They Come in All Colors

by Malcolm Hansen

  What the hell’s gotten into you, Pea? Huey, get out here.

  Dad was at my bedroom window. He opened it and slid the ladder from beneath the window and set it upright. I returned Snowflake to her cage and filled her water and food dishes, then returned with the nails that Dad asked for. I held them up for him while he fitted a board and started hammering.

  This was my granddaddy’s house!

  Mom was inside my bedroom, standing at the window, looking out at us.

  Buck, it’s what we’ve got between us that’s going to be left in ashes if we’re not careful. What little spark is left.

  XXVIII

  DAD WAS SITTING AT THE kitchen table, flipping through a trade journal while going on about how he was out trudging around in our fields before dawn, checking things out. After considerable back-and-forth, it was his opinion that today was the day. He glanced down at the puddle of water sitting in front of the fridge and mused that the shape of it reminded him of the reflecting pool on the National Mall. He’d had the good fortune to visit it once as a teenager. Mom was dragging a mop back and forth through it.

  And Humphrey agreed?

  Sure. But if I said the moon was made of Swiss cheese, he’d agree with that, too. Not like Toby. Hell, if Toby was convinced that it was too early to pull, he’d say so. He’d do the arithmetic right there in front of me, just to show me that the cost of waiting a day or two for the soil to dry out wasn’t nearly as costly as the hurry I was in to get it done. You’re an intelligent person. Now tell me, what the hell’s the point of having someone around who can’t think for himself?

  Dad nudged my elbow. Something wrong with your eggs? He folded up his paper and pushed it aside. You know, son, your mother and I were talking last night. Well—what I mean to say is . . . Hm. How to put this? What you’ve got to know—we know this is tough. Been a tough summer for us all.

  Absolutely miserable. Worst summer ever.

  Yes, Pea. It has been. And we want you to know that—well. It’s not easy for us, either. But what’s important here, in our opinion, is that you understand that the world’s not fair. That’s the big lesson here.

  Mom wiped her hands on her apron and pulled up a chair. What he’s trying to say, Huey, is that just because you’re a little dark doesn’t make you colored.

  That’s right. That’s what I meant to say. What I—I mean we—mean to say, Huey, is that the world’s filled with exceptions. That’s the main thing. And by golly, we feel okay in this day and age talking to you about it. You know what an exception is, right? No? Okay. Well, now, take your mother, for example. Her skin’s a little dark, but that don’t make her colored.

  That’s exactly right, sweetheart. Some people—like, you take that goonish Levitwerner boy, for example—don’t have but two buckets to divide the world up into. It’s all his little brain can handle. And then they put you into whichever bucket they see fit. And when people like you come along and don’t fit in one bucket or the other, we call them exceptions.

  Dad got up from the table and returned with a newspaper clipping. He spread it out in front of me. I came across this article when I was up in Atlanta. To file the paperwork for your birth certificate, actually. Well, they got this big city newspaper up there. I forget what it’s called. Does it say there? Herald or Post or Times or Tribune. Something like that. Oh, doesn’t really matter, I suppose. Look along the margin there. Doesn’t say? Nope? Anyway, this man appeared in it. Which, of course, didn’t mean squat to me at the time. But seeing as how it was the feature story, I read it anyway. Now tell me—does he look colored to you?

  In the center of a block of text was a washed-out picture of a uniformed man squinting in the sun, carrying, of all things, a rifle. It was a Civil War–era photo, and the rifle he was holding looked like a breech-loading carbine. When Dad nudged me and reminded me what I was supposed to be looking at, I glanced up at him and said, Nope.

  I didn’t think so, either. Neither did your mother, when I brought it back home with me and showed her. Anyway, this man’s name is Blind Willie McCullough. He could see just fine, by the way. So don’t ask me why they called him blind. Anyhow, the thing about Blind Willie is—that you will find once you read it is—which I hope you will, because of how illuminating it is—well. Is that he traipsed around Georgia for forty years with a white woman, and no one was any the wiser. Not only that but he rose to the rank of general in the army. Can you believe it? Bless his heart, the man did every damned thing he wanted. Had a house. Four children. Shopped. Worked. Went to the ball game on Saturdays, the movie theater on Sundays. Came and went as he pleased.

