Dancing in the Lowcountry

by James Villas

  “I think I faintly recall the iron fence and playing in the yard with Liv. Out of curiosity, why didn’t you and Daddy bring us down here more often? I never realized just how amazing this town is.”

  “Oh, all your friends were in Charlotte, and you remember how Paw Paw and Granny were always coming up to visit, and I guess once most of our relatives in Charleston were gone, there wasn’t much reason to go back and visit—even when we were down at Myrtle. Now I wish we had. Maybe if we’d been able to hold on to the old house…Lord, I hate to guess what the place is worth today. But I’ve seen enough. Now, go down here, and turn right, and we’ll go up to Queen and look at the house where you were born.”

  Although Ella’s and Earl’s small Colonial house now seemed a little run down despite what looked like new ironwork around the second-floor piazza, it had nevertheless been well enough preserved to arouse an overwhelming store of happy and sad memories for her. Aside from its interesting architecture, the place, of course, meant little to Tyler, but as the two sat quietly in the car, wiping scant beads of perspiration from their foreheads and watching two children as they cavorted with a young woman in the front yard, it wasn’t difficult for him to imagine the thoughts and impressions that had to be racing through his mother’s sentimental mind.

  “Getting hungry?” he asked, hoping to disrupt her concentrated gaze at the house that he perceived as more troubling than gratifying.

  She remained silent for a long moment, then reached nervously into her pocketbook for a cigarette. “Before we go eat, there is one other place I want us to visit. Someplace I think you should see.”

  Slowly, they weaved their way back uptown, past the stately Greek-Revival St. John’s Lutheran Church on the corner of Clifford and Archdale, and, a bit farther, the overtly Gothic-style Unitarian church rebuilt shortly before the War Between the States. Then, when Ella spotted a small cemetery set unobtrusively off Coming Street, she told Tyler to pull up in front and get out of the car.

  “There’s a grave I want to see,” she explained vaguely, opening her own door with some apprehension. “The grave of a very dear friend I was in school with during the war. And I’d like for you to see it too.”

  Tyler, who’d decided simply to humor another of his mother’s quirks, was on the verge of asking casual questions when, pushing open the small gate, he was surprised to notice the Star of David engraved on most of the tombstones.

  “Is this a Jewish cemetery or something?”

  Ella stood looking about, as if wondering exactly where to go or what to look for.

  “Yes, it is. The cemetery for Beth Elohim over on Hasell Street. Been here for centuries.”

  “You had a close Jewish friend in high school?” he asked next in some amazement. “I never heard you and Daddy mention having any close Jewish friends when you two were young.”

  “Well, I did,” she said, her voice fluttering and her heart racing. “Green. Look for a marker that says Green. Jonathan Emanuel Green.”

  “Was this one of the classmates who didn’t come back during the war?”

  “Green,” she repeated, ignoring his question as they moved slowly in the shadows of tall trees down a narrow gravel row on the right. “So many graves now. So many more than at the funeral. I remember his was under a pine, a yellow pine. It all looks so different now, with so many graves. I don’t remember so many graves. Green. Jonathan Green. There has to be a marker.”

  Baffled by this whole uncanny pursuit, and beginning to feel tired, Tyler questioned with a little impatience whether she had ever visited the grave before, only to have her mumble something about not being in the cemetery since the day of the funeral years and years ago.

  “I’m not saying you’re crazy, Mama, but are you absolutely certain we’re in the right cemetery?”

  “Don’t be insolent, honey,” she said anxiously, grasping her pocketbook with both hands as she raised her head and stared up at a towering pine that blocked all but a few rays of the hot sun. “Over there near the fence. I think that’s the tree. A yellow pine. It must be over there, under that tree. I remember it was a yellow pine. Lord, look how big it is now.”

  And, sure enough, when they walked a few steps farther, there were three markers next to one another, all with the name Green, and the smaller, most timeworn one on the left, with both a Star of David and an American flag engraved at the top of the marble, read “Jonathan Emanuel Green. 19251945.” Transfixed, Ella simply stood staring at the old stone now streaked with specks of moss, her heart pounding, and, as her mind traveled back, she could still see the small group of family mourners in black gathered around the shiny coffin and hear the low, indecipherable words of the rabbi as he read aloud in Hebrew.

