And This Too Shall Pass

by E. Lynn Harris

  The Chicago detectives handling Mia’s case had attempted to contact her several times, leaving notes on her door, phone messages, asking her to come down to the station to give them more information regarding her rape. But Mia had not returned their calls nor had she any plans of going to the station. She did not remember what happened that night and could not face questions as to why she said Zurich Robinson had raped her. For all she knew he could have raped her. He was the only man she could remember from that night. After three days of being alone, usually in the dark and comforted by the sweetness of rum and wine, she’d picked up her phone to call her doctor’s office to see if he had called in a prescription for Valium. Before the attack Mia had seen her doctor regarding nagging headaches, neck pains, and a slight case of insomnia. When she’d asked him for Valium, he’d been hesitant, warning Mia that the drug could become addictive, but she’d pleaded with him.

  “This is Mia Miller, is Dr. Smith in?” she said.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Miller, Dr. Smith is with a patient,” the receptionist said.

  “When will he be available?” Mia snapped.

  “I don’t know. May I take a message?”

  Mia was annoyed and the receptionist’s manner only unnerved her more.

  “No! Did he call in my prescription?”

  “Let me check. What was the prescription for?” she asked innocently.

  “Look in the file. That’s what you’re paid for, isn’t it?” Mia said, feeling put out with the young woman’s incompetence.

  “Hold on,” the receptionist said.

  Mia was tapping her fingers nervously on the kitchen countertop when suddenly she heard a dial tone.

  “Fuckin’ bitch,” Mia screamed. She started to call back, but instead she looked for her purse and car keys. Even though she was in no condition to drive, she needed her prescription. Besides, she thought, the drugstore was only a few blocks away. She got in her car, drove a few blocks to a cash station near the drugstore, and withdrew one hundred dollars. She decided to walk the block to the drugstore and once at the prescription department, she demanded her medication.

  After searching for the prescription, the clerk came back and said, “I’m sorry, miss, but we don’t seem to have one for you. Are you sure your doctor called it in?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Check again,” Mia demanded.

  The clerk walked back and talked with the pharmacist. Minutes later, she returned and said, “Miss, we don’t have it. If you’d like, we can call your doctor.”

  “Call him,” Mia said firmly.

  Mia walked over to the magazine counter and thumbed through several fashion magazines and then returned to the pharmacy department within a few minutes. The store’s harsh lighting was causing her an overwhelming dizziness and her headaches had returned as she approached the counter again.

  “Is it ready yet?” Mia said.

  “No, we haven’t been able to get in contact with your doctor,” the clerk said.

  “What’s the problem? This is taking too damn long. What are you people doing?” Mia questioned; her voice was rising and she warned herself to control it. But she couldn’t.

  “Miss, please calm down. We’re trying to get in contact with your doctor. We don’t even know what the prescription is for.”

  “I told you it’s for Valium,” Mia said. “You know what that is, don’t you?”

  “Well, then we’ll definitely have to talk with your doctor and I’m going to have to see some ID,” she said.

  “Some ID? What the hell for? I come in this dump all the time.” Mia had had it with this skinny little white girl. Didn’t she know who she was? Probably not, Mia thought, as she assumed this woman was purely trailer park trash.

  “It’s a controlled substance, miss. Why don’t you have a seat over there and just wait until we talk to your doctor,” she said as she pointed to several empty chairs lined against the wall.

  “Bitch, do you know who you’re talking to? Don’t tell me what to do. I’ll sit where I damn well please. Don’t make me get ethnic with you,” she screamed as she shook her hand in front of the clerk’s face.

  “Miss, please, calm down,” the clerk pleaded, as her face flushed crimson.

  “Let me speak to a manager,” Mia muttered.

  “Just a second,” the flustered clerk said.

  A few minutes later the pharmacist came to the counter to speak with Mia.

  “Can I help you?” the tall, white, bald man in a blue lab coat asked.

  “I came here to get my medicine, and this woman won’t help me,” Mia said as she pointed toward the clerk.

