“Be sure you take all of this down,” the sergeant said to Tillman. “I want to check on this woman, check the FBI. Go on, boy.”
McMillen stared silently into his glass.
“I said, get on with your story,” the sergeant said.
“Oh,” McMillen said, “I didn’t know you were talking to me….” His eyes were far away. “Now, let’s see. Well, pretty soon, Mister Jessie was drinking that whiskey like he was drinking water, but I couldn’t see no change in him. He just sat up there in that coffin, leaning on his elbow like a judge and taking him a sip of whiskey now and then.
“Once he said, ‘McMillen, what kind of damn whiskey is this?’ And I told him. And he said, ‘Then why ain’t I getting any action?’
“And the lady said, ‘You just wait, Dad. This is fine whiskey!’
“Then she got up and threw up her arms and whirled around and said, ‘Dad, you have a nice little pad here.’ She was looking at that money on the floor; I was watching her. She said, ‘It’s very nice, Dad, only kind of overfur-nished. What do you do for a living?’ And Mister Jessie told her he was retired, and she said, ‘You wouldn’t kid me, would you, doll? You might be retired but you were in the rackets; I can tell, Dad; you were a slick spook. You were probably peddling horse, or maybe you were a fence.’
“But instead of telling her to get the hell out of here, Mister Jessie said, ‘McMillen, pour this little lady some whiskey and then pour me some and help yourself.’
“She was leaning against the table while I poured, and Mister Jessie looked her in the eye. Then he told her, ‘Miss Duval, the only way I ever come close to breaking the law was by not telling my customers that the man on the other end of the telephone wire was a black man, or that the post-office box they wrote to was rented by a black man, or that the man who paid for the ads I used to run in the newspapers and magazines was black.’ Then he started telling her all about his business—which I never would’ve done. Not me.
“You see, Mister Jessie used to sell that glass and stuff over there in them cases. He used to go down in Alabama and Georgia and Mississippi and South Carolina and buy it and bring it up here and sell it through the newspapers and magazines. He only let a few white folks know who he was, and he let even fewer come here to his house. And even then he’d play like he was just looking after things for a white man. He never had any arguments that way, and if they wanted to change the price he’d say he was sorry but he had to sell it for what he had been told.
“And not only did he sell glass and stuff, he used to watch for whenever they was tearing down those old houses, and he’d turn up dressed in overalls and driving an old horse and wagon he used to have, and he’d buy the marble off those old beat-up fireplaces, and he’d buy the old wood the walls was lined with. And sometimes he’d even buy up old staircases and picture molding and all that old stuff. Sometimes it didn’t even cost him anything, the builders was so glad to have it hauled away for nothing. Then, you see, Mister Jessie would take it to his storehouse and clean it up and take a picture of it and send it off to folks that he said were in the business of decorating houses in the old style and things like-a that. Sometimes he sold to people who put on plays. Once he even had him one of those old-time electric automobiles that steered with a handle. He was kinda nuts ‘bout the china and glass, though.
“He said, ‘Miss Duval, you see those cases of fine porcelain? Well, I know the children of some of the white folk who owned many of those pieces, and I know more about the value of it than they do. They didn’t even know enough to keep it and prize it; still, they think they’re better than me because they don’t, and they thought I was a damn fool because I wanted it. I’ve bought whole crates of it along with fine old shotguns and beautiful old candelabra from them for little or nothing. Not just because I simply wanted to make money out of it, Miss Duval, but because I felt the meaning of fine things ought to be kept alive. In fact, this is the kind of thing they should have worried about passing along, not their blood, most of which was mixed up anyway. All saturated with the germs of the world, leaping with consumption and cancer. They try to preserve the wrong things, things that can’t be preserved anyway, instead of the good things that will be here after they’re all passed away. So you see, Miss Duval, I tried to preserve some of it to the best of my ability. Therefore, I had to learn something about it, about what it meant and why it was considered better than other things of the same order, and about why it came into existence. My mind expanded, Miss Duval. I grew to love good things, fine workmanship, beautiful objects. Oh, yes, I came to love fine quality as I loved God’s plan for man and the order of the universe. It seemed to fit in its wonderful way like the silkworm’s cocoon and the butterfly’s wings. Sunrise and sunset, the seasons wheeling through space to bring forth their flowers and fruits at their appointed time.’
