The Road to Memphis (17 page)

“Well, are you or aren’t you?”

He turned another page and read it before he replied. “I figure you have to practice the law to be a lawyer.”

“And you don’t? Why not?”

He closed the book, looked directly at me, and held my eyes. “I spent time in jail once and that had somewhat of a disturbing effect on me. After that, I didn’t have much respect for the law.”

I was silent.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why? Why I was in jail?”

“No.”

“Why not? You haven’t been bashful about asking anything else so far.”

“Well, I figure jail time is kind of personal, you know. Maybe you wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh. I see.”

I looked straight into those hazel-flecked eyes. “Would you? Would you want to talk about it?”

He laughed good-naturedly but didn’t answer. “Where did you get a book like this, anyway?”

“A lawyer gave it to me.”

“You planning on becoming a lawyer?”

I hesitated. “No . . . I just like reading up on the law.”

“That sounds to me almost as if the idea has crossed your mind.” I didn’t say anything. “You should think about it. Especially since you don’t seem to mind asking direct questions.”

“You didn’t answer my last one.”

“And you’re persistent too. No, I wouldn’t want to talk about it, not today, thank you.” He cupped his chin in his left hand and studied me. “You know, law’s a tough business. You’d have to be determined.”

“I know. Thing is, even if I studied law, I couldn’t do it here. There’s no law school in Mississippi for colored. I checked.”

“The Gaines case. Are you familiar with it?”

“No.”

“Well, back in ’36 a Negro by the name of Lloyd Gaines applied for admission to the law school at the University of Missouri and was rejected. He went to court about it, and the case went all the way to the Supreme Court. The Supreme Court said that it was the duty of the state of Missouri to provide education to all its citizens and to provide it within the state, not ship them off and pay tuition for them in another state. There’s hope in that, I’d say. Perhaps the same thing could be done if you want to study law.”

I stared at him, wondering if this knowledgeable man knew anything about Mississippi. He half smiled. “What is it?”

“You expect me to go applying to the University of Mississippi?”

He laughed, a deeply resonant kind of laugh. “You say that as if you think I’m a bit crazed.”

“Not for me to say. But Missouri’s one thing, Mississippi’s
another, and Mississippi is definitely
not
Missouri. A body’d have to be crazy to try something like that here.”

“An outspoken woman. I like that.” He was still smiling. “Well, if you’re not up to taking on the state of Mississippi quite yet, you can always apply to the state to fund your law school education somewhere else. As I said, the state’s supposed to do that, at least, for those fields of study that aren’t open to you here, and that’s still in effect despite the Supreme Court ruling.” He paused and grinned. “Course, the hitch is that they seldom do. They decide what Negroes should be studying, and what they usually decide Negroes should be studying are those fields Negroes can already study here in the state.”

I shrugged. “Well, I’m not going to worry about that now. First thing I’ve got to do is get to college. I’ll worry about the law later.”

“If you do study the law, it’ll take a long time, and marriage could get in the way.”

“No, it won’t. I don’t plan to get married until I’ve finished my schooling. Body had to take care of some man and a whole bunch of children, she wouldn’t ever have time for school.”

Again he laughed. “Well, don’t be so sure about marriage, young lady. Some young man could possibly come along and change your mind.”

“No, I wouldn’t let that happen,” I said, sure of that. “Getting all involved with some boy takes up too much time, and I can’t afford it.”

“So what do you do, to keep boys from being a distraction?” “Well, I really haven’t had a problem so far.”

“You mean you haven’t been in love so far.”

I wasn’t quite sure how I should react to that; but it was true. “Guess not.”

He seemed amused by my honesty. “Tell me,” he said, “just what do the young men have to say about all this? I mean, after all, it must be pretty rough on the fellas at your school.”

“How’s that?”

“Because you’re a very pretty girl, and you deserve to be courted.” He flashed that wonderful smile again, stood, and gave me back my book.

“Did marriage get in your way?”

“Marriage?”

“Aren’t you married?”

“No.”

“I thought you were . . .”

“As I said, it’s not good for a lawyer, making assumptions.” “ . . . to that woman in green out there.”

“Woman in green?” He seemed puzzled, then he laughed. “Are you a Dashiell Hammett fan?”

“Dashiell who?”

“Dashiell Hammett. He wrote a book called
Red Harvest
, first chapter titled ‘A Woman in Green and a Man in Gray.’ Your comment seemed appropriate.”

