Brother

Okay, yeah. I’m purty settled in now. Is this what they call a easy chair? No? Well, it’s purty easy to set in. Say, is my picture gonna be in your magazine too, or just words? I mostly like to look at the pictures.

My story? I don’t know as I have one. I can just tell you what happened, if that’s what you mean.

Brother has these coughing spells, you see, and has ever since we was kids. He says it’s Momma and Daddy’s fault. I don’t know about that, but I guess he knows just about everything. Has done ever since he’s been older than me, and that’s been about as long as I can remember. He’s bringing something called a civil suit on them. I don’t know what that is, except it sounds like something you might wear to church.

I know I ain’t all that bright, but I get by. Brother says that Momma smoked while she was carryin’ me and it stunted my brain, but I’m happy just the same. I live by myself in a small shack, and I work over to the tobaccy farm. Brother says that’s wrong. Says I shouldn’t help put the evil weed in people’s hands, but I think grownups ought to choose for theirselves what they gonna do. Children now, that’s another matter.

When we was children, we both lived under a bridge over to Jefferson County for awhile. I remember the sound that the cars made rattling over the top of the bridge. It scared me silly, but Brother said it was safer’n being at home breathing smoke and I wondered, was he talking about dragons? And he said yes, maybe, kinda, that Momma and Daddy were dragons and they would kill us both. For a long time I was scared to close my eyes at night.

Brother has him a purty wife he found in the big city. I hadn’t never been to the big city before the court time.

He has a little girl now. She’s almost one and purty as a summer night. That’s when he said he first knew that smoking was baby abuse. “Every parent who inflicts their smoke upon an innocent child should be brought up on charges.” Those are his words not mine. I can remember even when I don’t understand ‘em. But where would all the kids be if their Momma and Poppa was sent to the pokey? At least they won’t be breathing no obnoxious fumes I guess.

When Brother came home, he visited me in my little house even though he stayed at the big hotel in town. There’s 24 rooms there, more than any other hotel hereabouts. Brother must be rich to stay there. He came to talk to me -- to tell me about the trial and how he wants to put all the tobaccy people out of business. I start to wail.

“But I won’t have no job.” He hugs me and tells me he’ll find me some other job. But I don’t want no other job. I want this one. I like it here. This is my only life.

I have to go to the trial, he says, and talk about smoke. I have to tell them about the two times our shack burnt down because Poppa came home drunk as a skunk and forgot about his lit coffin nail. It fell somewhere and we sure woke up coughing those nights. We didn’t have much but we lost it all, both times.

Brother says I have to tell everything I know, even about how Momma sent Poppa to town with our last money to buy taters for supper and he come back with smokes instead. A man’s got to have his small pleasures he says. It still makes me hold my belly when I remember how hungry we was sometimes.

Still they’re Momma and Poppa and I have to take a side. How do I know what to do? Brother says don’t worry, that I just got to be myself. Well, I guess that’s the thing I’m best at. So here I go, ready for the big city. Good thing I got Brother to protect me.

The lawyers look me up and down like I’m something from under a rock. I know I don’t look so bad. Brother slicked me up with city clothes and put VO5 in my hair to lay it flat.

They seem tired from explaining things over and over, but I need to understand, and if that’s the only way -- well then, that’s the only way. I ain’t about to be pushed around by a bunch of dandified men dressed in their civil suits.

Brother smiles at me a lot and pats my shoulder. “You’re doing fine,” he tells me. “You just have to tell the truth.”

I ask him, “What else would I do?”

“What I mean is, you don’t have to feel bad about anything. You’re not taking sides. You’re just telling the truth, that’s all.”

I still don’t understand something. “Brother, “ I say. “You have to tell about it again.”

“Sure. What’s that?” he asks me.

Tell me again why you’re doing this. Momma and Poppa ain’t got no money. You’re much richer than them.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want their money. This isn’t about money. I’m asking for ten dollars in damages.”

“Who will pay for their slick lawyer?”

He laughs about this. “Oh don’t worry about that. The tobacco companies are providing them with everything they need. They’re terrified that we’ll set a dangerous precedent.”

I’m confused. “Who’s a dangerous president? I thought you liked George Bush.”

He smiles at me. “I sure do miss you. Why don’t you come live in the city with me? You might like it there.”

I shake my head. “I want to know what you mean Brother. If you don’t want money, then what? Are you still mad about something?”

He sighs and I know he’s trying to think how he can explain it so I’ll understand. I ain’t so dim that I don’t know how dim I am.

“In law they have what they call ‘test cases’. They try one case and see what’s going to happen. Sometimes things change in the country and what used to be acceptable is now unacceptable. Do you follow?”

I nod.

“So we try a test case and we find out if public opinion has turned around. If it has, then we set what’s called a precedent. Every similar case after that will follow our precedent.”

They might follow a dangerous president? I ask.

“Precedent. Could be.”

“And what are you trying to president?”

“I’m trying to say that smoking around children is unacceptable. Once I get a court to say that, we have a precedent set and we’re in business.”

And the tobaccy farms are out of business?

He covers his eyes. “I’m sorry. I know you like what you do. But there are other farms you can work on. Besides, even with this precedent, it’s going to take a very long time before the tobacco farms are a thing of the past. I don’t think you’re in any danger of losing your job.”

I can’t breathe too good by now, so I go to stand outside. Brother makes me promise not to move but something happens that makes me move.

A dangerous president walks by. I know that Richard Nixon is dead. I knew that when he walked by. But I’ve seen his pictures on the TV, and this is definitely him. I have to follow him. I have to know where a dangerous president goes, even when he’s dead.

He wanders around a lot, up and down the streets, in and out of the stores. I watch him through the windows, but he never buys nothing. I don’t think he notices me. He never acts like he does. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he figures there’s nothing I can do to hurt him

Finally he goes inside the hugest building I ever seen. I have to tilt my head way back and still can’t see the top. Finally, I’m brave enough to follow him inside. There’s a sign inside that says RJ Reynolds Building. Now I knew who RJ Reynolds is and I ain’t so sure he’d want me in his building right about now, but I follow anyway.

There’s way too many rooms and way too many folk. More folk than our whole town I’d bet. I know I’m lost so I call out to him. “Mr. President.”

People look at me funny and pretty soon some policemen come and throw me out into the street. I stand in front of the building and I have no idea where I am, except far from where I’m supposed to be.

I want to go home and see my shack again. I sit down on the curb and try not to blubber.

Soon a car rolls up and stops and there’s Brother getting out. He helps me up and tells me, “Get in the car, buddy.” He takes me to a fancy place to eat. Brother is never ashamed of me even when people stare. “Let them,” he says. “Just shows they have no life of their own.”

The very next day we go to court. Brother tells how Momma and Poppa putrefied his lungs against his will. How he was a child prisoner and how could he get away from the stench? That we always smelt of smoke, which we done. And how every grownup who smokes around a child is guilty of abusing that child, maybe even worse than if he hit him.

Then I have to go up and tell the court what I’ve been telling you.

Are we done yet? ‘Cause I gotta go out back.

Richard Nixon? I don’t know whatever happened to him. Near as I can figure, he must have been going up to see old RJ himself. Wonder why? The world’s sure a funny place now, ain’t it?

I can go now, right?

You know, I been thinking on something Brother said, and I do believe he’s right one more time. There’s lots of places for a man like me to work. How could I sleep at nights if I knew I was being dangerous to little ones?

Brother says we’ve got to do what’s right, even when it’s hard. And he says that I’m a whole lot smarter than a lot of people that think I’m dumb.

So I’m going home. I’ve said what I had to say.