Catfish Alley

by Lynne Bryant

  "You know that I'm saving money to go to college as soon as I can?" he asks, not looking up.

  "Yes, I know," I say, feeling my heart start to beat faster, wondering where he's going with this.

  He squats again for another rock and pauses there, staring at the river. "And then I'm going to medical school."

  "Yes."

  "I can't let anything stop me. And, well ..." He seems a little flustered, but I let him sort it out. He stands and turns to me. "It's just that I have to do this, Adelle. I want to be able to support my family. I want my kids to have a house like your daddy provided...."

  "I understand," I say. Why does he look so worried? I've never doubted for one minute that he'll do everything he's planned.

  "What's wrong, Zero?"

  He stands and glances back toward the church folks. I look, too, and I can see his grandma deep in conversation with my mama. Mama lifts her hand and motions for us to come back. I ignore her.

  His words come out all in a rush as he stands up and comes over to me. "It's just that I'd like us to have an understanding...."

  My heart is in my throat now as he takes my hands and turns so that his back is to our people, shielding me from their view. "I was hoping that when I'm done, and when I'm ready to provide for us, that you and me could ... get married." He pushes the last words out as if he's been holding his breath.

  I don't know whether to laugh or cry. It seems like such an impossibly long time. College, then medical school. I'll be so old by then. He must see the confusion on my face. He drops my hands and thrusts his hands into his pockets.

  "Will you at least think about it?"

  I realize then that he thinks I'm hesitant. I laugh at the thought that he can't see I'm crazy for him. He starts to turn away.

  "No, wait." I reach for his arm. "Yes, Zero. That's what I want, too ... to marry you." I take a deep breath. "I'll wait as long as you need me to."

  Mama's calling my name now. Zero and I both turn and shout, "Coming!" at the same time. When we see our folks start to pack up the dinner, Zero grabs my hand and pulls me behind a huge tree near the riverbank. He gently places his hands on either side of my waist and leans down for a kiss. It's a sweet kiss, full of promise.

  "I love you, Addie Jackson," he says.

  "I love you, too, Zero," I say, throwing my arms around his neck.

  As we start back to join our families to prepare for the afternoon filled with singing, my heart is about to burst with joy. I feel like it will be obvious to everyone that Zero and I are truly a couple now. I'm so preoccupied with my own thoughts that I don't notice anything strange until Zero suddenly stops.

  "I'll see you at the singing," he says, and he's gone, walking toward a group of men I now notice are standing apart from the women, who are busily packing boxes and baskets with leftover food. All the contentment

  I was feeling is instantly replaced with a sharp sting of fear. My papa and Mr. Morris are talking to two white men. In the distance I can see a truck parked on the road. Two white boys are sitting in the back of the truck. I find Mama wrapping leftover corn bread in wax paper.

  "Mama, what's going on?"

  She looks up at me, then glances in the direction of where Papa stands quietly listening as the white man shakes his finger near Papa's face. The look on her face matches the feeling I have in my stomach.

  "That's John Davenport from the mill, and A. W. Spencer from the bank. They're having a word with your papa," she says, as if this is an everyday occurrence. But I can tell from the way her hands are shaking that she's not as calm as she's trying to look.

  "A word about what?"

  "I don't know, child," she says sharply. "Here, help me pack this food." She hands me a cake to wrap and I take it, still watching the men. Zero has joined the group now and, as I watch, he walks over near my papa, looking defiantly at the white men. Papa never takes his eyes off John Davenport as his arm comes out and gently pushes Zero back.

  "Where's Junior?" I ask, thinking that he should be there with Papa, standing up, like

  Zero, to these white men.

  "He and Grace left already to help get the hymnbooks ready over at the church."

  I finish wrapping the cake and help Mama carry the boxes to our car. The truck with the white boys in the back is parked nearby, and as Mama and I approach, the boys whistle and make rude comments.

  I start to say something and Mama stops me. "Just ignore them," she says.

  "But, Mama, they shouldn't be talking to us that way."

