by Keene, Day
“I thought Beau acted different.”
“It must be hell to have to constantly apologize for livin’. Like that case I won this afternoon. Sam Peabody’s a good citizen, a monied man as men, white or colored, go, in this section. He has five hundred acres of good land, a nice house, sound barns, some blooded cattle, even a tractor. He’s worked hard for what he has. But he also has white neighbors, for the most part red-necked poor-white trash who haven’t chopped a bushel of Johnson grass in their lives. But when one o’ them, nasty drunk an’ jealous, came at Peabody with a revolver, usin’ as an excuse that some shoats belongin’ to Peabody got into his peanut patch, an’ Peabody, in defense of his life had to shoot him with a .410 gauge bird gun, because the dead man was white an’ Peabody colored, a coroner’s jury recommended he be tried for murder. An’ ‘cause I got him off, there are folks in town accusin’ me o’ playin’ politics.”
Dona looked at the men standing at the bar. “Your fellow attorneys don’t seem to feel that way.”
“The higher the mentality the less the prejudice. Not that any of the boys would shake a colored man’s hand or call him by anythin’ but his first name. An’ I misdoubt that’s a deep-seated intellectual conviction. It’s more a tradition expected of us. Outside of the real old-timers an’ the illiterates back in the swamps, few of us believe that color, per se, makes an individual inferior to another. Not that discrimination an’ segregation won’t go on for years, no matter what the Federal courts rule. It’s a matter of economics, of survival. But I think, as time goes on the drawn line will grow fainter an’ fainter.”
“What about inter-marriage?”
“Let’s not get off on that subject. The devil can quote the scripture to serve his purpose. So can any preacher or rabbi or priest. So can any good lawyer. But it’s too big a subject for me. You can point out the Queen of Sheba as black but comely an’ Solomon lay all night betwixt her breasts in a green bed, an’ that when Moses was still fairly young and lusty he married an Ethiopian woman an’ when Miriam and Aaron objected, the Lord came down in the pillar of the cloud an’ stood in the door of the tabernacle an’ raised hob with them. But we down here have been raised with this thing. It’s been in our blood for generations.
“I’d say it depended on the individuals involved. Not that I know of any Negroes, outside of an occasional hard-put buck like Beau, who are any more anxious to tear down the racial barrier than we are. All they want is to be recognized as members of the human race.”
Dona picked up her purse. “I’d better get back to the cottage. I have some things I want to do.”
Ames beckoned to their waiter. “I’ll walk with you to your car.”
The bulk of the crowd had left town. Only the normal number of loafers remained in the square.
Ames loosened the knot of his tie still more. “How about me comin’ out for a swim?”
Dona glanced sideways at him. “I don’t think you’d better.”
“Then how about dinner tonight? I know a roadhouse down on the river where they serve jambalaya that would make Roy Alciatore gnash his teeth.”
“Who’s Roy Alciatore?”
“The fellow who owns Antoine’s. You know, in New Orleans.”
Dona was tempted but she didn’t trust herself. If she went out with Jack, the evening would probably degenerate into a repetition of the first night she’d met him; this time because she liked him, because she was physically attracted to him.
She put him off. “Not tonight, Jack.”
“Why not?”
“For several reasons.”
“Name one.”
“You’ve another big day tomorrow.”
He tabulated his cases on his fingers. “Two breakin’ an’ enterin’. Two aggravated assaults. A bastardy case. One statutory rape. Could be you’re right.” He lighted two cigarettes and gave one to her. “When will I see you again?”
Dona stopped beside her car. “I don’t know. Are you certain you want to see me?”
“I told you where I stood last night.”
“But you’ve changed since then. You changed in the lounge when you learned I was Estrella’s daughter.”
“How?”
“In the way you look at me, the way you act. What did you start to tell me, then change your mind about saying?”
Ames sucked at his cigarette. “Just a crazy idea I’ve had in the back of my mind for some time. Nothin’ that concerns you.”
“There were only the two of us.”
Ames turned his head to watch a blue sedan that was traveling much too fast for existing conditions. “The damn fool.”
