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Duppies

Jon Saunders

    “Did she mention the kids?”
    Carol had just lit a cigarette, something you couldn’t do inside a nursing home. We had gone out to the parking lot so we could talk and Carol could smoke.
    “What kids?” I asked.
    Carol sighed a stream of white smoke and raised and lowered both shoulders like a cat.
    “That’s why she was out wandering around in the rain. Thank God, Annie Lee saw her and got her in the house. That’s when I knew something had to be done.”
    The “something” was putting our mother in a nursing home. I had been in Romania working on a piece for the New York Times Magazine when I got Carol’s message. By the time I got there, it was pretty much a done deal.
    “She went out in the rain because of some kids?”
    “She claimed she saw these two little kids out in her yard. A boy and a girl.”
    “Who were they?”
    “She thinks they’re the Morrow children.”
    “The Morrow children! My God, they’ve been dead forty years.”
    “I know, I know,” Carol sighed. “But she swears it was them.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
    “I didn’t want to get into it over the phone. Besides, I was afraid if I told you, you’d have another heart attack.”
    My sister seems to enjoy reminding me of my infirmities. I waited for her to continue.
    “Anyway, she was trying to get them to come inside.” Carol smiled sadly. “She was worried about them catching cold out in the rain.”
    “Has she had any other ... sightings?”
    “No, but you see how she is. She’ll ask the same question a hundred times. Her mind’s gone, Morgan.”
    I nodded. Our mother, who once had probably the best mind in the county, was surely slipping into senility.
    “Annie Lee is just too old to take care of her. And there isn’t anybody else in Corinth. I don’t want this either, Morgan, but it’s just temporary until we can find a better place.”
    Carol had finished her cigarette and there didn’t appear to be anything more to say, so we went back inside. Mother was sleeping, having finished dinner at what seemed to be the middle of the afternoon.
    Carol had to go back to Dothan for something to do with her husband, Harold, and his store. She didn’t know if she could come again before Sunday, but promised to call.
    I watched my sister drive away in her green Jaguar and then got into the Buick I’d rented at the Dothan airport a few hours ago.
    I guessed this nursing home was about as good as they get but it was still depressing. It was in the small South Georgia town of Baxley about twenty miles from even smaller Corinth where Carol and I had grown up, and where, until a few days ago, our mother lived.
    The gray December weather matched my mood. The fields between Baxley and Corinth were bare of all but cornstalks cut off near the ground. They reminded me of so many rotten teeth.
    I looked forward to a scotch or two when I got to Mother’s house. She didn’t drink but I always picked up a supply of Cutty Sark for my visits. I knew what this one would be like so I had plenty.
    It was dusk when I pulled into the driveway. Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of movement at the edge of the porch.
    A couple of kids, I thought. I got out of the car and yelled to them. No answer.
    I walked around the corner of the house but there was no sign of any children. So there really were kids.
    Maybe Mother hasn’t totally lost it after all. She had seen some children and imagined they were the Morrows. But these kids were black.
    Later, when I thought more about it, I realized that they hadn’t looked black at all. Rather, they had seemed sort of grayish. A trick of the light, I told myself.
    I had a couple of Cuttys, then thawed a TV dinner in the microwave, watched CNN for a while on Mother’s big screen TV – a gift from Harold that she seldom used – and went to bed. I dreamed strange dreams that I couldn’t recall the next morning.
    I was finishing a cup of black instant coffee when I heard the back door open. My mother’s elderly housekeeper, Annie Lee, had come to fix me breakfast.
    After I had finished the sausage, biscuits, grits and eggs that my doctor had absolutely forbidden, I carried the dishes into the kitchen and asked Annie Lee about the children.
    “You seen ’em?” she asked, looking at me oddly.
    “Yeah. Must be the same kids Mother saw. They probably live around here.”
    Annie Lee said nothing and continued scrubbing a large, black skillet.
    “If Mother saw them ... then she wasn’t seeing things. She’s not as bad off as Carol believes.”
    “Your mama don’t want to see ’em. You neither.”
    “Why? What’s wrong with seeing those kids?”
    Annie Lee didn’t look up. “They ain’t kids, Mister Morgan.” She always called me that. “They’s duppies.”
    “Guppies?”
    She looked annoyed. “No ... duppies!”
    “What’s a duppy?” I asked.
    “Duppies is ... duppies.”
    Try as I might, Annie Lee would say no more, so I left her to her scrubbing and headed back into the dining room.