  "I know it, child. But sometimes it's better to keep your head down and your mouth shut."

  Everything inside me rebels at this statement, but I trust my mama. So I stay quiet and feel all of my earlier happiness and excitement draining out of me through the big hole that's opened up in my perfect day.

  Grace

  "So what were those men talking to your lather about?" asks Roxanne.

  "I overheard Mama and Papa later that evening when we got home," Adelle replies. "Papa said that John Davenport had somehow gotten wind of Papa and some of the other colored businessmen trying to get more colored folks to vote. He told Mr. Spencer and they decided to come by and have a talk with Papa."

  "About what?" Roxanne asks. She hasn't caught the irony in Adelle's voice.

  I decide to jump in. "You see, Roxanne, those white men didn't want the colored folks to start voting, acting like we had rights."

  "But they couldn't stop you. What did they say?"

  Adelle answers with a sigh. "It was just another of those thinly veiled threats. I remember that night how Papa almost spat out the words when he told Mama what they'd said. 'We wouldn't want trouble stirred up in our little community, now, would we, Dr. Jackson?' I was afraid for Papa after that."

  I nod in agreement and Roxanne doesn't say a word. I don't think she knows what to say. As we're driving home, I can tell she wants to ask more questions about Zero. But I just can't bring myself to talk about Zero more than a little bit at a time. I want her to know how special he was. I want her to see him through my eyes, not white folks' eyes.

  We get back to my house after seeing Mattie and Adelle home, and Roxanne walks me to the back door with that big old umbrella of hers, and then she plops herself down in the rocking chair on my screened porch.

  "I think I'll wait on the rain to let up a little bit before I head back," she says.

  I think she just doesn't want to go home. I don't know much of her story because we've been so focused on mine, and I'm not sure I want to know. Probably none of my business anyway. But she sure seems lonesome.

  I go over and sit beside her in the other rocker. "Are you married, Roxanne?" I ask. I figure this is a safe enough question. She wears a wedding ring and a big old diamond on her left hand.

  She sighs and says, "For now, I am. My husband and I are ... separated." She seems to have a hard time getting this out, but then she rushes to say real quick, "But no one knows ... in the community, that is ... and, well, I haven't exactly told my daughter yet, either."

  "So you have a daughter, do you?" I ask.

  This makes her smile. "Yes, her name is Milly — Millicent, actually. She married last summer. A really sweet boy from Natchez. I hey met at Ole Miss. He's going to be a lawyer." The way she says this, I can tell .he's real proud.

  "I see, and what's your daughter going to do?"

  "Oh, I don't think she knows what she wants. She's not as driven as I've always been."

  I look over at her and realize that she's got tears starting down her cheeks. She's trying to wipe them off her face without me noticing. Probably embarrassed to be crying in front of an old woman like me. I reach in my pocket and pull out a clean handkerchief and hand it to her. I'm a little surprised when she takes it. She dabs at her eyes and glances at me.

  "Thank you," she says. "I'm not sure what's wrong with me today. I don't usually talk about such personal things."

  "I can understand that," I say. I'm thinki
ng to myself that Lord knows I don't want to tell any more of my stories today. I decide to see if maybe she just needs a little prompting. It's clear to me that she could use a talk. I'm trying to sort out what question to ask. "Is your daughter close to her daddy?"

  "Oh, yes, very close. She thinks he hung the moon. That's why I haven't said anything. I just hate to disappoint her that way."

  "That sounds like a big old burden to be carrying by yourself," I say.

  "What do you mean?" she asks.

  "Your daughter's a grown-up married woman now. Surely she knows that things happen between men and women sometimes. Misunderstandings and the like."

  "Maybe. I guess I've always protected her from anything unpleasant."

  "You got some of your lady friends you can talk to about things with your husband?" I ask. Surely she's not going to talk to me. She hardly knows me.

  She thinks about this for a while, and I notice she dabs at her eyes some more. Then she takes a deep breath and her voice is a little stronger. "I don't really have friends that I talk to about ... you know ... me. To tell you the truth, Grace, seeing you and Adelle and Mattie makes me realize I've never had a friend like that."