“Who?”
“Beau.”
“That was Beau in that car?”
“An’ drinkin’ again. Anyway, on the prod.”
“How can you tell?”
“By the way he’s drivin’. But to get back to us.”
“Yes — ”
“The longer you know me, the more you’ll realize I have a lot of human failing’s an’ flaws in my so-called character. But I never say anythin’ I don’t mean. An’ I meant everythin’ I said this mornin’ about wantin’ you to meet my sister, takin’ you to church, buyin’ you a box o’ candy. But if I happen to have a few mental reservations as to the wisdom of a small town lawyer payin’ court to the daughter of one of the country’s most famous an’ highly paid singers — ”
Ames stopped talking and stepped off the curb to look up at the corner in front of the hotel just as two cars collided with an impact that almost drowned the shrill, frightened scream of a horse. “Oh, Lord,” Ames said. “Here we go again.”
Dona walked around the trunk of her car to stand beside him. Directly under the traffic light the hood of Beau’s blue sedan, its metal crumpled like tissue paper, was firmly imbedded in the right hand side of a pale yellow Lincoln Capri. Attached to the Lincoln was a horse trailer, bearing the name BLAIR STERLING PLANTATIONS.
Chapter Sixteen
AROUSED FROM their torpor by the colliding cars and the scream of the horse, the men on the benches got to their feet. Merchants came out of their stores. Faces appeared in the windows of the hotel. The street door of the cocktail lounge opened. Country folk still in town hurried up the walk or crossed the square of shaded green, adding their numbers to the crowd gathered round the two cars. A police siren wailed. Horns began to blow.
“Let’s go have a look-see,” Ames said.
His scarred face white with anger, Blair Sterling was attempting to quiet the terrified mare in the trailer. With nostrils distended, eyes rolling, and whinnying her fear, she was rearing stiff-necked in an effort to break the halter rope that snubbed her to the tie-bar of the trailer. Beau, stunned or injured, sat gripping the wheel of his car, watching Sterling through the shards of his shattered windshield.
One of the bell boys from the hotel said, “I’ll gentle her, Mister Sterlin’.” He crawled over the tailgate and caught the halter rope. “Steady, girl. Steady, now. It’s all right.” His free hand kneaded the mare’s quivering flesh. “Unlax now, afore you hurt yo’se’f.”
The frightened mare stopped trying to snap the tie rope and gradually quieted under his expert hands. Sterling looked over the tail gate of the trailer. “Is anything broken, Luther?”
The boy’s head disappeared as he felt the mare’s legs. “No, sir, Mister Sterlin’. She doan seem to have taken no harm. She’s standin’ sound an’ square an’ she ain’t bleedin’ nowhere.” His head re-appeared. “She’s jist shook up a bit, I’d say.”
Chief of Police Clyde Simpson stationed four officers at the four entrances to the intersection, then came back to the two cars. “Are you hurt, Mr. Sterling?”
Sterling tapped one of his dusty heels with the riding crop he was carrying. “No. I braced myself when I saw he was going to plow into me.” He looked at the pale yellow Lincoln. The entire right side was pushed in. A growing pool of oil spread across the red bricks. “But the nigger sure played hell with my
car.”
The frame of the door of the blue sedan was sprung. Simpson had to wrench it open. “How about you, Beau? You hurt?”
“No, sir.”
“Then why don’t you get out? You been drinking?”
Beau got out of his car. “No, sir. It’s just it happened so sudden, I still can’t believe it did.”
“It happened, all right,” Sterling said. “What was the idea of running the light?”
Beau took a deep breath and said, “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. Why did you run the light?”
“But I didn’t run the light, Mr. Sterling. It was green my way when you jumped the bell.”
“When I jumped the bell?”
Beau backed away from possible trouble. “There’s no need for us to dispute this, Mr. Sterling. I’m insured. I’m sure you are. Suppose we leave it to our insurance companies. If I was in the wrong, I have sufficient insurance to cover all damages.”
