And This Too Shall Pass

by E. Lynn Harris

  “Don’t cry, baby, don’t cry,” her mother said as she gently rubbed Tamela’s arms.

  “I’m not going to cry, Mama. It’s just all day … I mean ever since I saw those pictures of the woman who was raped, I been seeing that girl’s face and hearing her screams and tears. I could have done something and I didn’t. I didn’t do anything because I was afraid of losing a boyfriend who was just as wrong as I was for not saying anything. I could have helped but I didn’t. And now I find myself possibly representing a man just like those boys who raped that young lady,” Tamela said as her face became covered with tears. She was no longer pretending to be unmoved by her confession, unmoved by what she had failed to do.

  Blanche got up from her chair and went over and held her daughter. “Just let it out, baby. Just let it out … cry. Everything will be all right … it will be all right,” she said as she rocked her daughter in her arms.

  After her good, cleansing cry, Tamela followed her mother back into the house where she watched Blanche search for something to eat. Tamela loved Mondays at her parents’ home because her mother always cooked huge meals on Sundays and there were plenty of leftovers for days.

  Blanche set before Tamela a plate of her much-loved meatloaf stuffed with mushrooms and bell peppers, candied yams, green beans with smoked turkey pieces, and freshly sliced tomatoes. She made a fresh pan of cornbread and a pitcher of lemonade before sitting down with a cup of coffee to watch Tamela eat.

  “You know what you have to do, don’t you?” Blanche asked.

  “Yes, Mama, but why don’t you tell me?” Tamela said as she smiled at her mother and enjoyed the first taste of the meatloaf.

  “One of the things that I’m certain they taught you in law school is that there are good people and there are bad people in the world, but in this country they are all entitled to a defense. What’s that phrase, ‘innocent until proven guilty.’ Don’t you rush to judgment because of what you know some men are capable of. You went to law school to defend people, that’s what you’ll have to do with this young man,” Blanche said.

  “I know, Mama. And that’s what I’m going to do. I will give my client the best defense I’m capable of,” Tamela said.

  “Then that young man doesn’t have anything to worry about. In regard to the other matter, I think you have to forgive yourself. You did what a lot of women your age would have done under the same circumstances. And what can you do now? Try and find this young lady and apologize. I don’t really think that’s possible. You need to ask the man upstairs for forgiveness and then know that it’s done. In times like these you have to depend on your faith for an answer,” Blanche said.

  “I know you’re right, Mama. I’ve also been thinking about assisting some of the women who are raped and don’t have legal counsel on what they can do. You know I’ve defended so many of them knuckleheads who have committed crimes against women, and I never stop to think of the women. You know if the charges are dropped against the man, those women still have to deal with their pain,” Tamela said.

  “What could you do?”

  “You know, help them get counseling. Help them to sue some of these men, if they can’t get justice from the criminal courts,” Tamela said.

  “That’s a good idea. You could do even more when you open your own practice,” Blanche said.

  “Do you ever regret that you didn’t go to law school?”

  “No, not really. I love teaching. You know it’s a very important job. Sometimes I look at the little boys and girls in my classes, and I just pray I’m making a difference. You’ve got to do the same thing, baby. You’ve got to make a difference and that means standing up to your responsibility.”

  “How did you get to be so smart, lady?”

  “A whole lot of living, my daughter, a lot of living,” she smiled. The Tuesday morning after he returned from New York, Zurich got the surprise of his life. He was on his way to Tamela’s office to go over his case when the phone rang. When he picked up, MamaCee’s voice reached out loud and clear, as if she were next door. MamaCee had the type of voice that could carry for miles, no matter which way the wind was blowing.

  “Zuri,” she said.

  “MamaCee. How are you doing?” He was wondering why she was calling him this early in the day. MamaCee never called during the day when the rates were too high, saving her long distance calls until Sunday.

  “I’m doin’ fine, baby. Come git me,” she said.

  “Come and get you? Where are you, MamaCee?”

  “O’Hara. I’m here at O’Hara. I’m in Chicago, baby,” she said.

