Echoes of a Distant Summer

by Guy Johnson

  Now, at seventy, his body chronicled each passing day with new aches and pains, and decreasing strength. He felt that his youth had been squandered on makeshift love affairs that pleased neither him nor the women he was with. And the final waste was his marriage. His wife was a good woman, but it was a drab relationship; there was no passion, only infrequent spasms of animal energy. And all this transpired in full sight of the woman he truly loved. He felt it in his bones; this was the love of which poets wrote. Each year without her was another turn on the torturous rack, until it seemed that he was stretched beyond the edge of sanity.

  He wasn’t threading the tightrope among the DuMonts, DiMarco, and Tree just for the money. He wanted revenge. No amount of money could make up for what he had suffered. He was organizing this effort to tear down the empire that his enemy had built and then to wipe his seed from the earth.

  Wednesday, June 30, 1982

  Serena walked out of the air-conditioned Hilton and was assaulted with the thick, moist, morning air of the Crescent City. She had forgotten the humidity of New Orleans that swathed itself around the body like a warm towel. It was too late to take her expensive black wool coat back to the room, plus it was part of her ensemble of black hat, dress, and shoes. She had judiciously chosen her clothing before her flight. It would take an emergency before she would break up a set wardrobe. She clearly wanted to present an image of wealth and class. The doorman whistled and a cab pulled up in front of the entrance. She pressed two dollars into his hand and was assisted into the cab. She gave the name of the cemetery to the driver and sank back in the seat to study the strange, new New Orleans that had risen up in the form of skyscrapers and overpasses since she had left over sixty years ago.

  As the cab drove past unfamiliar buildings, Serena thought about her sister Della. She had no idea what she would say to her, or even how she would begin their conversation. She knew she wouldn’t mention that Della had erred in blaming her for all the miscarriages, at least not immediately. The very existence of Della’s daughters proved that Sister Bornais was fallible. And if the old medicine woman had made one error, maybe the rest of the things that had happened could be chalked up to coincidence too. Why couldn’t the old woman be wrong about everything? It was a conversation that Serena had conducted many times in her mind but to no real resolution. All she could do was hold up Della’s daughters as proof that the curse was not all-encompassing. She stared out the window and saw signs indicating that they were passing the western edge of Lake Pontchartrain toward what used to be Nellums’ Crossing. Serena knew the Crossing wasn’t there anymore. She had checked a map in the hotel. A housing development and minimall covered the area abutting Pine Knoll. The undeveloped rolling hills and lowlands were gone; buildings and houses had popped up everywhere she looked. Except for a few meadows and creek beds, there was construction everywhere. She shook her head. The place where she had grown up had been paved over. A new, slick neon landscape lay on top of the world she had known.

  Della was the last person alive with whom Serena had experienced that other New Orleans, who remembered when horses and mules were the regular means of transportation owned by colored people, when outhouses were in common use, when no one colored outside of town had electricity, when only rich people had store-bought clothes. How would Della react when she first saw her? What would be her first words? It really didn’t matter; it was Serena’s intent to be generous and gracious. She would show what big-city class meant. Perhaps she would invite the family to the hotel for dinner one night for something très cher. She was going to turn their heads. Her nieces would be impressed with their newfound aunt. Perhaps she would invite them out to her home in San Francisco. Young ladies under her wing that she could mold and sculpt as she had been unable to do with her own children. King had always gotten in the way of her plans. Yes, she planned to be generous, to let bygones be bygones. It was a new day.

  The cab pulled into a driveway which ran through a rusted iron fence. The old wrought-iron gate lay unhinged against one of the stone pillars which flanked the entrance. The cab bumped along a worn and rutted road as it chugged over a rise and pulled into a rough parking lot jam-packed with cars. Serena was surprised to see so many cars. For some reason, she thought the funeral would be small and intimate. The presence of all the vehicles made her think that Amos must have belonged to a very big church. Why else would so many people attend? She paid off the driver and made her way down a path that led to the Baddeaux family plot.

  She passed through a stand of trees and saw a great crowd of people listening to a small jazz band that was playing on a raised platform. There were around two hundred people in attendance, many of whom were quite young, in their early twenties. A person with a white armband approached her and asked if she was a member of the family. She nodded and was led through the crowd to two rows of folding chairs which were facing the dais. They approached the chairs from the rear and she was seated in the second row next to a woman she did not know.

  She studied the backs of the heads of the people in the first row, trying to identify Della, but the hats and veils worn by the women obstructed her view. Serena sat back and waited for the music to end. From her vantage point she could see that the members of the band were also quite young, which was surprising. She would’ve thought the musicians would have been older, perhaps even Amos’s contemporaries. The music ended with a crescendo and received a rousing ovation from the attendees. A reverend climbed onto the platform and introduced the musicians. From his words Serena deduced that the band members had all been Amos’s students, as had been many of the people in attendance. The reverend asked if any desired to say a few words and a line formed at the foot of the platform. A succession of faces, young and old, spoke touchingly of their relations with Amos. Apparently, Amos had risen to prominence as a teacher in a local music school and had touched many during his tenure. The mourners were there to acknowledge not only their respect but their gratitude.

