Catfish

by Madelyn Bennett Edwards

  We didn’t talk for a while. I looked out at the dark, moonless night that made the cornstalks seem like black feathers against the deep blue sky and the trees appeared like tall, ghostly figures with multiple arms. Stillness surrounded me. The only sounds were a hoot owl in the distance, bullfrogs in the ditch near Gravier Road, and Tootsie’s quiet sniffles.

  I knew the desperation Tootsie felt, held captive by my daddy, not a mistress but a prostitute who could never be free. Like Rodney tried to explain to me, I didn’t understand what it was like to be colored, to be oppressed, to feel you have no say in your own life, not even who you sleep with or who you have children with—to be afraid of white people, to have to watch the way you talk, your tone of voice, the words you use, eye contact, attitude. It must be exhausting to live that way.

  I wanted to cry for Tootsie. I wanted to cry for the entire Negro race. I wanted to cry for myself and for Marianne because of who fathered us.

  *

  Rodney told me later that he had to keep himself from stepping on the accelerator as he headed down South Jefferson Street towards the Quarters, but he couldn’t risk having the sheriff or one of his deputies stop him. They’d throw him in jail just because he was colored, had a college education and the nerve to own a car. He said he tried to act nonchalant with his arm bent on the ledge of his opened window and he drove, unhurried while his heart raced and sweat beaded on his forehead and under his arms.

  He said Dr. David waved when Rodney drove past the doctor’s house. He waved back. He said he didn’t look to his right at my house across the street, but it seemed Dr. David stared at the front door of the antebellum home with a determined look on his face. Rodney said it was strange, and that he couldn’t remember ever seeing Dr. David in his front yard swing. Rodney said he had a feeling it might have to do with the phone call from Marianne.

  I was sitting at the kitchen table inside Catfish’s house when he arrived, holding an ice pack Tootsie insisted I put on my cheek. I heard footsteps on the porch and could feel someone’s presence standing at the screen door. I knew it was Rodney because I smelled all the wonderful, manly parts of him that came through the screen and filled the air around me—dial soap, fresh laundry, starch, gasoline and oil and dust and musk and toothpaste and aftershave and desire.

  I looked up when I heard the screen door creak.

  “Oh, my God, Susie!! What happened? Your face.”

  “What are you ... ?”

  “Oh, Baby!” He knelt beside my chair and took the ice pack from me and gently applied it to the open cut that had turned purple and swelled like a baseball. “This must hurt. I can see you cheekbone.” Poor Rodney, he’d never seen my face after a beating.

  “It’s not so bad. I’ve had worse. In fact, it could have been much worse, but I fought back for the first time.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I kicked him in the crotch and kneed him in the face, or maybe the forehead. I’m not sure where I got him but he was bleeding when I left. He’ll feel it for a while.”

  “That’s my girl!” He wrapped his arms around my waist and I put mine over his shoulders and pulled his head to my chest. It fit perfectly between my breasts. One of my hands pressed the back of his head and I ran my fingers through his wavy brown hair, massaging his scalp. We stayed in that position for a long time until I felt my blouse become so wet it stuck to me. I thought it was blood, but when I pulled away from him, my palms on each of his cheeks, my finger nails near his ears, I saw the tears on his face and his swollen, red-rimmed eyes. When he looked at me, his sorrow turned to empathy. I must look horrible, I thought.

  “Oh, Baby. I’m so sorry. Let me take you to Dr, David. He is sitting in the swing in his front yard.”

  “Let’s wait until dark. No use making my dad crazier than he already is.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Nothing to talk about, Rod. I leave tomorrow and I’m not coming back.”

  “I don’t blame you, Chere. But ... what about ... Uh ... what about ... us?

  “Is there really an ... us?’”

  “Do you want there to be?”

  “I don’t know if there can be, Rod.”

  He stood up and lifted me out of the chair, one arm under my knees, the other around my back. I remembered the first time he carried me like that and I put the side of my head on his chest where his T-shirt dipped just enough that I could taste his skin against my lips. I thought he would take me to the bedroom. Instead he walked through the screen door, down the three small steps and put me in the front seat of his car. I didn’t ask any questions until he drove into Dr. David’s circular drive.

