Nobody Said Amen (32 page)

Willy held the door to the meeting room open and the prisoner stepped in, stopping to stare at the women at the table. “I want you to welcome Minnie Lou Thompkins. She’s new to Parchman,” Willy said, and turned to face the prisoner. “I’m Wilson and I’m here to lead this group. In this room we’re free to say whatever we want, Minnie Lou, and what’s said in this place stays here. We don’t discuss it outside.” She motioned to a seat but Thompkins remained rooted, standing alone, her arms tightly folded against her chest. Willy moved past her and took her seat at the table as the women held hands. “We start our meetings this way, Minnie Lou.” Willy tilted back her head and began to sing, “Jesus loves me . . . ”

One by one the voices of the women rose to join her

Jesus loves me,

This I know,

For the Bible tells me so.

Little ones to Him belong.

They are weak but He is strong . . .

Now the voices rang out in unison, filling the room:

Yes, Jesus loves me!

Yes, Jesus loves me!

Yes, Jesus loves me!

The Bible tells me so.

The song wavered to an end, and the women stared at the still silent woman. Willy said gently, “Minnie Lou, I’m sure you must know this hymn. Why don’t you sing with us?”

“I don’t sing about Jesus.” The words were dropped like stones.

Cleo hooted, “Who the hell this bitch thinks she is? The warden?” Laughter rippled around the table. “I don’t sing about Jesus? Maybe she the new Judas!”

Willy contained her smile and held up her hands. “Let her explain, ladies. Why don’t you sing about Jesus, Minnie Lou?”

Thompkins raised her chin. “’Cause I’m not a Christian anymore. I am now a Muslim.” She confronted Willy. “And my name is not Minnie Lou. I changed it to Hosina. And I don’t sing about no honky white preacher who was a Jew to start with.”

Willy nodded. “I hear what you’re saying, Minnie Lou. When you’re in these meetings, you can be Hosina. Outside these walls, officially, you remain Minnie Lou Thompkins.”

Lena angrily pushed back her chair and pointed to Thompkins. “What this bullshit that Jesus was a Jew?”

Willy said, “Hosina is right. Jesus was a Jew. There was no Christianity until after Christ died, but according to the Bible he was also the son of God.”

Hosina spoke sharply, “No! Not according to the Koran, which is my bible!”

Georgia challenged Willy. “You a born-again and you lead this group. So what’s an Arab doing in here with us, Miss Willy?”

“The reason I’ve brought my born-again ministry here is because born-again means a second chance to me.” Willy scanned the angry faces of the women. “I hope that it means a second chance to you. And a Muslim like Hosina can use a second chance as much as a Christian.”

Hosina glared. “Allah give me all the chances I want.” Her eyes were pleading. “I don’t even know why I’m here with you people, praise be to Allah. They won’t even let me wear my head scarf which I wear to honor him.”

Willy rose and brought a chair to the table. “Sit with us, Hosina. You’re the first Muslim to join our group. And it shouldn’t matter to us how you worship. Georgia’s a Baptist. Lena’s a Methodist. Cleo doesn’t want to belong to any church. Mickey’s a Lutheran. What brought all these women to Parchman is their own business, not mine. I’m not here to judge you, and I’m not here to sweet-talk you. You’ve been judged already. We don’t get together every Tuesday to talk about the past. That’s a time we want to forget.”

Staring straight ahead, Hosina reluctantly took the offered seat.

Cleo spoke directly to her. “I been in this shit hole for two years of my twenty-year sentence. Twenty years, you hear what I’m sayin’? For killing my husband after I found he raped my daughter?” Hosina raised her head and stared at her. “Take it from me, girl, you’re gonna need friends in here. My name is Cleo.”

In March, Lucas signed up for classes at Delta State in aquaculture. Eula commended him and arranged for him to have night duty so he could make daily classes. It was one more hurdle for Willy to manage, Luke sleeping in the afternoon when he wasn’t doing his homework for Delta State. It was a harrowing schedule with the ministry, managing the two boys, settling the new house. Willy’s sister came from across town when she could to help with the kids, but it was always tight.