  She could also feel Earl’s arm, which she clutched as they stood solemnly in the background with a few other friends, and even the same faint sensation of nausea she’d experienced on that terrible day now returned momentarily as the vision intensified and she was forced to revisit the tragedy.

  “Young,” Tyler said as his mother took his arm. “Only twenty years old.”

  “Yes, only twenty.”

  “I notice the flag. I guess he was killed in action?”

  “No.”

  “Then how did he die?”

  “You would have liked him,” she averted the answer, rousing more curiosity and suspicion in Tyler.

  “He must have been a very close friend—maybe a serious boyfriend, though I still can’t imagine you having a Jewish boyfriend.”

  This was the moment Ella had dreaded for so long, the moment she’d rehearsed in her mind dozens of times when, standing with her son at the grave itself, she would reveal the truth to him about his real father, relate the story in some detail, and only pray he was strong enough to accept the fact and understand her need to make the disclosure. Then, fearing he might find such a dramatic confession in the cemetery to be too corny and in poor taste, she decided to wait till they could sit quietly over lunch and discuss it objectively like intelligent adults. Still, the urge to answer all his questions and get everything off her chest right away threatened her more sensible resolve, and perhaps she would have yielded to her impulsive instincts if Tyler, shifting from foot to foot, had not abruptly dropped her arm, moved over to perch on the edge of a tombstone in the next plot as if he were bored or too tired to stand, and said, “Come on, Mama. We didn’t drive all the way down to Charleston to roam around some Jewish cemetery.”

  “Just hush,” was her only comment.

  “What in heaven’s name, anyway, made you think about coming back here after all these years?” he then asked in genuine curiosity, watching her turn away and head back down the path. “And why did you want me to see this boy’s grave?”

  Again, she was tempted to stop and explain right then and there, but, instead, she said, “Let’s go have some lunch at Simon’s. I’ll tell you about it then.”

  Still a little perplexed, he didn’t balk when she again got behind the wheel, but he was aware during the short drive to the colorful historic district that his mother was acting more moody and preoccupied than usual. Whatever was causing her to brood, however, seemed to disappear when, pulling into a parking lot on Market Street, her eye caught something diverting at the entrance to the old City Market bustling with tourists and locals alike shopping for fresh produce, sacks of rice and pecans, and all sorts of crafts and cheap antiques.

  “Uh-huh, looka there sitting in that lawn chair. Just look at that. A basket lady. I told you so. And I bet there’re half a dozen more inside the market selling your mats at half the price you paid. I told you that colored woman back on the highway was trying to pull the wool over our eyes.”

  She pulled down the car visor overhead, reached into her pocketbook, and proceeded to carefully retouch her lipstick while looking in the small mirror.

  Tyler was still chuckling about the basket ladies when they arrived at Simon’s and, much to his liking, were greeted at the door by a good
-looking young man in a cream-colored suit who asked, “Two for lunch?” Inside the restaurant, the venerable tile floors, ceiling fans, polished mahogany bar, bentwood chairs, and heady seafood aromas were almost exactly as Ella remembered them, and when an older, dignified black waiter with three service stripes on the arm of his uniform approached the table to take cocktail orders and hand them menus, she commented to Tyler that if she closed her eyes, she could easily be having lunch here fifty years ago. “I’d almost forgotten how gracious life in this old town can be,” she then added, “and a place like this makes me wonder why we ever left.” She nodded in the direction of a young couple close by sharing a large platter of shrimp perloo. “Just look how nicely they’re dressed. That’s the way we always dressed here.”

  “Snap out of it, Mama,” he said playfully. “You must not have noticed those yahoos with a boom box coming out of the market, or heard the racket in the video shop across the street.”

  “I try to ignore things like that,” she declared contemptuously, lighting a cigarette, then thanking and smiling at the waiter when he placed a whiskey sour in front of her and a glass of iced tea for Tyler.

  “Listen, Son,” she continued in a serious tone, determined once and for all to broach the subject she could no longer allow to devour her, “I need to tell you about something else…something difficult I should have told you years ago…the real reason I wanted us to drive down here today…something important that I can only pray you’ll understand.”

  Prepared for still another of her exaggerated dilemmas or intrigues, he looked directly into her eyes while taking a sip of his tea, but before she could proceed with her daunting revelation, the waiter returned to take their orders. Too distracted to study the menu carefully as she normally would, Ella told him she’d simply have baked oysters, and some red rice, and coleslaw, and when it was Tyler’s turn, he explained that he wasn’t very hungry and ordered only a bowl of chicken-and-rice soup and another glass of tea.

