Linden Hills

by Gloria Naylor

  Stepping carefully over the mess, he opened the refrigerator door. There wasn’t even time to brew a cup of coffee, and there was no point in looking for the instant; it had probably gone the way of the paper towels. Besides, the doctor told him that too much coffee would irritate his ulcer. He took out the pitcher of eggnog, the Scotch and nutmeg giving it a rich brown tint. He’d have to settle for this. At least there were eggs in it—protein. And the cream would coat his stomach. He waited a moment and felt his muscles relax after the first cup, and after the second, his hands didn’t tremble as much. One more and his head would probably stop throbbing. He needed a clear head for this funeral today. Nedeed would just love to see him fall on his face. The man hated him, he knew that. Well, it was just too bad. He had been hired to straighten up affairs at Sinai and the first order of business was to examine the records of the board of trustees.

  Imagine, that man had been sitting on the board for over ten years and he wasn’t even baptized. And when he refused to do that—out he went. He finally saw that his money couldn’t buy him everything. What kind of egomaniac was he anyway, wanting to be at the center of whatever was going on? Well, he had no say about what went on in Mount Sinai or this house. He was the only one in Linden Hills who didn’t owe the Nedeeds a thing. The church gave him his mortgage. And Nedeed couldn’t touch him for a thousand years and a day, not that either of them was going to live that long. Let him run around feeling high and mighty because he gave them a box to live in and a box to die in. But he needed Michael Hollis as much as the rest. Didn’t he show Nedeed about the Parker funeral? It was to be held in his church and not some godforsaken funeral parlor if it was to be held at all. He had him over a barrel on that one. Just like his house number—showed him he could pull a few strings at the zoning commission as well. What did Nedeed think he was saying with an address like 999 Tupelo Drive? If the first house on First Crescent Drive was 100, and the first on Second Crescent Drive 200, then the only house down on the last street of Tupelo Drive should be 900 if anything. Well, if his house could be 999, the Hollis home could be 000. Luther Nedeed might see himself as the omega, but Reverend Michael T. Hollis was the alpha.

  The fourth cup of eggnog started toward his mouth and he paused. This stuff was too sweet and all that sugar wasn’t going to do anything but upset his stomach. He poured half of it into the sink and diluted the rest with Scotch. The heat moved from his middle, spreading out to his limbs, the tips of his fingers and making a full circuit back to the lining of his tongue. And for me, that utterance may be given unto me that I may open my mouth boldly, to make known the mystery of the gospel … Draining the cup, he went to the closet for his cashmere overcoat, searching the pockets for his mints and tinted glasses before opening the front door on the chill December morning.

  For which I am an ambassador in chains.

  Willie shoved the last box into the truck. “Well, we’ve loaded the thing now. Is he gonna drive it?”

  “Naw, he told me to do it.”

  “Shit, you don’t have a license.”

  “He didn’t ask me if I had a license. He asked me if I knew how to drive and I told him, yeah.”

  “You’ve got no shame, you know that. Lying to a minister.”

  “It wasn’t a lie. I just didn’t volunteer any unnecessary information.”

  “Yeah, well it’s gonna get to be real necessary if a cop stops you.”

  “Look, all we gotta do is follow right behind his car all the way to the church and do whatever he does. If he makes an illegal turn, we make one. He runs a red light, we run one. And if a cop shows up, we just point to that card in the windshield and say we’re with the preacher. You ever heard of a minister getting hauled in for a traffic violation? They’re like politicians and diplomats, with special vaccinations or something.”

  “The word is immunity. And where did the we come in? It’s only three days till Christmas and the me part of your we ain’t spending it in jail. I’ll start walking and meet you over there.”

  “It’s a long walk, White—uphill.”

  “It’s even longer to the precinct.”

  “And it’s cold out there.”

  “You don’t have to worry. I hear there’s central heating now, even in solitary confinement.”

