Nobody Said Amen (30 page)

“Maybe. You turn on the TV, you look at the national magazines, and you feel like you’re in a zoo and the whole country’s laughing at you. And their heroes are nigger preachers grabbing the spotlight and scruffy beatniks walking on our town green, just asking for it, making us do things we never wanted to do.”

Willy stared at her friend. “Things we never wanted to do? You believe that? You knew, and I knew, and everyone I knew believed that the Klan would take care of it, purge the devils, scare off the Communists. Protect ‘our southern way of life.’ We just agreed to not look.” They sat in silence, feeling words had disarmed them.

When Emily finally rose to leave, she said, “Mama’s been beside herself ever since they took Bobby Joe away. Four years ago, and to her it seems like yesterday. So I took her to hear the tent evangelist over in Shaw, a wonderful preacher, Wil. He’s going to be there for ten days. And he made us feel so much better. He told Mama, ‘Christ lets you in whenever you want to come in, You can start over,’ he said. ‘You can get born again.” She knelt beside Willy. “Maybe Jesus does have an answer.”

Willy took her hand. “Remember the passage from Mark we were teaching the kids at the church school? ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of God.’ You think God knows about Mississippi? If He does, maybe that ‘s why everything is coming apart. Maybe this is our punishment, Em, for being deaf and being blind.” Her voice was resigned. “There are none so blind as those that will not see.’”

Emily shrugged. “Sounds like an Old Testament God, Willy dear. All about punishment and eye for an eye. You and I were teaching about the love of Jesus. You and Luke never harmed a soul. I’m sure Jesus loves you.”

“Heaven’s not a free lunch. If Luke gets a job at Parchman, he’ll be paying plenty. But what about Willy McIntire Claybourne? How does she find a way to pay back?”

Emily said, “I don’t know. Maybe you’ll come with Mama and me to Shaw next Friday and meet the preacher. He did say Jesus is the Light and the Way.”

From her desk, Eula watched the unexpected shower that was darkening the scattering of dry brown leaves along the prison road. Frowning, she turned to the report that lay next to her phone. Damn it. What a rotten present this was.

When the call came from the infirmary, her voice was sharp and impatient. “And prisoner Marlow? Good. Keep me advised after you conclude the procedure. Yes. Immediately. Thank you, doctor. Have Officer Claybourne report to me when you’re done.” The rain was spattering the windows, driven by a rising wind, and she worried about the drive home later. But first was this near-disaster in the mess hall.

When Lucas knocked, she told him brusquely to come in, and eased back in her chair. He paused, then stepped briskly to her desk, removed his hat, and stood at attention. Eula stared at the bandage on his cheek in silence.

“Officer Claybourne, do you know why you are here?” “Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, Sergeant.” Her voice was metallic.

Lucas flushed. “Yes, Sergeant.”

“And how long have you been a corrections guard at Parchman, Claybourne?”

“Five months, three weeks, Sergeant.”

“After five months no guard of mine should have the problem that you have right this minute. The problem that I have right this minute.” She held up the report. “What happened in the mess hall today will not happen again, Officer Claybourne. Not ever on my watch.” She returned the report to the desk. “Not ever while you are in my charge. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Good. At ease, Claybourne. Sit down.” Eula pulled a yellow pad from her desk, unscrewed a fountain pen, and shoved them both across the desk to Luke. “I want a complete statement from you on everything that happened this noon in the mess hall. Everything that was said. Everything that was done. And it’s important that it be exactly right because there were witnesses.” She leaned forward, her face inches from Claybourne. “If Marlow loses his eye, and the doctor says he may, this could be very serious for you and for me.” She sat back in her chair and studied his face. “The doctor said you needed ten stitches and were very lucky. How did it start?”

He perched on the edge of his seat and met her angry eyes. “The prisoners at the table said it started when Big Al Marlow accused Sammy Bones of stealing his barbecue. There was a lot of hollering and I ran over from my end of the hall to see what was going down. It was just before the end of my shift and I didn’t want any trouble. When I reached the table, Marlow had Bones in a chokehold and was pulling a shiv out of his sock. ‘I’m gonna carve your lyin’ face like a slab of barbecue.’ I pounded on the table with my billy club and told him to let Bones go and give up the shiv. ‘I’m giving the orders,’ I said. ‘Let him go!’”

“And what happened?”

“He shoved Bones away and tried to grab my billy. He laughed at me and waved the shiv, showing off for the men at the table. ‘Come and get it, you—’” Lucas paused, his eyes searching Eula’s.