Simpson said, “That sounds fair to me. But I’ll have to make a report.” He turned to the gathered by-standers ringing the two cars. “Who saw it happen? How many of you were standing on the corner?”
One of the waiters from the cocktail lounge said, “Not me. I jist hear the crash an’ come out.”
“That’s right, Clyde,” Belle Morgan said. “It sounded like two trains colliding. Then we heard the horse scream.”
The blare of horns grew louder.
Sheriff Early forced his way through the crowd. “Is there anything I can do, Clyde?”
“Yes,” Simpson said. “See if you can get those fools to stop blowing their horns.” His normally sallow face became mottled with anger as he looked back at the people around him. “You can’t all have been in the cocktail lounge or looking the other way. Who saw it happen? Speak up.”
No one in the crowd volunteered.
Sterling laughed. “There’s no need to put anyone on the spot, Simpson. I know what happened. I was crossing on the green light and Beau crashed into me.”
“But that isn’t so, Mr. Sterling,” Beau said soberly. “I may have been traveling a trifle too fast but the light was green when I entered the intersection and the next thing I knew, there you were, right in front of me.”
The tieless, collarless little man edged to the front of the crowd. “Gawdamn drunken niggers. None of ‘em should ought to have a license.”
No one paid any attention to him.
Chief of Police Clyde Simpson spotted Ames in the crowd. “How about you, Jack? You see it happen?”
Ames shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Miss Santos and I were standing by her car, parked half-way down the block, when we heard the crash.” He refrained from repeating the remark he’d made about Beau.
Dona realized Sterling was looking at her and met his eyes. He touched his riding crop to the brim of his hat. “Good evening, Miss Santos.”
Dona inclined her head. “Good evening.”
Sterling returned his attention to Beau. “All right. As long as the law insists, let’s get to the bottom of this. I say the light was green when I entered the intersection. You say I jumped the bell.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In other words, I’m a liar.”
The nervous tic in Beau’s jaw twitched. “I didn’t mean to infer that, Mr. Sterling.”
“No. You didn’t infer it. You said so in so many words.” Sterling lifted his riding crop and lashed Beau across the face. “And no nigger calls me a liar.” He struck Beau again, then a third time. Blood spurted from Beau’s nose and mouth. “You’ve been getting too big for your britches for some time. And I’ll tell you what I think. I think you deliberately ran into me. Now tell Chief Simpson the truth.”
Except for throwing an arm in front of his face, Beau made no attempt to defend himself or strike back. “I’ve told the truth.”
Chief Simpson said, “Watch what you do with that crop, Sterling.”
“I’ll do what I please with it,” Sterling said. “I pay more taxes than any other two men in the county. And if the law can’t protect me, I’ll protect myself.”
“No one’s harming you.”
Sterling was amused. “I’d just like to see a nigger lift his hand to me.” He looked back at Beau. “Now tell Chief Simpson who ran the light.”
The tic in Beau’s jaw twitched wildly. “You did. And don’t hit me again or I won’t be responsible.”
Sterling laughed. “Am I to consider that a threat?”
“You can take it however you want to.”
Sterling lifted his arm and Ames took a quick step forward. “Hold it, Sterling. That’s like throwin’ a gun on an unarmed man.”
One of the loafers from the square said, “Nigger lover.”
Sterling turned to face Ames. “Why are you butting into this?”
Ames replied, “Because this thing could get out of hand and give us all a bad name. Besides, you’re blockin’ traffic for blocks. After all, no one was hurt. Both of you are insured and all damage done will be paid for.”
Simpson asked, “Will your car run, Beau?”
Beau wiped blood from his face. “I don’t think so.”
“Try it. See if you can back it away from Mr. Sterlin’s.”
Beau got back of the wheel and started the motor. The blue sedan backed a few feet, then the damaged front wheels collapsed and the frame struck the pavement, spewing water and oil into the already formed pool.
Beau got out of his car. “That’s that.”
Chief Simpson told a patrolman to call a wrecker. “How about your car, Mr. Sterling?”