  “You’re where?”

  “O’Hara. Ain’t that the name of this airport? Boy, it’s big. I’m telling you that plane ride was something else. It was so beautiful flying up there so high, the sky was beautiful and the clouds … It was like I was flying to heaven. And, Zuri, those young people on the plane serving food, they were so sweet to me. I told them it was the first time I was on one of them planes and that I was going to see my grandbaby. I told them ’bout you playing for the Chicago team. The food wasn’t that good, but the peoples were so nice. I am so happy that I brought my own food. I tried to share some of it, but I didn’t have enough,” MamaCee said.

  “MamaCee, what are you doing in Chicago?” Zurich asked. He couldn’t believe MamaCee was just thirty minutes away or that she had actually gotten on a plane.

  “I’ll tell you ’bout that when you git here. You do have a car, don’t ya, baby?”

  “Yes, MamaCee, I’ll be right there. What airline did you come on?”

  “Wait a minute, let me ask somebody what airline I’m at,” MamaCee said. Zurich could hear her saying, “Come here, baby. Yea, you. What airline is this?” Zurich could hear a voice say, “Miss, you’re at the Delta airline terminal.”

  “Zuri. I’m at Delta.”

  “Okay, MamaCee. Do you know what gate?”

  “Hold on,” MamaCee said. Once again Zurich could hear her talking with someone. A few seconds later he heard her say, “Thank you, baby, I bet ya’ll think I’m some kinda country bumpkin, here is the gate number looking me right in the face.”

  “MamaCee,” Zurich said.

  “Yeah, baby. I’m at gate number forty-eight,” she said.

  “Okay, MamaCee. Wait right there. I’m coming to get you,” Zurich said.

  “Fine, baby. Anyhow, where am I going? One plane ride in a day is enough for this old lady. I’ll be sittin’ right here resting my feet till you git here. Got both my arms wrapped round my handbag ’cause I know some of these people might try and snatch it. I might even finish up this fried chicken and deviled eggs I brought. But maybe I should save some for you. I know how much you like MamaCee’s fried chicken and deviled eggs, don’tcha, baby?”

  “MamaCee, hang up the phone. I’m on the way.”

  Zurich arrived at Tamela’s office over an hour late, with MamaCee in tow. He still couldn’t believe that MamaCee had gotten on a plane and come to Chicago simply because her legs were hurting. But seeing his grandmother made him smile; in fact, it caused him to actually laugh for the first time in weeks.

  When he picked up MamaCee at O’Hare Airport, she was sitting in the waiting area, surrounded by her bags and two white flight attendants, who seemed to be enjoying her lively conversation. When she stood up and hugged Zurich, he couldn’t stop laughing, even though there were tears in the corners of his eyes. MamaCee looked like a walking curtain, in her best Sunday-go-to-meeting getup. She had on one of her church hats, with a detachable tiara, and flowers. Her shapeless floral-print cotton dress had buttons from top to bottom, and along her shoulders were gold epaulettes held together by a fake fox head. To top everything off, MamaCee had on her comfortable white ushering shoes, with stockings that stopped at her knees.

  She hugged and kissed Zurich on the mouth, on his hands, as she said to the flight attendants, “See, I told y’all my grandboy was a fine thang.”

  MamaCee talked nonstop as t
hey drove down the Kennedy Expressway into the city. Beginning with a story of how nervous she was flying and how Ms. Clara, the director at a hospice MamaCee volunteered for, had told her to dress up when she got on the plane. Then there was a lengthy description of Ms. Clara, her family, her life. And then MamaCee asked Zurich several questions, one after another. “What building is that, baby? Ain’t you driving a little fast? Ain’t people scared to be on them trains moving all fast on them little tracks?” But Zurich didn’t answer her questions and MamaCee didn’t notice.

  Zurich was relieved when Christina promised to take care of MamaCee and showed him into Tamela’s office. Maybe there, he thought, he could get a word in edgewise.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, but I had to pick up my grandmother,” Zurich said as he took a seat and wiped a thin film of perspiration from his brow.

