Passing Through Perfect

by Bette Lee Crosby

  Benjamin just stood there with a blank expression on his face.

  Carmella drained the last of her coffee then said, “It’s past time Isaac was in bed. Come on, I’ll show you where your room is.”

  Benjamin and Isaac wordlessly followed along as she started for the staircase. Halfway up she turned back and in a shushed voice said, “Be real quiet, because Jubilee’s asleep.”

  “Jubilee?” Benjamin repeated.

  “Paul’s sister,” she whispered and continued up the stairs.

  Carmella

  I know I can be a bit hasty and rush to judgment on things, but I’m determined not to make the same mistake I did last time. When Sidney was shot in that robbery, I right off assumed Paul was the one who did it. That poor boy was lying there in the hospital, unconscious and unable to defend himself, and without hearing one word of his story I labeled him guilty. Not only did I assume he was guilty, but I also did everything in my power to see that the full force of the law came down on him. I never gave one iota of thought to the fact that maybe he was trying to save Sidney, not kill him.

  Once the truth came out, I knew I had a lot to make up for. And thank God I’ve been able to do it by providing those kids with a home and enough love to last a lifetime.

  Tonight I looked into Benjamin’s eyes, and I didn’t see one speck of evil there. Yes, his skin is dark as a Hershey’s chocolate, but his heart is lily white. Any fool can see that.

  I figure God is giving me a second chance to make up for my misjudging people, and this time I’m going to be smart enough to take it.

  I put Benjamin and his boy in the fancy guest room because I wanted them to have the best. Even that is pitiful small recompense for saving my boy’s life, but it’s all I have to give for now. Maybe I can think of some other way to repay his kindness. It’s something to sleep on, that’s for sure.

  The Plan

  In all his life Benjamin had never seen such a bed. He’d grown used to a mattress stuffed with straw and dry cornhusks, and in the army he’d slept on a wooden plank with a paper-thin canvas pad. This mattress was soft as a cloud, and the blanket covering it was light as a feather. Isaac sat on the side of the bed then bounced back up.

  “Is we really allowed to sleep on this?” he asked.

  Benjamin shrugged. “I reckon so.”

  Isaac crawled beneath the cover and was sound asleep in minutes. Not Benjamin. It felt wrong to be here, to be sleeping in a room in a white man’s house. Sid had been warm and friendly, yet an uneasiness had settled in Benjamin’s stomach. He’d eaten in a white woman’s house once before, so that was okay. At dinner he’d sat on a wooden chair, a hard surface that could easy enough be wiped clean. But here in this room, in this poof of soft fabrics, he felt dirty. Too dirty to climb beneath the covers.

  Benjamin thought of the pond back in Grinder’s Corner, and at that moment he wished he could run to it and jump in. Maybe if he were to scrub hard enough the black of his skin would wash away, and he’d be light enough not to soil the pale-colored sheets.

  Carmella had showed him where the bathroom was. Not an outhouse like his, but a bathroom like the houses in Bakerstown. He was not allowed to use those bathrooms, and he’d never once tried to. Yet Carmella said, “Here’s your bathroom.” She’d invited him to use it with a single admonition.

  “Just be quiet,” she’d whispered, saying that the girl’s bedroom was right next door.

  Benjamin sat in the chair for a long while. He remembered Delia’s bedroom when she lived with her parents in Twin Pines. It was like this: long curtains at the window, a carpet on the floor. He’d been in that room just once, and he’d not touched the bed. He’d only held the bag while Delia tossed her belongings into it.

  He looked around the room. A lamp with a switch turning it on and off; a picture of a woman holding flowers; a wooden dresser so polished it glistened, even in the dim lamplight. This was a room he wished he could have given Delia. It was the type of place where she’d once lived. She’d left it to be with him. Benjamin lowered his head into his hands and cried. It was the muffled sound of regret mixed with heartache.

  After a long while he creaked the door open and walked across to the bathroom. He washed his face and hands in the sink, then dried them on sleeve of his shirt. It was not fitting that he should use the embroidered towels hanging on the rack. It was somehow wrong. When he returned to the bedroom, he stretched out on the carpet and tried to sleep.

