Stories – Volume I

By Richard Tallman

This collection of stories is about the tension between our desire to belong to one another and how we affect one another in intimate and passing ways alike. It’s about journeying, both internally and externally, and are written to reflect real life experiences set out as metaphysical statements or curiosities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9781685628710

Richard Tallman

Richard L. Tallman begun his career as an admission clerk at a mental hospital to become a highly regarded corporate executive in the field of behavioral health care for hospitals until his retirement. Thereafter, he made a life-changing decision of moving to South West Florida and found himself volunteering at an addiction treatment center. The idea of fiction writing took root during Richard’s solitary walks on the beach; as he listened to the sounds of nature; and to the fireside chats of people in treatment. Wearing the lens of a writer, poet and cartoonist, Richard drew from decades of trained observational skills to create fictitious characters with humor, curiosity and sensitivity that connects the reader to the most intimate part of oneself.

Book preview

Alice

Daddy, why are they coming?

I told you, Alice, I need help with the cotton. You want Daddy to be rich, don’t you?

Yes, but why are they coming from so far away? Why don’t we ask for help from people who live nearby?

Alice, you ask too many questions! Did you get your chores done?

Yes.

Well, then go help your mother in the kitchen, said father as he nodded his head towards the kitchen.

Mommy! Mommy?! yelled Alice as she ran towards the kitchen.

What is it dear?

Why are they coming?

Who Alice? Do you mean the black people?

Yes, replied Alice.

That’s because your father needs help with picking the cotton, Mommy explained.

Why?

Alice, please. Ask your father.

I already did, and he said that I was asking too many questions and that I should help you in the kitchen, chirped Alice. Mom smiled. It was the first time she had done so in quite a while, and it felt good.

Well, let’s put you to work then! You can start by washing those dishes piled up on the counter. And there is a stool there for you to stand on in case you have forgotten. She was teasing. Your big sister used it when she was your age.

Every day was a new day with her youngest child, and Alice, ever the curious one, had the habit of asking the same questions over and over again, hoping, somehow, for a different answer.

After a period of silence, while the dishes were being washed by the ten-year-old with a curious mind, the questions began again. Alice was an irresistible force. Mommy… Mommy?

What is it dear? came the weary response. Agnes, her mother, was sitting at the small kitchen table pulling string beans for dinner.

I don’t understand why we need to bring black people to pick cotton. Why don’t we do it? asked Alice as she tried to rationalize the need.

Because it’s hard work dear and very difficult to pick without hurting your hands, explained Agnes.

So, why don’t we grow something else? Why do we need to bring black people all the way here to do something that difficult, when we could grow something more fun?

Because, that’s the way it’s done nowadays, replied Agnes.

But… before Alice could finish her thoughts, Mom interrupted, Never mind Alice. If you have finished the dishes, go do your writing.

I’ve completed them already!

Well, then go out and play. And please don’t bother your father with any more questions. He has a lot on his mind these days.

With what? Is that why he never has time to push me on the swing any longer?

Your father is busy trying to figure out how to keep us… Never mind Alice. You wouldn’t understand. It’s just that we have a lot of mouths to feed and your daddy needs to make more money.

But black people? Where do they come from? Why don’t white people pick their own cotton?

Oh, Alice! Agnes exclaimed with exasperation. Please, just go out and play. You are the most inquisitive of all girls. Even your sisters, when they were your age, didn’t ask so many questions.

Alice thought it was a form of flattery, I am?

Yes. Now stop it, I’m busy with preparing supper, can’t you see? We can talk later.

Promise?

Yes, promise.

Oh goody. I’m going outside then.

That’s fine Alice. Just stay in the yard.

Yes, Mommy.

Outside in the yard and playing in the sandbox, which was quite boring now that she was ten going on 25, she noticed a man walking down the road. It was a black man. And right behind him was a white man in a horse-drawn buggy with a long whip-like thing stuck by the side of the carriage. As the two men came closer, she noticed that the whip thing had a leather strap at the end of it. What is that for, she wondered.

Good morning young lady, greeted the driver, stopping at their front gate. Is your daddy home? he asked.

Yes, sir. I’ll go get him for you.

Yes please, and some water for me and my man here as well. It’s going to be a hot day, said the man.

Her father came out from behind the house and stood beside the buggy which was parked under the shade of an oak tree beside the gate. The two men conversed softly and kept looking at the black man standing under the mid-morning sun that is beginning to burn on his bare shoulders.

So, I hear you are looking for some help picking your cotton, queried the trader. I got this one if you’re interested, pointing to the black man.

Is he any good? asked father.

The trader looked over at the black man with a raised eyebrow and sneered, Well, he is now, aren’t you blacky?

Yes sir, replied the black man with downcast eyes.

You see, Mr. Blacky here worked for another man but then ran off, so we had to go find him and let him know that it wasn’t his right just to run away like that. It took a while, but we’re all straightened away, aren’t we? said the trader, and swung his leg out to kick the black man.