  So?

  Which is exactly what I said. What’s the big deal, right? Well here’s the kicker. His mother was—you won’t believe this—colored!

  Sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it?

  Well, it should. Now do you see what I’m saying, son? When I first read this, why, I remember thinking, “Why didn’t I think of that?!”

  He was so bold. The way he stood up for whatever he wanted to stand up for. Just look at his eyes.

  Don’t even have to go that far, dear. Texture of his hair is absolutely one hundred percent normal.

  Just like yours, sweetheart.

  I’m sorry, but you take one look at him and all you’re thinking is how normal he looks.

  Mom sat down on the other side of me, the mop handle still in hand. I understand, sweetheart. It can be a little disorienting at first. I remember how it was when I was a girl. Things were a lot different back then, of course. But I want to assure you that nowadays—well, not in all cases, of course. But in a great many, brown skin can be closer to white than it is to black. People don’t talk about it much, but it’s a fact. I know, I know, I know. You’re thinking, “Not true.” Probably because of what you hear at school. But I’ll let you in on a secret—what am I saying? Don’t take my word for it. Buck, do us a favor and get the Grolier’s. It’s in the living room.

  Dad got up and returned with the encyclopedia. He slid it across the table to me, sat down, scooted the thin metal legs of his chair up beside me, and flipped open the large book.

  Let’s see. What do we have here? Negotiant, negotiate, negritude—Negro. Here we go.

  You don’t think I know what a Negro looks like?

  He thumped it. There. See? Take a good hard look and tell me that you look like this fella.

  Dad’s fingertip was covering the man’s head. I pushed it out of the way. He wore a top hat and tailcoat.

  Business tycoon?

  No. He’s tap-dancing, son.

  Dad was looking down the length of his nose, examining the entry up close. Reading the small print. Hm. “Literally meaning ‘black.’ A member of the black race.” Interesting.

  He put both photos side by side, Blind Willie and the tap dancer. Apples and oranges, right? Now do you see what I mean? Now, don’t get me wrong, son. I wish coloreds all the best. Lord knows the world has not been kind to them. And I am speaking most solemnly on this point. I have great appreciation for the colored people, mind you. They’re more reliable workers than a great many people give them credit for. And we’ve had a great many perfectly fine relations with a great many of our workers over the years. Isn’t that right, dear?

  Mom nodded.

  Dad snapped up the newspaper clipping.

  And if I had to lump you in anywhere, I’d put you right with this one here. Not a doubt in my mind. Because he’s the ticket to a better life for you. And if I have to go up to Boston or New York or Chicago or wherever old Blind Willie lives nowadays and drag him out of some nursing home myself and roll his wheelchair into that classroom with us, then I’ll do that. So help me God. I’ll thump this clipping down in front of Missus Mayapple with Blind Willie McCullough on one side and you on the other, because so help me God, if he gets to do it, then so do you!

  Mom got up and jerked her chair in. The law’s the law, and I don’t care how wrong and unfair it may be; two wrongs
don’t make a right. Those are the rules that we’ve set up to live by and respect, and just who do those people think they are, anyway, flying by the seat of their pants, practically taking over this town, making their own rules willy-nilly as they go like that? If they don’t like it they should get the hell out, because we were getting along just fine before they got here. I’ll be the first to admit that it isn’t perfect, but I’ve made too many sacrifices for the little I’ve got, and Lord knows I wanted to go to that pool as much as anybody, but you never saw me complain about it. If I wanted to cool down, I took a cold bath, for crying out loud—was that so bad? Now they’ve gone ahead and planted so many ideas in people’s heads they’ve got every colored Mammy, Tammy, and Sammy thinking they have as much right to be there as anyone. Don’t get me wrong. It was madness from the start—building an oasis like that in a backwater like this and not expecting everybody to want to come to the party. My word, this isn’t Arcadia, this is Akersburg. Which is why we’ve got one man dead, and how many more to come? And for what? To swim in a damned pool, that’s what!