  “Miss, we’ve been trying to contact your doctor. He’s not in. If you don’t want to wait, leave your number and we can call you once we’ve spoken with your doctor,” he said.

  “Oh fuck this shit. I can go somewhere else. You ain’t the only drugstore in town,” Mia said as she stormed out of the store. She needed a drink.

  When Mia got back in her car, she drove only one block when she saw a stop light she didn’t recall seeing previously. She stopped at the light and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. When the light changed, Mia didn’t move. The driver in the car behind her blew its horn. She didn’t move. The car horn blew again. Mia started to get out of her car and cuss out the impatient driver. But instead she drove on and began to cry.

  Day three of MamaCee’s visit to Chicago and she hadn’t stopped talking.

  “I tell you it looks like every building in Chicago is fancy and big. I don’t think I ever saw so many tall buildings. Of course you know they ain’t got no building like this in Jackson. Not even in New Orleans. You know I went down there with some of my church members for a convention and the hotel we stayed in wasn’t this tall. Now what did you say it cost you to live up in here, baby? And the white folks, they seem real nice. Like that man downstairs, now what is he called?” MamaCee asked.

  “A concierge, MamaCee,” Zurich told her for the fourth time.

  “That sho do sound like a fancy-sounding job. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of one of them,” she said.

  “Now, MamaCee, if you don’t want to answer the phone while I’m gone, the answering machine will pick up. I’m expecting calls from Gina and Tamela,” Zurich said.

  “Mama don’t mind pickin’ up your phone, baby. You know that Tamela girl, your lawyer, she sho is a pretty girl. And I can tell she’s a smart one. She could lose a few pounds though, but can’t we all,” MamaCee laughed. “Used to be when they was that pretty they didn’t have the common sense the good Lord gave them. But yes, sir, I think she got it all on the ball,” MamaCee said.

  “Yes, she is smart.… How long do you plan on staying in Chicago?” As much as he loved his grandmother, she could be a bit overwhelming.

  “Until we git you out of this mess. I knew somethin’ was wrong when my legs was actin’ up. But never in a million years would I believe some fast tail gal would be fool enough to claim one of my grandbabies would beat and treat a woman with some kind of disrespect. Y’all were raised better than that. My boys know how to treat women folks.”

  “I know, MamaCee, but everything will be fine,” Zurich said confidently.

  “Now I know that better than anybody. What did Grandma used to tell you all the time when you was growing up?” MamaCee quizzed.

  “Always trust in God,” Zurich said.

  “Yeah, that too, but what did I tell your father, you, and yo brothers? Like it says in the Good Book, this too will pass,” MamaCee said as she headed toward the kitchen.

  Zurich smiled at his grandmother. He realized he was happy she was in Chicago to help him through this difficult time. A few minutes later MamaCee emerged from the kitchen shaking her head.

  “We gonna have to git some more pots and pans. Them things you got in there ain’t fit to cook nothing. I thought I told you to git one of them big ole black skillets, you know, like the ones I have back home,” MamaCee said.

  “Now look, M
amaCee, I don’t want you up here working yourself to death. We can go out to eat, and I can always call for take-out food,” Zurich said.

  “Take-out food? Oh no, you know I don’t like eatin’ no food from peoples I don’t know. Three days of that stuff has been enough for Mama. I’ll find a store and git the things I need. You need all your strength to play them games and help that lawyer of yours,” MamaCee said as she walked into the bedroom looking for her yellow vinyl suitcase.

  Minutes later MamaCee walked into the living room holding a homemade quilt. “Here, baby, I forgot, I brought this for you. I made it while I was working down at the hospice,” MamaCee said as she handed him the beautiful patchwork quilt made from old towels, sheets, and even some of her old dresses.

  “Thanks, MamaCee. I’m sure I’ll need a quilt up here this winter. But I thought you were making quilts for the patients you worked with,” Zurich said.

