Dem

by William Melvin Kelley

  Tam’s mother thought for a moment, then put her hand on the bed. “You know you’ll have to make at least some changes.”

  “Like what?” Tam was suspicious.

  Her mother clicked her tongue. “Your father and I paid all that money to educate you, but sometimes I don’t think you learned a thing.” She shook her head. “First of all, if you’re really going to keep it, you’ll have to move to a larger place, perhaps a nice house out somewhere. And then you’ll have to dismiss your German woman, and hire a young colored girl, an ugly dark one. Not too attractive.” She turned and looked at Mitchell. “Then she can walk the babies and your new friends will assume the darker one is hers.” She brightened. “It will do wonders for your reputation. Your new friends will be sure you took in this nice, ugly girl, and allowed her to keep her child with her. Now do you see what I mean? You should’ve at least thought of that. Sometimes I don’t know what you’d do without me.” She turned her cheek to Tam. “But I love you, even if sometimes you are shortsighted.”

  Tam kissed her, then looked at Mitchell. “Do you know any real estate men?”

  “I think so.” Perhaps someone at the office, who lived in the suburbs, would know something.

  “You mean you don’t know who you know?” Tam sucked her tongue.

  “Now, Tam, don’t be too hard on Mitchell.” Tam’s mother stood up. “He’s your husband and you have to try to be nice to him. He’ll do his best.” She looked so deeply into his eyes that finally he had to turn away. She put her arms around him and kissed him on the side of his mouth. He could feel a hard ruby pin lodging in a space between his ribs. “He’s a dear man, just like your father.”

  “You’re embarrassing him.” Tam was amused. But Mitchell was more surprised than embarrassed.

  “Do I embarrass you, Mitchell?” She caught and held his eye again, hugged him tighter, swaying slightly, her knees against his shins.

  “No, Mother.” Strangely, the fire in his stomach was dying out.

  “That’s very good.” She rubbed the small of his back, then released him. “Well, I just came to make sure everything was all right.” She went to the bed, leaned down and kissed Tam’s cheek. “Someday you’ll have to tell me all about your two new babies.”

  Tam smiled. “I will.” She thought for a moment. “How’s Jake?”

  “Just fine. But I’m going to keep him for three more weeks. It’ll give you time to get settled, find a new girl and all. And it will certainly do him a lot of good.”

  “That’s good. Thank you, Mother.”

  “It’s really nothing. Besides, I want to see him grow up correctly.” She kissed Tam again. “If I hurry I can get one of those shuttles back. Bye-bye.” She patted Tam’s arm, looked once more at Mitchell, and smiled. “Good-bye, Mitchell.” He heard her hard heels in the corridor.

  Her mother had left a smile on Tam’s face. She looked happy, but tired. Finally, her smile sank away, water into sand, and she turned to Mitchell. “My poor dear. You must feel left out of things, like all new fathers.”

  He hated to acknowledge the grain of jealousy. “A little.”

  “Well, she’s gone now. Come here to me. You’re being very sweet.”

  As long as she recognized some of the feelings that moved inside him, everything else seemed unimportant. He sat down in the chair, and she kissed him, her lips barely parted, tight across her teeth. He found himself hoping it would not be too long before she came home.

  7

  TAM’S MOTHER, her young legs crossed, sat waiting for him near the elevator on the street floor. She stood up, took his arm and led him out into the early winter wind. “This is very serious, Mitchell. I believe she really intends to keep it.”

  For a moment, he was too surprised to answer. His mind had seen her in a taxi heading for the airport. Now she was beside him, the top of her head at his shoulder. She was wearing a dark suit, a light green silk blouse open at her wrinkled neck. The ruby pin stood out just above where the jacket dropped straight down from the ends of her breasts. Her face was smooth and young. “Well, you certainly don’t want her to keep it, do you?”

