by Jerry Brown
"I don't know, Easy," his brother said shaking his head with exaggeration. "Whenever I think of down and dirty, I'm reminded of all the problems Daddy and I had gettin' you out of trouble over Alberta Cole." Easy stopped in mid-stride and, with a grin on his face, raised his eyes to his brother. "You always gotta bring up Alberta, I was young an' reckless then." His wife, Lois, entered the doorway and said, "What's that about Alberta?" Without missing a beat, Easy turned to his wife and answered, "Hi, Baby, we was talkin' about that ole Alberta theater we used to go to when we was shoats. You remember that place. Shoot, I reckon. You and me had some times there ourselves." He put his arm around her waist and began escorting her to his office so that he could close the door on his brother. He didn't want Lois to hear R.T convulsing in laughter. "Well, as long as you weren't talking about that ole Alberta Cole," she said without a change of expression.
Chapter 11
Departing from his office to the Masonic Lodge on Friday evening, Robert's mind raced but he was only vaguely aware of the interaction of traffic around him. His family had not reported their progress or lack of it. There was evidence of their efforts in the reduction of television and newspaper coverage of Righteous statements and activities. Police intelligence reports and personal sources revealed the man had become increasingly outrageous in his treatment of the facts of the child's death and in his personal attacks on the police ineffectiveness. Robert was incredulous that the community didn't see through this guy. To him, if the circumstances were not so tragic, the man would had been pitiable!
That afternoon he prepared himself by reviewing police intelligence reports of all of Righteous public utterances. He expected the guy to begin his performance with a prayer in which he would set the tone for his subsequent attacks. Father, we pray for our people that you will protect us from hordes of hate filled who would come upon us as a cowardly lynch mob to torture, murder, and mutilate our children, solely because of the color of their skin.
He would call upon the Lord to disclose to them the location where the broken and mutilated bodies of the rest of our children are hidden. Then he would probably repeat previous statements relating that his decision to leave his home and come to New Orleans was initiated by a vision that came to
him while praying at the altar in his home. The whole room lit up- where it was night, it was day. I saw this small child tied upon an altar, surrounded by flames, white men dressed in white robes, wild eyed, ugly, with hate filled faces, spitting and yelling at the poor black child who lay there frightened and crying. Then the Lord spoke to me, told me just as plain as I'm speaking to you right now. He said : Go to this place, my son, and lead my children from their misery and smite their torturers. How in the hell am I suppose to have a civilized debate with some character like that? Robert wondered. Stopping on the side of the street, he adjusted the coat to his dark brown single breasted suit coat and used the rear view mirror to adjust his tie and check his teeth.
Arriving at the rear of the building, the first thing he noticed was his headlights reflecting off the face of a small, dark, bald headed man wearing a familiar three-piece suit with bell bottom trousers, vigorously directing him to a vacant parking space. “Hello, Mr. Stump, it's good to see you.””
“Hi, Mr. Mayor, I've been savin' this space for you. Mr. Porter came with me. H's inside. I guess you know he's gotten in with the preacher. Robert asked. He's gone down bad, Mr. Mayor. He's either ravin' or just sittin' there, havin' nothin' to do with nobody. They put him on leave at the Post Office.”
“I appreciate your efforts in looking after him, Mr. Stump,” Robert said patting him on his shoulder. “I'll see tomorrow if we can't get him some professional help. Reverend Righteous hasn't made it yet?”
“Nawsuh, not him or Mr. Easy or Mr. R.T., either. I guess they'll all be here directly,” he said walking toward the building.
After entering and approaching the stage, he spotted Joseph Porter seated in the wings on a metal folding chair. His eyes were open, but he seemed unseeing as he slumped in the chair. Robert attempted to talk to him, but got no response. He continued to talk to him, trying to reassure him, but still there was no response.
Suddenly the curtain parted. He walked across the stage to one of several chairs placed in the center, Robert was greeted with an uproar of applause. He waved in appreciation and took his seat. Scanning the crowd, he saw only familiar faces. He remained seated for about ten minutes, continuing to survey the sea of smiling faces. Every seat was filled. His confidence soared. When an old acquaintance walked up to the front of the stage to say hello to him, it started a parade of greeters. As one would return to his seat, another would make the walk to the stage. When a collective clapping began, demanding that the meeting begin, he waited a few more minutes before taking the rostrum. When he rose the clapping turned into applause.
“My fellow citizens and dear Mr. Porter. I did not come here with prepared remarks because I did not know what would be asked of me. Until our guest arrives, let me begin by answering some of the attacks that have been leveled at me over the past week. Most of you here have known me all my life and my family before me. If any of us were cowards or unconcerned about any element of our community, I would not be in the position to stand before you as your mayor. There have been assertions made that a large number of black children have been killed by a hate-filled group of people. I know nothing of this. It's news to me and it's news to the police. Reverend Righteous has foretold that there will be a wave of abductions and killings directed at black children. I don't have the power to foretell the future, but I do not think that will happen.” The crowd was attentive and heads nodded in agreement.