  “Well, that’s partly true, baby. I made a lot of quilts for my friends with AIDS. Matter fact I was making this one for one of my favorite ones. He was this white boy from Meridien. He was such a nice boy. His parents had turned their backs on him, and he used to call me MamaCee instead of Miss Cora like the rest of them did. I knew I was right when I told you black folks ain’t the only ones who acted a fool when their children got AIDS. It was a couple of white boys and a white girl at my hospice. Whenever I walked in the place, he would call out, ‘MamaCee, is that you? I smell that gardenia perfume. I know that’s you.’ I like it when a man knows my scent; your grandad was like that. Anyhow, I would go in and give him a big hug and sometimes rub his feet when they swelled up, which they did quite a bit, and tell him stories. You know stories about when I was growing up and then I would tell him about my family. I told him how I used to pick cotton and the white folks I worked for and how I practically raised their children. So I told him he wasn’t my first white baby. But you know the stories he liked the most?”

  “No, MamaCee. What stories?”

  “The stories ’bout you and Zach. Oh, Jimmie Lee, that was his name, loved the stories ’bout you boys. I would tell him how you spent most of your time with me, on count your father was so busy working, or so he said. I told him how I would dress y’all up alike with outfits I made for you on that old Singer I had. You ‘member that sewing machine, Zuri?” He knew to say no would only trigger an extended description of said machine, and a possible history of the person who sold or gave the machine to MamaCee. He did vaguely remember the machine, with MamaCee sitting, sewing, and spitting snuff into a can. He even remembered a navy blue corduroy outfit MamaCee had made for him and Zach.

  “Yeah, MamaCee, I remember it,” Zurich said.

  “Well, anyhow, Jimmie Lee liked the stories ’bout how y’all tricked your father and how Zachary was taking them dance lessons and you were playin’ football. I would tell him Zach use to keep us all in stitches with his jokes and imitations of different peoples in Warm Springs. You ’member that?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” He did. How Zach could do things with his eyes and body that always brought a smile to Zurich’s face.

  “What was that little bug-eyed boy that lived down the road from me?”

  “You talking about Bug?” Zurich asked as he pictured the skinny boy from his and Zach’s childhood who seemed to be all teeth and eyes.

  “Yeah, Bug. Zach sho had him down,” MamaCee laughed.

  “Yeah, he did,” Zurich smiled.

  “Jimmie Lee told me how he wished he could meet y’all. But I told him ’bout Zach and you know what he did?”

  “No, what did he do, MamaCee?”

  “He cried … that white boy cried like a baby. Cried about my grandbaby that he never laid eyes on or knew. Only knew him by the stories I told. After he finished crying he looked at me and asked, ‘How is Zurich handling this? Doesn’t he miss Zach?’ Well, I didn’t know what to tell him. I told him how you loved your brother, but how you kinda kept things inside. How Zach always wore his heart on his shoulders, but you kept yours hidden. I said they looked ’xactly alike but they was different. But I told him nobody could mess with your brother,” MamaCee said as she laughed to herself. “Yeah, you and Zach was a mess.”

  Zurich just stared at his grandmother. He could see tears forming in the corners of her prune-brown eyes. He was praying silently that she wouldn’t start to cry. Zurich was trying to think of something he could do or say to get MamaCee’s mind off sad things, but decided to let her finish her story.

  “What happened to Jimmie Lee?”

  “Oh, he died about two months ago. It was real sad. I was making this blanket for him and I was tryin’ real hard to get through with it. So every day while I was telling him stories, I would take my thick needle and thread I use for making my quilts and just sew as I talked. So he knew how it was going to look. You see this patch right here?” MamaCee said as she pointed to an olive green patch.

  “Looks like it came from an Army jacket,” Zurich said.

  “Yes, sir, that’s where it came from. Did I tell you Jimmie Lee was in the Army? Well anyhow, he gave me a jacket of his. Said he wanted me to have it. Wasn’t that nice of him?” MamaCee asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “Yeah, the world sho has changed. Who would’ve ever thought that I would become friends with a white, homosexual boy from Meridien, Mississippi. Who would’ve thought it?” MamaCee wondered, mostly to herself.