    A couple of minutes later, it occurred to me to try and persuade her that Mother’s house didn’t need cleaning and that she could take a well-deserved day off.
    When I opened the door to the kitchen, Annie Lee was facing the window with her hands lifted high in the air. She was mumbling something that I couldn’t quite make out. Except for the word, “duppies.” I didn’t want to embarrass either of us so I backed out the way I came in.
    I was still thinking about Annie Lee’s odd behavior as I showered and shaved. Later, I’d try to find an Internet connection and Google “duppies”.
    I figured I’d hang around until we got Mother settled.
    Carol was looking into one of those upscale assisted care places in Dothan, a place more suitable for our mother than a county-run nursing home.
    Maybe I’d try to get back to the book I’d been working on. I could do that here as well as in an empty house in Connecticut. It had been empty since the divorce.
     Thinking about the book gave me an idea. On the way to the nursing home, I’d stop off at the town library.
    Corinth, despite its size, had an excellent public library, thanks in large part to my mother’s efforts. One of my cousins was librarian there.
    The library’s small display of my books made me smile. Under a photograph from maybe twenty years ago, the banner proudly stated “Corinth’s own Morgan Taliaferro writing as Morgan Tolliver.” My agent had insisted on the name change. He had convinced me that nobody north of Georgia could pronounce “Taliaferro” properly.
    After Peggy had asked about Mother and I had inquired about all the relatives I could think of, I told her I needed to do some research for an article I was writing. I asked if there were any books on Southern folklore. She guided me to a surprisingly large section on all things Southern.
    I glanced over the books on the shelves and was about to give up when I spotted a slender volume titled “Southern Superstitions” by Frank Ewell. There had been something about Annie Lee’s reaction that made me think that a duppy might be more than just some kind of dwarf.
     I glanced through the table of contents but saw nothing about duppies. I noted in the flyleaf that Ewell was a professor at Auburn University. Maybe I’d drop him an email.
    Thanking my cousin Peggy and promising to give her love to Mother, I left the library and drove to the nursing home.
    Mother seemed depressed. No wonder.
    There was a faint smell of urine in the air, just under the heavier mask of Lysol. We went out in the sitting area, away from her room. An old man in khaki shirt and pants sat in the corner in a cracked plastic chair, his mouth open, saying nothing. Otherwise we had the place to ourselves.
    I knew it wasn’t a good time to ask. But I couldn’t stop myself.
    “Mom, tell me about the children.”
    She looked at me sharply, the confusion usually present in her eyes completely gone.
    “Did you see them?” she asked in a small voice.
    “I saw some kids. But I don’t know if they were the same ones you saw.”
    Mother said nothing. I went on.
    “Carol said you thought they were the Morrow kids.”
    “Honey, you know the Morrow children died a long time ago. They were such sweet children.”
    I was confused. “So they weren’t the Morrow kids.”
    “They looked like them, dear. But the Morrow children are dead. Drowned in the river the summer before Carol was born.”
    This was the most coherent thing I had heard my say mother since I had been home. I was elated.
    “You can see for yourself,” she said. “They come by here most every afternoon.”
    My spirits sank. “You’ve seen them since you’ve been here, you mean.”
    “I see them outside my window sometimes. I tried calling to them, but they don’t pay me any mind.”
    “These kids ... children. What do they look like?”
    She didn’t answer. “I don’t know how they get down here. I never see their parents.”
    “Mom, I saw those kids myself last night ... up at your house. I think they’re black kids from the Bottom.”
    She didn’t say anything for a while. Then she asked me where she was.
    Once again, I explained that the doctor had thought she needed a few days rest and promised that she could leave the nursing home when she got stronger. I didn’t tell her about the assisted living facility.
    It was time for her lunch. I joined her and the other “guests” for fried chicken, greens, potatoes and gravy. The food wasn’t very good and Mother didn’t eat much. She suggested that we not come to this restaurant again.
    When I had helped Mother back to her room for her nap, I went outside for some air. On an impulse, I took out my cell phone and dialed long distance information for Auburn University.
    I didn’t expect to reach him and planned on leaving a voicemail, but to my surprise Dr. Frank Ewell answered his phone. He sounded like a Southern Donald Sutherland.
    I introduced myself and, another surprise, Ewell said he’d read some of my books. That made it easier. I explained I was doing research for a piece on Southern superstitions and I wondered if knew anything about duppies.
    “Duppies, eh. Where would a fellow from Connecticut hear about duppies?”
