Passing Through Perfect

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “I hate to let this car go,” Delia said. “It reminds me of our good times.”

  Benjamin smiled. “Yep, them is sweet memories for sure. But we ain’t getting rid of them, just the car.”

  “Thing is,” Otis added, “memories can’t pull a wagon. Henry’s getting on in years and can’t haul a full load.”

  What Otis said was true. The mule was past twenty and slower than ever.

  Twin Pines, while it was considerably larger than Grinder’s Corner, was still a small town. The automobile dealers were in Bakerstown.

  The mention of Bakerstown caused Delia to think about the signs she’d seen in windows.

  “I’ve no need to go,” she told Benjamin. “You and Daddy Church pick out whatever you think best.”

  “I got things to do,” Otis said. “Benjamin don’t need no old man tagging along. You young folks go and have yourselves some fun.”

  “Can I come too?” Isaac asked.

  Before Delia could say she didn’t think that was such a good idea, Benjamin had already answered yes.

  With bad roads and a cranky car, the drive to Bakerstown took more than two hours. As they drove Benjamin whistled a happy tune, and Isaac chattered about seeing a real city. Neither of them noticed how Delia fidgeted and twisted in her seat.

  “Let’s not dally over this,” she said. “I got things to do at home.”

  “Work can wait,” Benjamin replied happily. “You’re in need of a day out.”

  “We gonna buy a new truck, Daddy?” Isaac asked.

  Benjamin laughed. “I don’t think we can afford a brand new one.”

  “Can we afford a store-bought ice cream?”

  “Yep,” Benjamin said, chuckling, “ice cream and maybe even a nice dinner for you and your mama.”

  Delia wanted to say she was not the least bit interested in staying for dinner, but with Isaac excited as he was she hadn’t the heart.

  There were three automobile dealers in Bakerstown. At the first one Benjamin parked the car on the street, and they walked across to the lot. When they headed toward a green pickup, an older man came from the office.

  “You want something?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir,” Benjamin nodded. “I’m looking to buy a used pickup. Don’t matter if it needs work.”

  “You got cash?” the man asked.

  “Some. I’m figuring to trade in the car I got and pay the difference.”

  The salesman pointed a finger at the car on the street. “That yours?”

  “Yes, sir,” Benjamin answered.

  He scowled. “That thing’s more ’n twenty-five years old. I ain’t in the junk business.”

  Benjamin was going to explain the car was in decent running condition, but by then the salesman had turned back toward the office building.

  The second dealership was pretty much a repeat of the first, and the third only handled new cars.

  “Try Peter’s,” the salesman said, “they might have something.”

  Peter’s was not a dealership; it was a used car lot on the back side of town about two blocks from where they’d bought the sewing machine. Peter’s was willing to take the trade in and had a 1941 Chevrolet pickup that was affordable and in reasonably good shape. They went back and forth on price a few times, then shook hands on the deal.

  As the Church family drove crosstown in the new pickup, Isaac reminded Benjamin of his promise. “You gonna get that ice cream now, Daddy?”

  “You bet,” Benjamin said. “Keep a sharp eye out for the ice cream store.”

  Delia looked across at Benjamin and mouthed the words I don’t want him seeing those signs. There was an exclamation point in the glare she gave him.

  “Tell you what,” Benjamin said to the boy, “I know a real good place just outside of town with barbeque and ice cream. How about we go there?”

  Isaac was smiling ear to ear when he answered yes.

  As far as Delia was concerned, they couldn’t leave Bakerstown fast enough.

  The barbeque place was a roadside stand eight miles outside of town. Delia and Isaac sat at the outside table while Benjamin went in for food. He came back with three paper plates piled high with chicken drumsticks in a thick red sauce.

  “This is gonna be the best you ever tasted,” he said smiling.