  “Well, look, if you’re dead set against coming with me, hitch a ride with Hollis. And it’s probably a lot more comfortable in that chariot than this pickup truck.”

  “Man, how am I gonna do that? He’ll wonder why I’m not with you.”

  “Well, tell him you want a Bible verse explained or something. You wanna turn your life around from the path of evil. They get a big kick out of stuff like that. Chances are you won’t get a word in edgewise anyway. Before he’s warmed up good, you’ll be over at Sinai.”

  They saw Hollis shut the front door and cut across the lawn toward the garage.

  “Here’s your chance, Willie,” Lester whispered. “Tell him it’s Ezakiah six eight.”

  “You’re crazy, I never heard of no Ezakiah in the Bible.”

  “Neither has he, but do you think he’ll admit it—just in case you’re right?”

  Hollis hesitated for a moment when he saw them. “Oh, I forgot you were out here. I was wondering why my garage door was up.” His tinted glasses took in the tightly packed truck. “You’ve done a fine job, uh, Lester. Now, which one of you is Lester?”

  “Me.” Lester smiled.

  “Yes, it’s quite fine. Excuse me for not recognizing you, but we’ve only met over the phone, right?”

  “Right. And this is my friend, Willie Mason, who really did most of the work ’cause he’s heavy into church things.”

  “That’s not true,” Willie said. “I mean, about the work. But it’s a real pleasure to meet you, Reverend Hollis. Face to face, that is, because we’ve met before but you—”

  “Oh, really. Where?”

  “At Mount Sinai,” Willie said and Hollis relaxed noticeably. “My mother always took us to the Christmas parties you gave. And I was just telling Lester how great they were and it’s really something that you’re still doing it. Ya know, I was really glad when I found out you were the one we were working for today and I had a chance to help out with this now that I’m older. I guess”—Willie stalled for a moment—“I’m making a fool of myself, but I’m just trying to say that doing this gave me a small way to say thank you for giving us so much of yourself.”

  “Why, son, that’s quite touching.” Hollis went over and shook his hand. “It’s moments like this that make my ministry worthwhile. And your contributions of time and labor are greatly appreciated by the church.”

  “No offense, Reverend,” Lester said as he stared at Willie, “but we were Episcopalians. And I never had a chance to get to those parties. So anything that Sinai can do in behalf of my time and labor would be doubly appreciated.”

  “Of course.” Hollis laughed. “The scriptures say that a workman is worthy of his hire. As soon as the Parker funeral is over and you’ve unloaded these things, we’ll settle accounts. You know the way to the church, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, but Willie was wondering if he could ride with you. There’re a few things he wanted to discuss—matters of faith.”

  “No, that’s all right, I’ll ride in the truck. You’re in a hurry.”

  “I’m never in too much of a hurry for something like that. Come on, we can talk while I drive.”

  Before Willie followed Hollis over to his car, he mouthed to Lester, “I’ll get you for this, so help me God.”

  “Aw, Willie, don’t mention it,” Lester said loudly. “It was just a small way for me to say thank you for so much of your help this morning.”

  The padded car door closed behind Willie with a soft thud. The engine turned over with the same smooth power that he felt in the tufted leather at his back and the deep carpet under his feet. And the first thrust from the accelerator sent a quiet sensation through his thighs and into the base of his stomach
. “This is really a nice car.” The tinted glass cast a blue film onto the street as they rolled out of the garage. “Four-wheel drive, too. I can tell by the way it moves.”

  “Yes, it’s useful in the winter, living on a steep incline like this. If we get a really bad storm, I would need chains even with my snow tires. And I hate the way they affect the smoothness of the ride once I’m on level ground.” Hollis reached down to adjust the heat. “So, there were some things you wanted to ask me?” He turned and smiled at Willie, who couldn’t figure out why he still needed those sunglasses on such a cloudy day and with tinted windows.