    I explained that I had grown up in the South and that my mother’s maid had mentioned them. I didn’t tell him that I was beginning to half-believe in them myself.
    “Well, like a lot of things down here, the colored folks seem to know more about them than us whites. I didn’t put duppies in the book because it seems to be more of a West Indian thing than a Southern superstition.”
    “So what is a duppy?”, I asked.
    “Some say they’re playful ghosts ... sort of like poltergeist but with a visible form.”
    “In other words, you might see them,” I offered.
    “Well, yes. But that brings us to another point about duppies. You might not want to see one.”
    “Mother’s maid said something like that. What’s that about?”
    “Some people believe that if you see a duppy, it means you’re going to die.”
    I felt my hair tighten.
    “Of course, that’s just superstition, right?” I asked, trying to chuckle.
    “It’s all just superstition. But it’s kind of interesting, don’t you agree?”
    I thanked the professor for his help and put the phone back in my pocket. I had quit smoking after my first heart attack, but just then I desperately wanted a cigarette.
    I went back into the nursing home. Mother had company, some ladies from her church. I kissed her goodbye and told her I would be back tomorrow. Hoping I was getting their names right, I thanked the ladies for their visit and headed for the parking lot.
    Just as I stepped out the door, I caught a glimpse of something rounding the building. Not just something ... two children.
    I ran in that direction and when I turned the corner, I saw them: A boy and a girl, both about ten years old and both with that blindingly blond hair you see only on Southern children.
    They were climbing into a tan Dodge minivan. Fortunately, the woman that I assumed was their mother was too preoccupied to notice the sweating middle-aged man who had run after her children.
    As she drove away, I was able to see the license plates on the minivan. Stephens county. Corinth!
    My heart was pounding and beginning to hurt like hell, but I didn’t care. These were the kids my mother had seen. There were no duppies ... only children.
    I waited until the pain lifted a little and then walked back to the Buick. I figured I owed myself at least a double when I got to her house.
    I started the engine and turned to look behind me. Standing about ten feet behind the car were two small figures.
    For a second everything stopped. My heart ... my brain ... everything. Then everything started again with a jolt.
    I slammed the gearshift into park and got out of the car as fast as I could. By the time I made it around to the back, they were gone.
    Part of my brain kept trying to convince itself that what I’d seen existed only in my imagination. The other part wasn’t buying that.
    One thing both parts could agree on: These were no children.
    As soon as my hands stopped shaking, I carefully backed out and drove away ... to the nearest drive-in liquor store.
    A couple of stiff belts later, I headed for the Bottom.
    Annie Lee lived with her cats and dogs in a neat little cottage beside the half-paved road. I should say beneath the road, because her house clung to the side of the hill. I carefully edged my way down the sloping sandy walkway.
    I knew she’d smell liquor on my breath and disapprove. But this couldn’t wait.
    She met me at the door. “I been ’spectin’ you,” she said. “Come on in the house, if you can get in for the mess.”
    There was no mess. The place was spotless. That was just Annie Lee’s way.
    Motioning me to a couch, she asked about Mother. I said she was OK and waited for her to be seated. Then I asked her about the duppies.
    She took her time answering, looking past me as she did. Behind her a color print of Jesus dominated one wall, a sad and pale white face in a sea of smiling, black ones: Christ surrounded by photos of Annie Lee’s many nieces and nephews.
     “Mister Morgan, you know I try to be a good Christian woman.”
    “I know that, Annie Lee. You are.”
    “Christian folks ought not to be studyin’ about such as duppies ... haints ... and all that.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    “But folks talk, you know. Old folks, mostly.”
    I nodded.
    She paused. “I can’t tell you nothin’ about duppies. But I reckon I know somebody who can.”
    I was excited. “Who?”
    “You know ol’ Obadiah? Live out on Mister John Shaw’s place?”
    I’d never heard of such a person. Apparently, there was a lot I didn’t know.
    “Obadiah ... his folks come from the islands ... back in slavey times ... same as mine. He know all ’bout duppies.”
    Annie Lee gave me complicated directions on how to get to Obadiah’s place. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find it and asked her to go with me. She politely declined.
    “So what’s the best time to go see this Obadiah?”
    “You can go right now. He’ll be ’spectin’ you.”
    “Did you tell him I was coming?”
    “He know.”
    Another hair tightening.
    It was close to sunset and getting to Obadiah’s place was even harder than I thought. I drove out past where the paved state road turned into the gravel county road which turned into a red, dirt road. Following Annie Lee’s directions, I turned off the dirt road and onto what seemed a little better than a cow path. I was pretty sure I was doing Avis’s Buick irreparable harm.