  As he tore into a piece of chicken, Delia nibbled at bits of coleslaw. It was good to see Benjamin so happy, but she couldn’t shake loose the hurt settling into her stomach. Trips to Bakerstown made her feel dirty, the kind of dirty that didn’t wash off. The same dirty she’d felt when her daddy called her a whore. In Twin Pines there were only a handful of whites, so the shop windows were without signs saying “No Coloreds.” But in Bakerstown the signs were everywhere. They were like one great big giant finger pointing you out as something trashy.

  “I hate coming here,” she grumbled.

  “Why?” Benjamin asked. “Isaac and me likes the food.”

  “Not here,” she said, “Bakerstown.” Delia chewed on her lip for a moment and focused her eyes on a crack in the table; then she added, “Bakerstown treats Negros like they’re dirt.”

  Benjamin knew without asking she was thinking back on the sewing machine incident. “Aw, Delia, you gotta stop thinking this way. Those people got their ways, and we got ours.”

  “I don’t see any No Whites signs in Grinder’s Corner.”

  Benjamin gave Delia a hard look. “It ain’t good for Isaac to hear that stuff.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, “but if we was living in New York or Ohio, he’d be eating in a fine restaurant instead of a barbeque stand.”

  “I like barbeque,” Isaac said.

  Delia forced a weak little laugh. “I can see that.”

  When there was nothing but a pile of chicken bones left on the table, they climbed into the new pickup and started home. They’d driven for a good twenty minutes when Benjamin finally gave voice to what he’d been thinking.

  “In case you ain’t heard,” he said, “there ain’t a whole lot of farms in New York City.”

  “You don’t got to be a farmer,” Delia said. “You could be a mechanic. You know how to fix engines, and there’s always a need for that.”

  Benjamin didn’t answer, and she said nothing more. It was neither the first nor last time they had this discussion.

  ~ ~ ~

  There were times—days, weeks and sometimes even months—when the subject never came up, but the thought was always there in the back of Delia’s mind. It was like a boil that would fester and pop open, then start festering all over again. When something triggered the thought, she’d dream of being back in Ohio in the small town where her daddy was a respected preacher and no one looked down their nose at her. When Isaac carried home schoolbooks with torn and missing pages she’d remember the schoolhouse she’d attended, one where students had their own desk and books with hardly any wear. When she tired of dreaming of Ohio, she’d switch to New York City and imagine streets lined with stone buildings and rows of fancy shops where she could wander in and out free as a bird.

  Once when Benjamin heard Delia telling Isaac about life in other cities, he laughed out loud. “How long you gonna keep filling the boy’s head with those fairytales? ’Specially since you know they ain’t true.”

  “Long as it takes,” Delia answered. “Long as it takes for him to know every place ain’t like Bakerstown.” She turned back to Isaac and continued her tale of a toy store that stood five floors high. As he sat there with a wide-eyed expression of wonderment she said, “That’s bigger than the bank in Bakerstown.”

  Isaac gasped. “Really?”

  “Not really,” Benjamin said. “Your mama’s making all this stuff up. She ain’t never even been to one of those big cities.”

  “Maybe not,” Delia answered, “but I know others what’s been there.”

  “Who?” Benjamin challenged.

  “Mister Paul Robeson, for one.”

  Benjamin laughed. “I ain’t believi
ng that for one second. You ain’t never even seen him.”

  Delia squeezed her brows together and looked up.

  “I have so,” she said indignantly. “He come through Ohio once, and I saw him singing. I was standing close enough to reach out and touch his shoes.”

  “Touch his shoes?” Benjamin said. “Why, that ain’t knowing somebody.”

  Delia turned off in a huff. “You’re just saying that ’cause you wasn’t there. Them shoes had magic. I know ’cause I saw it. They was so sparkly and shiny, you could see your own face if you looked close.”

  “Aw, nonsense,” Benjamin said. “You was just a starry-eyed teenager what don’t know magic from boot shine.”

  Isaac followed the back and forth of the conversation and was squarely in Delia’s corner. “I’d like seeing those shiny shoes,” he said. “And I’d like seeing all those big toy stores in New York City.”