  Isaac and me will leave early tomorrow morning, he told himself. I’ll do whatever I’ve got to do so we can keep going. Sooner or later, we’ll find a place right for us.

  Living in a white man’s house is not right, he thought; then he closed his eyes and sleep eventually came.

  ~ ~ ~

  Paul slept for several hours, but he woke long before dawn. In the dark of the sewing room he searched for the memory of yesterday. He could almost feel the car sliding out of control and the panic clutching at his heart. It happened in seconds, but the recollection of it stretched itself into what seemed like hours. He’d heard a scream when the car went airborne, and he’d somehow thought it came from Jubilee. After that there was nothing until he opened his eyes and saw Benjamin hovering over him.

  Thinking back on the conversation they’d had on the ride home, Paul recalled how Benjamin spoke in vague and uncertain terms about where he was headed. New York, Philadelphia, or maybe Baltimore. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced Benjamin wasn’t headed toward anything. He was running away from something. But what?

  Paul knew next to nothing about the man who’d saved his life. Benjamin said they were from Alabama, but he’d not said where. He’d asked for nothing, and yet he appeared to be without much of anything: a rocking chair and a bunch of soggy boxes in the back of a truck that was maybe twenty years old.

  It was almost two years ago, but Paul could still remember the day he’d walked down the mountain carrying Jubilee on his back. Like Benjamin he’d had only the vaguest idea of where he was going and what he’d find there. He’d left the mountain with just one thought in mind: to find a home for Jubilee. As they’d walked from the bus station into Wyattsville, he’d caught a glimpse of himself in a store window and seen a fear of the future in his eyes. Benjamin had that same look.

  Before the first rays of light had creased the sky, Paul came to see Benjamin as a version of himself. When he heard the footsteps on the stair, Paul had already decided what he had to do.

  “Benjamin?” he called out. When no answer was forthcoming, he said, “Can I see you for a moment?”

  Benjamin hesitated; he’d hoped to slip away before anyone was awake but that wasn’t possible now.

  “Wait here,” he told Isaac and turned toward the sewing room.

  “You call me, Mister Paul?”

  Paul laughed and motioned to the chair. “Sit down, Benjamin, and for Pete’s sake, stop calling me Mister Paul.”

  “Yes, sir,” Benjamin answered.

  “Don’t call me sir either. My name’s Paul. Just plain Paul. You call me Paul, and I’ll call you Benjamin, okay?”

  Benjamin started to say “yes, sir” but he caught hold of the word before it was out of his mouth and simply nodded.

  “Sit down,” Paul said. “I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.”

  Still uneasy about taking such liberties, Benjamin sat with his back stiff and his hands on his knees.

  “I’ve got a problem,” Paul said. “Uncle Sid counts on me for working in the grocery store. Unloading cartons, stocking the shelves, sweeping up, things like that. Now that I’ve got this broken arm, I’m not gonna be much help.”

  Paul hesitated a moment looking for the right words. Lean too much one way and it wouldn’t sound needy enough; lean too much the other way and it would have the chime of charity.

  “Anyway,” Paul said, “I know you’re on your way to New York, but if you’re not in a hurry to get there I could sure use a hand f
or a few weeks.” When Benjamin didn’t answer right away, Paul added, “Of course I’d be willing to pay for your time.”

  Benjamin twitched his mouth to one side and rubbed his hand across the scruff of his beard.

  “I could sure use a bit of money,” he said, “but I got to find a place for me ’n Isaac to stay.”

  “Aunt Carmella said you’re welcome to stay here.”

  Benjamin raised an eyebrow and gave a sorry shake of his head. “I ain’t looking to argue with you, Mister Paul, but—”

  “No mister,” Paul cut in.

  Benjamin nodded. “Okay. Anyhow, I’m more ’n happy to get work, but me and Isaac staying here ain’t a good idea. Colored folk and white folk ain’t supposed to live in the same house.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Nobody told me, it’s what I know.”

