Witch Ball

by Adele Elliott

  I was surprised that Mom was telling me so much. She must have had more wine than I realized, because she added something else. "I don't remember a whole lot, but Mother changed after that. Daddy started falling asleep on his chair in the den. Aunt Fleur came for a visit and totally redecorated my folks' bedroom. It was so girly. I don't think Daddy ever slept in that room again." She lowered her eyes. I took that as a clear sign that I wasn't getting any more insight into my grandparents' personal life.

  "But Clementine had to be a nice lady, raising an orphan, and all. Where did Eric's mother come from?"

  "Nobody knows. The story goes that Clem left town for a while, then came back with Ruby. She told everyone that a crying lady gave the baby to her while she was in Chicago. She had stopped working for us, so I don't know much about it. Most of the things that I know were repeated around town over the years. My own parents never talked about it." Mother went into the kitchen and returned with a tumbler full of wine.

  "It was sort of strange," she said when she sat down again, "unusual for a white woman to give her baby to a black."

  It took me a second to process all this. No wonder Eric was so sympathetic to the runaway slaves. He was partially raised by a black woman.

  "So Ruby was white?" Yes, I know this is the 21st century, well in most places in the world. In Columbus, and probably in a lot of Mississippi, old habits die hard. The races mix uncomfortably. I guess that crying woman in Chicago didn't know what sort of place her baby would end up in. "You guys must have known Ruby."

  "Certainly," dad spoke up. "We went to school with her. She was close to our age."

  "So what was she like? Did she look like Eric?" Inquiring minds want to know.

  "Yes," my dad continued, "she looked a lot like him, darker perhaps. She was quite a beauty, exotic. Most of the boys had a crush on her. Girls didn't like her much, though."

  "Did you have a thing for her, Dad?"

  "She actually looked a lot like your mother. The coloring was different, but their faces were a lot alike. I always thought Kay was prettier. I had a big crush on your mom, but she had no idea that I existed...until later."

  "Why did you get upset when you met Eric? You both acted like there was something wrong with him, with his family."

  Mom got up and started clearing the table. The dishes clattered loudly together.

  "Oh, Gertrude, can't you figure it out? His mother was raised by a black woman. She was just different, that's all." My dad stopped talking. I got the message that that was all he was willing to say.

  "But Ruby was white. She was just like you guys."

  Mom stopped clearing the table. "There was another rumor. Some people thought that she was actually Clementine's child," she said. "I never thought so. Ruby was a beautiful creamy coffee color. Clem was black, very dark, to be sure."

  I don't claim to be the smartest girl in town, so I said one more thing. "Mom, Granpa Hyrum told me that you dated Hunter Alexander before you married Dad."

  She dropped a dish. It shattered on the floor, exploding into a thousand splinters. Dinner, as well as our conversation, was officially over.

  13

  Life hands me more questions than answers. Mom and Dad do not like Eric. This is possibly because his mother was raised in a black section of town, or because she was beautiful, and the girls were jealous, or something else. Eric does not like Aunt Fleur. He thinks she is a witch. Silly, she is so very dear.

  Well, there is that dabbling in magic. But that's harmless.

  Columbus, Mississippi is usually the most boring place in the world. But, this summer had suddenly exploded into a storm of fear and speculation about the murder of Coach Russell. Gun sales tripled. Anyone who had not lived in town their entire life was suspect.

  Strangers are not welcome here, even under the best of conditions. Oh, at first everyone is polite and charming, full of Bless your heart , and you poor thing. But the subtext is, when are you leaving . You are accepted, but only to a point.

  People here simply like others who are exactly like them. That comfortable familiarity goes for everything. Locals are not adventurous with food, either. They live on meat, potatoes, and greens, and frequent established fast-food chains, ones that serve hamburgers or chicken. Few people eat fish, except for locally caught Catfish.

  For the most part, women dress alike and still tease their hair. Men know that bib-front overalls and baseball caps are acceptable dress everywhere, and chewing tobacco is just as good as a breath mint.