“He took off then, gen’lmen. He said, ‘Miss Duval, did it ever occur to you that snowflakes are the flowers of winter just as violets are the flowers of spring? The Chinese knew it years ago. Nighttime and daytime; cool and balmy; hot and cold; sweet and sour; tart and bland; sugar lumps and pepper pods; wood grain and stone grain; rubber tires and steel rails; rabbit tracks in the snow; bird’s-eye maple and flame-grained mahogany; water and fire; milk and wine; rotation and propagation—’
“And then the woman started to laugh and interrupted him. She said, ‘Don’t forget ham and eggs, doll. We couldn’t do without them either. And boy and girl, Dad, that’s a good little ole deal.’
“And Mister Jessie shook his head and looked up at the ceiling and said something about, ‘Yes, that’s true, Miss Duval. The orders of mankind and the animal kingdom, the vegetable kingdom too; and the arts of the husbandman and the arts of the wifewoman, the schoolwoman, the nurse-woman—’
“‘And the professional woman, like me, doll,’ Miss Duval said.
“They was getting pretty wild. And I said, ‘Y’all better eat something along with your whiskey, otherwise y’all going to get looped too soon.’
“And Mister Jessie said, ‘That’s right, McMillen, go out there and bring us some of those sandwiches and cheese and crackers and pickles and things. Open a can of smoked oysters.’
“So I took a good look at the way that money was scattered on the floor and went on out and got the sandwiches while they kep’ up their talking.”
Suddenly the sergeant held up his hand, frowning, “Wait a minute, McMillen, goddammit,” he said, “What kind of work do you do?”
McMillen looked up, surprised. “Like I said, I’m the caretaker, the janitor,” he said.
“And what did you do before that?”
“Oh,” he said proudly, “I used to work at the racetrack. I was a clocker, and I used to identify horses for a man who sold tips. I was a tout’s tout, I guess you would call me. I used to know all the bloodlines of the big stables and could keep it in my head. I could even remember the colors of most of the big owners.”
“How could you remember all that?”
“I had to have a good memory because in those days I couldn’t read and write too good, so I had to remember. I could tell time though. I used to know those horses and their sires and dams like a preacher knows the begats in the Bible.”
“Begats?”
“The family trees, the bloodlines.”
The sergeant shook his head, looking at McMillen with an expression of disbelief. “Take that down, Tillman,” the sergeant said. “Go on, and hurry it up!”
“Well,” McMillen said, “so Mister Jessie got to raving again. He said, ‘Look at me, Miss Duval, just look at me. I’m just an old fool and this is what I’ve come to. This is my promised land! I had to have this birthday years after I have any right to be alive before I could see the truth, and it had to get to me through this damn rotten coffin. Now I’ve got nothing; they tricked me on the there-then and on the here-now, and I tricked my own damned self on the here-after because I wanted to believe I had lived long enough even thirty years ago to k
now better. So when I went to examine my guarantee of safe conveyance to the hereafter, what happens?’
“And the woman broke in, ‘That’s right, Dad, what did happen to make you take that seat?’
“And Mister Jessie looked down at her and said, ‘I’ll tell you what happened. This damn coffin and the bugs and worms inside it liked to cracked their sides laughing at me. Here, I’ll show you one.’
“And that’s when he reached down inside and brought out a little ole moth worm and layed him on top there where that bottle of whiskey is standing and he said, ‘Miss Duval, you come over here and listen close and you can hear this little bastard laughing.’
“So she said, ‘How does he sound, doll?’
“And Mister Jessie said, ‘He sounds like my last rotten tooth did when it gave way under the dentist’s forceps. Others sound like a knife scratching on glass, others like the hinges of an old gate swinging in the wind or a blind banging against the window of an empty house.’
“And the woman laughed and told Mister Jessie he was better than a sideshow at a circus, and he told her not to laugh because those bugs were laughing the truth about his life.