  “I thought you was gonna be a farmer like Daddy,” Benjamin teased, and then he laughed like it was the funniest thing ever. Doubled over laughing as he was, he didn’t see the sadness stretched across Delia’s face.

  But Otis did.

  The Knowledge of What Was

  For two days Otis thought about the conversation he’d overheard. There was a part of him that wanted to help and another part that knew not to meddle in other people’s business. He thought about it long and hard, but the question remained: was it meddling if you were trying to help someone you love?

  On the third day when Benjamin went to work in the field, Otis stayed behind. While Delia was mixing up cornbread, he came and sat at the kitchen table.

  “I got something bothering me,” he said, “and I’m hoping you ain’t gonna be mad if an old man speaks his mind.”

  Delia turned with a smile. “Daddy Church, you ain’t never said a mean word in all your life. Just say what you got to say.”

  He sat there for a moment, fidgeting with his fingers and squirming to find a comfortable spot in the seat.

  “Well,” he finally drawled, “I know a man’s got no right listening to other folks’ private business, but I couldn’t help hearing you and Benjamin talk about Bakerstown.”

  “Oh.” Delia’s smile turned edgy, not quite angry but teetering on the verge.

  “Now, don’t get riled up,” Otis said. “I’m thinking you is both part right and part wrong.”

  “Part wrong?” Delia repeated. “What’d I say part wrong?”

  “It ain’t so much the words what was wrong, it’s what you got no knowledge of.”

  “Oh?” Delia left the batter half-mixed and sat in the chair across from Otis.

  “Benjamin acting as he does is ’cause of things he don’t talk about.”

  “He tells me everything,” Delia cut in.

  “Benjamin don’t tell nobody about when he was in the army. Oh, he might talk about those last two years, but he don’t say nothing about the first two.”

  Delia fixed her eyes on Otis’s face and waited for the words to come.

  “There was a time when Benjamin was like you. He figured he’d step up and be all God intended, then white folks would see him same as equal. It was a hard lesson when he come to know that ain’t how it is.”

  “What happened?”

  “He joined the Army Air Forces. It was a short while before the Japs bombed our boys in Pearl Harbor. He walked all the way to Bakerstown and signed up.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Delia said.

  “It wasn’t ’cause he joined, it was ’cause he joined thinking he’d get to learn all about airplanes and maybe be a pilot.”

  “Didn’t he?”

  “No, ma’am. Them first two years only thing he did was scrub toilets and clean mess halls.”

  “That doesn’t sound right,” Delia said. “Benjamin told me he worked on engines.”

  “He did, but it was cars ’n trucks. Even that didn’t happen until after he met Sergeant Callaghan. Ed Callaghan was a white man from Baltimore. One night he come back to the base drunk as a skunk and puked all over the place. Benjamin cleaned up the mess and got Callaghan into his bunk so nobody was ever the wiser. Two days later Callaghan pulled Benjamin out of the colored duty pool and sent him to mechanic training.”

  Delia eyed Otis suspiciously. “How’d you come to know this?”

  “Benjamin used t’ send his mama a letter most every day. Him and Lila was like you and Isaac, close as peas in a pod.”

  “Then he ought to understand why I want Isaac—”

  Otis shook his head sadly. “Oh, he knows the love you got for that boy, he just don’t want him to grow up expecting too much outta life.”

  “But if Isaac don’t know there’s a better life, how can he expect—”

  Otis stopped Delia mid-sentence. “See, that’s the problem. When somebody’s thinking the best will happen and they get the worst, they’s sad clear down to their toes. But if they ain’t expecting nothing but bad and good comes along, they got cause to celebrate. It can be the very same thing, but if they’s happy or sad depends on which side they is seeing it from.”

  “What you talking about?”

  “When Benjamin went off to the army he was thinking he’d maybe get to be a pilot, flying one of those big bomber planes, but the best he ever got was being a mechanic and that made his heart sad. If he’d gone in expecting to clean toilet bowls, he’d’ been real happy for the chance to be a mechanic.”