  Dr. David got up from the long, green wooden swing that hung from a wood frame under a huge oak tree that must have been over 200-years old. He walked to the parked car, opened the door on my side and picked me up. Rodney followed us through the front door, into the house. Dr. David lay me on a small tan leather sofa in what looked like his home office. It was cozy and cool, with cypress paneling and an oversized oak desk, a medical bag perched on top.

  He rang a bell and Josie, the help, came into the study.

  “Get me some ice, Josie, and some boiling water.”

  Josie hurried from the room. Dr. David sat on a low stool with rollers and scooted up to me. Rodney sat on the arm of the sofa at my head and gently massaged my shoulders. Dr. David spoke in a low, soft tone and told me what he was about to do. Josie returned with a tray and Dr. David asked her to hold a flashlight steady and aim it towards the gash on my cheek. He gave me a couple of shots in and around the cut and began to stitch it with neat, tiny sutures. He explained in a soothing voice each stick and every prick and dab of the cotton pad he dipped in iodine. He told me the scar would disappear in a few months, just as the last one had. When he was finished he handed Rodney the ice pack and showed him where to hold it while he examined me for other injuries.

  “Seems you have a couple of bruised ribs, My Dear,” he said. “And your ankle is swollen. I don’t think it’s broken but I’d like to X-ray it to make sure.”

  “I’m not going to the hospital, Dr. David. I’ll just take my chances. I want to leave town as soon as I can.”

  “I understand. How can I help. I feel like this is my fault.”

  “Your fault?” I asked and Rodney lifted his eyes and stared at Dr. David.

  “I’ve turned a blind eye to your dad’s abuse for years. After what happened three years ago when you were working at the hospital, I thought I’d stopped it. I should have known it was a temporary fix. I wanted to do something when you were seven, when you were twelve, when you were fifteen, nineteen.”

  “There’s nothing you could have done, Dr. David. This is a small town. You have to live and work here. None of this was ever your fault.”

  “Oh, I could have done a lot.”

  “Why didn’t you Dr. Switzer,” Rodney blurted. “You knew that son-of-a-bitch was hurting her. He could have killed her.”

  “Rodney,” I said.

  “It’s okay, Susie. I deserve it. That’s what I’m trying to say. I don’t have an excuse except to say that I’m a coward, and I took the easy way out.”

  “You could have talked to him, threatened him, turned him in. Something.” Rodney was angry. He had never seen my face torn up. The one time he saw me after the beating that put me in the hospital at fifteen, all the swelling and bruising on my face was gone. My arm was in a cast but he couldn’t see the internal injuries or the emotional scars.

  “Rodney!” I pleaded.

  “You’re right Rodney. I took an oath, one I haven’t kept. It’s my fault. And I’ll have to live with my guilt. And you both have every right to hate me for it. But for now, tell me how I can help you. Seems the two of you are in a predicament.”

  I looked at Dr. David in disbelief. I’d never heard him say so many words at one time. I thought he believed my parents’ claims when I was a ch
ild. I began to feel as angry as Rodney. Salty tears sprang up in my eyes and burned the swollen one.

  “I’m not sure,” I whispered, thinking aloud. “We haven’t discussed the future, yet. Could we get back to you if we need help?”

  “Of course.” He walked to the glass doors that overlooked his park-like back yard and swimming pool. Rodney and I exchanged confused looks. Dr. David rubbed his chin with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand while the other three fingers seemed to hold his face up. His left arm crossed his chest, the back of its hand a resting place for his right elbow.

  Dr. David and Rodney both helped me into the car. Rodney stood up next to the door and Dr. David knelt on one knee on the paved driveway, his hand held my upper arm. I felt like we were being watched and I looked across the street. Daddy was standing on the front porch. I gasped.

  “Susie, don’t worry about your dad. I’ll take care of him. He won’t get in your way, no matter what the two of you decide to do. Remember. This is your life, not his.” Dr. David stood up and faced Rodney. He reached to shake hands and Rodney hesitated. He looked angry.