  It was not what Serena expected. She rather presumed that Amos had returned home a crippled and beaten man, that he had drowned himself in self-pity and resentment, and had led a reclusive life of inactivity. It was quite a shock to her to find that was not the case. A young man in dreadlocks addressed the crowd with an impassioned oration about Amos’s impact on his life and when he finished, people rose to their feet and applauded. Serena shook her head in disbelief. She had never thought much of Amos other than in the context of him being her little brother. His unexpected prominence sort of threw her planned approach off track. She had projected that she would make a dramatic entrance to a sparsely attended service and she would make up with Della in front of an audience. She would be the grand lady over ne’er-do-well relatives.

  The reverend called upon members of the family to speak. Serena was pleased to see two light-skinned women in their late thirties rise to the podium and say positive words about their uncle. Serena thought she could see the Baddeaux genes in their eyes and lips. They certainly had the family’s light skin. Then Della was assisted up on the platform. Serena recognized her despite time’s ravages. Her hair was gray, her face was lined with the passing years, and her body moved stiffly, but her eyes still had that sparkle that Serena remembered. Della spoke without notes about her brother’s achievements. She mentioned his disability and how that had not stopped him from being a giving person. She revealed that she had been a teacher as well and had shared the heartbreak with him when he was unable to reach a particular student, or stimulate members of his class with his own love of music. Her voice was occasionally raspy as she was sometimes close to tears, but Della controlled her emotions and continued speaking. All the while she spoke, Serena studied her. Della’s being a teacher explained why her clothes had a used and worn look. Obviously, she had not enjoyed financial success in her profession. Some of Serena’s projections had been accurate.

  She was not sure when Della’s eyes fixed upon her, but Della fell silent midsentence for a few mo
ments while she stared at Serena. Many of the people in attendance twisted to see what she was looking at before Della regained her composure, thanked all the attendees, and abruptly left the platform. The service ended with the lowering of the coffin into the earth as the band played “St. James Infirmary.” Serena waited in her seat, expecting Della to come to her, but Della was occupied, surrounded by well-wishers. Serena stood and began to make her way slowly through the crowd toward her sister. Through a break in the mass of bodies, Serena thought she made eye contact with Della. She smiled and waved, but Della turned away and began moving toward the exit. Serena hastened to intercept her.

  When she was within five feet of Della, Serena called out, “Della! Della Baddeaux, wait for your sister!” One of Della’s daughters, a light-skinned woman who had spoken from the podium about her uncle Amos, was at Della’s elbow. She saw Serena and smiled. Serena hurried over to stand in front of Della. She pulled back her veil and opened her arms to hug her sister, but was rebuffed.

  Della looked at her malevolently and declared, “How dare you! How dare you!”

  Serena, in surprise, explained, “Della, it’s me, honey! Serena! Serena, your sister!”

  There was no warmth in either her expression or words as Della snarled, “I know who you are! How could I forget you? You’ve marked my life! You’ve stolen from me treasures that cannot be counted! How could I forget you?”

  Serena was completely taken aback. This reception was one that had not even entered her mind. “What—what are you talking about?” she sputtered.

  Della growled, “You have the gall to ask me that question? How dare you! I had hoped you were dead, yet you have the gall to come here and defile Amos’s service with your presence. You have no business here. You’re not part of this family. You are dead to us. Get out! Get out now!”

  Serena shook her head uncomprehendingly. “Della, I’ve come a long way! I’ve come to patch things up between us! How could you say these words to me? You don’t mean this! I’m your sister!”

  Della shrieked, “I’ve never meant anything more! You’re not wanted here! Amos hated you as I hate you! He wouldn’t want you here! And I don’t want you here! Get out!”

  People were beginning to stare as one of Della’s daughters said, “Mama, you’re getting upset. Try and calm down. Aunt Serena is here as a member of our family.”

  “You don’t know what a snake she is, baby,” Della declared loudly. “This woman has robbed this whole family of a future and she did it knowingly. She did it knowingly! She’s no relative of mine. I don’t even want to see her face!”

  Serena’s lips had begun to tremble. She could not believe what was happening. She stretched out a quivering hand. “Please, Della, don’t do this! Please, I’m your sister! We’re family!”

  “How dare you claim me as family!” Della screamed as tears ran down her face. “You killed Tini! You crippled Amos! You’ve robbed me of the fruit of my womb! You killed my babies! You killed my babies!” Della swayed and her daughters took firmer grips on her arms.

  Serena struggled for understanding. She pleaded, “How can you say that? You have daughters!”