  I nod and rock, thinking how I don't know what I'd have done without those two. "That's a shame," I say. I'm not sure how to respond, but I'm curious. "How come you never made good friends? You move around a lot growing up?"

  "No. We didn't move around. As a matter of fact, my parents were born and died in the same town."

  "Was that here in Mississippi?"

  "Um ... no ... it was Louisiana."

  For some reason she seems hesitant. I sit waiting. Don't want to push her. I can almost feel her wheels turning. What could be so hard to talk about? Suddenly, she completely changes the subject back to Zero. Here we go again. "So, it sounds like your brother, Zero, was able to go off to college. That must have been quite a feat, especially during the Depression," she says, raising her eyebrows, trying to get me to talk some more.

  Somewhere along the way, I guess I've given her the impression that Zero changed his mind and left Clarksville after all and lived out his days somewhere else, happy being a doctor. What if he had never gone to Ellen Davenport's house that night? Things might have turned out differently. He labored at that sawmill all those long months, saving every penny, even though Ray Tanner treated him worse than the dogs hanging around there begging for scraps from the dinner buckets. But Zero kept saying he was so close. And that night, he said how that was forty dollars closer to him making tuition, all two hundred dollars, for a whole year.

  I guess I'll never know what really happened. It seems I should be resigned to that by now. So many things changed for me during those years when I left Clarksville. Tougaloo College was my salvation. Zero believed Alcorn State would be his.

  "So where did you say Zero went to college?" Roxanne asks.

  "Alcorn State College in Itta Bena," I say. Just then Walter knocks on the screen door, wanting to ask me something about the yard, and Roxanne jumps like the boogey-man got her. Walter wouldn't hurt a fly, but she'll never know that long as she keeps running off every time she sees him.

  "I'd better get on home so you can have your nap," she says, and scoots past Walter real quick, grabs that umbrella, and heads for her car.

  Chapter 6

  Roxanne

  I'm sipping on an RC and trying to piece together what I have so far for this African-American tour. Not much. A schoolhouse-turned-lumber-warehouse, a doctor's house, and a dilapidated hotel. Great. I feel the knot in my stomach growing. I have to report to the committee tomorrow and this is pathetic. I try to scribble some notes about Dr. Albert Jackson. What was the name of that black medical school he went to?

  My house is too big and too quiet — that's the problem. Sitting here in the kitchen I remember what it was like before Milly married and left last summer. There was a constant flurry of activity — wedding preparations, dress fittings, flower selections. I loved that time with her. I finally got to experience all of the parts of a wedding that I never had since Dudley and I eloped, much to his mother's chagrin. Penelope Reeves was apoplectic when he brought me home to meet her. She disguised it well, being the genteel type, but I was, of course, terrified. What could I do to prove myself worthy of the Reeves name? Having Milly helped. She wasn't tainted by an uncertain past. It always bothered Dudley's mother that she couldn't pin down my ancestry. Thankfully, she threw all of her energy into Milly and I dodged her social bullet. And, in the meantime, I built a social circle for myself that even she couldn't question.

  Now, not only is Milly gone, but Dudley is, too. How naive I was to believe he'd never cheat on me! But then, he's always had everything he wanted — money, education, even this house he inherited from his family. None of it means as much to him as it always has to me. What should I do? Should I take him back? I can't fathom why i hat young woman would put up with him and his tiresome obsession with Civil War history. The knot in my stomach tightens more. I wonder if he loves her. Was all that business about being tired of waiting on me to forgive him just an excuse? Stop it, I tell myself. You've got work to do.

  Thankfully, the phone ringing interrupts my downward spiral about Dudley. It's Lousa Humboldt. She barely lets me say hello before she launches in.

  "You all are just not going to believe this!" she says in that stupid attempt at a Southern accent. "I think Riverview has a ghost! Won't that be special when we get on the Pilgrimage Tour?"