  “Well, uh, not exactly. It’s just that …” He dragged his words out to buy himself time and turned his head toward the side window to hide the panic in his face. The house number rolled by. “It’s just that I was wondering about your address—the three zeros. And everyone else’s on the street is five hundred something. I’m sure that it has some sort of spiritual meaning.”

  “Why, son, that’s quite perceptive of you. As a matter of fact, it does.”

  Willie’s deep breath carried a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever cared to listen.

  “But they aren’t zeros, they’re O’s. Three eternal circles that are quite appropriate for a home owned by the church. And after that hint, I’m sure you can guess what they stand for.”

  The only thing that came to Willie’s mind was a basketball court. But that had five circles, when you counted the hoops. That only left him the three circles that used to be on the Ballantine beer commercials.

  “Well, to be quite honest, I can think of a lot of things that might fit. But I’ll let you tell me.”

  “The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  “Yes, the holy trinity. Each having no beginning and no end. I wanted that as a reminder to the community—and myself—that there are so many forces that govern our lives beyond the material, the tangible. There is to be an accounting, son, for each and every one of us. And we can’t balance those books with our stock dividends. We better pay heed to that on this side, because when we get to the other side and the body is gone, we might just find ourselves with no soul as well.”

  As Hollis talked, the rapidly warming air brought the faint scent of sour peppermint toward Willie, carried clearly by all of the words beginning and ending with s. The this, is, stock, soul, side, Son. Willie knew he could have hidden the alcohol more easily if he didn’t use those words. His father stumbling home, smelling of licorice Sen-Sen and wintergreen Chiclets: “Come here, son.” If he had only called him “Willie” when he woke him up like that at night; then there would have been a little time to relax, a breath in which to believe that for once it was affection or legitimate urgency that prompted what he had to say. But the “son” told him as soon as he opened his eyes that he was going to stand between his father’s knees for hours, listening to a hundred questions that didn’t want answers even if a ten-year-old had them. That any indication of a desire to sleep would be to risk a slap across the ears—or worse, the sight of the man crying. If his eldest son didn’t understand, then who would? Son. Ramblings that made no sense, accusations that had no target beyond some mysterious “they.” The same sort of double-talk that he was obviously being handed now. Willie looked at the side of Hollis’s face and wondered what those zeros on his house really meant, but now he knew why he needed the tinted glasses.

  “It may be pressing the point to have it on my front lawn, but as an ordained minister, the burden does fall on me. I can’t just lie back when so much is at stake. I’ve been around for quite a while, son, and believe me, our people have changed. There used to be a real concern in the church with spirituality. Now, it’s get what you can while you can, because you don’t know what the next world will bring or even if there is a next.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s pressing the point at all.” Willie had already blocked Hollis out. As they stoped at the intersection of Linden Road and Wayne Avenue, he peered up the street, hoping that someone he knew would recognize him in the car. It wasn’t often that he showed up on that corner in an LTD. “And I’m sure people will notice your sign. We’ve been working in your neighborhood all week and Fifth Crescent Drive has the nicest homes so far, and yours is really the best one on that street.” He thought he saw Norman Anderson, but he was wrong. “When I found out it was your place, I said to myself, ‘I bet Reverend Hollis is as rich as Luther Nedeed.’”

  Hollis couldn’t detect any sarcasm in his voice and he looked at Willie sharply to see if there was any in his eyes, but his head was turned. Hollis snorted, “That’s hardly the case. My meager salary and the upkeep of that house is a small repayment for my services to the church and the community. Why, this car already has fifty thousand miles on it and it’s barely two years old. I’m surprised there’s not more mileage than that with all my running around to see the sick and shut-ins, getting to a dozen neighborhood meetings a week, and God knows how many conventions a year. Although you could draw a straight line from my front door to Nedeed’s down there at the bottom of that hill, there’s a huge difference between how I earn my subsistence and how he does. Why, my life is devoted to the Lord and he’s a … Well, never mind.”

