I found Alma, Pearl, Eleanor and Dora in the kitchen enveloped in the bay-leaf-scented steam from pots boiling on the stove. Every bench and table was set up for food preparation. I cast my eyes over the chopped celery and onion, rice, cooked shrimp, corn cobs, bunches of fresh parsley and dried thyme. We were going to have one big feast.
‘Leroy’s out watching the band. He’ll be here in a minute,’ Pearl said, kissing me on the cheek. ‘Now, Jewel, do you think you can manage the remoulade sauce like I showed you?’
‘I’m certain I can,’ I assured her.
‘Good!’ she said with a twinkle of approval in her eyes. ‘’Cause I’m not having any daughter-in-law who can’t even make mayonnaise! Leroy’s too skinny as it is.’
My heart sang. I knew that Pearl liked me, but now I understood how much.
I made the sauce, and helped with the corn maque choux too, with a sense of contentment. But as we laid out the table for the meal, a pain pinched my heart. It was only because Pearl believed I was part coloured that she even considered the idea that I might marry Leroy.
I stared out the window at Bunny and the children playing in the garden. If Leroy and I had children they’d be mulatto, and get called anything from mongrels to jiggaboos. It would be humiliating for them. If we were to stay in New Orleans, the only way for me to be with him would be to pass as coloured. It was common knowledge that light-skinned Negroes passed themselves off as white all the time in order to gain privileges and better-paid work. I’d never heard of anyone white passing themselves as coloured. But I’d do it for love. I’d do it for Leroy. But then there was Maman and Mae to consider.
My thoughts were interrupted when Leroy arrived with Ti-Jean. I hadn’t seen Leroy’s brother for a few weeks now. Leroy said he’d been in the country, encouraging coloured people to vote. All of us sat down, and Leroy reached under the table and squeezed my leg. He must have sensed I was downhearted because he kept complimenting everything I’d had some hand in making.
‘Mama says you do the seasoning just right for the fried rice,’ he whispered to me. ‘She says she’s got competition! It’s not easy to get a compliment out of Mama in regards to food.’
I smiled, touched by his desire to cheer me up.
Usually Ti-Jean ignored me at family lunches but today he was particularly interested in me. ‘So what have you been up to lately, Jewel?’
Ti-Jean was university educated. I didn’t want him to think of me as some ding-a-ling stripper.
‘Well, I went to a meeting of the Urban League,’ I replied.
‘The lady who supplies our flowers has been going too,’ said Alma. ‘She says the white folks who attend are real nice.’
‘That is a nice organisation,’ said Ti-Jean. ‘Nice white folks and philanthropists trying to help raise us Negroes up in society.’
The sarcasm in his voice stung me like a slap in the face.
Leroy frowned. ‘Why are you being so hard on Jewel? She went to a meeting with the idea of making life better for coloured people. You should be happy about that.’
‘Well, it’s good that some white folks are trying to be helpful,’ said Pearl, dishing out the red beans and rice. ‘We’re all God’s children and we should be acting that way. No man higher or lower than another.’
I was grateful to Leroy and Pearl for defending me. It seemed that no matter what I did or said it would never be the right thing by Ti-Jean. Still, I wasn’t going to let him get away with being contemptuous of people like Clifford Lalande and his family simply because of their colour. They were making personal sacrifices in the name of justice when they could have been gallivanting around and enjoying all their white privileges.
‘The leaders are very committed,’ I said. ‘One of them is a lawyer, Clifford Lalande —’
‘I know Clifford Lalande,’ interrupted Ti-Jean, mopping up his jambalaya with a piece of bread. ‘A nice white boy from a good family.’
I ate a spoonful of rice to hide my surprise and burned my tongue. ‘How do you know him?’ I asked.
‘When I got out of law school he tried to find me a job with an Uptown firm.’ Ti-Jean’s lip curled with anger. ‘The best he could do was a clerk in the mail room. “It will be a foot in the door,” he told me. “You can prove your worth once you’re in.” Funny how a coloured man who excelled with honours has to “prove his worth” whereas a white boy who barely passed can waltz in the door and get his own office.’