  He only wanted to make up for all that he had done to her. If keeping the baby would make her happy, then she could keep it. But he wondered how to tell his mother-in-law that what she wanted would make Tam unhappy. “No, I don’t. But she wants to keep it. So…”

  She halted them in the center of the sidewalk, let go his arm. He looked at her hair, slightly gray and cut short. “Oh, Mitchell, I’m just a wretched meddling old fool.” She looked up, her chin quivering. “I’m always flying up to New York to run your lives.”

  Halfway down the block a policeman was watching. He set his face and began toward them, swinging his brown club.

  Mitchell put his arm around her shoulder. “Come on, Mother. Let’s go someplace and sit down. It’ll be all right.” All this seemed to be bringing them closer together. His stomach rested.

  She leaned against him. Though she looked very solid, Mitchell was always surprised by how soft she was. “Would you like a drink or something?” They were just passing the black window of a cocktail lounge. Before answering, she squinted through the glass at the few well-dressed couples on high stools.

  “Yes, I think I’d like something.” She smiled at him.

  Inside, they sat in one of the booths that lined the wall. Upholstered in red leather, they were too small; no matter how he shifted he always seemed to be touching one of her knees.

  A red light over her head left her face in dark red shadow. “You’re being very nice to me.” She shook her head. “I haven’t always been very nice to you, I’m afraid.”

  She was telling the truth. “I don’t think we’ve really had a chance to talk. I mean, if we had, you’d have seen how much I love Tam, how hard I try to make her happy.” He looked at the red palms of his hands. “I haven’t always been successful, I guess…”

  “I know now that you want Tam to be happy. I can see how much you’re willing to endure.”

  He was just about to ask what she meant when the bartender came to the booth and took their order. Tam’s mother wanted tea; Mitchell ordered a martini. When the bartender left, Mitchell leaned forward. “What did you mean by endure?”

  She rested her hands on the small table. “Well, it’s obvious that…the bartender wants you.”

  For a moment he did not understand her, then turning toward the bar, he found the bartender waving at him, small eyes in a large white face. Mitchell excused himself.

  “Listen, pal, I’m not butting in.” The bartender patted his shoulder. “But what kind of racket you running?”

  “Racket?”

  The bartender closed his eyes. “You really want the old doll to have tea? Now, I got pills and vodka’s all right. No taste. But…” He looked at his hand, lying palm up on the bar.

  Mitchell laughed quietly. “No. She’s my mother-in-law.”

  “I know all that. But does she really get just plain tea?”

  “I’m sorry. Yes, she wants tea.”

  The bartender shrugged, turned away. “Everybody does it different.”

  Mitchell returned to the booth. “He wanted to know how I wanted my martini.”

  She nodded. He wished he could see her face. “At any rate, Mitchell, it won’t be easy. That baby will cause you a great deal of pain. You might even lose your job.” Her teeth shone pink—even—slanted inward from the gum. “But there I go meddling again. You’re very brave.” She shifted and her knee slipped between his thighs.

  He tried to disentangle himself, but could not get far enough back into the soft, narrow seat. The bartender brought their order.

  “No one at my job has to know.” He was beginning to see her face now, his eyes adjusting to the light.

  “But they will.” She squeezed the juice of a le
mon-slice into her cup. “I’m not going to say any more gloomy things. We really should celebrate. I’ve become a grandmother for the second and third time. You’re a father for the second time.” She lifted her cup. He touched it with his martini.

  “It’s not easy to be a mother, Mitchell.” She sipped her tea, lips quivering against the heat. “First one goes through a great deal of pain to conceive, and then to give birth. Then one watches a child grow up and marry and have children of its own. And one wants to make certain the child will be happy. That doesn’t seem too much to ask, does it?” She reached across the table and put her hand on top of his.

  He did not want to hold her hand, but did not dare insult her by pulling away, not when they were getting along so well. “No, Mother.”

  “I don’t think so either. Not after all the pain one can experience in a life.” She returned his hand.

  He wondered how much pain she had really experienced. All her life she had been at least moderately wealthy.

