The Castle Cross the Magnet Carter
Page 40
She can’t read him, for all she knows he may be sickened and furious to imagine decriminalizing abortion. She stares unblinking, to make clear she has no intention of backing off her stance.
“Where’s Zay now?”
“He hanged himself two years after the divorce.”
He drops the knife. She laughs.
“I promise you that’s the end of the saga. Okay you’ve sliced enough berries, I can take it from here.”
Eliot pushes the fruit around his bowl, watching the half ’n’ half turn pink.
“Why?”
He looks up at her, then understands that now it is his turn. He shrugs. “I’m sure you know.” She waits. “We should be able to live where we want, our kids going to the neighborhood school. We should be able to stroll the streets without being stopped and harassed by the police, whether in Mississippi or Massachusetts. We have a right to a fair trial, we have a right to goddamn be without some Southern cracker or Western cracker or Northern cracker setting us on fire cuz it’s Burn a Nigger Day.”
Andi spoons red berry and cream through her lips, and something in the movement of it, something in the candlelight bouncing off her face and hair and eyes. Eliot believes it’s the most beautiful image he has ever seen. “That’s pretty generic.”
“What?”
“I think you’ll concede my reply to that question was a bit more personal.”
He looks down into his dish, takes a bite. His previous bite tasted better.
“I don’t think of myself as an especially open person, but you. We’ve been together several times now, and I don’t even know where you’re from.”
“Maryland, I told you. Humble, Maryland.”
“I’m the secretary at work, Eliot, that much I knew from your job application.”
“I don’t know, hick factory town. Mostly white people.”
“Did you have brothers and sisters?”
“I thought the question was why I became a lawyer. We are all in law because of a lifetime witnessing injustice. Now you ask me to pinpoint it all to one moment of my life?”
“No, I’m asking for a moment. One you wouldn’t happen to tell any damn stranger you ran into at a political rally.”
A memory flashes before Eliot’s eyes, his seven-year-old hands wildly waving away the parasitic flies before his mother closes and seals the shoebox which is Parker’s coffin. They buried the cat in the backyard. Eliot had read from the Bible, some verses about Noah and the ark that had nothing at all to do with the present situation but that had been his Sunday school lesson that morning. Then he and his mother had sung “Jesus Loves Me, This I Know,” and she had planted seeds for violets over the grave. Dwight had not been invited to the funeral. At one moment Eliot had glanced up and seen his brother’s face staring down at them from the boys’ bedroom window.
“High school senior year I was going with Jeanine, girl I’d known since before first grade. I came over to pick her up for the prom, and she and her mother are in the living room with this man, hat in hand, and soon as I walk into the room I can tell he’s a stranger to them. He stands and they sit looking up at him, starkly serious on a night I planned on being all about dancing and laughing and kissing. Jeanine waves me to come in, and I sit, holding the corsage I bought for her in my lap. I don’t recall where the man was from, or where he was headed, but he was passing through Humble and remembered the name of the town from Ramonlee, Jeanine’s uncle, and was overcome by this urge to look up Ramonlee’s family. They had been soldiers together, Ramonlee a teenager when he was drafted and teenager when he came home in a box. Not from France and not from the Philippines, the boy never got further than Pennsylvania, the army always remaining frustratingly vague on the matter. The man standing in Jeanine’s living room said that everything was Jim Crow on the base, that there were German prisoners of war who could move about freely but the Negro soldiers were confined to the Negro quarters which naturally were the swamps. There were several movie theaters for white soldiers but none for colored. When they finally set up something makeshift in the Negro section it was small, and a soldier would have to stand in line outside at least the entire two hours of the previous screening in order to make it in for the next. The PX was white-only, and a fed-up black soldier at long last went in to buy a beer, and for his uppityness had the shit kicked out of him, but that wasn’t enough. Within minutes, jeeps of white soldiers came rushing into the colored section, firearms cocked and ready. They shot everything in sight, and before the spree was over several Negroes lay dead. This man standing in Jeanine’s living room and Ramonlee were both wounded, Ramonlee badly, and transported to the infirmary. On the way the Red Cross worker assured the ambulance driver that quote, Niggers don’t bleed that fast, unquote. There is some dispute over whether Ramonlee was treated as quickly as he should have been, at any rate in the end both his legs were amputated, but not quite properly and he bled to death.” From his chair at the table Eliot had been staring, though not seeing, out the window. Only now does it register that it has started to snow. “It got late. Jeanine and I never made it to the prom.”