I pursed my lips. The favour Ti-Jean was quick to dismiss had most likely cost Clifford a few opportunities of his own. I wanted to defend him, but I was always walking on eggshells with Ti-Jean so I kept quiet. I hadn’t explained to Leroy yet that Clifford was coming every Tuesday to visit and I didn’t know how to stop him without raising Maman’s suspicions.
‘Well, you can’t hate the man for trying, Ti-Jean,’ said Joseph. ‘He was doing his best to help you. It’s not his fault Louisiana is how it is.’
‘You might think Lalande and his colleagues have pure motives, Pa,’ retorted Ti-Jean, ‘but they’re looking out for themselves. They know segregation is costing New Orleans economically and hurting their interests.’
‘Well, whatever their motives, the Urban League is nothing like that dreadful White Citizens’ Council,’ said Eleanor, twisting the head off a crawfish and sucking the flesh from it. ‘They’re trying to make it impossible for any Negro who tries to vote to hold a job or run a business.’
Milton leaned back in his chair and nodded. ‘They got all the aims of the Ku Klux Klan with the veneer of respectability of a church picnic. Yes, I give credit to the Urban League for convincing one hundred white people to sign a petition for the desegregation of schools. But the Citizens’ Council got fifteen thousand to sign one against it without even breaking a sweat.’
‘It’s worse in Mississippi,’ said Joseph. ‘The planters are forcing their labourers to tear up their poll tax receipts or find themselves off the land.’
‘That’s white people for you,’ said Ti-Jean, sending a nod in my direction. ‘They can hang us, burn us, castrate us, shoot us and rape our women and children, but we’ve got to take it yessing and grinning and shining shoes for a living.’
‘Well, you be careful, Ti-Jean,’ said Pearl. ‘They’re collecting the names of NAACP members and putting you all on a watch list along with the communists.’
Leroy frowned. ‘Be careful too, Jewel. They’ll probably do the same with the Urban League members. You could find yourself on a blacklist.’
I ate a mouthful of the corn maque choux. It was flavourful and seasoned just right, but it left a bitter taste in my mouth that had nothing to do with the food. I understood Leroy’s fear. If I ended up on a blacklist, I’d be closely watched and it wouldn’t be so easy to slip between being Ruby and Jewel.
Clifford had told me that things were growing worse in New Orleans, and I discovered it for myself a few days later when I was on Canal Street. I heard shouts and chants and thought it might be a parade practice, but then I noticed the shoeshine men hurriedly pick up their tools and disappear. A Negro maid dropped her shopping and broke into a run. The few stores that catered to coloured clientele hurriedly shut their doors and put up their closed signs. White people began to flee too. I watched a mother herd her four children into her Oldsmobile and speed away. A cold tremor ran down my spine.
A group of people holding placards and banners were marching down the street. When they got closer, I could read what their slogans said.
Keep our schools white!
Race mixing is communism!
The NAACP’s real target is the bedroom!
At the front of the demonstration were two men holding an effigy of a Negro with a rope around his neck. Behind them came a man with a sign that said: Tar and feathers and don’t forget the matches! I recognised Jimmy, the former barman from the Vieux Carré Club. He looked in my direction and I froze, but I was dressed as Ruby, not Jewel, and he didn’t recognise me.
&
nbsp; While many white people had fled, more had come out onto the banquettes to cheer the protesters on and some even joined them. Racists were crawling out of every nook and cranny like cockroaches.
‘Two-four-six-eight!’ the demonstrators shouted, using a popular chant. ‘We don’t want to integrate!’
A gangly boy, no more than eighteen, walked past with a banner that read: Negroes go back to Africa! Except Fats Domino. He can stay!
If I had a lick of faith that the carrier of the sign was an intelligent human being, the words might have been taken as an ironic comment. But these protesters were ignorant bigots and that’s what made them so dangerous. I couldn’t bear to even look at them.
I struggled through the spectators to reach Royal Street, but instead found myself pushed into the path of the protest, and came face to face with a woman holding a placard that read: Communist Jews are behind school integration. Oh, God! It was Aunt Elva! I hadn’t seen her or Uncle Rex for a long time. She’d been furious that Sam had gotten the title deed to the apartment transferred back in my name. They were no longer our family as far as I was concerned.