  “I’m sorry Rodney. You should be angry. Susie is a very special girl, uh, young lady. If you love her and if she loves you, don’t let Bob Burton keep you apart. Don’t let him win. This is your life.” Rodney finally shook hands with Dr. David but he didn’t speak, didn’t thank him, didn’t say good bye.

  He walked around to his side of the car and noticed my dad starting to walk down the steps of our house, heading towards us in Dr. David’s front yard. Rodney slammed his door and walked through Dr. David’s front yard and stood at the ditch, glaring at my dad as he approached the street that separated the two houses. I watched from the car as Dr. David walked up and stood beside Rodney, a show of force against the enemy.

  “I’m taking her away so you don’t kill her. You should thank me,” Rodney said.

  “You rotten Ni___r! How dare you,” Daddy yelled from the middle of our yard, almost running toward the street.

  “Stop right there, Bob,” Dr. David said. “If you cross that street I’ll have you arrested.” Daddy slowed, then stopped when he reached the sidewalk that divided our yard from South Jefferson Street. He had a huge Band-Aid on his forehead and one of his eyes was already turning purple.

  “You can’t do that. I’m the mayor.” He had his hands on his hips and blazing eyes protruded from his face.

  “I don’t care if you think you’re the president. Stay put.” Dr. David put his arm on Rodney’s shoulder. Rodney’s fists were clenched at his sides, his chin was thrust forward. I could tell from the stiffness of his back that he wanted to lunge at my dad.

  “I’ll have your black ass, Rodney Thibault. And your family, too.”

  “No you won’t, Bob,” Dr. David said. “I’ll file charges against you and present all the records on Susie’s accidents over the years if anything at all happens to the Thibaults. You’ll never be senator. Your political career will be ruined.” I looked past Daddy and saw Sissy, Mama and little Albert standing on the porch of our house. Sissy started down the steps but Mama grabbed her by the back of her shirt. A sob caught in my throat as I realized I’d never see my little sister again if I left now.

  “Rodney,” Dr. David said without taking his eyes off my dad. “Get in your car and take Susie somewhere where you can protect her from any future abuse.”

  “How dare you!” Daddy yelled, but he didn’t move.

  “You drove her to me yourself, Mr. Burton,” Rodney said. “If you’d have treated her with love and kindness, she wouldn’t have needed me.”

  “You son-of-a- ... .” Rodney turned and walked to the car, got behind the wheel and we drove off. I tried not to look at Sissy and Mama standing on the porch. I was crying so hard I was shaking all over.

  Rodney carried me to Catfish’s bed, gave me an icepack and left without a word. I sat up heaving and gasping for air. Blood started to trickle down my face and dropped in my lap. I knew I must have burst a stitch or two from crying so hard. I had to get a grip. It was all too much. I’d lost Catfish and Tootsie, maybe Marianne and now... Oh, God, just when I’d decided I couldn’t live without him, I’d lost Rodney. Where’d he gone?

  An hour went by and I must have fallen asleep. I didn’t hear the screen door open, but I felt his presence.

  “Don’t you think we need to talk, Cherie?” He knelt beside the bed and I turned my head towards him. I was so happy to see him I threw my arms around him and pulled him close.

  “Oh, God. You came back. I thought you left me. I thought I’d never ...”

  “I went back to apologize to Dr. David. And to make sure my family was okay. And I packed some things.” I was out of tears but my chest still heaved as if I was sobbing. He lay his head on my chest a few seconds, then he pulled away and looked at me.

  “I love you, Susie.” The green specks in his eyes were so bright they cast rainbows on my blood drenched blouse. I didn’t know how to tell him I loved him. I’d never said those words before, not to anyone. They seemed to flow so freely from his mouth, but they stuck in my throat. I felt I would choke if I uttered them.