  “That’s all right. I had something I needed to finish,” Tamela said, pulling a yellow legal pad from her left desk drawer.

  Zurich glanced around Tamela’s office looking for a box of tissues. It was cool in the office, but a nervous sweat seeped through his shirt. Tamela’s office was littered everywhere with legal books and periodicals, and a glass-topped table was covered with the three E’s of magazines for black folks, Essence, Ebony, and Emerge. Behind her desk, a matching credenza and a mini-refrigerator sat before a wall covered with diplomas and family pictures.

  “I haven’t seen any more articles in the newspaper on this. Have you?” Tamela asked.

  “No, I guess I can be thankful for small blessings,” Zurich said.

  “Would you like something to drink? Some coffee, juice, or water?” Tamela asked.

  “Yeah, some bottled water would be nice,” Zurich said.

  “Would you like a glass?”

  “No, I can drink it from the bottle,” Zurich said.

  Tamela leaned back from her desk, reached inside the refrigerator, and pulled out a small bottle of Evian. Placing a napkin around it she handed it to Zurich and asked, “So why don’t you tell me what happened?”

  Zurich twisted off the plastic top, took a long gulp, and used the damp napkin to wipe his forehead. He began to talk about Mia. After he had gone on for about ten minutes, Tamela said, “Tell me about the scratches on your hands.”

  “She was crying, kinda out of control, and I pulled her toward me. Mia pulled back and when she did her fingernails tore across my hands.” Tamela’s eyes narrowed and she asked another question. “Why did you invite her up to your apartment?”

  “I didn’t exactly invite her; she sort of invited herself, saying she needed the tape to show to her producer,” Zurich said.

  “Did you give her the tape?”

  “I couldn’t find it,” Zurich said.

  “How did her panties get in your dirty clothes hamper?”

  “I have no idea. She did go into my bathroom to freshen up for a few minutes.”

  “So let me make sure I’m getting this right. She took off her panties without your knowledge and left them in your bathroom; she asked you to dance; and she placed your hands on her private parts?”

  “Yes, that’s what happened,”. Zurich said firmly. The sweat had finally stopped. Tamela felt a nigger, plezze, coming on but resisted.

  “You’re also telling me that you didn’t consider this a date, but a business meeting right?”

  “Yes, we were meeting to talk about the possibility of me doing some commentating on a program at the station. You can ask Gina about it. I would never go on a date the night before I’m leaving for a big game. I mean this was the first game of the season, but Mia made it seem like if I didn’t do it that night, I would miss out on a big chance,” Zurich said.

  “So do you have a girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Were you attracted to Ms. Miller?”

  “Well, I don’t know how to answer that. I mean she’s beautiful, but that’s not why I went out with her. I thought I made that clear. It was business,” Zurich said firmly.

  “Okay, I think I understand, but these are the kinds of questions the prosecutor is going to ask you if this thing goes to trial,” Tamela said.

  “So what’s next?”

  “I have one more question. If you weren’t interested in her, then why did you call her the night or morning of your meeting and then call her again when you returned from Atlanta?”

  “I just didn’t want her to misunderstand me. I wanted her to know that we could still be friends even though I knew she was upset with me for rejecting her,” Zurich said. He decided not to mention the dream because he didn’t think Tamela would understand.

  “So do you think she’s blaming you because you rejected her?” Tamela felt another nigger, plezze, coming but she thought back to her conversation with her mother.

  “I don’t know.”

  “And you didn’t take her back to get her car?”

  “No, I tried but she just ran out of my building.”

  “I wonder how she got back to her car?” Tamela said. She took her pen and placed it on her lips, frowning, as if she was trying to figure out this mystery.

  “There are always taxis sitting out in front of my building. Is there any way we can find out if a taxi driver took her back to her car?”

  Tamela thought, All right, Kojak, let me do my job.

