Foreign Soil

by Maxine Beneba Clarke

Jackson come to visit Delores once. Delores never tole Izzy, an it weighin’ heavy on her mind now she gone. Jackson visit bout four years back. Musta been soon after the meat plant close down, fore he move the family into Izzy’s place. Could be he want Denver’s help to try an keep the house or somethin’. To cover the mortgage. Come right up to the door, Jackson had, ridiculous early in the morning, like he’d hadda knock fore he chickened out or thought better of it. Delores open the door, still in her nightgown. Her son glare at her, annoyed.

  “I’m lookin’ for Denver Macleod,” he say.

  Sound of Delores’s old name, shape of it in the mouth-a the man she raise but now don’t know, sight-a her li’l boy’s face stretched cross the bones of a grown-up man, made Delores panic, bile risin’ in her throat. “Denver ain’t roun no more,” she choke.

  “You his woman then?” Jackson spit, mistakin’ her horror for guilt, or somethin’ near it.

  “Hello, Jackson,” Delores say, almose without thinkin’.

  He look confuse a moment. Off-balance. Then he look in her face, real close, an back away. His grown man’s mouth done open wide in shock.

  Then on, all Delores hear from Izzy bout Jackson was things to worry for. That Klan nonsense, the way he start hasslin’ that poor li’l boy. Jackson clearly ain’t tell Izzy he come to find his father, an Delores saw no point in tellin’ her either. Better the boy stayed thinkin’ his mama didn’t know none-a what her ex-husband run off an become. Better he still had one parent he thought he could trust.

  “You gon get this door, or what?” Ella yellin’ at her now, from back inside the partment.

  Delores hear the chain unbolt, look over to see the girl turnin’ the door handle.

  “Delores, y’all got some registered mail you gotta sign for!”

  Delores straighten up, move slowly off the balcony.

  * * *

  Carter run a finger roun the edge-a the chipped porcelain plate, tracin’ the pink rose pattern. Gram Izzy pick the plates up at the thrift store. Had an argument with his daddy bout them all eatin’ off-a them. Carter musta been bout seven at the time. Was back when Lucy was jus a crawlin’ baby, jus after they moved in with Gram. He help Gram scrub the plates clean in the kitchen sink with steel wool an washin’ liquid.

  “Where you get them plates from?” his daddy ask at dinnertime, as he spoon some bean stew onto his plate an break off a piece-a Gram’s cornbread.

  “Bought ’em today,” Gram Izzy answer, ladlin’ some stew onto Carter’s plate. “Real cheap too, down the thrift store, good as new.”

  His daddy’s face freeze. He spit out the mouthful-a stew-soaked cornbread. “You tellin’ me you gon have us eat off-a some plates which been on someone else’s table, which some filthy nigger family mighta licked clean?”

  “Oh, for cryin’ out loud, Jackson,” his gram laugh, “y’all gotta quit this crazy Klan business. You done got near some black folk’s spit in your time, even if you tryin’ your damnedest to forget it. You remember that cute li’l Taneesha with the pigtails, way back in the third grade?”

  Carter never seen his daddy so angry. He didn’t say anythin’, but his face jus close up with hate. He lef the house an didn’t come back till the mornin’. Only reason his daddy didn’t usually argue with his gram Izzy, an the only reason he didn’t throw her out the house mose likely, was ’cause she own it herself.

  * * *

  Jeanie inhale again, hold the smoke in. Carter’s sittin’ starin’ down at his plate with a strange smile on his face. She not game to ask the kid what he’s thinkin’ on that finally cracked that dismal face-a his.

  Lucy’s thrustin’ her fingers into her lunch, laughin’ at the squidgy feel of it. Jeanie exhale the smoke, frown at her. Lucy quickly take her sticky hand back off-a the plate; she wipe it cross the high chair tray leavin’ hind greasy orange lines of sauce, pick up her spoon.

  Jeanie don’t know how she gon cope out here without her boy. Beggars belief how she never saw this comin’. Course, there was li’l things shoulda warned her. Big things, now she think bout them.

  * * *

  The mailman look Delores up an down, sweat beadin’ on his brown temples as he hand her over the yellow envelope, pass her the clipboard to sign. “That your little girl then?” he sniff, flickin’ a thumb at Ella.

  “Manner-a speakin’.” Delores hand him back the clipboard.

  The man linger for a moment, like he gon say somethin’ else.

  “You got a problem with that, nigger?” Ella glare up at him with one hand on her hip.