“He said, ‘No wonder I couldn’t find where those silverfish that were making a hash out of my history books were coming from. They were right in here!’
“I poured them another drink then, and the woman said, ‘Dad, what would you do if you could have your birthday wish?’
“And Mister Jessie thought a bit and ran his eyeglasses up and down on that golden chain that he wears and he said, ‘Miss Duval, I’d like to get dressed in my best suit, with my best shoes and glasses and take my gold-headed walking cane and gray fedora hat and my best gloves and be standing at the White House gate when the President takes his morning ride, and I’d like to be standing right there at the driveway when the chauffeur stops to see if the way is clear of cars and I’d like to step up to his limousine and I’d say, “Good Morning, Mister President, this is Mister Jessie Rockmore, and I’m my own man!” Then I’d say, “I’m one of the nation’s oldest citizens, sir. I was here when Mr. Lincoln held your position, and though just a baby, I was here when he used to pass back and forth through those gates, and I’ve been living right here while all the other presidents, including General Grant, Warren Gamaliel Harding, and FDR were occupying the White House. I don’t stand for much in the scheme of things, as you can clearly see, but if there are to be men in your position then there have to be men in my position. And men in my position have a need to be heard. So I want you to know that I have a long memory, and I want you to know that I’ve been watching you out of over threescore and ten years of living and hoping. And I want you to know, too, that I have prayed for you to be given the strength to live up to your Office like Mister Lincoln did and that the cares of the Republic would not be too wearing on your shoulders….
“ ‘“But now, Mister President, I think you should know that things have changed. And my way of thinking has changed. I was ninety-five years old at about three forty-five this morning, and I want you to know that after all these years I no longer believe in prayer or have any hope for the fulfillment of this nation’s promises. I want you to know that as of now, you have been relieved of the burden of my hopeful watching and waiting. Think about what that means, sir, when you’re guiding the deliberations of your cabinet.”’
“And Miss Duval looked down at those goldbacks and said, ‘Take another drink, doll. You are truly wonderful. Then what else would you do?’
“‘Well, Miss Duval,’ Mister Jessie said, ‘then I’d say, “Good day, sir—Mister President, gentlemen” because he’d have all his bodyguards and maybe a cabinet member or two with him, and maybe there’d be reporters present. And then I would bow as men used to have the grace to do in the old days, and I’d tip my fedora and swing on down the avenue.
“‘That’s what I’d like to do, Miss Duval,’ Mister Jessie said. ‘But as big a fool as this laughing coffin and its bugs and worms have shown me up to be, I’m still not so big a fool as to think I could get away with it. Because harmless as I am, they’d probably shoot me down. They’d think I was trying to get close to the money or trying to get into the newspaper headlines. And they’d laugh at me, which would be worse, even though I’d probably deserve it for speaking to him.’
“Then Mister Jessie looked up at the ceiling a while, and when he spoke up again, gen’lmen, he sounded just like a little child. He said, ‘People used to write Mister Lincoln letters and he’d answer them.’
“Didn’t anybody say anything for a while after that, then the woman said, ‘Well, Dad, today you know we do have television. Today the President can get to us much quicker than Old Abe could.’
“‘Yes,’ Mister Jessie said, ‘but Mister Lincoln could touch you to the quick and make you feel that you counted in the scheme. Today they stand there on television drinking water and talk flimflam to everybody. And they don’t really speak to anybody. I bought a television set to see why everybody was excited about the damned thing, and what did I get? I got that Senator Sunraider coming right into my living room, mouthing insults to me and my people in the name of the government and the rights of man. He’s the devil who’s always preaching about science and working for government ownership of the television networks. Next thing you know, the rascal will be presenting a measure for the building of government-owned gas ovens.’ He hit the coffin then and sent up another cloud of dust, and he looked so mad and down in the dumps that this time I spoke up.