  EVERYONE is Baptist. There are a few Methodists, Episcopalians and a handful of Jews. But, many who practice those other religions are transplants, so they may be forgiven for not being Baptist.

  The Columbus Police Department questioned a lot of people about the murder. They interviewed men with records. They got search warrants for every room in the Gilmer Inn, a hotel where transients usually stay.

  It isn't hard to understand why Aunt Fleur seems so strange to locals. They have no sense of the exotic. Still, I began to worry. If some had considered her a witch, as Eric said, might they then assume that she is in some way evil, or even a murderer? I hope not.

  I suppose my Granpa Hyrum was worried, too. One day I found him visiting his sister. He always spoke to her harshly, as if he were angry. Sometimes I couldn't tell if he hated her, or was just embarrassed by her. Whatever, there was no love in his exchanges.

  I could hear him talking before I rang the bell. He was yelling something about hiding things, lying, committing acts that were sinful, against God.

  "A woman shall not wear a man's garment, nor shall a man put on a woman's cloak, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord your God," he screamed at her. I recognized this bit of wisdom, or warning, or whatever, from Deuteronomy. (Who knew that Vacation Bible School would stick with me for years?)

  Aunt Fleur didn't respond for a long time. At first I couldn't hear anything. But then her words began to rise up from somewhere deep inside her. Her voice, too, deepened. I wasn't even sure it was Fleur who was speaking. "LIES, HYRUM? HOW DARE YOU? YOU, MORE THAN ANYONE, SHOULD ATONE FOR YOUR SINS!"

  I heard the back door slam. Granpa's old pickup sputtered to a start, almost as if the ancient Ford was as angry as he was. He gunned the engine and rounded the corner without braking at the stop sign.

  I sat on the porch swing for several minutes before ringing the door bell to give her, and I guess me, too, a chance to calm down.

  When Fleur answered the door she was weeping slightly. Dark streaks of mascara had created small streams down her cheeks. Her wig was slightly askew. I followed her and sat down quietly on an overstuffed chair in the living room. The floral upholstery pattern was printed with curvy green vines and purple flowers. It would have been a good fabric for a Hawaiian shirt.

  "I heard Granpa yelling at you," I said. "Why was he so angry?"

  "Old issues. He never could accept me, even when we were children." She pulled at some metallic threads on her caftan. I had never seen her look quite so miserable.

  "He sounds like he is a lot like your father. He couldn't accept your love of James."

  She gave me a closed-mouth smile. The sadness around her eyes did not change. "Yes, I was an embarrassment to them both."

  "Well, I'm sure my granpa did some embarrassing things when he was young. Maybe you should throw some shade back at him."

  "That's not really my style. Anyway, I still love him, no matter how he feels about me."

  This struck me as terribly tragic. Families should stick together, accept and forgive one another's flaws. My parents act like I am in constant danger from some unnamed peril. I consider their strictness a sign that they love me. Then again, they don't appear to have any love for each other. Still, they stay together.

  "Didn't he ever do stuff that made you ashamed?"

  "I guess so. When we were kids Hyrum found a two-headed snake. It was just a garter snake, but really disturbing. Both heads had voracious appetit
es. Everyone said it would die, but it kept living."

  "That doesn't sound like something that should make you ashamed."

  "Well, Truly," she lowered her eyes, "he said it was like me, two-sided and peculiar. Even named it Florenz..."

  I could see that even after so many years this still caused her pain. She had wiped away the mascara stains with the back of her hand. Her face, without makeup, was paler that I had realized.

  "So, did he ever apologize?"

  "No. The snake lived even though no one expected that. At first Hyrum enjoyed the attention. He charged the neighborhood kids a nickel to look at it. Some kids came from as far as three blocks away."

  "A nickel! That sounds too cheap to me."