  “Sweet holy Jesus, you a rude li’l chile sometimes,” Delores say. “You watch your lips an pologize to the man right this instant! Else I’m gon drag you cross the hall by your ear an tell your mama to give you a wuppin’. An you damn well know she do it.”

  “Sorry.” Ella hang her head to the floor.

  “Sorry what?” Delores prompt.

  “Sorry for bein’ rude, mister.”

  Mailman shake his confuse head all the way back down the hall.

  “What is it, Delores? What he bring us? What we got?”

  Delores’s hand shakin’ roun the envelope. She lock an bolt the door, carry it to the kitchen, get a butter knife out the top drawer. Ella’s hoppin’ from one foot to the other like she so excited she gon wee in her pants.

  Delores ease the papers out the envelope, get to readin’, don’t stop till she turn every last page.

  “What’s goin’ on, Delores? What it say?”

  Delores put the letter down, move to the sink, rinse out the chipped rose teacup an refill it with water. Get to gulpin’.

  “Shit, Ella. Sorry bout the swearin’. Shit. It’s from a lawyer down in Sippi. Seem Izzy done lef me her house.”

  Even as she say it, Delores know she can’t go back. Not to Newmarket. Not ever. When Delores leave, she walk out in not a thing but the clothes she borrow from Izzy. She leave Denver behind, leave his home, leave his family, leave the body he was born into an everythin’ he acquire since in life. Delores don’t have no claim to none-a that now, not what woulda belonged to Denver. Izzy surely had to’ve known she wouldn’t be the least li’l bit interested.

  “Y’all gon move back down there then, Delores?” Ella soun real worried.

  “No. I don’t know why she—” An then it hit her. Carter’s out there, in that house with his father, with her Jackson. Carter, who’s gettin’ older now. Carter, who maybe can’t keep locked up inside himself much longer. Izzy say they strugglin’, Jackson an that wife-a his, doin’ it real tough. Could be Izzy jus pass Delores a way to save her grandboy. Could be Izzy right now is reachin’ out from past her grave to help the boy.

  Delores pick up Izzy’s cup, fill it again, drink from it till it drained. Could be Izzy know only one way for Delores to get to savin’ that li’l boy. One way to be sure she got a hold over Jackson.

  * * *

  Each rosebud on Carter’s plate shaded with least four different tones-a red, from the blood-color petal tips to the tomato base. The plate remind Carter so much-a the airs an graces Gram Izzy always pretendin’ she had, when all the county know she born an raised in the delta an hadn’t lef to go nowhere an get them fancy manners in the first place.

  Carter’s gram never did have many friends in Newmarket. Somethin’ to do with Carter’s grandaddy, an the lady he done lef Gram for when Carter’s daddy was a boy. Carter know nothin’ bout his grandaddy or that lady friend-a his, ’cept that his own daddy hate the man real fierce for what he did, hate him certain as the Devil hate good.

  Carter lean over the plate. The roses, they swimmin’ now, blurrin’ into each other. He breathe in, breathe out, clench his fist under the table, press gainst the welts he done already dig into his palm. Smell-a the tinned food make him wanna throw up. The toast underneath the tinned spaghetti already sogged through, an slowly saggin’ outward, swellin’ with red-orange sauce. The slice-a cheese his ma place on top the spaghetti done melted then cooled,
coatin’ the squidgy pasta like shiny yellow plastic. Carter dig at the meal with his fork.

  “That or plain toast, kid.” His ma take nother long suck-a her cigarette.

  Carter hate it when she call him that. Kid. Like he some chile she’s never met, some boy she jus found wanderin’ the supermarket or somethin’. Like he don’t have a name, an like she never chose it for him herself. Kid. Carter hate that even more than when his daddy call him son. He put the fork down.

  Cross the table, Lucy spoonin’ tin spaghetti an cheese into her mouth hit-an-miss. The plastic tray-a her high chair all smattered with spaghetti worms. She smile over at Carter, sauce drippin’ down her chin. “It’s yummy getti, Carty.” She grin.

  Carter smile back at her as she scratch at her wild mass-a curly blond hair, spoon still in hand, spreadin’ sauce cross her bangs. The high chair’s done got small for her now. Her chubby three-year-old legs, they hangin’ down past the footrest.

  “Cryin’ out loud, Lucy!” His ma stub out her smoke in the sink, rush over to his sister with a wet cloth.