“We are told that young Laurell Porter's death was racially motivated and committed by a group of hate-filled people. Past history suggests that this could be true. But we don't know that. We don't know that at all.”
He paused to judge the crowd's response and glanced at the main doorway expecting that Righteous grand entrance would come from there. He shrugged and continued. “Some among you might think, and be too kind to say, there seems to be a helluva lot you and the police department don't know. In fairness, I would have to agree with you.
Although I am a Christian, the Lord has not seen fit to divine to me who did this terrible thing. I do assure you that no one has been sitting on their hands. A task force of detectives has been assigned to devote their full time to this matter. There have been hundreds, perhaps thousands of people interviewed. I have seen nothing to suggest an unwillingness to turn over every stone to solve this matter. I have every confidence in the ability of our police department, but should it occur to me that they cannot get the job done, then I will bring in those who can. When he heard In this vein, although the city as you know is pressed for funds, we are presently gathering together experts in every conceivable avenue of investigation to review our efforts, to suggest new or different approaches and to further train our police department. The task force members are, and have been, working double shifts since the murder was discovered. Rewards have been offered, presently totaling about one hundred twenty thousand dollars at last count. Everything we know to do is being done. If anyone, and I address this to all of you here and to the community at large, can suggest a better approach or who receives information, no matter how far fetched, about this crime, I plead with you to share it with the police department. If for some reason you do not feel comfortable doing that, please share it with me or my staff. I assure you that it will be followed up.”
He paused again musing over what could have happened to Righteous. He decided to let well enough alone and close quickly. “ I don't know the whereabouts of Reverend Righteous. I expected him to be here and share the stage. I've heard that he claims the Lord has told him the identities and location of the killers. If that is true, I ask that he let us know, and we'll follow that up as well. But I plead with everyone here to allow the police to pursue this matter. We are civilized people , a commun
ity of people who govern themselves within the law. This is no time for vigilantes, no time to act out of fear or suspicion. Please act from your heads and not your hearts, and we will make it through these trying times. In conclusion, I request that you leave this place and return to your homes and pray for an answer to these questions, pray that our fine police may be guided to a quick resolution of this matter. I also wish to thank you for your attendance and bid you good night.” The crowd clapped as all rose in unison and a chorus of Amens floated across the room.
He waved at the crowd and quickly left the stage and exited the building. Robert was aware of feelings of relief and mental exhaustion, but all this was overshadowed by his curiosity. Where was Righteous? To what lengths had his family gone to protect him? He knew not to doubt them, but he was also aware of the depth of their feelings for him. He knew that there was absolutely nothing they would not do to protect him. For the first time in his life he was aware of the true burden of his responsibility.
Driving past the front of the funeral home, no interior lights could be seen. He parked in the rear lot, the lights in the break room were on. He knew then that his father and uncle would be there.
Any doubts he felt were extinguished when he saw their faces. Uncle Easy was beaming. His ever reserved father smiled, lowered his head and touched the tip of his nose with his index finger. They were obviously very proud of themselves.
Robert said nothing to either of them but, rather than seat himself at the outside of the table, he walked around the other side where they were seated. With no signal, Easy raised his hand straight above his head for T to grab, as did his dad. “Okay, miracle workers, tell me what happened. “Robert, Sr. responded first, as he usually did,” Reverend Righteous and his companions had a change of heart and decided to leave on the 7:20 flight to Detroit. I'm sorry that we couldn't get word to you, but we felt that it was more important to stay with him and make sure he kept his word. Uncle Easy, tell me what did you do? “ Easy looked up at the ceiling and otherwise made no response except for his continuing smile. His father said,“ T, you don't need to know that yet. We'll tell you in time. About the only thing you need to know right now is that the business has purchased three late model Cadillacs, which we will be repainting and putting into service, and that the business has a new employee.” “What's that title, Easy?” “ Clarice” the brothers answered in unison. “It seems that we had a sudden change of heart.” Robert placed his face on his hands on top of the table. Easy laughed so hard that tears ran down his cheeks, and his brother actually chuckled as he patted Easy on the back.
Chapter 12
Early one particular afternoon, which day didn't matter since he had long since lost track of days, Bowman climbed to his perch on the porch. The brief spring had turned to summer. So quickly had the glare and heat of the afternoon sun robbed him of much of the accustomed pleasure. It was only the last of several signals suggesting that not even the beauty and tranquility of this place would hold his attention much longer.
Perhaps if the house was not so deteriorated, he thought, as he was shaken from his reverie by a voice from below. He stood and looked down from the balcony to see a short, thin, dark black woman, wearing sagging cotton hose on her pitifully skinny legs. She shaded her eyes with her hand as she looked up at him.
