Southern Cross the Dog Read Online Free

grow by degrees into a grass jetty—a narrow arm of land, slanting up into the hill country. A man on the banks hollered out across the water, Lord Lord Lord! Show mercy for us the poor and the sinful.
    The man’s shirt was unbuttoned, his preacher’s collar splayed open. Around him were piles of white cloth. It wasn’t till the boat had almost touched land that Robert saw that they were men and women done up in baptismal robes. Their heads were pressed into the grass as they moaned and twitched. Men in tan uniforms were stepping carefully among them, touching their wrists or feeling their foreheads, then scratching their notes out on their clipboards.
    The boat floated into the shallows and Stuckey stood up.
    You get off here, he said. He pointed to their bundles. These you won’t be needing anymore.
    Robert climbed out of the boat and waded toward the shore, his mama and his daddy following behind him. His legs were stiff and he was so tired he felt like he would fall through the earth.
    He looked behind him. Stuckey was already at the oars. He smiled back at Robert, lifting up one hand to wave. Then he took up the paddles and worked them back, sliding out toward the dark water.
    Wash the devilment from your souls!, the preacher cried. From gambling halls and cathouses! He has seen our wickedness!
    Robert felt his daddy’s warm hand graze the back of his neck.
    He has seen our wretchedness! Let us be clean! Take the Devil from our souls!
    Over here!, a voice called out. Three men in uniforms came running toward them. They pulled the Chathams up from the bank, one by one, and wrapped them in blankets. Robert’s mama sat down on the grass. The men tried to lift her up, but she closed her eyes and shook her head.
    The men looked at each other. Then they took out their clipboards and started in on their questions. Ma’am, what’s your name? Do you know your address?
    His mama only stared, holding the blanket tightly around her front. His daddy tried to say something, but a man in uniform stood in front of him.
    Sir, sir. I need your attention a moment.
    Robert listened to the way they talked, those cramped, pinched voices. They were young and extraordinarily white, whiter than most white men he’d seen. There wasn’t any kind of burn on their noses or faces or necks, just pale apple flesh.
    Son, you need to tell me your name, son. Before we can help you, we need to know your name. For the chart.
    Robert, his daddy said. Answer the man.
    The man wrote something down on his sheet.
    Sir, I need this young man to speak for himself.
    That’s my boy Robert, his daddy said. He’s only eight.
    Sir. Please.
    Tell him, Robert. It’s all right.
    Sir, another man said. I need you to pay attention to me. You can talk with your family later but for right now, you need to talk to me.
    Now hold on there, his daddy said, standing.
    Sir.
    Now hold on.
    Sir. Sir, please, sir, they said.
    The men circled around his daddy. Their hands were up in front of them, as if they were afraid he might pounce.
    Robert watched the scene. More men in uniform charged down the hill past them toward the water. People were still coming in—some on boats, or pieces of wood yoked together with twine. They called out for help and the white men would splash down after them.
    When he turned back, his mama was gone, the print of her wet body still on the grass. He looked around. The white men were moving swiftly from one person to another. They went around carrying blankets and urns of coffee. A woman was crying, cradling a bundle in her arms, and one of the men was trying to take it away. Robert kept looking. He saw his mama walking past the preacher, toward the water’s edge. No one else noticed her as she moved among them, stepping over their prostrate bodies, her blanket dragging in a tail behind her. Robert’s daddy and the men were still arguing. Robert got up and ran after her.
    He caught up with