  “Well, maybe what you know is wrong. You ever consider that?”

  Benjamin shook his head. “I know what I see, and I ain’t never seen nothing to the contrary.”

  “Well, I have,” Paul said. “When my daddy was in the coal mines he worked alongside a man named Edgar, a man way blacker than you. When Daddy died, Edgar was the only one to come and offer help. He said Jubilee and I could live at his house if we’d a mind to.”

  “And you didn’t do it, huh?” Benjamin nodded knowingly.

  “No. But not because Edgar was colored.” A look of sadness slid across Paul’s face. “It was because of a promise I’d made to Daddy.”

  “What kinda promise?”

  Paul thought back on that night. There were times when it seemed a thousand years ago, and moments like this when it was so close he could still feel the agony of it.

  “That I’d never work in the coal mines,” he said.

  For several moments they sat there saying nothing; then Benjamin spoke. “I know Miss Carmella is every bit as good as your daddy’s Mister Edgar, but Isaac and me still got to get our own place.”

  They finally reached an agreement; Benjamin would work at the store but he’d find his own place to stay.

  “Well, you have to at least stay for breakfast,” Paul said, “so Uncle Sid can tell you what all needs to be done.”

  “Okay then,” Benjamin replied. The actuality was he didn’t know if he’d find a place or not. He figured if worse came to worst, he and Isaac could sleep in the truck until he earned enough money for the rest of their trip. But if it came to that, he certainly wouldn’t mention it in front of Carmella.

  ~ ~ ~

  It seemed to Isaac that his daddy had been in that room forever, so he sat down on the bottom rise of the staircase to wait. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, thinking how he could have still been lying in that nice soft bed. He was lost in the thought when Jubilee stepped down beside him.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Isaac,” he answered.

  “How come you’re sitting here?”

  “I’m waiting for Daddy.” Isaac motioned to the sewing room.

  Jubilee walked over to the room and peeked in. “Are you Isaac’s daddy?” she asked Benjamin.

  “Unh-huh,” he nodded. “Is he misbehaving hisself?”

  “No, he’s just sitting on the step.” By then she’d noticed Paul’s arm and bombarded him with questions about it. When Paul told of the accident and recounted how Isaac’s daddy had saved his life, she crossed the room, gave Benjamin a hug, then disappeared out the door.

  Not long afterward, Paul heard Carmella in the kitchen. When she hollered that breakfast was on the table, Benjamin helped Paul hobble to the dining room.

  The table was longer than it had been last night, and there were now six chairs where there had been just four. Sid sat at the head of the table; Jubilee and Isaac sat next to each other on one side. Still keeping his leg cocked at that half-bent angle, Paul lowered himself into a side seat and motioned for Benjamin to sit beside him.

  There was a bowl of butter and a basket of biscuits on the table, but moments later Carmella came in with a platter full of scrambled eggs, sausages, and ham. Sidney’s eyes lit up.

  “Well, well,” he said. “Isn’t this a nice surprise.”

  With a rather pleased look on her face, Carmella said, “It’s Saturday and we’ve got company, so I thought something special was in order. Don’t get used to it,” she added. “On Monday, you’re back to oatmeal.”

  While she poured the coffee, Paul told how he and Benjamin had struck a deal.

  “Benjamin’s going to stay and help out in the store until I’m healed,” Paul said. “My right arm’s okay, so I’ll work the register and he can help out with the heavy stuff.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Carmella said. “I worry about Sidney overdoing it. You know a man his age…” She let the rest of her thought trail off.

  “Even though we’ll have company,” she added jokingly, “it’s still oatmeal on Monday.”

  “I like oatmeal too,” Isaac said as he stuffed a piece of sausage in his mouth.

  Benjamin knew he had to say something. “Miss Carmella,” he said apologetically, “we’re not gonna be here on Monday. I’m happy to be working in y’all’s store, but we got to get our own place.”

  “Nonsense,” Carmella said. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

  “That may be,” Benjamin replied, “but colored folk and white folk needs their own separate places.”