  One of Hollis’s sentences caught Willie’s attention. “Is that true? Your house is in a direct line with his?”

  “According to the maps at the zoning commission, and it’s much larger, too. The only thing he has going for him is that his house was built before anyone else’s. He may have been squatting down there since the nineteenth century, but the church has owned the acreage for my home almost as long. Do you know the Nedeeds have been lobbying for generations to revoke the property-tax exemption on my house? Now, if that’s not blasphemy, what is? And I’m not telling you anything that isn’t public knowledge. Sure, you could run a rope from my front door to his, but it better be, fireproof when it gets to the end of Tupelo Drive.” Hollis smirked.

  “Do you ever see his wife?”

  Hollis swung the car around a sharp turn. “Now, why would I see any man’s—”

  “On the street.” Willie frowned at him. “Since your homes are so close, or perhaps at church. I was just wondering what she looked like.”

  “No, I’ve never seen her.” His voice was clipped. “That part of Linden Hills is poorly represented at Mount Sinai. You see, that brings us right back to the problem I was talking about before. They’re so concerned beyond those brick pillars about making a heaven on earth, it never dawns on them that it won’t be forever in spite of those deceptive mortgages. And quite frankly, Luther Nedeed sets a bad example for the rest. He claims to be a Baptist, but he didn’t even ask for a minister to bury his father and he’s never brought his boy to Sunday school and the child must be four or five by now. So how can you expect the rest to do any better when he has an attitude like that? It won’t do him any good, mind you, he’s fighting a losing cause. Remember that old spiritual, It’s so high you can’t get over it, So wide you can’t get around it, So deep you can’t …” Hollis gripped the steering wheel and pressed his foot down on the accelerator as he kept chanting fiercely under his breath. “… you gotta come in at the door. So high you can’t get …” The car shot up to seventy and the streets were becoming a blur. He was perspiring, the odor of moist tin coming through his after-shave. He went into a second round and the car was now up to eighty, and Willie expected him to start singing. Then they would definitely be in trouble. He wasn’t worried about the police, but there was no immunity from telephone poles for anyone.

  “That’s a nice ring you have on.” He tried to cut off the spiritual in Hollis’s third round, almost shouting as he pointed to the opal stone with a diamond-studded insignia. “I recognize the symbol. My father used to belong to the Masonic lodge.”

  The car skidded past one red light, and Hollis jammed on the brakes at the second. “Oh, did he get fed up like me? You see, that’s another one of the thousand things I ha
ve to subject myself—”

  “No, he died,” Willie cut him off, “four years ago.”

  “That’s a pity. He had to be a relatively young man.”

  “Yeah.” Willie looked out the side window. “It was cirrhosis of the liver.”

  “That’s a slow and painful way to go. It must have been hard on your mother.”

  “It was a lot harder for her when he was alive. He used to beat up on her.” He was watching Hollis’s face. “I don’t tell many people this, but you know, when I was a kid I really hated him for that, and a lot of the other things he put us through. When I got a little older, I realized it wasn’t really him doing all those things, it was the booze. I guess he drank to forget, ya know? ’Cause there was a lot out there he needed to forget if he was gonna keep going. But then it got so that he started forgetting everything—like why six kids and a wife weren’t speaking to him the next morning, and how all those people found a way to give him a lot of space in a little apartment. I don’t really know what my dad thought the bottom of that bottle could do for him, Reverend Hollis, but it had to do something.” Willie frowned and looked out the window again. “No, it had to do everything for him. Because after a while, that’s all he had and it seemed like enough.”

  The light turned green but Hollis still sat there, staring at Willie. “You know, son—”

  “Please, don’t call me ‘son.’” The request hung between anger and sadness.

  “I’m sorry, I do remember that your name is Willie. And I make it a habit to call people by their names. I guess in the back of my mind I was thinking that you could easily be the child I never had. My wife was about your complexion, and she was sharp and sensitive like you are.”