Palindrome

CHAPTER 49

James Moses Drummond was wakened by a huge sighing noise, followed by a groaning crash. It took him a moment to figure out what it could be: a tree, and a big one. The wind and the cabin itself were making so much noise, he was surprised he had heard it at all. There was no clock, but it felt like the dead of night. He glanced at his grandfather's bed; it had not been slept in. A glow from the other room of the former slave house told him that the fire had been built up. James got out of bed and, shivering, pulled on his jeans. He went into the other room and found Buck Moses sitting in front of a roaring driftwood fire, rocking in his chair, staring at the flames, and making a tuneless humming noise. "Granddaddy, what you doing up this time of night?" he asked.

Buck Moses noticed his grandson for the first time. "Big wind done come," he said.

"You right about that," James agreed. "I never heard so much wind." A gigantic gust came, and the house seemed to move. The noise from the rafters was frightening. James moved closer to the fire to warm himself.

"You be a good boy," Buck said, looking fondly up at his grandson. "You keep on bein' good."

"I will granddaddy," James replied.

It had been a long time since his grandfather had said anything to him about his behavior. "You got a good life before you," Buck said. "You going' to see places, see the whole world."

"I am?"

Buck nodded. "But you don' forget about this island, you hear? You got some roots here; don' you forget about em."

"I won't, Grandaddy."

"My peoples is calling to me," Buck said, looking into the fire again. "It's 'bout time I be going'." A chill ran through James, in spite of the hot fire. He couldn't think of anything to say. A squall of heavy rain pounded on the tin roof; the noise was terrific.

"Granddaddy," he shouted, to be heard over the din. As he spoke, the wind rose to a howl that drowned out even the rain on the roof. The little house groaned, and James looked up at the rafters. He went to a window to look out, and, as he did, the cabin moved with the wind. This time, it kept moving. There was a loud groaning and the splintering of timber, and, more slowly than James could have believed, the house began to come down. Not knowing which way to run, he stood and looked at his grandfather. As the house came down, the brick chimney came with it, falling like a tree onto the spot where Buck Moses sat rocking.

When James woke, it seemed that only moments had passed. He lay under a pile of boards, and broken glass was all around him. The wind was louder than ever now, and the rain came in torrents. The remains of the driftwood fire sputtered out. James found that he could move, could shove the debris aside and free himself. He struggled to his feet and immediately was blown off them by the wind. No man could stand up to that, he realized. He crawled to where his grandfather lay under a pile of bricks and, keeping low, began tossing them aside. As the last of the fire went, he felt for Buck under the debris. Then, taking a good half hour to do it, he dragged the old man, inch by inch, out of the ruin of the cabin and across the ten yards to the tiny church, which, given some shelter by two old live oaks, still stood up to the hurricane. Finally, when he had managed to shut the door during a momentary lull in the wind, he got a candle and matches from the altar and brought them to where he had dragged his grandfather. The light showed blood on the old man's head.

James felt at his throat for a pulse but could find none. He leaned against the church door and pulled his grandfather's tiny frame into his arms. Buck Moses was dead, and all James could do was wait for the hurricane to pass. His crying mingled with the roar of the wind and rain.