  “That’s a very bigoted statement,” Sidney said. His words had a sharp sound to them.

  Benjamin turned. “I don’t mean no offense, Mister Sidney, but—”

  “That’s what all bigots say—I don’t mean any offense—but it doesn’t end the hate!”

  “Stop it, Sidney!” Carmella said angrily. She turned to Benjamin. “Please forgive Sid. He lost two cousins in Germany and—”

  “You don’t need to make apologies for me,” Sidney snapped. “Bigotry is bigotry, whether you’re Jewish, black, or white. It’s people hating people they don’t even know who started that war! Sooner or later somebody’s got to say something!”

  Sid angrily pushed back from the table and sat there steaming.

  The clatter of forks was suddenly gone; there was only a big heavy silence hanging in the air.

  Jubilee was the first to speak.

  “I don’t hate nobody,” she said. “Me and Isaac’s friends.” She stretched out her skinny little arm and wrapped it around Isaac’s shoulder.

  “I don’t hate nobody neither,” Isaac added.

  The hard set of Carmella’s mouth softened. “That’s because you’re children,” she said. “Children only hate when they’ve got reason.”

  Benjamin

  I know Mister Sidney and Miss Carmella are trying to show us a kindness ’cause of bringing their boy home, but to me it’s got the feel of charity. Sleeping in such a fancy room is like taking something that don’t rightfully belong to me, and it plain out don’t sit well. I’d sooner be sleeping in the back of the truck.

  When a man’s already down low, he sure don’t need anybody feeling sorry for him. I left Grinder’s Corner ’cause I was too ashamed to stay, and I done made up my mind I ain’t never gonna let Isaac see me that way again.

  A boy has got to be proud of his daddy. If he ain’t proud of his daddy, he ain’t never gonna be proud of hisself.

  That sure ain’t what Delia wanted for Isaac.

  Coming to Agreement

  When the silence became thick as early morning fog, Carmella tried to poke holes in it with meaningless bits of chatter. She spoke of the biscuits being slightly burnt, the price of apple butter going up two cents, and the weather forecast for rain in the afternoon. No one listened. When the silence stayed, she shooed the children away from the table.

  “You’ve finished eating,” she said. “Now go on outside and play before that rain gets here.”

  Once they were beyond earshot, she turned to Sidney. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she said angrily. “S
uch talk in front of children!”

  “Me?” he replied. “I’m not the one.” He looked toward Benjamin. “He’s the one who made a big deal about—”

  Paul, not usually one to find fault with anybody, cut in. “Uncle Sid, you jumped the gun on this one. You didn’t even wait to hear what Benjamin said.”

  “I heard what he said,” Sid replied. “I heard as much as I needed to hear.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Paul argued. “Can’t you let go of your anger long enough to ask Benjamin why he feels as he does?”

  “Okay, you want me to ask, I’ll ask.” He turned to Benjamin. “So what’s your excuse?”

  “Sidney!” Carmella snapped. She said nothing else. There was no need for additional words. Sid had seen the look often enough to know exactly what it meant.

  He turned back to Benjamin, his voice more condescending than apologetic. “Maybe I was a bit harsh in speaking—”

  “A bit harsh?” Carmella grumbled.

  “Okay, I was wrong,” he corrected. With words that had a more genuine ring to them he said, “Sometimes I’m too quick to judge a person and end up doing the very thing I detest. It’s possible I was wrong about your reasoning…” He let the thought hang there, waiting for Benjamin to pick up the thread.

  Benjamin sat silently, his eyes fixed on the sausages still on his plate. When he finally spoke his voice was soft, almost like that of a child.

  “I ain’t never known a man like you, Mister Sidney. You’re not big in size, but you is sure big in heart.”

  Sid, a bit sensitive about his height, started to speak. “I don’t know that I’d say—”

  Carmella gave a warning glare, and he stopped mid-sentence.

  Still looking down at those two cold greasy sausages, Benjamin continued. “Where I come from we learn from the time we come into this world we got to do what the white man says. White people got their place, and we got ours. It ain’t something—”