But for the first time since leaving the plantation, her man was happy. The courses on aquaculture seemed to rekindle the excited young man Willy remembered from the early days when he first took the reins of the plantation from his father. There was excitement as he expounded about the bright new world of water agriculture that was beginning here in their Delta. Willy watched her husband embrace the new information, making plans and plotting strategies. “It’s going to take hard work, boys, but we’ll do it together. This is brand new!” He had looked fondly at his sons. “The days of plantation droughts and floods are the bad old days! That was my daddy’s business, and it was my business. That’s not going to be your business. It’s going to be another world for you both to understand.” He pulled them closer. “Your grandpa would never recognize it. There’s going to be so much for us all to learn!” For the first time in a decade, Willy saw her husband totally and happily engaged in the future. Her Luke was no longer grappling with a past that had nearly destroyed him.

On the drives home from Parchman Prison, as the rising sun would anoint the endless cotton fields, Luke could almost see what was coming. The first catfish pond will be right there, he thought, about twice the size of a football field. The outbuildings just beyond. Going to take financing, maybe a proposal to Burroughs at the bank, because this could grow. And there will be a sign. He squinted as the sun rose to flood his windshield. Yeah, a large sign. Color for the name, black and white for the rest. He could see it clear:

CLAYBOURNE AND SONS

Catfish Farmers

Shiloh, Mississippi

It was an odd way to start the year in Mississippi, Z thought, but beautiful. A light dusting of snow had mysteriously moved across the Delta, leaving a pristine scrim of sparkling white over the withered ochre landscape. Z smiled, driving slowly up the approach to Fatback’s Platter. Like Umbria in February, except there the snow would not disappear by noon as it would in this strange place. “The snow princess” they’d called her when they were in the forests, because she loved it. She remembered that the Partisans from the south only liked the hot weather. The Nazis, too. Even before the war, the Germans had come only for the sun. They never gave a smile or a lira to anyone or anything Italian. The Partisans taught her, “It’s not hard shooting Nazis.” She had been a good learner.

Nefertiti embraced her at the door, a shawl pulled tight against the damp. “Come out of the snow and warm up. You want some coffee?”

Z laughed. “Coffee sounds good. But this Mississippi white magic is hardly snow, Titi.” They settled in the corner, the bar lit with the unfamiliar glow of the snow beneath the window. “When is your Perkins friend coming?”

“He called from the airport. He’s driving up now and should be here by eleven.”

“This is a good thing?”

Titi put down her coffee, her eyes bright. “Could be. It’s something I’ve dreamed would happen.” She looked lovingly around the room. “I’ve never been good at change, Z. This has been all I’ve known since I was sixteen. But it’s why I asked you to be here. You’ve been good at change. I like the way you think, the way you’ve acted.”

“This Dick Perkins wants you to leave this place, and go to the Gulf?”

“He’s an old friend, Z, and he loves the Delta music I’ve grown up singing, loves the way I sing it. He thinks I can have a real career at Richard’s Rook, and the money’s more than good.”

“So what is the complication?”

“Sheriff Dennis Haley.”

Z leaned across the table and took Titi’s hand. “Your silent partner, yes? Your Count Sforzi?”

Titi nodded. “It’s a long-time arrangement, Z. We’ve had prohibition in Mississippi since 1907, and people like Haley like that setup. He just gets richer from all the places he lets stay open. A blood-sucker. When my daddy started Fatback’s back in the thirties, there was no way to run a juke joint without paying off whoever was sheriff. If he didn’t get his slice off the top every night, you were put out of business. It’s still that way. During the war most of the men around here were gone, and to keep up Daddy sold off pieces of Fatback’s to the new sheriff, Dennis Haley. By the time the war was over and the crowds were back, Haley owned eighty percent of the Platter. The twenty percent left for daddy just covered the cost of the booze and my wardrobe. After daddy died, my silent partner made it clear that the eighty percent included me. ‘You want to work, bitch, this is the only place. You got the bed and I got the keys.’ Finding the courage to say no has been hard. I’ve loved Fatback’s and I’ve loved the work. And I never found your courage.”