  While she occupied, Carter quickly pick up his plate from the table, move toward the kitchen door, scrape his lunch into the garbage.

  “Starve if you like, Cart. Keep throwin’ way your food like this you be skin an skeleton fore you hit eleven.” His ma’s leanin’ over, wipin’ the food from Lucy’s hair.

  Carter lay his plate in the sink, run his fingers through his bangs a few times to make sure it sit properly to the side. He been wearin’ a baseball cap over it when his daddy’s home, so he don’t take the clippers to it. Carter want the bangs long. Long enough to flick from his eyes when he get to dancin’ hind the thick trunks-a the sweet gums up back-a the yard.

  “When’s Daddy comin’ back?” he ask.

  His ma’s rinsin’ out the cloth in the sink. “Fuck, Carty!” She turn to face him. She know what he’s gon do—know the reason he askin’ bout his daddy. Her bottom lip shakin’.

  Carter love his ma. Love her so much his heart hurts.

  He walk out the kitchen, down the corridor, into his an Lucy’s room. He slide open Lucy’s side-a the wardrobe. Lookin’ up at the hangin’ rows-a pink skirts, down at the flowery sandals, make him feel like everythin’s gon be okay. Lucy’s side-a the wardrobe even smell different. Like flowers an sunshine, like that kiddie perfume his ma done bought her last Christmas that Lucy don’t know yet s’posed be sprayed on real sparin’.

  Carter move to shut the bedroom door. His ma might come on in, or Lucy might get to bangin’ on it, but this time he don’t care. Let his daddy come home. Let all-a them see. He pull the navy-blue T-shirt off-a his head, rummage through his sister’s drawer till he find the red T-shirt. ’S a size five—too big for Lucy now, but it fit him real snug, jus the way he like it. Tiny roun sequins sewn on the front in the shape of a heart. When Carter wriggle into the top, his whole body get to singin’. He stand up straight, look in the mirror. His mind unfog itself. He stop there a moment, jus breathin’. He only gon wear the thing a minute. Jus a few seconds, then he gon put his other clothes back on.

  * * *

  Delores an Ella stare at the papers sittin’ in the middle-a the kitchen table, like even touchin’ them gon set somethin’ otherworldly into a spin.

  “Well,” Ella’s impatience break through Delores’s thoughts, “what we gon do?”

  Delores wipe her forehead with the hanky from up her sleeve. Blink her eyes a couple times. She feel Izzy there at the table with them, feel Izzy in the room. Izzy’s soul done leap through the gaps in the elm an the hickory. It must-a dodge its way through the sweet gum trunks till it hit the wide-open delta. Izzy’s spirit done rise up from the soil-a Mississippi an burst clear-a the forest. It done fled on the freeway an floated into Louisiana. Izzy’s soul has arrived right here, at Delores’s table in New Orleans, sure as her own eyes are green.

  * * *

  Jeanie open the door quiet. Carter’s standin’ in front-a the mirrored doors-a the wardrobe, wearin’ one-a Lucy’s shirts. Thing’s clingin’ to him, sparkly an tight, close as a second skin. Carter standin’ there with his eyes closed, breathin’.

  Lucy’s clamberin’ roun Jeanie’s legs, duckin’ an weavin’ in an out. “Look at Cart, Ma,” she say. “Ain’t he look beautiful?”

  Carter open his eyes an stare back at his ma. She got a hand on his sister’s head to steady her from duckin’ in an outta her legs. His ma’s lookin’ at him like her heart done jus now broke into a thousand pieces.

  “Y’all get outside, Carter,” she say. “Put your other T-shirt back on. We all gon go for a drive.”

  * * *

  Carter hole Lucy’s hand as his ma back the car out the garage. The li’l Corolla’s ole, coated in summer dust. Ain’t been on the road for several months. Fact, Carter can’t remember the last time they was in it, wonders how the thing even got any fuel in the tank.

  Lucy squeezin’ at Carter’s hand, clutchin’ it tighter an tighter like she scared to the bone, even though she don’t know what she frightened bout. Carter squeeze at her hand, bend down an give her a cuddle. Strangely enough, he don’t feel worry no more. Fear done fly from his body like dandelion wisp—float away curious into the Still. Whatever happen, Carter know he ready for it.

  The streets-a Newmarket fall way side the back window-a the car: burnt fields, rottin’ fences, dense brown forest an fallin-down houses givin’ way to freeway—to whizzin’ cars an hot tar windin’ far as the eye can see. Carter’s window’s woun down. The breeze from the car’s movement is breakin’ through the Still air. Hotness is rushin’ at Carter’s face, pushin’ up his nostrils, down his throat.