“It’ll happen soon.” He is startled by her voice, by the present. “Your first civil rights case.”
“How do you know?”
She smiles. “Given your workload, I think by now all the colored couples in Indianapolis have divorced. Nothing else left for you to do.”
She jumps into the bath and he tucks the corners of the blankets. They have agreed making love is most satisfying on clean sheets, or at least on a made bed. In the corner of the room is his briefcase, always with him. He opens it and takes out of the inside top pocket the page his boss had handed him during his first days on the job, something until now he had forgotten about.
Useful Tips When Confronted by Southern Hospitality
by Winston Douglas, Esq.
1.When in Rome. From your hotel window, gaze out. Observe. Take note of the physical cues passed between Negro and white.
2.Be polite to whites, but avoid looking them in the eye. If you are male, especially avoid making eye contact with WHITE WOMEN.
3.If there is a white man, or white men, approaching on the sidewalk, and someone has to step off the curb to allow room for passage, make sure that someone is you. To be safe you will always want to step off rather than risk coming anywhere close to a white woman; to be safest you will always want to step off rather than risk coming anywhere close to a white anything.
4.(a) Make sure you have absolutely ascertained that a restaurant is a Negro establishment before entering.
(b) Avoid at all costs the patronage of bars or saloons or roadhouses, even if they are Negro establishments. Alcohol impedes alertness, and one thing you do not want impeded as a Northerner in Dixie is alertness.
5.Never ever ever drive at night.
6.If you find yourself driving at night, get out of town as fast as your (g)as can carry you. If they catch you, you will be arrested for speeding regardless of whether you were going 15 or 50, so don’t let them catch you.
7.Get used to saying “Yes, ma’am” and “Yes, sir” to white people. It is not always necessary, but it may be, so it is a good idea to practice it until it automatically slips off your tongue. Think Pavlov.
8.Get used to hearing the word “nigger” casually thrown around by whites. Get used to not impulsively clenching your fists when you hear the word “nigger” casually thrown around as there will be many more white fists to clench and white fists to clutch objects that can do considerably more bodily harm than clenched fists.
9.If you are female, do not ever find yourself alone with a white man, or white men. This can lead to rape. If you are male, do not ever find yourself alone with a white woman, or white women. This can lead to lynching.
10.Before you leave home, make a will and have it notarized. Having properly considered i
n detail and legalized your posthumous arrangements generally makes one much more likely to adhere to Rules 1 through 9.
A dog starts barking, wild and vicious. Andi’s apartment is on the fourth of six floors, practically a skyscraper compared with most Indianapolis residences. Just below on the third, a German shepherd—Eliot takes her word for the breed since he’s never seen the animal—sits behind a door, flying into a maniacal tirade every time they walk past. He turns on the radio to drown out the sound. A ballad.
The snow is falling harder, three inches already. She will be aware of slippery roads: if she is going to send him home it will be now or not till after breakfast. They have never been on a real date, all their rendezvous occurring here at Andi’s. His reasoning for the clandestine nature of their relationship has been the fear of running into someone from the office, how such awkwardness might be detrimental to their work environment. Does he know for certain that’s her reasoning? Despite the physical intimacy, he has always detected a certain distance from her. Is it because he has not opened up to her about his past? And if so, didn’t that change a bit this evening when he spoke of Ramonlee? Or maybe her reticence is something else altogether. The worry that has unsettled him: Does she take him seriously? Take them seriously? Is he a man to her, or a boy? What if he suggested they take a weekend away? If they pooled their resources surely they could find a hotel within their means in Gary. And there they would be in no danger of encountering Winston or Beau Greene or Will Mitchell. Would she be willing to go with him then? Be with him?