  “Oh.” Delia leaned forward. “But he did get to be a mechanic, and that’s something to be proud of.”

  Otis nodded. “True enough. But it was a big step down from being a pilot, and that’s what hurt Benjamin’s heart. After that he stopped expecting so much and started being thankful for what he got.”

  “But Daddy Church, it ain’t fair.”

  “It sure ain’t.”

  “The money we got is the same as white folks’ money, so why those stores gotta have signs saying we can’t go in?”

  “Plenty of them folks in Bakerstown is getting through by the skin of their teeth. They is like a small toad sitting in a small pond. They ain’t none too crazy about being a small toad, so looking down their nose at us makes ’em feel like they is a bigger toad”

  “That’s silly,” Delia said. “If we was to go in the store and spend money they’d be richer, and ain’t that like being bigger?”

  Otis laughed. “That ain’t their way of thinking. They is happy being a look-down-your-nose small toad.”

  Delia sat and talked with Otis for nearly two hours, but when Benjamin came in nothing more was said. From that point on Delia weighed her words as she told stories of what could be. She held off promising Isaac he’d be treated exactly like a white man and focused on saying how there were plenty of Negro doctors, teachers, and even entertainers.

  “Being a Negro ain’t a bad thing,” she told him, “it’s just different.”

  More than once Benjamin overheard her say Isaac shouldn’t go through life expecting too much. Hearing such advice gladdened his heart, but he never knew how it came about. Otis said nothing about their conversation, and neither did Delia

  As that year rolled into the next, Delia began staying at home whenever Benjamin had to go into Bakerstown. She’d claim she had washing to do, or she’d pull out the quilt she was working on and start stitching another patch. On occasion Isaac went along, but Delia tried to discourage it. He was still a boy, she reasoned; there’d be time enough to discover the ugliness of life.

  Delia

  It’s funny how you think you know a man clear down to his soul, when the God’s honest truth is you don’t know a bean about what’s inside his head. I always figured Benjamin was an easy sort because of how he didn’t fight my daddy back and didn’t get riled over them damn signs. I never dreamed there was a time he was different.

  I can see now, Benjamin’s a lot like Daddy Church. They’s both proud men. Too proud, maybe, to show their heartache.

  Daddy Church do
n’t never talk about missing Benjamin’s mama, but he got a little picture sitting alongside his bed and every night I see him whispering stuff to that picture. The thing is he don’t look sad when he’s talking to the picture; it looks almost like he’s saying how much he still loves her. You can bet my daddy didn’t do that when Mama died.

  Sometimes I feel bad because Isaac don’t have the things I had when I was growing up, but when I see all the love Daddy Church has for Benjamin and Benjamin has for Isaac, I know he’s way better off. Having a daddy who loves you is a lot more important than having schoolbooks with no ripped pages.

  Benjamin is a good daddy and when poor Miss Lila was alive, he was a good son.

  He cared enough to send his mama a letter most every day, and there ain’t many who can say that. The truth is if I had to choose for Isaac to be more like my daddy or his I’d choose his, even if it means being a farmer.

  Hard Times

  For two years the land Benjamin farmed produced a bountiful harvest in both summer and winter. During the years of plenty they came to believe it would always be that way, and Delia seldom voiced her thoughts of moving north. When she did it was little more than a passing comment.

  Otis, now fifty-nine, had developed a limp that caused him to lean heavily on his right leg. On good days he could work two, maybe three hours in the field, but by then he’d have a sharp pain shooting up his leg and crossing into his back. When Benjamin saw his daddy wincing, he’d insist Otis go back to the house.

  “I don’t like the thought of Delia being alone all the time,” he’d say, making the request seem more a favor than pity. When that ploy didn’t work he’d find a dozen different reasons why Otis was needed at the house—the screen door needed fixing, the pump was leaky, the smokehouse fire was too low.

  That’s how it was; Benjamin fabricated excuses and Otis pretended to believe them regardless of how thin or frail they were. It was an arrangement that gave each a measure of pride without one taking from the other.