  "It wasn't cheap then. An ice cream cone was a nickel, and a Coke from the vending machine, too. Then the price of a bottle of Coke went up by one cent. The machines had a little box added just to collect the pennies. So Hyrum started charging six cents for a look at the snake."

  I had no idea that my grandpa was such a good businessman. I wonder what else I don't know about my family?

  "Well, evidently the news of this snake had traveled further than our neighborhood. One day, a Pentecostal minister showed up at the door, wanting to buy the snake. Offered twenty dollars, even though it was harmless."

  "Why would he want a snake?"

  "They were a snake-handling congregation. It was part of their belief system to dance with poisonous snakes during service. But a two-headed snake, poisonous or not, that was special. He said only the devil could have created it. He wanted that snake badly."

  "I've never heard of that." Like I said before, almost everyone around here is Baptist. They like to dunk people in big vats of water, but they don't try to drown them. The idea of playing with poisonous snakes makes no sense to me.

  "So, did he sell the snake?"

  "No. Something struck him as wrong with the offer. He said, 'I ain't lettin' no strangers make fun of Florenz. He is a freak, but he's my freak.' After that he stopped selling looks, even to the kids."

  "He just kept the snake as a pet?"

  "Not for long. One day, Hyrum cut off one of the heads with a kitchen knife. Thought he could make it normal. The snake died right away. It couldn't live without its twin head."

  14

  The atmosphere of Columbus had darkened. The mystery of Coach Russell's death hung like a veil over the city. Columbus police seemed to have no leads, or none that they released to the one TV station and newspapers. The few things that they did divulge made little sense.

  A murder needs a motive. The house had not been ransacked, and there was no indication of forced entry. They discovered no signs that anything had been taken, so burglary was ruled out. There seemed to be no explanation for a crime of such passion.

  There was the possibility that the coach was having an affair. A "love nest" would have been a good incentive for having a separate house away from his wife. If this were true, then he had been a genius at keeping it secret—not an easy thing to do in this town. Even so, few women have the strength to strangle an adult man. Could it have been a jealous husband?

  The coach's secret house on the north side of town was the subject of much interest. Some of the track team members admitted to spending a lot of time there, but were close-mouthed about what was so appealing that they often stayed the night. Interestingly, their parents knew almost nothing about what went on at these "slumber parties." They had never asked for many details because the coach was so revered in the community.

  I tried to question Eric about it in the round-about way I learned from my mom.

  "That must have been a lot of fun," I said, "all those parties. I'll bet you met a lot of girls." This was not an answer that I really wanted to hear, but it was a small step into learning more about him.

  "Huh?" he said. These days he gave the impression that there was a mist fogging up his brain, always distracted. "No girls there, those parties were for boys only."

  That didn't sound like fun to me. "So, what went on? Watching football? Did he let you guys drink?"

  "Yeah, there was some beer. Other stuff, too—gifts like CDs and video games"

  I could see he was uncomfortable with this conversation. That was easy to change. "Eric, let's go down to the river this afternoon. We could stop for milk shakes and drink them there." He was good with this.

  As we walked toward the benches next to the river, I was surprised to see Granpa's truck parked facing the boat launch. Through the rear window I could make out two people in the cab.

  "Oh, look, there's my Maw Maw," said Eric.

  "Where?"

  "There, with Mr. Hyrum, in the truck."

  I stopped abruptly, forcing some gravel into the toes of my sandals. I almost dropped my shake.

  "You know my Granpa?"

  "Who?" Now we were both confused.

  "Grandpa Hyrum. Are you telling me you know him?"

  "Yeah, he and Maw Maw Clementine are old friends. He's been coming around as long as I can remember. But I didn't know he was your grandpa." He took a long drink from his shake. "Maw Maw said he was good to my mama, too. Used to call himself her 'secret friend.' I think all that changed when she married my dad. I don't really know. I wasn't even born yet."

  I didn't get how Grandpa could have a friend that I knew nothing about, and a black one at that. I felt like the gravel between my toes had somehow turned my wits gritty.