    Finally, I saw it ... a weathered wooden house, little more than a shack. I pulled up in the sandy yard. An ancient hound came out to sniff the tires then moved on. He didn’t bark.
    A large black man wearing a flannel shirt and bib overalls stood in the doorway. I walked up and put out my hand. He made no move to take it. I saw then that the man was quite old and quite blind.
    “Er ... I’m Morgan Taliaferro. You wouldn’t happen to be...”
    “I’m Obadiah,” he said in a quiet, deep voice. “I knows who you are. Been ’spectin’ you.”
    I followed Obadiah into his little house. It was dark inside; I could barely see. He sat down and vaguely gestured to what I hoped was a chair.
    “How is yo’ mama?” he asked.
    “Oh, do you know my mother?”
    “I been knowin’ Miss Alice a long time. She always been good to us.”
    Mother had never mentioned an Obadiah. I told him about the nursing home and all. He nodded his head.
    “Reckon you come about the duppies.”
    I should have been past being surprised but I was.
    “What can you tell me about them? Are they ...” I searched for the word in the vernacular ... “haints?”
    He didn’t answer. I was getting ready to ask again, when he asked, “How many times yo’ mama seen ’em?”
    “I don’t know. She said she saw them up at her house. And she’s been seeing them at the nursing home ... outside I mean ... on the lawn.”
    Obadiah nodded. “How many times you seen ’em?”
    “Once ... just once.” I could feel myself sweating although the room was far from warm. “Wait, maybe twice.”
    He nodded again. I was getting impatient.
    “Obadiah ... what does it mean ... seeing these duppies?”
    He turned straight toward me, as if he could see. “When yo’ time comes maybe you needs a little help gettin’ across. That’s what duppies do.”
    “You mean they help people ... die?”
    “No ... no ... they helps you when you die.”
    “So, these duppies ... they’re good ... they’re not bad.” I was babbling.
    “Duppies ain’t bad nor good. They just is.”
    I had one more question. “Obadiah, if you see a duppy ... does that mean you’re going to die?”
    “Everybody gone die,” he said. I thought that was all I was going to get out of the old man. We just sat there, neither of us saying anything. I wondered if I should thank him and leave.
    Then he spoke, “When you start seein’ duppies, that mean yo’ end be pretty near.” He leaned toward me. “Give you some time to get ready.”
    Obadiah fell silent again. I knew it was time to go. I thanked him and stood up to leave. But he had something else to say.
    “One thing I been studyin’ on,” he said quietly.
    “What’s that?”
    “Folks see duppies ... they usually folks who ain’t quite right in their soul. Yo’ mamma ... she ’bout as right as folks get.”
    I thanked him again and backed out of Obadiah’s yard. I needed to get home. My heart was pounding and I felt the old, familiar ache in my chest.
    Once Obadiah’s house was out of sight, I stopped the car and popped a couple of nitros. I felt weak, but the pain stopped. I drove on.
    My first impulse was to keep on driving ... to the Dothan airport and take the first plane back to New York and away from these damned duppies. But I knew it wouldn’t be that simple.
    I’d be working late in my study. It would be that grey part of the day close to dusk. I’d look out the window, across the lawn and into the woods. They’d be standing there. Waiting.
    Or I’d be at some dull party in the city and glance past the person I’d been talking with and there they’d be on the terrace outside the window. Waiting.
    No, there was no escape from the duppies.
    I half expected to see them as I turned in to my mother’s driveway, but to my relief there were no little grey figures to greet me.
    I knew it wasn’t a good idea to mix scotch with heart medicine, but I needed a drink. As soon as I was inside, I poured myself a Cutty straight up.
    I went into Mother’s library, only slightly smaller than the one downtown. The two books I was looking for were missing. Of course, Annie Lee would have taken Mother’s prayer book and Bible to her. Besides, it was a little late in the day to be taking an interest in religion.
    I sat down in her den with another Cutty for company.
    It took me two more to work it all out. By the time I did, it was dark outside.
    I pulled open the heavy curtain at the big window.
    In the moonlight, I could see two small figures at the edge of Mother’s broad lawn. Just standing there, facing the house. Two kids, I once might have thought.
    I closed the curtain and turned away from the window, spilling what was left of my drink as I did.
    No matter. The scotch wouldn’t show on Mother’s old Oriental rug.
    And I might have time to fix another before the duppies came for me.

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