When my Faith asked in her sweet clear voice what the J. stood for, the mourners looked startled. Nobody knew. All these years he had been E. J. Watson; it took a child to ask about that J! Mama once told us that his given name was E. A. Watson: why he changed the A to J she did not know.
Papa’s woman from Caxambas turned when she heard Faith’s question. In a whiskey voice, more like a croak, she called out “Jack!” Lucius hurried her along, but she tottered sideways, seeking my eye, and called again: “E. Jack Watson!” Lucius would confirm that she had called him “Jack,” though why he could not say. “What does it matter?” Lucius said.
Leaving the cemetery, Walter’s aunt Poke, the deaf one with all the rings, asked Walter loud enough for all to hear if Eddie Watson had considered using his middle name-if he actually intends to remain here, is what she meant. Calling himself “Elijah” might spare the poor boy (as she called him) future embarrassment.
I suppose we’d all thought about “Ed Watson Junior” but no one before Aunt Poke had said a word. And we all knew she was speaking for the Langfords. Eddie restrained himself from bursting out with anything unseemly in a cemetery but Lucius stopped and turned. “Are you afraid your family will be shamed if he doesn’t change his name? Because our family will be shamed if he does.” And he gave that old lady a fierce look that challenged not only Aunt Poke but all the Langfords.
That ringed hand flew towards her throat but she made no sound. It was only afterwards, as we filed through the gate, that she whispered to Walter, “That boy has something of the father in him, don’t you agree?”