  “Yeah, that’s a possibility. I’ll check on that later. Okay, I think I have enough information for now. Let me tell you what will probably happen. The Chicago Police will collect all the evidence and will present that to the district attorney, who will decide whether or not to press charges. If they don’t think they have enough evidence, which they probably don’t because they would have arrested you the day we went down to talk with them, the DA will have the option of presenting the evidence to a grand jury or at a preliminary hearing. They could do both but I doubt that very seriously.”

  “A preliminary hearing? Grand jury? What happens then? Will I ever get to tell my side?” Zurich asked.

  “You could, but in most criminal cases, I don’t believe in presenting a defense at a preliminary hearing. But if you have something you can tell me to prove you didn’t do this, then that’s considered an affirmative defense and I’d put that on,” Tamela said.

  Zurich didn’t say anything. He just gazed out of Tamela’s window, wondering how he got into this mess. He had made a promise to his father, MamaCee, and to himself that he would never get into any trouble that would land him in jail. He didn’t want to be a statistic. After a few minutes, Tamela started to talk again, but Zurich didn’t really hear her. A numbness set in; the thought of newspaper headlines, handcuffs, and the sound of jail cells closing cluttered his mind.

  “Now at the preliminary hearing, the DA’s only got to show that there’s a strong probability you committed this crime. And the judge makes that determination, and a lot of that depends on what judge we get. During a trial, they have to convince a jury of your guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. That’s not easy,” Tamela said.

  “Oh,” Zurich said.

  “Do you understand everything I’ve said?”

  “Yeah, I think so. What about a semen test? Can’t that prove I didn’t do it?”

  “Yes, it could. From the doctor’s report it was hard to tell if she was penetrated and if there was enough semen for a DNA test. You could volunteer to do that, but the test takes weeks and it still might not prevent you from being arrested if they feel like they have enough evidence against you. I would like to use the test as a last resort,” Tamela said.

  “Yeah, I would too. So she really was raped?”

  “Something bad happened. I’ve seen the pictures. Someone really beat Miss Miller up bad,” Tamela said.

  “But it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me,” Zurich said as he got up from the chair and clasped his hands together so hard that the sound startled Tamela.

  CHAPTER 16

  DON’T GO THERE

  Wednesday afternoon, Mia stared at the rum and Coke sittin
g on her kitchen counter. She knew she shouldn’t drink more because she was already drunk, but she reached down, lifted the glass, and drank. After she finished, she turned up the glass and allowed the small ice cubes to slide down her tongue, savoring their rum-coated taste. She looked at the empty rum bottle and wished she had purchased two bottles the night before instead of the one.

  After a week of calling in sick, she had returned to work and it had not gone well. The extra makeup and dark glasses had not helped, but caused more problems. When she walked into the station, prepared to tell the station manager she had been in an accident, Mia bumped into Cheryl. Without knowing why Mia was wearing sunglasses, Cheryl laughed and asked in a very flippant manner, “Whatsup, Miss Mia? So popular that you have to wear sunglasses in the station?” Mia didn’t answer, but instead something went through her like an electric charge and without warning she slapped Cheryl. Mia was shocked at her own violence, and Cheryl appeared stunned as she ran into the ladies’ room in tears. Mia had never slapped anyone in her life. An hour later, Mia found herself suspended from work for at least two weeks. She told management what had happened, how she had suffered a sexual assault, and although they were sympathetic, the general manager said he couldn’t allow Mia’s actions to go without punishment. He suggested that she take some time off and regroup to seek some counseling.

  During the entire meeting, Mia didn’t shed a tear. While her manager was talking to her, Mia wondered if women were born with a talent for crying in silence, so that after a sexual assault or beating, they could cry and not have to talk about it.

  The Sunday after her arrival, LaDonna returned to Los Angeles. Mia had assured her she would be fine. LaDonna had tried to talk Mia into taking some vacation time and coming back to Los Angeles with her. When she said no, LaDonna suggested Mia call her mother and tell her what happened. Mia said she didn’t want to worry her mother. But Mia was not all right, she was simply determined to get on with her life. She knew if her parents, especially her mother, found out what happened, they would be in Chicago in a heartbeat. They would baby her and try to convince her to move back home. Dallas and babying were the last things Mia felt she needed.