Three Days Before the Shooting ... (147 page)

Near the curb ahead, where water from a fire hydrant trickled in the sunlight, a black, long-haired spaniel lay in the shade of a building nursing her three black-and-white puppies.

So there’s at least one sign of hope left on the scene
, he thought with a smile. But as he looked along the street for the dogs’ owner the only evidence of one were the remains of a can of dog food that had been dumped on a sheet of newspaper.

Things appear to have gone to the dogs
, he thought,
but at least not completely
. And as he watched the prostrate animal nursing her pups he smiled. Then, bending and giving her a pat on the head, he resumed what had become a most sorrowful journey.

Approaching the hill which led to Janey’s home, he slowed his pace and took a look at the quiet, tree-shaded block. The houses neat and the sloping lawns with steps leading down to the brick sidewalks well-kept and green in the sunlight. Across the walk from where he stood, cinder blocks which formed an embankment
for the lawn above were wet with dew, a line of red ant hills edged the sidewalk below, and high above in a locust tree a songbird trilled.

It looks much the same, he thought, but after coming all this way I hope there’s nothing really serious going on inside. If not, I’ll hear her out and catch the next flight back to Georgia. Not that Sister Corrine might have been right in saying that Janey did all that signifying just to get a little of my attention. She’s not like that, so no matter what led her to write she’s upset and I’m obliged to do whatever I can to calm her….

Then, suddenly hesitant, he looked around, thinking:
So here I am, but now such a stranger that my trying to help her is as risky as a physician treating a member of his own family: There’s too much old emotion and memory to get in the way of his better judgment. And betwen Janey and me there’s too much wreckage from the past, too many ghosts of what might have been
.

There was a time when we could have been closer than I’ve ever been to anyone in my life—then it was over. Time passed and with it we changed. So now there’s only the memory of what might have been and a long-distant friendship based on our fidelity to old, frustrated dreams which she chose to reject. Then I changed my ways and grew older and colder, but while I made my peace with what happened between us I could never forget that peach-brown girl with her arms full of flowers …

Yes, Hickman
, his blues voice interrupted,
and that sunny backyard’s fenced-in greenness filled with the scent of honeysuckle and roses and you being careful not to bang the balls too hard as you played croquet with that willowy daughter and her prim hourglass of a mother. And there you were, acting the courtly, well-bred gentleman with your horny mind as usual on a more earthly game. Then getting your big foot caught in a wicket and high-collared, white-dressed, tight-corseted, blue-sashed mama-chaperone with that gold watch pinned to her pouter pigeon’s bosom revealing both the lay of the game and time of day by laughing like a flute as she swatted the balls and scored. And afterwards, watching you out of her shrewd card-sharp’s eyes while serving you an ice-cold glass of lemonade, she paused and plopped in a red, signifying cherry. Made you, a gambler who had played high-society and barrel-house dances, feel like a yokel just come to town. That’s when you realized how much more dangerous dealing with strivers like her was than performing dances where hot

young gals crowded the bandstand and smiled to attract your whiskey-eyed attention…
.

Lips that touched wine shall never touch mine, Janey said, and she meant it—as though a rascal like you could reverse all prior time in order to get married…. And you wanting to give it a try, thinking like a fool that a bluesman could become a saint and a jazzman change

into a one-woman monk…. Why didn’t Eve come equipped with a chastity belt, Yale lock
,

and cast-iron bloomers?

Once Millsap argued with you that underneath most black Baptist preachers there’s a vestige left by the old fertility gods. Said that it made them so hound-dog randy that even dumb young women knew it instinctively
.

Underneath
where
, you said
.

The skin, Millsap said
.

No, you’re wrong, you said, because although a true minister’s flesh might quiver it’s only his response to his testing, his prick of conscience. And if he ignores it he fails his test. But when he lets that happen even the most compliant females will condemn and reject him
.