  She must have read his face. “Pain has nothing to do with poverty. The poor, in fact, are fortunate. They have no responsibilities. If a poor woman no longer loves her husband, she simply leaves him. But the wealthy don’t have that kind of freedom. At least, we don’t.”

  Mitchell finished his martini, an oily drink, and beckoned to the bartender to bring another.

  “We suffer bitterly. We carry the responsibility of the entire civilization.” She nodded. “We are the original people. Do you understand? Without people like us, this would be a lower-class Southern European slum. There would be no civilization at all. Those people ran from civilization, from education. We didn’t. The real burden of maintaining civilization falls on us, especially on our women. The men may oversee the land, but we women maintain the culture. That’s what it is to be a mother, Mitchell.” She patted her mouth with a napkin. “You don’t really understand me, do you.”

  “Of course, I do, Mother,” he lied.

  She closed her eyes slowly, then opened them—stared at him. “Of course, you do.” She leaned forward, flattening the bottoms of her breasts against the table, forcing the tops out of the neck of her blouse. “I’m hungry. Aren’t you? Why don’t you take me to dinner?”

  8

  THEY DID NOT arrive home until nearly five in the morning. First, at his mother-in-law’s suggestion they ate dinner at a Japanese restaurant, where girls in kimonos, soft as flowers, had prepared their food right at their table. After that Tam’s mother asked him if he wanted to go dancing. “Aren’t we supposed to be celebrating? Don’t people dance when they celebrate?”

  She did not dance well. But unlike Tam, she let him lead, standing close to him, her face serious, her eyes fixed on the knot of his tie. Mitchell even surprised himself by talking her into doing the newer dances.

  At three-thirty, he realized he must be quite drunk; at the time he was sipping at his tenth martini, between puffs and bites on a dollar cigar. Tam’s mother, across from him, the dance floor behind her as alive as canned worms, seemed the only peaceful person in the room. Her suit remained unwrinkled. Her green silk blouse was still fresh, though one button had come undone, and he could see the seam of what looked like a man’s undershirt.

  He reached out and touched her hand. “I seem drunk to you, Mother?”

  “Of course not. You hold yourself very well.” By mistake he blew cigar smoke into her eyes and she made a face. “But I am getting a little tired. You know, I’m not a young woman.”

  Through the smoke he looked at the undershirt seam, some ribbed fabric. Like Tam, her breasts were freckled. “That’s not true at all.”

  “You’re very kind, Mitchell.”

  They started home. In the lobby of his building, the alcohol became too heavy for Mitchell to carry alone. She supported him, his hand gripping the soft flesh under her arm. “I’m sorry, Mother. Really. I guess I had too much to drink.”

  “That’s all right, Mitchell. You don’t become a father of a Negro every day.”

  He gave her the key; she carried him straight to the kitchen. “I’ll make you some coffee and you’ll feel much better.”

  She sat him at the kitchen table, took off her jacket, began opening and closing cabinets, knowing where everything was kept. He would watch, then find his chin resting on the cold plastic tabletop. “I’m sloppy. I hate sloppy drunks. I’m sorry. You must think I’m a…a…”

  “Now, now I don’t. You’re all right.” She set the coffee to boil, sat across from him, staring at him. In the bright light, he could see her face much better, and the dark lines across her neck, the open green collar, the freckles. “Now you just wait here, Mitchell. I’m going to find one of Tam’s nightgowns and put out your pajamas.” She left the kitchen, her skirt not quite hiding the blue veins behind her knees.

  The coffee began to gurgle. He watched the bubbles rising up the glass tube, spurting into the thick glass dome, turning the water brown. He wondered why until now, he and Tam’s mother had not been able to get along. He had often tried to start conversations, but she had always finished them quickly. Now, perhaps their common concern for Tam had forced them to talk, to get acquainted.

  “Well, how are you feeling?” The nightgown was too big for her, hanging wide at the neck, more freckles than ever, and almost to her ankles. Her feet were bare, the nails, surprisingly, painted blue. She went to the stove. “You’ll have to find me a robe and some slippers later. I suppose I look indecent. But, after all, you’re my son-in-law, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

  Mitchell clamped his knees together, ashamed. “Of course not.”