  On the seat beside Carter, Lucy’s playin’ with her dolly. She brushin’ its long blond hair with a tiny green plastic comb. His ma’s been quiet for nearly the whole hour they been on the road, hands clutchin’ the steerin’ wheel, eyes dead ahead. Carter stare at his sister’s Barbie—the painted-on eyelashes, the long slim legs, the pink sparkly princess outfit she wearin’. His ma glance at him in the rearview, lookin’ at him lookin’ at the doll, but she still don’t raise a word.

  Must be nearly three hours gone when Carter open his eyes. Afternoon’s near darkened to night an the car’s stopped in a place Carter ain’t never seen before. Tall buildings risin’ all roun them, lookin’ like lotsa houses all joined up together. Hardly green to be seen, only a couple-a tall trees that look like they tryin’ to reach up from the city shadows an find a way back to they forest. In the front seat, his ma’s got Lucy on her lap. They playin’ some kinda game with the Barbie doll, real quiet, like they been tryin’ not to wake him.

  “Where we at?” Panic hittin’ Carter now, whackin’ him dead in the gut like a swung baseball bat.

  His ma turn in her seat. Her face, it gone all red an puffy like she long been cryin’. “Carter,” she say, “we in New Orleans. Things real hard in Newmarket. Y’all know they are. An we strugglin’. We really strugglin out there. I brought you here so’s you could stay awhile with your grandaddy. Before she pass on, your gram say you should come on over here—that I should bring y’all here, if things don’t get no easier. Luce, she too li’l. She gotta stay with us—with me an your daddy.”

  His ma’s lookin’ back at him the same time as lookin’ straight through him. She gon leave him here. With some ole man she don’t even know, who abandon his own family. She’s dumpin’ him on some stranger, some not-so-nice body who ran off an lef his gram on her own for all-a them years. Mus be she can’t stand him. Mus be he makes his own ma sick.

  She’s handin’ him a piece-a paper now. He look down an read it. Denver Macleod, it say, with an address he guess is somewhere in the buildin’ they parked in front of. ’S his gram Izzy’s writin’ on the paper. Messy blue pen. Fact makes Carter feel better someway.

  “Damn, I’m gon miss you, Carter. Give li’l Luce a kiss darlin’, will you? We gon come back an visit real soon. We gon stay out here in the car an wait to make s
ure you get in safe.”

  Carter don’t know what to do. He clutch the piece-a paper tight, open the door, step out the car.

  * * *

  Delores hidin’ herself hind the heavy living room curtain as she stare down into the street. The dirt-streaked engine-rumblin’ car that done pull up thirty minutes back look like the same one Jackson was drivin’ that time he come to see her. Ever since she notice the vehicle, Delores been watchin’ close to see who it is gon come out. There some movement in the front seat, but sides that, she ain’t seen a thing. But now the back door done open. A li’l boy chile climbin’ out, lookin’ up at her buildin’. Delores draw a sharp breath in, call Ella over from the kitchen.

  “What in the hell you been leanin’ out that window starin’ at, Delores?” Ella ask. “Not bein’ rude, but the neighbors gon get to talkin’. Look from here like you maybe gettin’ to be some kinda peepin’ Tonya.”

  “Quiet, Ella. I want you to lean outta the balcony door an see who you think that is gotta be standin’ on the front path. An mind you don’t get seen, pretty thing.”

  Ella screw up her nose, hang her head out the balcony door. All a sudden the girl start screamin’, wavin’, hoppin’ on the spot, leanin’ forward an hangin’ her body over the balcony. “Izzy’s Carter!” she squeal. “Izzy’s Carter! I reckonize him anywhere from them photos she used-a bring. Must be his mama drive him down here, ’cause I can see her an that li’l sister in the car too. Carter! Carter! We up here! We up here!”

  Delores put a hand on Ella’s shoulder, pull her back into the living room. “Quiet, chile. You gon scare him away! That pickney don’t know us from Adam.” But even as Delores say it, she know it ain’t true. Minute that chile an her lay eyes on each other, they gon know they kin. It’s gon feel like they finally home.

  Carter’s lookin’ up toward them now, cranin’ his neck to see where the shoutin’ come from. Delores move back to the table, like she on automatic pilot. She take up the letters from the lawyer, suck in a deep breath an get to unboltin’ the partment front door.