“I wouldn’t drive it two feet in that condition. Have someone pull it over to the curb if you’re so anxious to get it out of the intersection, then have the wrecker tow it to the Lincoln agency. I’ll send someone for the trailer.” Sterling pointed his crop at Beau. “But as long as you’re so bound to see justice done, I want Beau arrested.”
“On what charge?”
“Reckless driving and running a red light. And while he may not be drunk, he’s been drinking. His breath reeks of the stuff. So I want you to run a drunk test on him.”
As Simpson hesitated, Beau said, “It’s all right, Chief Simpson. I haven’t had a drink since last night and as soon as we get this mess cleaned up I’ll walk over to the station with you and post bond on the other charges.”
The bellboy who’d gentled the mare drove the Lincoln and the trailer out of the intersection and parked the car parallel with the far curb. Deputy Sheriff Ransom herded a group of colored trusties through the crowd and had them mop up the oil and sweep up as much of the glass as they could. The driver of a tow truck hooked a chain around the front frame of the sedan and winched it up off the pavement. “What do you want me to do with it, Beau?” he asked.
“Junk it,” Beau said, quietly.
“Whatever you say.”
The collarless, tieless, little man spat tobacco juice into one of the buckets the trusties were using and cried, “I declare. I do declare. He cain’t even drive a car. An’ that’s the nigger who wants to be a lawyer.”
Dona could taste the lemon in the Collins she’d drunk. She was afraid she was going to be sick.
The merchants returned to their stores. The patrons of the cocktail lounge went back to their tables. The horns continued to blow. Chief Simpson called to the four men stationed at the intersection. “All right. You can let them through, boys.”
Ames escorted Dona back to the sidewalk. “You’re sure you won’t have dinner with me?”
“I’m positive.”
Ames hesitated. “You’re the one to say. In that case, I’ll walk over to the station with Beau.”
Chief Simpson looked at Beau’s face. “You’re cut up pretty bad, Beau. We’d better stop at the drug store an’ have Doc put somethin’ on your face.”
“I won’t die.”
“It won’t do you any good to be bitter.”
“How am I supposed to feel? What am I supp
osed to do, sing a spiritual? If only once I could be right.”
Ames laughed. “Come the promised land.”
“Come the promised land,” Beau laughed, too.
The sun dropped back of the courthouse. The shadows in the square lengthened. Dona walked slowly toward her car, then realized Sterling was walking beside her.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’m going to beg a ride back to the place.”
Dona tried to think of some logical reason to deny his request and couldn’t. “Of course. I’ll be glad to give you a lift.”
She expected him to be garrulous, perhaps amorous. He was neither. He sat on his own side of the seat, detached, pre-occupied, slapping the blood spattered crop against his boots. Except to explain he’d been on his way home, after inspecting a tract of land he’d just bought, his talk was concerned with small things like the blood line of the mare in the trailer and the amount of good the rain had done.
The twilight deepened as she drove. Night wasn’t far away by the time she reached the plantation. There was a light on the open gallery. The white-haired butler was waiting for Sterling.
“I most gave you up,” the man said.
Sterling opened the door of the car and stepped to the ground. “You were very kind to drive me home, Miss Santos.” He took a step toward the house and turned back. “Oh, yes. I almost forgot.” He extracted a wallet from the hip pocket of his riding pants and took out two limp bills. “Hattie found these under your bed when she cleaned your cottage this morning. You should be more careful with your money. All of our colored help aren’t as honest as Hattie.”
Chapter Seventeen
NIGHT CAME quickly, breathless in its haste. The lake, like unbroken black glass, mirrored a crescent moon and the stars. The sleepy twittering of the birds and the scolding of the squirrels died. The furtive rustling in the reeds and rushes grew bolder.
Dona lay on the bed, reading a paperbound novel she’d purchased at the hotel cigar stand in Natchez. Her head ached from the strain of waiting. She’d used too much perfume. In the close stillness of the cottage, the scent sickened her. Under the combined films of nightdress and negligee, she could feel running rivulets of perspiration.