“Especially since you’re wearing gray.”

“You’re right. But what about Sherlock Holmes? Are you familiar with him?”

“He’s a writer too?”

Solomon Bradley pushed his suit coat back in a smooth, liquid movement and slid his hands into his pants pockets. “You don’t go to films much, do you? Or listen to the radio?” He gave me no time to answer. “Write this down,” he dictated. “Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, comma, creator of Sherlock Holmes, comma, one of the world’s greatest minds, period.
Case Histories of a Free Society
might be fine for bright young
ladies boning up to become lawyers, but, believe me, Sherlock Holmes can be a lot more fun.”

We heard footsteps in the hallway, and Jasper came in. “Eh, Solomon Bradley! Heard you was here!” He vigorously shook Solomon’s hand. “What brings you into town?”

“Just on my way back from New Orleans. Thought I’d stop in and get some of that fine cooking you folks are always serving up.”

“You gonna be here long? You know we got that place right upstairs. Stay overnight. We can fix you up a bed.”

“Thanks, Jasper, but I’ve got to get back tonight. I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

Jasper laughed. “Shoot, man, I had your money, I sure wouldn’t be worrying about getting back to work!”

Solomon smiled. “Wish I had the money you seem to think I do.”

“That your fine-looking woman all dressed in green sitting out there?”

“She’s with me.”

“Well, let me fix y’all up some food to take with you, since Jessie said y’all done already ate. Hope everything was all right.”

“Fine as always.”

“Good.” Jasper grinned, looking pleased. “Look, you come on out here and have some coffee with me. I’ll go on and tell Jessie to fix up some chicken and some pie for y’all to take.” With that he slapped Solomon’s shoulder and went out.

Solomon Bradley walked slowly to the door. At the doorway he turned and looked back at me. “I liked talking to you,” he said.

I laughed. “You sound kind of surprised.”

His smile widened. “Well, frankly, I guess I am. It’s not
every day I meet a high school student reading
Case Histories of a Free Society.”
Those hazel-flecked eyes studied me once more. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Cassie. Cassie Logan.”

“Well, Cassie Logan, maybe we’ll talk again sometime.”

“I hope so.”

“And don’t forget to check up on Sherlock Holmes. And Dashiell Hammett.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

Still smiling, he left, passing Stacey and Little Willie on his way out. Stacey looked after him. “Who was that?”

“Man looking for Jasper. You find Moe?”

“No. We just came back to check and see if you’d heard from him.”

“Not yet.”

Stacey turned back to the door. “Well, there’s a couple more places we want to check.”

I got up. “I’m going with you. I can’t study.”

This time Stacey didn’t object. All he said was “What about those students coming to study with you?”

“I’ll catch them later.”

I grabbed my coat, and we went back into the cafe. The man Solomon Bradley and the woman in green were no longer at their table. Oliver was again seated at the cash register. Clarence sat alone in the booth, holding his head with his hands. “Y’all going back looking?” asked Oliver.

“S’pose we better,” said Willie, “we gonna catch up with that boy. What ’bout you?”

Oliver looked around the room. “Crowd’s picking up, and both Jessie and Jasper pretty busy. Best stay here. Look, Stacey, what if Moe show up while you gone? What you want me to tell him?”

“Just tell him to stay here. We’ll be back soon.” He turned to Clarence. “You going?”

“Naw, y’all go without me this time. I’ll just wait here with Oliver.”

Stacey looked at him with concern, nodded, and we left the cafe. We walked down the street and got into the Ford. Just as Stacey started to pull from the curb a truck came alongside and cut him off. It was Jeremy. He drove on and parked. We hurried from the Ford to meet him. “Where’s Moe?” Stacey asked as soon as we reached the truck.

The tarpaulin moved in back, and Moe stood up.

“Man, get down from there!” ordered Little Willie, relieved to see him.

“Are you all right?” I asked, reaching for Moe as he got down.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?” said Stacey.

Moe nodded. I studied him to see if he was telling the truth. “Well, what took y’all so long? We’ve been worried to death about you!”

“Had to stop in Bogganville. Jeremy had that load to deliver for his pa.”

“And that took all this time?”

Moe glanced at Jeremy, who said, “Truck broke down right outside Bogganville. Took us awhile to get it fixed.”