Yes sir.

So, I’m not going to have any trouble with him, is that what you’re saying? asked father.

Yup. No problems now, said the trader with superiority, and smiled knowingly, as if he was accustomed to such questions by now.

How much is he?

$600, and that’s a bargain.

Jeez! That’s a lot of money.

Well, that’s the price. There are many others looking for good help as well, so take it or leave it.

While Alice stood in the yard watching this conversation take place, she stuck her head through the door and cried out, Mommy! Come and look!

As Agnes came out the front door of the dilapidated house with its beaten-up screen door, she allowed the screen door to slam so that the flies would take off before they saw an opportunity to get into the house.

Mommy, look… Alice repeated in a whisper. Daddy is talking with that man in the buggy while the other man, the black one just stands there. He doesn’t look very happy.

Well, he probably isn’t dear, he’s a slave, whispered Agnes.

A slave? repeated Alice as she tried to understand this identity.

Yes.

What do they do?

Anything they are told from what I hear Alice. We don’t have any as yet, but I think your daddy is desperate to find help picking the cotton before the crop goes bad.

Alice didn’t understand. So, why didn’t Daddy plant a different crop, one that would be more fun? Like berries! she quipped.

Because cotton is worth more that’s why. We send it up North to the mill and they make clothes out of it. Berries are sweet and tasty, but not much good for anything other than jams and pies.

But I like pie! proclaimed Alice.

I know you do honey, and I promise to make you one as soon as we can get some berries, assured Agnes.

Promise?

Yes promise, now please be quiet while your dad finishes talking with the man, shushed Agnes. But Alice couldn’t keep quiet for more than a few seconds.

Who is the white man’s mommy?

It was at that moment that Agnes had had enough of her daughter’s endless questions, and wanted to slap her, but stopped. They had all lived a quiet, simple life up to this point, and she knew that Alice was bored. At ten years old and having only left the farm to go to church on Sundays, Agnes felt boredom and restlessness as well. It was 1860, and, she wondered, what could be more boring than that? She had lived in this little shack seven miles from town in rural Georgia with her five children and Jacob, her husband, and was weary. She knew that Jacob tried his best to farm and the two of them had raised the family with barely any money. Now that the other children were moving out, and there was a prospect of getting help picking cotton, maybe, just maybe, she could at least get a new clothes washer tub.

Agnes also knew that Jacob was restless and impatient with their situation. It was on one of those days, while Alice was doing the dishes, she became silent all of a sudden as she looked out the kitchen window, being careful to hide behind the lace. She was observing her father’s struggle with some farm equipment. Jacob was a large man, was impatient under the best of circumstances, and now he was swearing at the farm implements as if they were alive and sent to Earth to torment him. He even threw a shovel to the ground and yelled his agony into the heavens.

Agnes’ memory was interrupted by Alice again. She was asking how much the black man cost. It was a question Agnes had been asking herself but had not dared to of Jacob. Too risky. Jacob had not been in a good mood of late, and she knew better than to press the issue.

The man is a trader Alice, I thought I had told you that, replied Agnes.

What does he trade? asked Alice.

People for money was her mother’s first thought, but not just any person. The man standing in the sun was not just another person. He was black and black people were generally good at picking cotton, as it was very hard work. When the question came out about the cost, she hoped that it was not too much. They already owed money to the bank for the property, and whatever her husband paid for the help would have to be added to the debt. This would have been too much information for her ten-year-old daughter, so she kept quiet, and that silenced her daughter as well. Alice saw something in her mother’s face she had never seen before and couldn’t understand. It was fear. Fear that there wouldn’t be enough, fear of losing the farm, and, most of all for some reason, fear of her husband.

Finally, Alice blurted, I’m scared, Mommy. Is the black man going to be in the house with us?

No dear, your daddy will have to keep him outside. I will not allow him to be in our home, assured Agnes. Alice was relieved, but only slightly. Later that night she heard her parents talk in the kitchen.

Did you buy him? Mommy asked.

Yes. What was I supposed to do? We have to get help picking the cotton, Daddy replied tersely.

Agnes took a deep breath and asked what she was afraid to know. How much did you pay?

$600.

She was stunned and sat for a moment trying to breathe again. Finally, in as calm a voice as she could muster, she said, We don’t have that much money in the whole world Jacob, you know that.

Jacob gave her a hard look but didn’t flinch replied, I will just have to see the banker tomorrow and borrow the money.

And how are we supposed to feed him? We can barely feed ourselves, Mommy asked earnestly.

Her husband suddenly lost the hard look on his face, and said, I don’t know Agnes. I don’t know. My back is up against the wall, and I have to find a way to get the crop picked and sent up North. These blacks are supposed to be good at it. It was a good act and sounded convincing even to himself, if only for a while. Agnes wanted to take it further, but she dared not comment on the fact that they were buying another human being. Instead, she suggested, Maybe we should sell the farm and go back North?

"No. I came here to farm