Song of Solomon

They shook their heads. “Sing? No. Never heard of nobody name that.”

“I had an aunt live down this way too. Name of Pilate. Pilate Dead. Ever hear of her?”

“Ha! Sound like a newspaper headline: Pilot Dead. She do any flying?”

“No. P-i-l-a-t-e, Pilate.”

“P-i-l-a-t-e. That spell Pie-late,” Small Boy said.

“Naw, nigger. Not no Pie-late. Pilate like in the Bible, dummy.”

“He don’t read the Bible.”

“He don’t read nothin.”

“He can’t read nothin.”

They teased Small Boy until Vernell interrupted them. “You all hush. You say Sing?” she asked Milkman.

“Yeah. Sing.”

“I believe that was the name of a girl my gran used to play with. I remember the name cause it sounded so pretty. Gran used to talk about her all the time. Seem like her folks didn’t like her to play with the colored children from over this way, so her and my gran used to sneak off and go fishin and berry-pickin. You know what I mean? She’d have to meet her in secret.” Vernell eyed Milkman carefully. “This Sing girl was light-skinned, with straight black hair.”

“That’s her!” Milkman said. “She was mixed or Indian, one.”

Vernell nodded. “Indian. One of old Heddy’s children. Heddy was all right, but she didn’t like her girl playin with coloreds. She was a Byrd.”

“A what?”

“A Byrd. Belonged to the Byrd family over by the ridge. Near Solomon’s Leap.”

“Oh, yeah?” said one of the men. “One of Susan Byrd’s people?”

“That’s right. One of them. They never was too crazy ‘bout colored folks. Susan either.”

“Do they still live there?” asked Milkman.

“Susan do. Right behind the ridge. Only house back in there with a brick front. She by herself now. All the others moved out so they could pass.”

“Can I walk it?” he asked.

“Most folks could, I reckon,” said Omar. “But after last night I don’t recommend it for you.” He laughed.

“Can you drive a car through?”

“Part of the way you can. But the road is narrow and messy back up in there,” said Vernell. “Horse, maybe, but not no car.”

“I’ll make it. Might take me a week, but I’ll make it,” said Milkman.

“Just don’t carry no guns”—Calvin cooled his coffee in his saucer—“and you’ll be all right.” They all laughed again.

Milkman thought about that. Guitar was out there someplace, and since he seemed to know everything Milkman was doing or getting ready to do, he’d also know he was going out to some ridge. He touched his swollen neck. He didn’t want to go anywhere alone without a gun.

“You ought to have a rest before you go trottin off anywhere,” Omar said, looking at him. “There’s a nice lady up the road a ways. She’d be proud to take you in.” The look in his eyes was unmistakable. “Pretty woman too. Real pretty.” Vernell grunted and Milkman smiled. Hope she’s got a gun, he thought.

She didn’t, but she had indoor plumbing and her smile was just like her name, Sweet, as she nodded her head to Milkman’s query about whether he could take a bath. The tub was the newest feature in the tiny shotgun house and Milkman sank gratefully into the steaming water. Sweet brought him soap and a boar’s-bristle brush and knelt to bathe him. What she did for his sore feet, his cut face, his back, his neck, his thighs, and the palms of his hands was so delicious he couldn’t imagine that the lovemaking to follow would be anything but anticlimactic. If this bath and this woman, he thought, are all that come out of this trip, I will rest easy and do my duty to God, country, and the Brotherhood of Elks for the rest of my life. I will walk hot coals with a quart of kerosene in my hand for this. I will walk every railroad tie from here to Cheyenne and back for this. But when the lovemaking came, he decided he would crawl.

Afterward he offered to bathe her. She said he couldn’t because the tank was small and there wasn’t enough water for another hot bath.

“Then let me give you a cool one,” he said. He soaped and rubbed her until her skin squeaked and glistened like onyx. She put salve on his face. He washed her hair. She sprinkled talcum on his feet. He straddled her behind and massaged her back. She put witch hazel on his swollen neck. He made up the bed. She gave him gumbo to eat. He washed the dishes. She washed his clothes and hung them out to dry. He scoured her tub. She ironed his shirt and pants. He gave her fifty dollars. She kissed his mouth. He touched her face. She said please come back. He said I’ll see you tonight.

Chapter 12

At four o’clock he knocked on the door of the only house back of the ridge with a brick front. Fresh and shining in the army fatigues Sweet had washed and pressed, he had tramped along feeling ready for anything. But he didn’t think Guitar would jump him in the daytime on a winding path (which they called a road) that cut through hilly land that was nevertheless tilled and had a smattering of houses and people. If he did confront him (with anything other than a gun) Milkman was sure he could take him, but it would be best to get back before nightfall. He didn’t know what was on Guitar’s mind, but he knew it had something to do with the gold. If he knows I’m here and where I have been and what I did in each place, then he must know that I’m trying to get it, doing just what I said I would do. Why would he try to kill me before I got it or even found out what happened to it? Most of it was a total mystery to