  With a final surge of strength, Della pulled free of the hands that held her and spit right in Serena’s face then screamed, “I hate you! I hate you! You killed my babies!” Della collapsed in sobs and needed to be supported. She was led away by caring friends.

  Serena was left standing alone with spittle on her face. She took a deep breath, gathered herself, then calmly took a tissue out of her purse. While she wiped away the last vestiges of Della’s insult, she felt the numbing weight of unfriendly stares as people walked past her to their parked cars. She had made no arrangements for a ride back into town, nor was it a priority in her thinking. Her principal focus was to make it to the exit without collapsing or breaking down in tears. Della’s words were ringing in her ears. She took another deep breath and followed the crowd on wooden legs up the path to the exit. Although she was walking among many people, she was alone. She felt the banishment conferred by the silent stares, eyes that furtively followed her movements as if she had been guilty of exposing some private part or urinating in public. She could not think of a time in which she had endured greater humiliation in full view of so many strangers.

  Although she felt as if she had been stabbed and choked, on the surface she was unfazed. Serena’s backbone was made of steel. It would not let her crumple, or let her surrender to her desire to scream. She put one foot in front of the other. And kept walking. Her heart and mind had been sent through the fan blades of a wind tunnel. Her feelings and thoughts were shredded and in confusion like swirling confetti caught in a dust devil. She felt strangely unstable, as if Della had somehow knocked down a vital pillar in the structure of her life. Serena had never realized the level of animosity her siblings harbored against her. The mere knowledge of it caused pains to go shooting across her forehead and chest. She was starting to have difficulty getting a deep breath.

  “Aunt Serena! Aunt Serena! Wait up, Aunt Serena!”

  Serena turned and saw one of Della’s daughters hurrying toward her. Immediately, Serena began to straighten her clothes and compose her expression. She wouldn’t let anyone see her broken.

  “Aunt Serena, I’m so glad I caught up with you.” A plump, light-brown-skinned face smiled and a white-gloved hand shot out. “I’m Tini, the younger sister. Rebecca and I are so sorry about what happened. All we can say is that Mother has been under some considerable strain lately, Father having died last year and all. It’s been a tough time for her, but I’ve never seen her react like that. She just wasn’t herself today. I hope you’ll forgive her.”

  “I was mortified by her outburst!” Serena said sadly as she started walking again. Tini fell in step with her as Serena continued, “We haven’t talked for so many years. I thought this would be a good opportunity to patch things up.”

  “Maybe it’s still not too late,” Tini replied. “If you’re going to be in town for a few days maybe Rebecca and I can work something out with Mama for some private time. Where are you staying?”

  “The Hilton downtown.”

  “Do you have a car? May I give you a ride back to the hotel?”

  “That would be very kind of you, if you would, please. I took a cab out here from town.”

  “It would be my pleasure. I’d be happy to help. Uncle King has been so good to us, we’re in debt to you, Aunt Serena. All you have to do is ask.”

  “I beg your pardon? You know King? King Tremain?”

  “Oh, yes, he used to come and visit Uncle Amos a lot. He was the one who donated the money to start Uncle Amos’s music school. Back when Rebecca and I were little, we’d see him a couple of times a year, always bringing gifts and treats for us kids. And you know, of course, that he paid the total freight for Rebecca and my board and education at Spelman.”

  More astonishing news. Serena was speechless. She concentrated on keeping her balance and moving her feet. So, King had kept up the communication with her family and never told her. Irony of ironies: Della’s daughters knew him, but not their blood aunt. Regret washed over her; nearly fifty years of silence and all she had to show for it was that she was a stranger in her own family. How had it happened? How had Della come to hate her? Serena mused out loud, “I don’t know why Della said such things to me. She has two beautiful daughters and you look so much like your mother and grandmother too. I just don’t understand.”

  Tini explained, “I’m sure it all had to do with the terrible miscarriages that she had before we came along which prevented her from having children of her own. She always gets very emotional about that. I remember once—”

  “What did you say?” Serena demanded. Her face paled. She was reeling on the edge of an abyss. “What did you say?”

  “About Mama’s miscarriages?” Tini asked, her face filled with innocent concern. Had she been looking, Tini might have seen the terrible, intense look of Serena’s face and h
alted herself, but she didn’t so she continued on blithely, “The miscarriages were horrible. From what I understand they nearly drove Mama mad. She used to say that the only thing that kept her sane was me and Rebecca entering her life. I guess that’s why she and Papa adopted us.”

  “You’re—you’re adopted? But-but-but you loo-look like …” Serena did not finish. She saw clearly now, there was no escape. Sister Bornais had not made a mistake. She now had no doubts that King was also right. He would be her escort as she descended into hell. For the first time, Serena shouldered the full weight of her actions and it was almost too much to bear. Her vision began to grow dark. She stumbled. All she remembered was that she had slipped over the edge and was falling into the abyss. She saw the sky and realized that she was actually falling over backward, then blackness.