And you can say that again, Millsap said. That’s the way they are. Some come and condemn, while others come and
then
condemn—and if I’m wrong, what’s all this business about celibacy?

It’s to keep the flesh under control and the mind on the saving grace. It’s a discipline. Remember Jack Johnson’s advice when asked how an ordinary man should deal with the likes of those hot-tailed gals who were always hanging around him? Eat pickled walnuts, take cold showers, and think long-distant thoughts. That was his formula, a matter of mind over matter. But it was nothing new, because dedicated ministers always followed that rule. Saint Paul taught them, so if you’d like a reference read your Bible
.

Yes, he said, but old Jack wasn’t a minister—unless you want to call his upper-cutting and left-jabbings some kind of preaching. Instead, he was what all the gals knew by instinct—a strapping black fertility god dressed in boxing gloves and form-fitting tights. That’s why he raised so doggone many underskirts, not to mention that sea of white hopes
.

And you said: Coming from a little two-bit Satan that’s pretty good, but get thee behind me just the same!

Then he laughed and called the waitress over
.

Delois, he said, my man here looks like he’s not holding up so well under the jive I’ve been laying on him, so maybe you better give him a booster shot …
.

A
what
?

A
booster shot
…

And what the dickens might
that
be? she said
.

Another serving of ribs, you Eveish creature, Millsap said. Give my man another slab of RIBS! Then he stared at you to see if you got the joke…
.

Jazzmen, jazzmen
, Hickman thought as he chuckled and started toward Janey’s,
they’ll turn anything and everything into something else. Just give them a couple of beats and a progression of chords and they’ll turn the “Star-Spangled Banner” into “Don’t You Feel My Leg.” And get away with it, too, because they’re such masters of chaos and fluidity that either folks don’t notice what’s happening or they don’t know what to do about it. What moneymen do with political influence and cash they do with horns, rhythm, and reeds…
.

[BLURRING]

B
EHIND ITS SHALLOW
, freshly mown lawn the six-room house was much as he remembered: its wide front porch supported by four wooden pillars, to its left a swing suspended from its roof by chains, four white wicker rockers, and pots of pink geraniums arranged on its railing.

All right
, he thought,
it looks much the same, so now let’s get going and see if she’s home
.

And making his way to the screened front door he pressed the doorbell and was surprised by a faint sad sound of chimes. Then came a rapid clicking of locks and Janey was peering through the slightly cracked door.

“Thank the good Lord,” she cried, “it’s Alonzo!”

“That’s right,” Hickman said as the door flew open, “he’s back again.”

“Yes,” Janey said, unlatching the screen, “and I knew you’d come! I just
knew
it!”

“You did, did you,” he said. “So instead of writing me all that double-talk, why didn’t you come right out and invite me? Anyway, I’m here, so now that you’ve seen me, what’s a man supposed to do—rush back home to his duties, or wait out here in the heat until you decide to ask him in?”

“Shame on you, Alonzo; you know you’re always welcome. But first let these old eyes have a good look at you! How
are
you?”

“Fine,” Hickman said, “except for being confused and a bit upset by that letter of yours. Otherwise I feel fairly fine.”

“And you look it,” Janey said, “you really do. But I guess you know that from all those ladies you have around you…. Come in and get out of that jacket. And don’t go reading anything into the shades being down. I have them drawn against all this heat. I hope you don’t mind a little darkness.”

“Not at all,” Hickman said as he moved into the living room. “Being a dark man I’ve seen many a dark day, so as soon as my eyes adjust I’ll be in my element. Meanwhile, Miss Janey, Janey, Jane-Jane-Jane, tell me how are
you?”

“Now don’t you go jadda-jadda-jing-jing-jinging me, you old rascal! Anyway, I’m pretty good, or at least
I feel good
if not pretty.”

“Well, you look both,” Hickman said. “Where shall I sit?”