"Have you seen my Baby?" she asked."
"No ma'am, there haven't been any children by all day."
"Oh, he ain't no child. He' full growed. He' jes' my baby."
"What's his name?"
"Emrick."
"Oh, I know him. A nice-looking, friendly guy, very neat, usually wears shorts and a cap?"
"Tha's 'im. He' pretty awright and smile at everybody, but he' sorry, jes like his daddy was, won' work," she said looking down at her feet and shaking her head. "He'll take yo heart, but he jes ain't no good. Worries me to death runnin' off-chasin' 'em low class women like I ain't got nothin' better to do dan look afta him alla time. If you see 'im, tell 'im he better get straight home," she said scoldingly. "I got off early from Miz Fremont's house. He's 'posed to fix a leak on my waterline and he aint done it. I can't cook wid'out no water and I ain't gonna stay up half de night cookin' fo' im'," she scratched her head while shuffling her feet. "I'm gonna sit on my porch and enjoy de cool and watch TV. I ain't gonna sit around waitin' for 'im. He's prob'ly over at dat no count Emily's house chasin' after her. I'll walk over dere an' axe 'bout 'im. She'll jes' lie and say he ain't dere dough." Her face filled with frustration; and she shifted her feet and placed her hands on her hips before continuing. "She think she gonna git him, but she ain't. Baby see' through her like she wuz a window." She paused and frowned before adding: "An'if he don', I do."
Bowman forced back a smile as the harshness of the woman's words so contrasted with her facial expressions and tone of voice. Her smiles come as easy as those of Emrick. "Wait a minute, and let me get down and better make your acquaintance." Bowman quickly descended the ladder and walked up to the woman. "I'm John Bowman. I was married to the Clark's daughter."
"I'm Emma Powell. I heard 'bout little Carolyn and can't believe she' gone. I wept and prayed 'bout her. You know I raised her. Such a sweet child. Pretty too. I can' believe dat de whole family's gone." Her smile turned into a furrowed frown.
"Yes ma'am, while I was in between jobs, I got to thinkin' about the house and how it's goin' down and I thought I'd see if I could do somethin' to preserve it," Bowman said.
The thin woman held her arms, then scratched her head again. "Ain't dat somethin', folks arguin' and spitin' one 'nother 'bout a house. Jes' let it rot down 'stead or givin' in an' lettin' one 'nother enjoy it. I don' know what people comin' to. You gonna fix it up?" Emma asked, nodding at the near derelict structure.
"Miz Emma, I'm afraid it's gone beyond fixin' up. It's really a shame. It really must've been a grand place at one time."
"Oh, you know it wuz. Mr. Sam and Miz Clara couldn' 'ford to fix it up but dey jes' kep' it as bes' as dey could, but I heard dat it really was a sight in the ole days. You gonna stay on in de house?"
Bowman ran his hand across the back of his neck. "I don't know what I'm goin' to do. I put me up a little cot in the kitchen for the time bein' until I decide what to do. In the meantime, I'm just watchin' the grass grow and the leaves blow. Not gettin' much done, I know, but it sure is peaceful just lettin' my mind go free." He slid his hands in his back pockets and cocked his head to the side. "Say, what kind of work does your husband do?" Bowman asked.
"I ain't got no husband. You mean Baby's daddy?" She watched him nod. "He lef' before Baby even got heah. I knew better'n to fool wid' 'im. He been wid' ever' other woman in town and it jes got to be my turn. Didn' stay roun' long after we started talkin'. Said he was goin' up north to blow his horn where people would pay to hear 'im and he'd send for me, but I knew he wadn't gonna. I don' guess he ever knew 'bout Baby and it wouldn't'a made no never mind if he did. Dat jes' the way it wuz. I don' know where he bes or what he' doin', but it ain't much no how. Jes' blowin' dat horn a his, you know them long curvey thangs."
"A saxophone?" Bowman asked.
"Yeah, dats 'bout all he was ever good at, but I'll give 'im dat. "Really could play 'at thang. He and Baby jes' alike. Smile 'at'cha an' make your heart melt, but sorry - won't work - 'speck the whole word to take care a 'em. Thank goodness Baby never learned to blow no horn. Wanted to, but I wudn' hear a word of it. Knew he'd jes' up and leave too and I'd spend the res' of my days worryin' 'bout 'im. Dis way, maybe he'll straighten his self up and take care of me when I gits too old to work no more."
Miz Emma was easy to see through. Her words were spiteful, but they were merely recited conversation. Bowman suspected that her son was exactly what she wished him to be - dependent, compliant, and affectionate. Emrick was not going to be allowed to desert her. She could say critical things about her son, but this prerogative was hers alone and woe be unto anyone else saying anything negative about Emrick or involving him in an
ything, unless she initiated the plan.