“And the policeman, Butler, who runs your door? The fascisto?”

“A racist pit bull. All he knows is to keep the niggers from tearing up the place and keep a sharp eye out on the bitch who sells all the tickets and make sure she don’t stray.” Her bitter laugh cut through the room. “There ain’t going to be a new handyman like Bronko, that’s for damn sure. If it happens on Butler’s watch, the sheriff goes public on Butler and his Klan connections.”

Z remained silent, watching the sunlight touch the tops of the pines that stood vigil beyond the parking area. When she turned to Titi, she seemed to have come to some private conclusion. She smiled. “Don’t look so—how do you say—morose? Dear Titi. Look, the sun is already melting away your snow! And here comes your Dick Perkins!”

Perkins paused at the door, letting his eyes adjust to the dim room while he sought out every corner of Fatback’s Platter. “It’s what I remember, Nefertiti. I even dreamed twice about this room. I never saw it in daylight before.” He crossed to the table and took Titi’s hands. “You made me have nice dreams, lady.”

She chuckled appreciatively, rising to kiss him on the cheek. “Didn’t I tell you he was a charming honky? Dick, this is Billy’s wife, Z, and my dear friend.”

He shook her hand. “I’m happy to meet any friend of Titi’s. But who is the lucky Billy?”

Z smiled. “Billy of Billy’s Chili. Some people think I’m the chili, Italian chili!”

Perkins nodded. “Best down-home food in Shiloh. That’s not to say you’re not his chili! Of course I know your husband. Everybody loves him but the police.”

“Right on both counts, Dick. Let me pour us a drink to celebrate your arrival.” Titi moved behind the bar, deftly seizing three tumblers and a bucket of ice. Returning to their corner table, she filled their glasses.

Perkins raised his glass. “To Nefertiti, Queen of the Nile, soon to grace Richard’s Rook and bring the joys of the Delta blues to the virgin ears of the Redneck Riviera.”

Laughing, Z applauded and raised her glass as well. “
Salud
, Titi!”

Perkins turned to the silent Titi, his eyebrows raised. “You’re not joining us?”

With a forced smile, Titi raised her glass. “Thank you, Dick. From your lips to God’s ear. Oh, how I want to go! But I can’t say when.”

“Take what time you need. The Rook won’t be refurbished till Easter, and I want you to be the headliner. I’m going to invite the Claybournes to come for the opening.” He grinned. “It’ll be like old times. Have you seen Luke recently?”

“Luke? White Lightning?” Her voice was nearly inaudible. She shook her head. “No, I haven’t. Not many folks have seen him or Willy since they lost the plantation. It’s been a hard road. And working at Parchman for a proud man like Luke—” She paused, her eyes misting. “That’s gonna be hard for a long time. I don’t know if they’ll be at your opening.” She paused, searching for a firmer footing. Her smile was a question. “Our opening, Dick?”

Z said “
Coraggio
, Titi. You’re not alone. Billy and his Italian chili will be at the center table. The Queen of the Nile will be a
diva magnifica
! And Sheriff Dennis Haley can console himself with Count Ricardo Sforzi as they recall the beautiful women that got away.”

Titi’s eyes glistened. “Since you came to Shiloh, Z, I’ve never felt alone.”

Perkins smiled. “Can you come at Easter?”

She nodded, “Easter it is. Now tell me about the Redneck Riviera.”

When all but the night shift had departed, Ted Mendelsohn approached Max’s office, tapped, and entered. Max looked up from his typewriter. “You want to talk? Say yes, because I want to stop.” He swiveled from the desk and turned to face Mendelsohn. “Grab a chair, Teddy.”

Ted settled in the armchair next to the desk. “How many times have you said you want to talk and I’ve settled in this chair and talked. Maybe hundreds?”

Max chuckled. “Maybe thousands.”

Ted nodded. “And how many deadlines?”

Max studied his friend. “Maybe thousands.” He shifted in his chair. “Where’s this going, Teddy?”