“Andi.” It’s out of his mouth before he thinks, and at that moment the bathroom door flings open. She is naked and grinning. His mouth opens in awe, and she falls into him, turning off the lamp as she does and they make love again as Brook Benton assures them both that it’s just a matter of time.
6
The white entrance guard leans back in his chair, legs stretched, feet crossed and propped on his desk. His blue eyes glance up over his newspaper. “Thought you were waitin for that gal.” Though he’s relaxed, he is not exactly rude. A Negro boy of about twelve sweeps the floor, empties the wastebasket. Behind the guard stand two flags, one representing the state of Georgia, the other the United States of America.
“She’s five minutes late. I don’t want to lose any more time with my clients.” The impatient young attorney seems a bit perturbed with the tardy party. Beads of sweat appear on his brow, not used to heat like this in mid-April.
The guard unlocks the gate, leading him down the hall. They come to a closed door on the left, another guard leaning against the wall next to it, absently smoking.
“Donnie Ray.” The entrance guard points his thumb in the visitor’s direction. “There’s the lawyer.”
The guard throws his butt to the floor, stamps it out, and unlocks the door. The room is small, cramped, and uncomfortably warm with no windows or fan. A rectangular wooden table and chairs. They are adult chairs, yet the four grownups stand while only the two little Negro boys are seated, their legs dangling. They work in coloring books. When the lawyer walks in, all eyes turn to him. The older child sits on the opposite side of the table facing the door, which the guard now closes as he exits. The younger’s back is to the door so he has to turn around to see the visitor. He is the first person in the room to speak. “Are you Mr. Campbell?”
“Yes,” says Eliot, who takes off his hat and holds it in his hands, “I am.”
The boy scrambles out of his chair to stand and shake his attorney’s hand with the formality of the gentry. “How do you do.”
The adults are Claudette and Ronald Price, the parents of seven-year-old Jordan, and Howard and Minnie Williams, the parents of nine-year-old Max. They introduce themselves to Eliot.
“Where’s Didi?” Mrs. Price asks. Eliot is confused. “Miss Wilcox.”
“She must’ve gotten held up.”
Jordan’s mother seems stricken, as if this is yet another bad omen.
“This a fire truck, Mr. Campbell,” says Jordan. “Fire truck, I color it red.” He makes a siren sound, moving his picture through the air.
“Can I wear your hat?” Max asks, and Eliot gives it to him. Max puts it on and it falls over his eyes. He giggles, then pushes it back on his head so he can see before resuming his coloring.
“This a Dalmatian,” says Jordan. “The page is white but white crayon make Dalmatian whiter. This is the fire man. Max make him pink but I jus leave him be, like the page white but not white like the Dalmatian. I traced it, see? I traced it, look like the real picture, see?”
“I see. What did you color, Max?” Eliot takes a chair, sitting on an end of the table between the boys.
“Train.” Max had done a very studied rendering of an engineer standing outside a passenger car, kindly talking to a porter. Both men are pink.
“That’s very nice, Max. But you know, you could have made those men brown.”
Both boys stop coloring to look up and gape at Eliot.
“My father was a porter. Like him. And colored men can be engineers and firemen too.”
The children look down at their pictures, then back up at Eliot, blinking.
Eliot asks gently, “You boys wanna tell me what happened?”
