But no matter how much I sang, she kept taking me back home.
My brother, my sisters, and I were sleeping one morning when we were suddenly awakened by a horrific scream. I sat up in my bed and remained perfectly still, listening. The scream came again and again. It was my mother calling for help. I heard another heavier, deeper voice yelling something I couldn’t quite make out. It was my daddy. He sounded equally upset and angry.
The loud commotion and the sound of breaking glass terrified me, and I began to cry. Willie Jr. dashed up from the bed and ran to the bedroom door. The next thing I knew, my cousin Dina Mae and my aunt Minnie Laura came rushing in. They scooped my sisters and me up with our blankets still around us, took Willie Jr. by his hands and shoulders, and rushed us out of the house. I kept asking what was happening and calling for my mother. I saw the flashing lights of the police cars and people beginning to gather in front of my house.
Aunt Minnie Laura and Cousin Dina Mae ran as fast they could to get us away from the house. We didn’t talk until we arrived at the house where Great-Grandmama Laura Mae and the rest of the Sanders-Scarborough clan were living.
Great-Grandmama Laura Mae finally quieted everyone down, and Cousin Dina Mae and Aunt Minnie Laura began to recount what had happened. Over the years, I would hear the story many times from many mouths; it became part of our family’s least favorite memories.
Mama and Daddy, along with several of their kinfolk, had gone dancing a block or so down the street at a local juke joint called Joe’s Cradle Rocker. The place was crowded, and people were having fun. One of the locals named Johnny Damon started flirting with my mother and asked her to dance. She declined and told him she was married. At the time, my daddy was at the bar getting something for them to drink. When he came back to the table, Johnny Damon excused himself and said pointedly to my mother that he hoped to see her around. She turned her head and never even answered him, but my daddy was all questions as he sat down again with the drinks. His anger and jealousy couldn’t be assuaged by anyone at the table.
Through the excitement of the evening, the incident was soon forgotten by everyone, it seemed, except my daddy. He continued to drink and badger my mother for the rest of the evening.
As they walked home, my mother lingered a little behind everyone else and remained quiet. She had never seen her husband this way. My daddy was light and casual with the boys as he bantered and teased back and forth with everyone on the way home. But once inside the house, he turned into a monster. He slapped her, assaulted her, and accused her of flirting with this strange man whom she had never even seen before. In shock and panic, she begged him not to hurt her and denied his charge of her being a flirt. The slaps and cursing got worse until she fled the house, only to have him follow her and demand that she return to the house and the children. She did, not knowing what would happen to her next.
When she woke up the next morning, he was back at it again. Eventually, out of self-defense, she ran into the kitchen and grabbed one of the carving knives on the countertop. This time when he came after her, she lashed out with the knife and it drew blood. He began to hit her and grabbed her by the hair. She lashed out again with the knife and again drew blood. He screamed and yelled, backing up and knocking over glasses, pots, and pans. She fled from the kitchen with him in pursuit.
This battle continued until several of the neighboring men entered the house and tried to break up the bloody fight. Daddy, in his bloody, frenzied state, refused to stop, and my mother continued to wield the knife. More neighbors arrived, and a few successfully pulled them apart. It was then that Cousin Dina Mae and Aunt Minnie Laura had arrived and rescued my siblings and me. The house was in shambles, with blood everywhere. The police arrived, and efforts to restore calm were finally successful. My daddy would spend several weeks in St. Martin De Porres, the local black hospital, recovering from several serious knife wounds. His chest was covered with stitches; he’d have the scars for the rest of his life.
Mama’s features showed the results of Daddy’s anger. She had a swollen nose and two black eyes. There were lacerations on her face and hands, and patches of her hair were missing. As if that weren’t enough, my mother sank fast and invisibly into a black, surly all-enveloping funk that she would carry with her for the rest of her life. Years later, when I would think about that day and about my mother, I would realize that her heart had been broken and she didn’t know how to deal with that—or how to ask anyone to help her deal with it.
In retrospect, I’m also aware that my daddy was incredibly controlling, and he saw my mother as more his chattel than his wife.
After Cousin Dina Mae and Aunt Minnie Laura told this horrific tale, Great-Grandmama Laura Mae became enraged. She went into her bedroom and gathered her gun; she was dressed in a flash. She informed the family that several of them were to accompany her to my mother and daddy’s house. She intended to go and get her granddaughter.
When the group arrived at the house, the crowd parted in the face of this formidable feminine energy. Great-Grandmama Laura Mae’s presence was foreboding and unfriendly. No one wanted to block her way. She moved through the crowd, up the front porch, through the front door, and into the front room. The sight of my bruised and beaten mother made her cry out sharply in alarm and disbelief. She embraced her grandchild and cursed the forces that had allowed this evil to happen.
She insisted that my mother come immediately with her and never return to this house again. She was taking her beloved grandchild home. Nobody stood in her way as the somber parade moved out the front door and down the street. My great-grandmama’s head was held high as she led the procession of her family’s clan out of that house of iniquity.
I was sitting on Aunt Emma’s front living room floor, rocking and singing to myself, when the group returned to Aunt Emma’s house. My brother told me not to be afraid—Mama and Daddy were fighting, but Great-Grandmama Laura Mae would take care of everything. I stared at him and kept singing. Why were they fighting? I thought. I watched as they made my mother as comfortable as possible until Aunt Emma picked me up off the floor and began to rock me in her lap. Anxiously, I sucked my thumb and turned my head into her ample bosom. I fell asleep wishing for and calling for Granddaddy Saul. I was looking for the cane and trying to sing. I needed to sing.
It took a while for my mother to recover from the shock and trauma of her ordeal with my daddy. Although she could walk and got dressed every day, she didn’t leave the house, and no one insisted that she go out. For some weeks, everything was done for her. Great-Grandmama Laura Mae fussed over her and combed her hair every day and massaged it with healing oil she had made. She held her in her arms often and rubbed her skin and face as she talked to her and told her how beautiful she was. She whispered stories of how she should live her life.
AFTER THE BRUTAL FIGHT BETWEEN MY PARENTS, Great-Grandmama Laura Mae hatched a plan that she decided to reveal only to the other women in the family.
“I been listening to the radio and prayin’ to God and thinking,” she said. “I’m tired of these no ’count men, and Willie Son’s the wors’ of ’em all. My baby Inez is near ’bout well and ready to move on. I been thinkin’ about goin’ far ’way from here! Maybe, goin’ up north somewhere. Tryin’ to settle down. Maybe, we could get jobs in one of the factories and work and save some money and build a house for ourselves. We don’t need no mens to do that.”
Every eye in the room was on her. Everybody was listening, but nobody said a word. Then, just as suddenly, came shock and doubt. Confused questions were thick in the room. They had just gotten to Tuscaloosa, and now Great-Grandmama