  “I’ll have your coffee in a moment.” She had to stand on the tips of her blue toes to reach the cups. Finally she brought the steaming coffee and sat across from him.

  “Thank you, Mother.” It had been years since Tam had cooked anything for him. He mentioned it.

  “That’s because you’re too kind. You don’t ask her to do it, do you?”

  He shook his head. “She always refused, so finally I stopped asking.” The coffee was warming his stomach, but the steam rising into his nostrils, clouded his mind. Then he heard himself say: “All this isn’t my fault just alone. A lot of it is. I know that. I really do. But I tried my best. I’ll never be a millionaire, but I tried to be good to her.” He wiped his nose with his palm. “But I guess it wasn’t good enough.”

  “Now, don’t, Mitchell.” She stretched out her hand to him.

  He looked at it and continued: “Sometimes I just want to go back into the Service, and fight in one of the wars. Then I’d know I was being useful. I wasn’t a great soldier, but I tried to do my best.” He shook his head. “And now she runs out and sleeps with a nigger. A nigger! Not even a white man. If it had been a white man, I might never have known.” He shut his eyes, trying to keep the water inside.

  He felt her hands on his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he saw nothing but the soft gauze of the nightgown. “Now, now, Mitchell. Let Mother tell you what to do.” The squares of gauze grew bigger, covering his face. He put his arms around her, pulled her to him as he used to do when his own mother came to rescue him from the little men who pecked at his eyes with ice picks. He rested his forehead in the triangle just below, between her breasts. “Now, now.”

  She lowered herself slowly onto his lap, and kissed his mouth gently. “Let Mother tell you what you must do if you want Tam to love you.”

  He looked at her face now; it was kind and smiling, a mother’s face. She patted his cheek.

  “She’s my daughter, Mitchell, and I know her. Sometimes, for her own good, I’ve had to force her to do things. I couldn’t just let her have her own way all the time. Now, she wants to keep that child. And you’re ready to let her, aren’t you, because you think it will make her happy. But you know that it won’t make her happy, don’t you.”

  He nodded. “But wh
at—”

  She stopped him with another kiss. “Dear, Mitchell, let me tell you what. You must find out who the father is. Then—”

  “She already told me. I know who he is.”

  “Good.” She shifted on his lap, soft, and not at all heavy. “Now you must go to him. And you must convince him to take the child. It won’t be difficult. He probably loves Tam and wants her to be happy.” She put cold fingers to his mouth. “I know it’s hard to accept that another man loves your wife. But it’s not any more difficult than accepting that she’s had his child. But what does it matter really? She couldn’t have any feeling for him. She doesn’t have any feeling for the child. She just feels that since she went through all that pain, she must have something to show for it. You thank God that you’ll never have to bring a child into the world.” She smiled. “Now does that make sense to you? Of course it does. You see, Mitchell, something like this could completely ruin your life. You don’t know that because in New York it doesn’t happen very often. But in Washington, we’ve had more experience and know what to do. All this must seem difficult, I know, especially doing something Tam doesn’t want done. But you must be man enough to do it. You must make up your own mind and act on your decision. Now, isn’t Mother right?”

  He had to admit that she was, and told her so.

  “That’s a good boy.” She put her arm around his neck, hugged him, kissed his cheek. “Now, you go get ready for bed and I’ll come and say good night.” She climbed off his lap.

  She had turned down the spread, put clean pajamas on the pillow. He undressed and got into bed. He missed Tam’s weight on the other side. In a while, Tam’s mother knocked and came in. She leaned over and kissed him. His eyes closed on a milky way of freckles.

  He slept until four the next afternoon. Wetting his numbed tongue, he read the note she had left on the bed table:

  Dear Mitchell:

  Filled with respect for my son-in-law, I’m taking an early plane back to Washington. I have always known you were a good man. Now I realize that you are also a strong man. You have decided to do the right thing. I’m very proud of you.