  “The world is changing, MamaCee, it’s changing,” Zurich said as he moved over to the window and looked out on the city. With the lights from the street and other buildings, the window was like a mirror, and while looking at his own reflection Zurich’s mind wandered to what Zach might be doing right now and if he missed Zurich as much as Zurich missed his brother. For a few seconds, the presence of Zachary was so strong in the room that Zurich expected to turn around and see him. A few moments later, he heard MamaCee singing softly and then she stopped and called out his name.

  “Zurich,” she said. It sounded as if she was singing his name in a whispering hum.

  “Yes, MamaCee.”

  “You didn’t tell me what I should have told Jimmie Lee. How you doing since we lost Zach?”

  “I’m taking it day by day. But I hope you’re right, MamaCee, about what you said earlier,” Zurich said as he thought about the waves of sorrow that had dominated his life since his brother’s death.

  “What did I say, baby? You know your grandma talks so much sometimes I forget half of what I say.”

  “That this will pass. That the pain will go away.”

  “Trust in the Lord. And this too shall pass.”

  Tamela knew something was up when she saw Tim and Warner huddled together in a corner booth of a nearby deli, deep in conversation. Tim, in sunglasses, saw Tamela, but looked away as she and Bettye, one of the firm’s secretaries, walked in. When Tamela noticed this, she commented to Bettye, “Look at Tim over there trying to be incognegro.” She and Bettye shared a laugh, got their sandwiches, and returned to the office.

  An hour later, Tamela got a call from Tim saying he needed to speak to her right away. When she walked into his office, and before she could take a seat, Tim announced that Warner would be assisting her on Zurich’s case.

  “Why are you bringing Warner in on this case?” Tamela asked.

  “I’ve told you, Tamela, just in case this becomes a civil case. Warner is much … much …” Tim paused for a delicate word. “I mean he has handled more civil litigations.”

  “But right now we don’t even know if this is going to be a criminal case,” Tamela said. So this is what Mr. Incognegro was plotting and why Warner was so helpful, Tamela thought.

  “My point exactly. But if the DA decides she doesn’t have enough evidence, then you can bet your last dollar that this young lady will be pursuing a case to net her some dollars for her pain and suffering,” Tim said. “And besides, I think you and Warner will work well together.”

  “What does he think about working on this
case?” Tamela asked. She wanted to add like I care what he thinks at the end of her question.

  “I just mentioned it to him in passing, and he really seemed interested,” Tim said. Yeah right, do you think you’re talking to a fool? Tamela wanted to say.

  “What about my request to hire an investigator?” Tamela asked.

  “Do you really think you need an investigator? What do you expect to find out? And it’s not really our job to find out who did this, but to defend our client,” Tim said.

  “Well, if our client didn’t do this then somebody did. Besides I want to do some checking up on him. I don’t know if he’s telling me everything,” Tamela said.

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “I’m still not convinced either way. You know it’s easier to defend a person if you don’t really think about their guilt or innocence. But you know I met his grandmother a couple days ago when he came in for a meeting. A wonderful lady, Mrs. Cora Robinson from Warm Springs, Mississippi. Said she came to Chicago just because she knew her grandson needed her. I just find it hard to believe that somebody raised by a lady like Miss Cora could commit such a vicious crime,” Tamela said.

  “Tamela, come on now. How often have we seen wonderful mothers, usually African-American, on witness stands crying about how they can’t understand what happened to one of their children who’s gone astray? Try every day in courtrooms all across the country,” Tim said firmly.

  “Yeah, I know you’re right, but you haven’t met Miss Cora,” Tamela smiled.

  Tamela went back to her office and began putting file folders in her briefcase when the phone rang.

  “Tamela Coleman.”

  “Is this Tamela Coleman, the best lawyer in Chicago?” Caliph teased.

  “I think so,” she laughed. It felt good hearing Caliph’s soothing voice in the middle of a busy day.

  “I got a big favor to ask you,” he said.

  “What kind of favor?”

  “It’s a big one.”

  “I’m listening.” Tamela sat in her leather chair as her curiosity took over her thoughts.