“Take that big chair right there. It’s Cliofus’s, and if it can hold him it can hold anybody, even someone as big as you. Give me that jacket and make yourself comfortable. Would you like something cold? I just happen to have some homemade strawberry ice cream, or if you like I can make you some ice tea or coffee.”

“You really did know I was coming, and as always I’m tempted. But nothing right now, thank you. And with this having to be a short visit we’d better get to what’s bothering you. Sit down and tell me what’s been happening. Who’s this little man you wrote about?”

Sitting on the sofa and cooling herself with a cardboard fan, Janey frowned.

“Alonzo, I don’t really know,” she said, “and that’s the problem. I’m not sure
who
he is, and I’m not even sure that I want to. That’s why I wrote you about his being out all of a sudden. He
claims
he was one of my little men, but if he
was
then he’s the son of a young friend of mine who killed herself years ago….”

“…
Killed
herself? Who was she?”

“You wouldn’t have known her, Alonzo, but she was a fine young woman who got herself ruined by a fast-talking man….”

“Did you know the man?”

“Not really, but he went by the name of Prophet. At least that’s what he was calling himself when my young friend had a baby boy by him.”

“And what happened to the baby?”

“He became one of mine. I didn’t know what she was up to, but when she decided what she was going to do and asked me to look after him awhile I promised her that I would. And I did … at least as long as I could….”

“But what about about his father, this fellow Prophet? Who was he and where did he come from?”

For a moment Janey was silent, staring at her motionless fan. “Alonzo, I don’t truly know. But if you’ll forgive me for saying it I think he had certain connections with you….”

Hickman sat back in his chair. “With
me?
Now listen, Janey, I didn’t come all the way out here to play games….”

“Oh, hush, Alonzo! I’m not playing games, I was referring to that boy….”

“Boy?
What boy?”

“Now don’t go pretending you don’t know, because you had him with you at the time you were out here putting on a circus sideshow and calling it a
revival
meeting. I never let on but I heard about it, and one night I made it out there to see you putting on your act with that poor child in a coffin. It’s a wonder the good Lord didn’t strike you dead, right then and there….”

Folding his arms, Hickman sighed.

“Janey, I swear, you never forget or forgive. And what’s even worse, you reject anything that’s slightly unusual! But you have to remember that in those days I was fresh out of show business and assuming my role as a minister. It was new, so I was using whatever I could to save souls. I was still learning, and in spite of what
you
might have thought about it the fact remains that our bit with the boy in the coffin converted a few souls. And they
stayed
converted, ask any of them who’re still alive. Yes, and we caused many more to think about how they were living.”

“That’s what
you
say….”

“And that’s the truth! So while you condemned us for using a gifted child in dramatizing the gospel—yes, and outdoors under a tent—don’t forget how peacock proud you were to be a member of that fine church with biblical stories in its stained-glass windows. Oh, yes! You loved being a member but you managed to forget that in his day Christ didn’t
have
a fine cathedral. All he had was the Word. So if he and his disciples hadn’t acted out the gospels your church wouldn’t have had any stories to tell in those stained-glass windows. So now try to forgive me for what I did years ago and tell me what my boy, my little assistant preacher, had to do with your friend?”

“Well,” Janey said, “you might not want to believe it, but after he was grown he and two other men, two white ones, turned up out here making a movie….”

“So?”

“So even though I hadn’t seen him for years I recognized him.”

Hickman frowned.

“Now that’s interesting, making a moving picture! Why can’t I recall your mentioning it before? But let’s not get into that just now. Yes, after the boy ran away he was up to all kinds of devilment, and as he grew older he often backtracked over the circuits we covered. When was he out here?”

“Sometime back in the early twenties,” Janey said. “And like I said, he and the other two men were around here for weeks upsetting folks with that picture. Yes, and socializing with anybody who fell for what they were doing. Can you imagine folks
paying
their hard-earned money to be in a junky, made-up movie?”

“They made them
pay
to be in it?”

“Yes!”