  Now, Huey. Your mother—what she means to say is—well, she’s a different story. Okay? You know that by now, right? And that’s fair enough. But God bless her tender little heart, some people actually believe she’s colored. There. I said it. Whew. I know—crazy, right? But what are you going to do? Some folks are bound to think what they want to think; it don’t matter if you hold a birth certificate in front of their face. They’re gonna believe what they wanna believe. The question people like us have got to ask ourselves is, are we gonna let them determine how we think and ruin things for us? Now, me, I say to hell with them. Because there’s no accounting for what others believe. You’ll go crazy if you think there is, son. And I don’t want that for you. And neither does your mother. Isn’t that right, dear? What I’m trying to say is that it ain’t how you look that’s important, son—it’s how you carry yourself. Your manner of speaking, your upbringing. That’s the main thing. And to hell with what everybody else thinks. Trust me. They’re gonna try and slice and dice you to kingdom come, if that’s what it takes for them to be able to say what they want to say about you, as if finding one piece in a million makes them right. To hell with them. If that were true, we’d all be colored—goddamnit, we came from Africa, didn’t we? Now listen here. What I’m trying to say is, Huey, people are making life a lot more complicated than it needs to be. Hell, I say if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, then it’s a duck. Right? And all I’m trying to say is, son, you’re white. It’s as simple as that. And anything that Edna or any of the other kids say is just dead wrong.

  But—

  Give your father a chance, dear. If he says he’s going to fix it, then I believe him.

  What you’ve got to understand, son, is that nothing anyone else thinks matters. Because they don’t care about you like I do. And they’re quick to assume the worst about anything they don’t understand. Now, take me, for example. I’ve been down this road with Connie a million times, and there’s nothing anyone can say that she hasn’t already said. And she didn’t decide for me then, and they don’t decide for me now. I decide for myself. And my mind’s made up. Had it made up before you were born. Practically had it made up the day I laid eyes on your mother. Then had it made up for sure the minute I saw this here newspaper article. And you know why? Because we’re six generations of Fairchilds in this town, Huey. That rolling hilltop with orchards spilling out over half of Early County will be yours someday. And that means something in a town like this.

  Seven if you count Huey, dear. Don’t forget that after Trip, there was Georgette, which made four. Then there was your daddy. Then you. And Huey makes seven. Remember?

  That’s right, dear—almost forgot. Which is why we’re gonna march you in there and set the record straight once and for all.

  • • •

  THE GASH OF red dirt lining Oglethorpe seemed to cut straight to the heart of the matter. Missus Mayapple and the sheriff were standing at the top of the schoolhouse steps, watching us coming down the road. We pulled up behind the patrol car. Missus Mayapple came down the steps. Dad let go of my hand and told me to wait, then got out and headed across the gravel lot, toward her.

  What’s this horseshit about my boy needing further evaluation for school readiness?

  Buck, I don’t like it any more than you do. But I’ve got a responsibility to everybody in this community. Not just you.

  The sheriff came down the steps and joined them. Bruce, Darla, and a bunch of other kids were peering out the window behind them.

  Now, just you hold your horses, Buck.

  Where the hell does that leave my boy?

  Well, first off, the good news is that those agitators aren’t gonna be around for much longer. The bad news is that I think you’re gonna have to hold out until they leave and everything settles back down. So I’m not too worried, and neither should you be. We’re gonna sort this mess out.

  You’re doing a fine job, Ira.

  Thanks, Edna. Now, Buck, let’s think this through. Maybe lay low for the time being.

  “The time being” being how long? A day? A month? A year?

  That’s a concern, Buck. And that will complicate things, no doubt. Edna?

  Of course, I’m not at liberty to decide right here and now, Ira. But I’ll see to it that it gets taken up with the board. I’m sure they’ll want the advice of our lawyers—so as to resolve this with the least mess possible, I mean. And to everyone’s satisfaction, of course.