“I said, ‘Mister Jessie, don’t you go getting yourself worked up on your birthday; this here is a party, you know.’ And he looked down at me and shook his head, and he took him a sip of whiskey and adjusted his glasses and looked at me. He said, ‘Yes, McMillen, you’re right. What can folks like us do about the gimmicks and gadgets, the highbinders and clipsters? And what good would it do if we could? Folks nowadays don’t remember a death in the family any longer than it takes to slam the body in the ground and cover it up. Back in his time Mister Lincoln could begin a speech with “Fourscore and seven years ago,” and it meant something to everybody because he made it real; they remembered. But today he could begin with “Four minutes and seven seconds ago,” and folks wouldn’t remember who the hell he was talking about. So let’s be like other folks and forget our condition—the liquor is getting good, and we three are getting along just fine. Miss Duval, would you care to dance?’
“So then the woman grinned and cut her eyes down at all that money on the floor again, and I could’ve kicked myself for switching Mister Jessie away from talking about politics. Gen’lmen, I could see the electric lights start to blinking and the wheels start whirling in her head like the lemons and cherries in a slot machine when the jackpot’s about to fall. She gave Mister Jessie a great big, juiced-up smile and she said, ‘Why of course, Dad. I’d love to dance, but I … er … I’ve got a problem, Dad.’ And Mister Jessie said, ‘What’s the problem, Miss Duval?’ And she said, ‘McMillen didn’t tell me you wanted me to dance, so I didn’t bring a costume.’ And she gave him another juiced-up grin then, and I wanted to kill her for trying to hook me in her devilment. But before I could tell her off, Mister Jessie pointed to that chest over there beside the wall and told me to open it so she could see if there was anything in it she could wear. So after I filled her glass again, she staggered over there and started pulling all those old clothes out and looking at them, and I knew she wasn’t going to be satisfied with anything she found.
“And sure ‘nough, she staggered round and said something about, ‘This is all very nice stuff, doll, but it’s too old-fashioned to do the kind of number mine is. Maybe I can improvise something, though.’ So she stood there picking up pieces of cloth and feather fans and neck pieces and things and trying them around her, trying to pose and wobbling around on those high heels. Once, she picked up a pair of those old spike-heeled, hightop button shoes, and she wiggled and said, ‘Dad, these make me feel real Frenchy! The
y’re almost the thing I need to do my number but a little stiff.’ Then she picked up that old feather neck piece over there and wrapped it around her behind and said, ‘This is almost the thing, doll, but it would be a crime to cut up such a lovely old piece.’
“And that’s when Mister Jessie cleared his throat and said, ‘McMillen, call a taxi and escort Miss Duval home to get her costume and anything else she needs, and hurry back, as I want to see her dance.’
“But then she said, ‘No, doll, wait! If Josephine Baker could do her number wearing bananas, I ought to be able to do mine in newspapers, headlines and all. McMillen can just bring me a needle and some thread and a pair of scissors.’
“So Mister Jessie told me to get them for her, and though I knew she was outthinking me, I didn’t know how. So then, gen’lmen, I said, ‘First let me get Miss Duval a fresh drink.’ And I got a big water glass this time and filled it with that good whiskey, knowing that I was wasting it, but there wasn’t nothing else I could think to do. I brought her the paper and scissors and needle and thread and then, gen’lmen, she tipped her ballbusting hand! You see, she started cutting the paper in pieces about the size of those goldbacks and laying them out in a wide circle.
“So I said, ‘Mister Jessie, while she’s getting ready I think I’ll straighten up the floor a bit,’ but he was looking down and watching her, kinda brooding-like, and said, ‘McMillen, leave the damn floor alone!’
“So, gen’lmen, I was blocked, stalled at the starting gate. I had to sit there and watch her do everything I knew she was going to do. When she got through cutting up those pieces of newspaper, she started running a length of thread through one end of them. And when she had about a dozen threaded she held it up and frowned, and said, ‘Dammit, doll, this cheesy newspaper keeps tearing. I’ll never make a costume out of it. Have you got some wrapping paper?’
“Then Mister Jessie said, ‘McMillen, go in the library and get Miss Duval some of my stationery.’ And gen’lmens, that’s when she leaped in and scored.
Three Days Before the Shooting . . . Page 26