“All of it.” Her words were staccato. “I want to hear all of it.”

Lucas swallowed and moistened his lips. “He said, ‘Come and get it, you honky motherfucker. Your wife good pussy for the niggers that worked on your farm? Come on, honky! Come on!’”

“And what did you do? Exactly, Claybourne. What did you do?”

“I said, ‘No son of a bitch has ever called me a honky motherfucker before, and you’re the last one that ever will.’ And that’s when he tried to cut me. I ducked, he caught the side of my cheek, and I nailed the bastard twice with my club. He started bleeding and he dropped on the table. That’s when the other officers came running up.”

“And that’s all?”

Claybourne nodded. “They took me and Marlow to the Infirmary.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, it looks worse than it feels. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Luke stared out the window, seeing something beyond the icy rain. “Marlow is bad news, Sergeant.”

“I know. Remember I warned you about prisoners like Marlow.” Eula’s voice had softened. “Five months ago.”

Luke nodded. “I remember, and I’ve been keepin’ an eye on Marlow, but he didn’t cause me any trouble until today.”

“But today you didn’t follow the book, Claybourne. The minute you spotted trouble, you should have been blowing your whistle for backup. Parchman backup. You allowed it to become a one-on-one situation that could have ended in a riot. We can’t have one-on-one in Parchman. We sure as hell can’t have black and white in Parchman. We can only have the Parchman way, and you’re being paid to do it the Parchman way. And you can’t allow it to become personal, to lose it when a prisoner calls you a honky motherfucker. He’s probably been called nigger his whole sorry life. Personal won’t cut it here.”

The room had darkened. Eula rose and walked to the door and closed it. She turned to face Lucas, “This conversation is off the record, Lucas. It never took place.” She returned to her desk. “I care about you and Willy and that’s why I want to ask you, are you sure you want to do this? This is not like giving orders and running the plantation.”

Luke remained silent, looking at his hands. “No, Sergeant. I’m not at all sure I want to do this.” He raised his eyes to face her. “But it’s what I can do. I don’t have many choices. I’ve got Willy and the kids. And when I looked around, this was all there was.”

“It can’t have been easy to come here and find I was to be your boss.”

“It wasn’t. At first it wasn’t.” He smiled. “But you know what Willy said when I told her? She said, ‘It’s only right. That’s the way it should be.’” He chuckled. “That’s the way ‘born-agains’ think, I guess. Maybe I agree with her.”

Eula was startled. “Born-again? Willy Claybourne is a born-again Christian?”

“It happened after we lost the place. When the bottom dropped out, we were so damn lost. Tell you the truth, when she said she found Jesus it was like a door opened for her. I didn’t have a clue what she was finding, still don’t. But she changed. Says she wants to pay back. It eats at her.” His eyes searched Eula’s. “Why does she think she owes?”

Eula smiled. “Willy Claybourne.” Her eyes drifted to the window. “I miss her. She has a lot of talent, and she’ll find a way. But what about you, Lucas? You might think about moving on. Delta State has wonderful new courses in aquaculture, and you’re a smart man. You could probably ace those courses.”

“Smart? Yeah, I was too smart to go to Ole Miss when I could have.” His jaw tightened. “I inherited a plantation and didn’t need to know anything other than how to make a cotton crop. Lotta good that does me now.”

Eula moved to the door. “Think about Delta, Luke. It might be just the ticket.”

Luke joined her. “Thank you, Sergeant. Christ knows I could use a ticket.” He laughed. “Christ knows—Jesus, I sound just like Willy!”

The news of Robert Kennedy’s assassination came as Ted Mendelsohn and Julia were at the dining table, lingering over coffee. The television was murmuring in the corner. Ted frowned. “What did he say?” Julia hurried to turn up the volume. “Death came as Senator Kennedy was leaving a campaign stop here in California putting an end to . . . ” Ted stared at the screen, struggling to process the incredible. Bobby dead? No! And, of course, yes. Sickening, bloody, heart-stoppingly, yes. Those monsters, those stupid, vile monsters, had torn that sweet man apart. Oh, my God.

He choked on the bile he tasted, not even hearing the raucous ringing of the telephone. Julia answered, “Yes, Max. We did. Can you believe—?” She paused, sitting down hard next to the table. “Of course, He’s right here.” Wordlessly, she held out the receiver.