She lowered her placard and glared at me, then her gaze fell to my navy overblouse dress and beige clutch coat, which were the first new items of clothing I’d bought for Ruby in over a year.
‘You little Jezebel!’ she growled, bringing her face so close to mine that every hate-filled line and pore seemed magnified. ‘I know what you’ve been up to! Everyone is talking about it at the women’s club. You’ve brought shame on us all by taking up with that man. Every time someone mentions your name, I spit! You’re no niece of mine.’
My stomach turned queasy and I gasped. How had she found out about Leroy? If people knew, there was a danger that someone in the Citizens’ Council would harm him.
Aunt Elva’s nostrils flared. ‘Ha! So the rumours are true! You thought I wouldn’t find out?’
I tried to bluff, although my hands were trembling. ‘Find out what?’
‘That you’re engaged to that despicable traitor Clifford Lalande! He’s been calling on you and your hussy of a mother. Well, good luck! He’s rich now, but that won’t last. He’ll be starved out of town — the Council will see to that!’
It took me a minute to comprehend what she’d said. When I realised she was talking about Clifford and not Leroy, I clasped my hand to my chest and laughed.
‘You dried-up old prune!’ I told her. ‘I can’t stand you, nor your no-good gambler of a husband!’
‘Why, you!’ she screeched, her face turning purple. ‘I’ll kill you!’
She shoved me, and I shoved her right back. Then she boxed my ears and grabbed my hair, pulling so hard I thought she was going to rip it from my scalp. I brought my hand around her neck and wrestled her to the ground lest she do some real damage. When I saw she was trying to bite my hand, I pinned her arms behind her head and sat on top of her.
The bystanders thought the fight was because I was defending Negroes, and some shouted support for me and others for Aunt Elva. Something flashed and I noticed two newspaper photographers taking pictures of us. I quickly got up and hid my face. The last thing I needed was to end up in the papers.
I was relieved when the Times-Picayune didn’t run a picture, until Leroy showed me the full-sized photograph on the cover of the Louisiana Weekly, the newspaper for coloured people. Young white woman takes on anti-segregation march! the caption read.
‘It’s a pity no-one in my family will recognise you. Even Ti-Jean would have been impressed,’ said Leroy with a grin.
‘It’s lucky Maman and Mae don’t read the Louisiana Weekly,’ I told him, ‘because they’d be anything but impressed.’
We were ribbing each other, but then Leroy turned serious. ‘Be careful,’ he warned. ‘If the supremacists go after Ruby, it won’t take them long to find Jewel.’
TWENTY-ONE
Ruby
There was no time for sleep the morning of the Mardi Gras parade. I came home from seeing Leroy just in time to get to my room before Maman rose, so that I could pretend I’d been home all night. She always woke earlier than usual on the day of the parade. It would have been impossible for even the heaviest sleeper to continue to doze through the sounds of the bands warming up in the streets and the revelry of the patrons spilling out of the bars. When I heard her walk down the hallway and greet Mae in the dining room, I smoothed down my skirt, opened my bedroom door and went to join her for our traditional Mardi Gras early breakfast of beignets and coffee.
‘Good morning, Maman!’ I said, with the breezy smile of a young woman who might have had ten hours’ uninterrupted sleep.
‘Well, you’re looking lovely,’ she responded, admiring my navy blue dress, which had survived the scuffle with Aunt Elva.
It was fortunate that Aunt Elva no longer contacted us because she would have loved telling the story of our fight to Maman. Whenever Maman asked about my aunt and uncle, I pretended that they’d both contracted shingles or influenza or some other contagious disease and were afraid of infecting her. Maman would write cards to wish them a speedy return to health, but I’d never send them.
After breakfast, I set Maman up in a chair on the gallery rugged up in a coat, hat and scarf. Mae placed a pot of hot coffee beside her. The parade wouldn’t pass directly by, but she’d still be able to see plenty of action. Jazz music filled the air, and children dressed as pirates and ballet dancers pranced after their parents. Maman and I watched two girls — one dressed as an angel, the other as a devil — skip along eating cotton candy and chattering excitedly to each other.
‘You used to love to dress up when you were a child,’ Maman told me. ‘One year you wanted to be Alice in Wonderland, and the next, Little Bo-Peep.’