  "How about that? Really?" I'm trying to act interested since my bid for her restoration project went in last week. Everybody and his brother around here has a ghost. One more is not going to increase the tour attendance. But I let her rattle on.

  "Do you remember the old woman who died here? What was her name?"

  "Davenport. Ellen Davenport." I picture fat old Ellen Davenport. She practically ate herself to death, I've heard. I can't imagine her flitting around anywhere, unless ghosts can roll. The story I heard was something about her pining away for years for a boy who married someone else. I seem to be surrounded right now with women, alive or lead, who spent most of their lives alone. Is this some kind of sign? Is this what's going to happen to me?

  "Well, I kept hearing something last night up in the attic."

  "You know, Louisa, you probably have bats," I say. I don't want her to get her hopes up.

  "No, I'm sure it wasn't a bat. Because, listen to this. Today, I was poking around the attic. There's a ton of old stuff up there. And I found a trunk full of letters and a diary."

  I'm thinking Ellen Davenport probably kept a diary of everything she ate for sixty years. "Uh-huh," I say, reaching for my RC.

  "It's Ellen Davenport's diary and it starts in 1926. I think she must have been about sixteen years old." Louisa is so excited she's forgetting to try to sound Southern.

  "Mm-hm," I say, stifling a yawn. I think I'll take a nap. It's still raining and I don't feel like writing today.

  "Well, anyway, I want you to look at it when you come here for the committee meeting tomorrow. You might recognize some of the names. There's only one, so far, that looks familiar to me."

  "Oh, really," I say. "And who is that?"

  "Um ... let me see ..." I hear shuffling in the background.

  "Tanner ... Ray Tanner? Isn't that the name of that lumber business over on the south side?"

  That makes sense. The Davenport family was in the timber business for years. They probably worked with the Tanners. I think again of Del Tanner's refusal to let us look at his warehouse and grit my teeth. Louisa is still yammering on.

  "And let's see, there's an Andy Benton — apparently, she was in love with him. And there's a funny name ... someone named Zero?"

  I almost drop the phone. "Zero Clark?" I ask.

  "I don't see any last name. She's just writing something about Zero delivering a package ... Her writing is really difficult to make out."

  I promise Louisa I will look at the diary fi
rst thing tomorrow after our meeting and hang up. I stop myself before dialing Grace Clark's number. She seems so mysterious about her brother. Maybe there are things in that diary she doesn't want known. I'll just see what it says and then decide whether or not to talk to her about it next Tuesday.

  Chapter 7

  Del Tanner

  As I sit on a barstool at Dewey's sipping a cold Bud, I try to figure out how the hell I got myself into the mess I'm in. We Tanners been running the lumberyard since Daddy took it over in 1941, the year before I was born. Lumber's always been plentiful and profitable. But I've never been able to make the business work as well as my daddy. Folks around here always talk about him. "That Ray Tanner," they say, "he had such a good head for business." I'd like to tell them, Daddy didn't have to deal with all these worthless niggers. Back in Daddy's day, black men wanted to work and you could get a good day's labor out of them.

  What I can't sort out is how I'm supposed to pay the damn health insurance or workman's comp on a bunch of employees who would just as soon spit on me as work. It used to be, the boys were loyal. They were willing to work for what the Tanners could pay. Glad to have a job. Now, I can barely keep anybody for six months before they up and quit.

  If that ain't enough, Alice is on a tear about building a new house. She keeps complaining that we need to live in a better neighborhood. The last thing I want to do is move. When Daddy built the Tanner house, it was in a prime part of town, near all of the right people and all of the right places. Then those developers started building up subdivisions on the south side of town. Good for business, but all the white people started moving out there. I can't abide the thought of selling my daddy's house to some nigger. It just ain't right. But if I don't, I'm going to end up in the middle of an all-black neighborhood.

  And if that ain't enough, that Reeves woman shows up the other day with that old woman waiting outside in her car. Asking about my warehouse and some damn school. That's the last thing I want to hear about. I'll burn that warehouse down before I turn it into some tourist attraction for a bunch of Yankees. Let'm all burn in hell.