“Teddy?” Max’s voice was husky, almost unrecognizable. “Meet me at the office at eight tomorrow. We have to talk.”

The night was dismal. Bobby gone? Bobby gone. The saddest word in the English language, gone. Malcolm gone, King gone. Now Bobby? Guns. In the hands of monsters. Gone. When Ted said goodbye to Julia at dawn, he felt he had not closed his eyes since supper.

The door to Max’s office was open, and the news desk just beyond had a hushed urgency, voices muted even as the machines were spilling out the details of the latest American tragedy. Yes, in the kitchen . . . yes . . . can you believe? . . . yes . . . oh, my God, and yes, the widow is on the way . . . yes, yes. . . .

Max stood, staring out the window, looking across the Hudson toward Newark, then north toward Harlem, expecting—what? He turned when he heard the door close behind Mendelsohn.

“You look like an unmade bed,” he growled.

“I am an unmade bed. Unslept in.”

Max moved to his desk and poured two cups of coffee, sliding the sugar to Ted’s side.

“How did Julia and the kids take the news?”

“Julia seemed stunned. ‘You knew him,’ she kept saying, ‘and you knew John. You knew both of them. And you knew Goodman and Schwerner and Chaney,’ and then she started to cry. ‘You have two kids, and this is your world? This is our world?’ And the kids were frightened. Richard’s home from college and was remembering he was in social studies class when the teacher told them the President had been shot in Dallas, and Laurie asked me if she should still put up the Martin Luther King poster I had brought her from Washington? She is scared.”

“And I’m scared, too,” said Max. “First they nailed up the one Jesus we’ve got in this country who was marching with the garbage workers. Now they got Bobby, who might have stopped this idiot war. Where do we go from here, Teddy?”

Ted shook his head, studying his old friend. “If I had a clue I’d tell you. This is our country, Max? With maniacs who kill people like John and Bobby and Martin?” He moved ponderously to the door. “And you want me in Chicago to interview the Black Panthers?” He turned to Max. “Is this the best job you’ve got for an old friend?”

“It’s a living,” Max said. “It’s what we do.”

The call from Dale Billings had been uncharacteristically abrupt. Eula frowned, “It’s for you, baby. It’s Dale.” She handed the receiver to Jimmy, pausing at the kitchen door.

Jimmy nodded. “Of course. We’ll see you when you get here.” Eula watched Jimmy slowly hang up.

“He sounded terrible, Jimmy. Is he okay?”

“He’s grieving, Eula, disoriented and grieving. He wants to come here next Saturday. I told him to come. He’ll be here by suppertime. Is that a problem?”

“Dale? Of course not. Ever since Bobby was killed I’ve been wondering how he was, where he was. The call came from Hyannis, Jim.”

“He went back to stay with Bobby’s kids after California. Now he wants to see us.”

Dale Billings had changed. Jimmy knew his old friend, and he struggled to identify the difference he saw. The tailoring was a whole lot better. Gone were the jeans, the denim shirt, and the tentative beard. The unruly hair was barbered now, making him look a little taller, and he had added some pounds. The restless Dale ebullience that had once brought heat and laughter into the room were gone. Now there was a tentative quality that Jimmy had never before spied beneath the loud, often profane bravado. His friend looked sad.

“Welcome home to Missifuckingsippi, pal. Long time no see!”

Dale walked straight to Eula and took her in his arms. He held her for a long beat and turned to Jimmy. “Not sure it’s home. But it’s so good to see both of you.”

“Let me get some cold stuff,” said Eula. “You look like you could use it, Dale.”

When she left the room, Jimmy pulled up a chair opposite Dale. “I’m so sorry about Bobby. I know how tight you were with him, ever since you showed him the Delta. The country’s going to miss him.”

Dale remained silent, studying his hands. “This country doesn’t deserve him. This country devours its young.” He looked at Jimmy and smiled for the first time. “That’s a quote from Ted Mendelsohn, the old man of the mountain who knows things.”

Jimmy chuckled. “Ted would be pleased to know you’re quoting him. Do you think he’s right about the country?”

“It’s hard to know. But we’re stuck in the Big Muddy, kids keep getting killed in a war we shouldn’t be in. Martin said that, and the country killed him. Bobby tried to say that and the country killed him.” His eyes glistened. “Stokely said it and went off to Guinea and changed his name to Kwami Ture. He just left Missifuckingsippi and Alabama and the Black Panthers and Miss Liberty and split.” He grew silent again as he watched Eula bring in the beer.