‘Is that right?’ I said. I had a vague recollection of my childish imagination carrying me away. It had obviously been good practice for my adult life. I tucked a blanket around Maman’s legs and chest. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you? It’s going to be freezing today.’
She smiled brightly. ‘Go and have fun! If it gets too cold for me, Mae will help me inside.’ I kissed her on the cheek and she grasped my hand. ‘You’re good to me, Ruby. A mother couldn’t ask for a better daughter than you. You’re always thinking of me.’
It was true: I was always thinking of Maman. But that didn’t stop me feeling guilty about all the sneaking around I was doing.
The streetcar routes had been redirected and it was impossible to find a cab, so I walked to St Charles Avenue. It took me over an hour but I didn’t mind. I loved Mardi Gras. Clowns on stilts entertained children and tourists, charities had erected grandstands and were charging a dollar a seat to raise funds, while the less altruistically minded were renting out ladders for profit. I passed street vendors dressed in antebellum costumes and selling cotton candy, roasted peanuts and toffee apples. I closed my eyes for a moment and breathed in the sugary cold air.
I had arranged with Clifford to go with him to see the Rex Parade pass down Napoleon Avenue into St Charles Avenue. Rex was the King of Mardi Gras and his role was played by a different prominent member of the city each year, his identity kept secret until the morning of the parade.
I reached City Hall, where the Queen of Carnival was waiting with her maids to receive Rex’s toast when he passed. A jazz band was playing ‘If Ever I Cease to Love’. I thought about Leroy and his family: they would be heading out to watch the Zulu Parade, a parody of the Rex Parade. ‘Zulu’ was a racial slur, and everything Rex did, the Zulu King mocked. While Rex arrived by yacht up the Mississippi, Zulu came on a tugboat. Whereas Rex held a sceptre, Zulu held a ham bone, and his entourage handed out coconuts instead of beads and trinkets. The Zulu King, although played by a coloured man, wore blackface. The parade was a mockery of white people and how they treated coloured people, but I’d never considered that until now.
I rang the front doorbell of the Lalande home. Instead of a maid, I was greeted by an animated Kit
ty waving a copy of the Louisiana Weekly with me on the cover. Theodore, the Labrador, pranced excitedly around her feet.
‘Come in, Ruby,’ Kitty said. ‘You’ve been the topic of conversation all morning!’
Philomena appeared and took my coat and gloves before Kitty tugged me into the parlour. Given the social standing of the Lalande family, I had expected their open house to be an elaborate affair with people spilling out of every room. I was surprised to find Clifford in the company of only his mother, Eddie, and a refined-looking coloured man. They were standing around the fireplace and drinking champagne. Their faces lit up when they saw me.
‘My, Ruby, that is a very fetching outfit,’ said Mrs Lalande, stepping forward to kiss me.
‘Oh, thank you,’ I said, accepting the glass of champagne that Eddie poured for me.
‘We’re practically family now,’ Kitty whispered, nudging me in the ribs.
I glanced at Clifford, who smiled. How was I ever going to set this right?
Eddie guided Kitty away. Before they left, Clifford took the newspaper from his sister and leaned towards me.
‘I told you before and I’ll tell you again,’ he said, his eyes shining. ‘You never stop amazing me.’
‘Oh,’ I said, patting my hair, ‘I’m a bit dishevelled in that photograph.’
He leaned closer. ‘You look like Joan of Arc.’
‘Indeed she is like the Maid of Orléons,’ said the coloured man. ‘A noble heroine.’
‘Ruby, let me introduce you to my good friend Christophe Galafate,’ Clifford said. ‘He’s a lawyer too and is working on civil rights cases for the Urban League and NAACP.’
‘I wouldn’t be able to do what I do without the help of the good Lalande family,’ Christophe said graciously. He wore a silk cravat like a French aristocrat, and I liked the elegant way he tilted his head when he spoke to me.
There weren’t many places in the South where a white family would entertain a coloured man on equal terms. It made me think of Ti-Jean. Maybe if he’d accepted the job in the mail room, he’d be where Christophe Galafate was now, despite the unfair disadvantage. Maman always said it never paid to be bitter.
Southern Ruby Page 32