  If you ask me, Buck, why dontcha just take him on over to Eatonton and be done with it?

  That’s right. I don’t care if you are his father; they are his people, and when that boy grows up, he’ll want to be with them. Do the responsible thing and spare us all the needless spectacle.

  I folded my arms atop the truck’s door panel. Dad had parked so close to the mailbox that I could lean out and check the mail.

  What business is it of ours if he isn’t going to be much of a Negro to them? That’s their business. The world is black and white, Buck. That’s just how it is. I’m sure he is a fine boy, and Lord knows he probably does deserve better, but God didn’t make him both so that you could pick and choose.

  Lord, who made you God over that child, anyway? And where’s your sense of decency, anyway? If he survives to see the day that he can think for himself, he’ll think himself entitled to choose. No, you haven’t thought of that, have you? Just figured he’d want whatever you want. Oh, dear. Ira, please, take this man away. It’s hopeless.

  Sometimes you have to be hardhearted for your own good, Buck. It’s for your own good. Have the sense to see that there’ll be plenty of time for a soft heart later.

  Dragging us all through the mud for the sake of one boy. How selfish is that? I’ve been a headmistress a heck of a lot longer than you’ve been a father. And trust me, you don’t get to be my age without learning a thing or two. It would have happened anyway, because when a boy comes into his own, he will decide for himself, and everyone knows that it’s not worth taking the chance that he’s going to decide against you. Now, you’ve gone off and knocked up a colored woman and had a child by her, and whoop-dee-do, all of a sudden, you’re a loving father, so now you want everyone else to pretend that she and him are the only two niggers in town who deserve to be treated like the rest of us for no other reason than that they’re yours. Well, I’ve got news for you, Buck—we’re not the ones sleeping with her, and it isn’t our boy walking around with curly hair and brown skin.

  It’s wavy. And he’s practically white.

  Who cares? Just last week, Phil joked that maybe there was something that I did to you when you two were boys. I told him that was the most preposterous thing I had ever heard. Why? No reason. He just thought that maybe I did something that turned you against us.

  A hawk drifted in an updraft, high up overhead. The slow flap—slow flap—straight glide of its broad wings was hypnotizing. I glanced b
ack down at the sound of Missus Mayapple’s droning voice.

  Listen, I’m going to say what I should have said a long time ago, and that is that I only ever wanted the best for you, Buck Fairchild. Told Connie myself, and no matter how hard you try, there is nothing that you can do to change that, because no matter what you think, I am not Connie. And deep down you know that, but all the same, she’s right when she says that you live in the house that your grandfather built, because this is not about you and her but about him. And no matter how many times I keep telling her you’re not the first man who’s gone off and mucked up his life for a nigger—Lord knows it’s all I can do to explain it to her, but no matter, just remember that the day after Frank deployed and she brought you to me and told me to see to it that you were raised properly, I vowed to her then and there that she could count on me, and it was with a good conscience that I swore to see after you if anything ever happened to her. And I will. And to stand by you come what may—that means through thick and thin. And I will. Which is why it tears me to pieces to have to say this. But it needs saying. Because I will—but not after your mistakes, hear? That wasn’t part of the deal. So let’s just hope that we can manage this. Because last week she assured me that this is not what she had in mind when she asked me to be your godmother. She said, “Edna, Lord knows I never thought that it would come to this.” Which is why I’m glad you stopped by. This way I get to tell you to your face. You only have one mother, Buck Fairchild. And no matter what you may think of her, you’re all that Connie and Frank have left. And like it or not, there is something that you owe them. And that is the stuff running through your veins. Someday that will mean something to you. It may not now, but someday it will. So let’s hope that the day doesn’t come when you have to choose between all of us and that boy. And let’s leave it at that.

  A cool breeze blew in through the window. I shivered. Missus Mayapple started for the stairs. The sheriff slung an arm around Dad’s shoulder and led him away.