  "So your Maw Maw and my Granpa are old friends?"

  He shrugged. "I guess so. Maw Maw said he bought the stone for my Mama's grave."

  Granpa and Clementine appeared to be deep in conversation. I decided it was a bad idea to speak to them. I suppose I was a bit uncomfortable, like I was intruding on something personal, not for my eyes. We kept walking. I'm pretty sure they didn't see us.

  "Eric, you want to hear something weird?" I didn't wait for him to answer. "My mom dated your dad in high school. My parents knew your mother, too."

  "Yeah, this is a small town."

  I decided to take a big risk. "I think there was some problem between our parents. I get the impression that they didn't like your father, maybe your mother, either."

  "Well, I know my mother was pregnant when they married. Lots of people probably looked down on them for that."

  That was so long ago. You'd think they would have gotten over it by now. Here memory and bigotry are hereditary. It is transferred from one generation to another. I wonder if my mom and dad dislike Eric because of something his parents did.

  "Anyway, Truly, there's still prejudice around Columbus about a lot of stuff. Race, poverty, even sexual choices, can make someone hate you, someone who doesn't even know you. Remember the runaway slaves who made their journey along this very shore? Even then, there were a few brave souls who did not accept injustice. They risked great danger to help people they didn't know." He began twirling his straw around in the cup. I thought he was finished talking, then he said, "Do you understand how rare that was? To speak up when the truth could get you killed?"

  "I know. It takes guts to fight the opinions of everyone else." I was really thinking that people who didn't know my Aunt Fleur had decided that she was a witch. Maybe my Grandpa was more of a free thinker than I gave him credit for. Maybe he had other black friends, but kept them secret. If so, then he should be more understanding of Fleur. After all, she is his flesh and blood.

  15

  The Columbus Police Department was fast becoming the butt of a lot of jokes. Only one murder in the last several years, and they couldn't even solve that.

  Dad kept saying that we should create a new city motto aimed at criminals—"Come to Columbus, Mississippi, where you can get away with murder." My mom didn't think it was very funny.

  Everyone who knew Coach was re-interviewed. The entire track team was questioned, separately. Maybe the police had a lead, however, nothing new was reported in the media.

  Sue Ellen Russell became a sort of celebrit
y around town. She was always accompanied by her housekeeper, Roxanne, a horsy-looking woman who towered over her employer like a giant. Roxy's long, low ponytail did nothing to diminish the equine impression. She had a habit of answering questions that were put to Sue Ellen. It was hard to understand the relationship, and which one was on top. Sue Ellen gave too many interviews, stressing over and over again her dead husband's saintly qualities. She always included how he mentored the boys, even giving them expensive gifts. She appeared to enjoy the attention more than she missed her husband.

  I suppose the local press had to focus on something. This was the biggest story around Columbus since the mayor's sons were arrested on drug charges. That story fizzled out, or was squashed. Apparently, there weren't any new leads in the murder, so Sue Ellen sort of became the story.

  I was dying to know about my Granpa's "friendship" with Clementine. They seemed an odd match. Strange, too, that I knew nothing about it. Friends are people you bring around to the family, or do something with, or have interests in common. I know he loves to hunt and fish. Somehow, I can't see that old lady in camouflage clothes and carrying a gun or a fishing pole.

  Maybe they go to church together. He loves that, too. That's not likely, either. Although everyone around here is very "Jesusy," the races do not even mix in the house of the Lord.

  That evening I decided to gently broach the subject with my parents.

  "Mom, remember telling me about Clementine, Eric's grandmother, the one who used to work for your family?"

  She sat in front of the TV, filing her nails. Dad was dozing in his Barcalounger. The ice in his martini had melted and the glass looked like a small fish bowl. Two olives lay at the bottom like dead green fish with their red tongues limply hanging out. I saw him open one eye with a squint.

  "I remember." Mom began to file her nails with fast, strong strokes. I was afraid she might file them down to the quick and draw blood. "I told you I didn't know much about it."