“You didn’t have any trouble, though,” said Stacey. “I mean, you didn’t get stopped?”

Jeremy, still sitting behind the wheel, met his eyes. “Naw, we ain’t got stopped.”

“Good, then,” said Willie, “’cause we was beginnin’ to imagine all sorts of things.” He slapped Moe’s shoulder. “We was worried ’bout you, son!”

Jeremy shifted gears. “Well, I guess I best be getting on back.”

“Wait,” said Moe. He leaned into the cab. “I thank you for what you done. Couldn’t’ve made it without you.”

“It’s all right. Hope you don’t have no more trouble.”

“You figure you going to have trouble explaining to your pa about the time and all?” said Stacey.

Jeremy shrugged. “Figure to just tell him the truth. truck broke down.”

“Well . . . hope all this doesn’t cause you trouble.” He hesitated. “We thank you for what you did, bringing Moe to Jackson, I mean. You didn’t have to agree to bring him.”

Jeremy’s pale eyes met Stacey’s. “Yeah, I did. ’Sides, you’d’ve thought different, you never would’ve asked me.” He glanced away and was momentarily silent. “You know, Stacey,” he said, looking at the street, “back that night Harris got hurt, you told me I’d asked something hard of you to believe I ain’t meant Harris—none of y’all—no harm. I know y’all ain’t never forgot that night. Ain’t never forgive me for it neither. I figured I owed y’all. Now maybe the debt’s paid. Maybe we’s even.” He looked back at Stacey, his eyes strangely empty. Stacey kept his silence, stepped back from the truck, and Jeremy drove away. We watched, saying nothing, until the red taillights dimmed into the blackness; then Willie, still looking down the street, said, “So what do we do now?”

For several moments, none of us answered Willie. Finally, Stacey turned, glanced at him, then looked at Moe. “Moe, I don’t figure you can stay in Jackson. You got to get out. Only way. They know it was you hit the Aameses, and they know you live here. Won’t be long before they come checking.”

Moe sighed. “Yeah, guess you right.”

“Figure you best leave tonight.”

Moe didn’t say anything. He looked at me, then at Stacey, and turned away. Stacey watched him, then asked Willie, “How much money you got?”

Little Willie dug into his pocket. “Not much, man. Paid Miz Stalnaker for my room last night, then give most of the resta my pay to my folks. How ’bout you?”

Stacey shook his head. “Paid off the car. Just held out enough to get by on for the week.”

“I got a little money,” I said. “Cousin Hugh and Cousin Sylvie paid me yesterday.”

Moe looked around. “How come y’all figuring money?”

“Got to figure money,” said Stacey, “we going to get you a ticket.”

“Ticket?”

“Yeah. Like I said, Moe, you gotta get out. We got to get you on a train or a bus outa here tonight—”

“Train’s better,” advised Willie. “More room to move quick, you hafta—”

“But where’ll he go?” I said.

Stacey considered. “Chicago. He can go to Uncle Hammer.”

“Stacey, we gotta talk ’bout this,” said Moe. “I can’t just go way off north to Chicago and leave my papa and my family like this. I just can’t do that!”

“You gotta do it, Moe. You don’t, these folks down here, they’ll get you, then what your family going to do?”

Moe spoke quietly. “We ain’t got the money. I ain’t got the money. I done what Willie done. Done give my last money to my pa.”

“Don’t matter. We get the money somewhere. Cassie has some, and I’ll ask Oliver. Maybe he can let us have the money from the cafe—”

“No—”

“Cousin Hugh and Cousin Sylvie, they won’t mind. They’d want you to have it.”

“No—”

“It can be a loan.”

“Yeah,” advocated Willie, “’cause you gotta get outa here, man!”

Moe took a few steps away, stopped, then turned to face us again. “I wanna see Mr. Jamison.”

That was the last thing we expected him to say.

“You crazy?” yelped Willie.

“Wanna see Mr. Jamison. Wanna talk to him, see what he got to say ’bout all this.”

“What in the world for?” I cried, not seeing the first sense in such a thing. I knew Mr. Jamison was a fair man. I knew he had more than one time proven himself to be a fair man. But I didn’t figure there was anything he could do, and if there was nothing he could do, there was no sense in talking to him.

“My papa’s here, Cassie. My whole family. I ain’t wanting to run, not come back. Mr. Jamison, him being a lawyer, maybe he can tell me what’s best—”