Deep South Ch. 7

The air in Macon and around Grants Chapel Alley, in particular, had substance. There were always identifiable smells, so thick sometimes that I could feel them pinging off my face, stinging my eyes, penetrating my sinuses.

Food odors from the colored section mixed with those from the few white families and drifted on rivers of smoke, sticking to everything. Collard greens, cornbread, pork fat and creosote-tainted river fish fried in bold spices vied for territory in the ghetto’s atmosphere.

It was the paper mill just south of town, however, that exerted its presence far beyond the plant confines. Aunt Lil called it a rotten egg smell but I had another thought.

The fall brought cooler weather and I could sleep better at night but sometimes a front would stall just north of town and it would be cloudy and rainy for a week. The clouds also held the “rotten egg” smell close to the ground, enhancing its effect. I felt as though I were living in the bottom of a giant toilet.

Rain turned into a sticky red mess that was as slippery as ice and the glop would cling to our shoes or feet. The few cars that entered sometimes got stuck, literally, as the clay was thrown up under the fenders of a car, where it stuck to the metal and tires. The tires could no longer move. The driver would need some heavy-duty chisels to chip away the hardened clay.

One night a front brought a continuous downpour which beat loudly on the frail house. I awoke to noises in my room and felt something wet on my undershirt. Water dripped onto my cot from the ceiling, causing me to bolt upright, though still in a confused state.

With the light on I could see a dozen leaks beating a rhythm on the linoleum floor. They came in all sizes, from a slow drip to a steady stream of water. I tried to move my cot to a dry spot but there wasn’t any. I finally maneuvered it to a small leak that hit the center of the mattress every three or four seconds.

From the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink I returned with a pail and aligned it so the water landed dead center. For the next few minutes I ran back and forth with containers of various sizes, placing them according to the volume of water being deposited on the floor.

When I was satisfied that every leak had been accounted for, I crawled onto my cot, wrapped myself around the pail and went to sleep.

I awoke to a dead quiet. The rain had stopped. I got up and checked the containers. A couple were nearly to the top.

I emptied all the buckets and pans, put them back in their places, then moved my cot against the wall and went back to sleep–a very contented sleep. I felt quite proud that I had taken care of the problem without any help from Aunt Lil, an accomplishment which I kept to myself.