  “You’d like New York,” I whispered. It was a deep thought, one I’d buried for so long it surprised me when it came came out of my mouth and hung in the air. I closed my eyes, afraid of his response.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m not sure.” I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, twisting my hair just over my ear. Rodney opened my overnight bag that was sitting on Catfish’s dresser. He found a T-shirt and sat next to me on the bed. He unbuttoned my bloodstained blouse and removed it and my stained, wet bra. He slipped the T-shirt over my head. He made sure to pull the cotton ribbing away from my face so it didn’t scratch my wound.

  It was all so respectful. He didn’t comment on my naked chest or how my nipples hardened when the air hit them. He didn’t touch them nor did he stop to stare or show any sort of desire. Once he had my shirt pulled down to my hips, covering my nakedness, he lay me gently back against the pillows he’d fluffed and stacked. I kept waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t utter a word. The silence was so loud it echoed in my ears.

  He sat on the side of the bed, his butt against my leg and he bent forward, his face in his hands, elbows on his knees. I finally realized he was waiting for me to say something. He’d always been so open and upfront about his feelings for me, but I had never been honest.

  “I’m tired of hiding how I feel,” I whispered. He turned his torso to look at me, one hand near my arm. “I’m tired of denying it. I’m tired. Period.”

  “Susie. Do you love me? Do you want to be with me?” I tried to look at him, then averted my eyes to the ceiling, again. He put one of his hands on either side of me and his face hovered above mine. He was inches from me and I could taste his fear, smell his anticipation, hear his heart thump, double time—thu-thump ...thu-thump ... thu-thump.

  “I wish I’d never met you, Rodney Thibault,” I whispered. I knew he could taste my words, every syllable. “My life, your life, would have been so much easier. I wish I’d fallen in love with a white boy. I wish I had been convincing enough when I told you I didn’t love you. I wish you would have moved on, found a nice colored girl, married her, had children. Then I would have had to move on, too.”

  He looked confused. He didn’t say anything.

  “I’ll be honest, Rod. I’ve tried to move on. I’ve tried to date other guys and I would think for a while that, maybe, I was over you. Then I’d see your handwriting on an envelope or hear your voice over the phone or, worst of all, see you in person, and I’d have to start trying all over again.” What I didn’t tell him is that I could never get over him once I had his baby. Other than Josh Ryan and the couple who adopted our daughter, no one knew about that. No one.

  I sat up on the other side of the bed, facing away from him. He touched my back and I felt a chill down my spine.
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  “I’ve tried, too,” he whispered. I was afraid to hear the words. “For a while, I thought I’d succeeded. I even dated someone pretty seriously, went home with her, brought her to meet my family.” He stopped talking for a few seconds. I didn’t say anything. It hurt to hear about another girl. I couldn’t bear to think of Rodney with someone else. He walked around the bed and knelt in front of me.

  “Then I saw you step out of your dad’s car at the church this morning and I knew I had failed miserably.” I finally looked into his eyes as if I could see something in them that might tell me what I needed to know.

  “I knew then I could never love anyone but you, Susie. Even my dad saw it. He told me I needed to end it with Annette and go after my dream. He said it wasn’t fair for me to settle for half a life just because I’m colored.” I stared at his lips while he spoke. So many confusing things. His dad? His dreams? He still loved me? He started to say something else, then he stopped. We didn’t touch. He just knelt in front of me as I sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I have ... I have ... uh, I have loved you ... “ I swallowed hard. Saying that word was so difficult. My dad had used it often, then he’d attack me and call me names. My mother said she loved me, but she wanted me to disappear. Josh Ryan said he loved me until he saw my baby. Gavin said he loved me, but his love did not come with trust. I didn’t know how to use the word in a way that said what I meant—that I had wanted and trusted Rodney since I was thirteen years old, that he was the only person in this wide world I believed in, especially with Catfish gone. How does a four-letter word say that?

  “I didn’t tell myself, not for a long time.”

  “Are you saying you love me?”

  “Is that word so important to you?”

  “Of course. It says everything.” I guess for Rodney the word love did mean something because all those who had told him they loved him, acted like they loved him. I tried to understand why he needed to hear that word from me.