashion as Vent climbed into his second-floor bedroom window from his favorite tree and continued with his other nocturnal ritual—he lay down on his mat on the floor, and then after everyone else settled in for the night, he moved the mat into the closet and fell asleep dreaming about his mama. This was the only time and place he felt safe at night, and it presented him with a daily opportunity to privately mourn the loss of his mother. Tonight, however, his thoughts focused on the events of the evening. It was all so confusing. The rule is clear and Horace is so smart. Why did he stop me?