Max sighs, tired of the question. But Jordan jumps in, seeming to delight in this reversal of Children should be seen and not heard: whenever he tells this story, he has all the adults’ undivided attention. “We was playin with Ginny Dodgson an Leecy Pike, an Ginny Dodgson’s daddy’s a fire man an he the mail man too, an I don’t know what Leecy’s daddy do, an Ginny go ‘How old is you?’ an I say ‘Seven,’ an she say ‘I’m seven too!’ an Max go ‘I’m nine’ an Leecy say ‘I’m eight’ an Ginny say ‘You wanna play dolls?’ an I say ‘Dolls is for girls!’ an she say ‘You wanna play Hide n Go Seek’ an I say ‘Okay, 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30’ an we fine her an Leecy in Miss Dellarose’s bushes an Ginny go ‘You wanna touch my hair?’ an I say ‘Okay,’ her hair straight an yella, an Leecy go ‘You wanna touch my hair?’ it red, an I say ‘Okay,’ an Ginny go ‘I seen Beeber and Sissy Gompers kissin,’ Beeber Ginny’s big brother, an Ginny go ‘You wanna kiss me?’ an she stick her lips out an I go ‘Okay’ an I kiss her right on the lips peck! an she laugh an Leecy go to Max an Leecy say ‘I know how to kiss’ an Max say ‘Okay’ an Leecy go to Max peck! an we find a frog we pick up that frog but it slip away! hop hop an we go home for supper an knock on the door an Mama get the door, then she go ‘Jordan! Ron!’ an me an Daddy come runnin to the door, her voice soun like we oughta come runnin to the door! an a po-lice standin there! An po-lice man say, ‘You kiss a white girl, boy?’ Po-lice man look mad! Po-lice man say Ginny tell her daddy we was kissin, po-lice man say, ‘You know that’s a white girl! You know that’s a white girl!’ an po-lice man got a gun in his pocket he keep tappin it, an then they put the hancups on me click! an they put me in the paddy wagon an Mama cryin an me cryin an then they drive, an then they park, they park a long time, an then come Max in the hancups cryin, they put him in the paddy wagon with me, his mama cryin, an in the jail they punch us in the tummy, they punch in the legs an the back a long time bang! bang! bang! my tummy hurt, an every day we say ‘Can we see our mama?’ an they say ‘Shoulda thoughta that when you go rapin little white girls’ an then our mama an daddy come an then the judge say ‘The reformatory’ so they send us here, the reformatory, an they make us pick the strawberries in the sun, hot! an they make us talk to the psychaw-jegist an the psychaw-jegist say ‘You oughta be cashtrated’ an the psychaw-jegist say ‘You know what cashtrated mean?’ and we say ‘No’ an the psychaw-jegist tell us!”
Jordan’s eyes are filled, his demeanor completely changed, as if at the beginning of his narrative, his enthusiasm in having a new adult as a captive audience had caused him to temporarily forget his story’s terrifying end. Eliot turns to the other child and speaks softly. “Now you tell me, Max.”
Eliot talks to the parents quietly a few minutes. They are interrupted by a quick knock followed by the guard poking his head in. “Two minutes.” He shuts the door.
Mrs. Price wipes her eyes. “Come give Mama a kiss goodbye.”
“No!” Jordan runs to his mother, throwing his arms around her legs. “I wanna go home!”
She reaches down, embracing him. “That’s why we goin to talk with Mr. Campbell now, baby, that’s what we tryin to figure out.”
“You be a good boy, alright?” Mrs. Williams instructs, and she and her husband walk over to kiss Max, who never looks up, never stops coloring.
“May I have my hat back, Max?”
Max stands, takes it off and hands it to Eliot. Then he stares up at his lawyer.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.” Eliot stoops next to the child, and Max cups his hand around his own mouth and Eliot’s ear.
“When my mama kiss me, that don’t count as ‘rape.’ Do it? It only ‘rape’ when I kiss back. Right?”
7
Though he had confirmations by three locals that the establishment was colored, Eliot is nevertheless relieved to see a Negro family enter the place just before he does. It’s 10:30 on a Thursday morning, the restaurant half full. The family, a couple with two small children and a girl of about fourteen (Eliot wonders why the kids aren’t in school), are seating themselves. Peppered about are three single men sitting separately, two middle-aged women chatting, a table of high school kids, and isolated away in a corner is a pretty fair-skinned teenager. Eliot is startled when the girl waves him over.
“Deirdre Wilcox?”
“Didi. And you would be Mr. Campbell.” She smiles, standing to shake his hand, a Southern drawl spiced with Northern education. Her hair is naturally wavy, light brown and falling below her shoulders, her eyes medium brown with golden sparkles. She takes in his baffled look and laughs. “You thought I was eighteen, right?”