  “Why, that’s ridiculous,” she said. “First you don’t have a cocktail, and now you only want soup. What’s wrong with you? No wonder you’ve taken off flesh and look so pale.”

  “That’s really all I want, Mama, and, besides, I’m driving back and don’t relish the idea of being stopped for some reason by some redneck cop with liquor on my breath.”

  “That’s not a very nice comment to make,” she said. “But anyway, you didn’t eat much the other night, and I noticed you didn’t have sausage or bacon for breakfast. You used to love sausage and bacon. Don’t tell me you’re on some ridiculous diet.”

  “No, no, believe me, I’m not trying to lose weight.”

  “Well, what is it, then? Nobody comes to a place like Simon’s and orders just a bowl of chicken soup. Why don’t you also have the shrimp and grits, or at least a crab cake? Goldie commented on how pale you look, and it’s no wonder—not eating right.”

  He began shifting nervously in his chair. “I’m not a child, Mama, so stop worrying about me. I just don’t have that much appetite these days. What’s so urgent you had to tell me?”

  “I’m still your mother, and I do worry when you don’t eat right. Of course, Edmund says I’m just being overly protective, but…are you sure you’re feeling okay, Son?”

  Tyler again smiled mischievously. “You ole vamp. I think there’s more to you and Mr. O’Conner than meets the eye.”

  “Mind your own business. Edmund happens to be just a very respectable gentleman and a nice new friend. Stop changing the subject.”

  Tyler had been telling Barry the truth when he said he and his mother had never kept vital secrets from one another, secure as they both had always been in their special relationship based on mutual trust and understanding. And he had indeed fully intended to tell her about his problem, but only at the right time and under the right circumstances to avoid upsetting her any more than necessary. No doubt if he’d been even remotely aware of what she had concealed from him his entire life and was now prepared to confess and discuss, he would have postponed his own grave news for a more appropriate setting and let her vent what was on her mind. When it became obvious, though, that she would continue to badger him about his looks and behavior throughout lunch as only a caring mother can do, he made the split-second decision to simply clear the air by revealing frankly the predicament he knew they’d both have to face sooner or later.

  “To be honest, Mama, no, I haven’t been feeling that great for quite a while, and I do have to watch what I eat. I’ve put off discussing it to keep you from worrying, but the truth is, Mama, I’ve been pretty sick for the past few months.” He hesitated, sipping his tea. “It’s the colon.”

  She seemed alarmed for a second, then, waving her cigarette in the air, said, “Oh, my friend Jinks Ferguson had a touch of colitis a few years ago and got over it in almost no time.”

  “It’s not colitis, Mama. I’m afraid my condition’s more serious.”

  Tapping her cigarette in the ashtray, Ella now appeared dazed, as if somebody had suddenly slapped her in the face for no good reason. Then, staring intently at him and forgetting all about her own mission that she’d come so close to fulfilling, she took a deep breath and asked calmly, “How serious?”

  “Pretty serious, Mama. They found a bad growth back in January, and performed a small operation, and thought that would do the trick.”

  “You had an operation and didn’t let me know?”

  “What good would that have done, Mama? You would have just gone hysterical.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” she said more calmly. “I’m never hysterical.”

  “Well, anyway, I was functioning pretty normally for a while, but then there was some radiation and chemo—the same old story—and…I had a long talk with the doctor right before I left, and the upshot is the cancer has apparently continued to spread beyond—”

  “Don’t use that word, Son. Please don’t use that awful word. We’ve never had anything like that in our family—not your grandparents, or their parents, or—”

  “We have to face facts, Mama, and it won’t help for you to go right away into denial about this. Either we can discuss it like adults or we can’t. Can you talk about it sensibly without getting emotional?”

  Ella reached again for her drink, and he could see her hand was starting to quiver slightly.

  “All I’m saying, Tyler, is that we have no history of that in our family, and that maybe those doctors of yours are wrong. Doctors can be wrong, you know. Terrible mistakes are made every day. I read in Reader’s Digest about people suing doctors for everything they’re worth for making dreadful mistakes.”

  She stubbed the butt out in the small crystal ashtray, her hand now visibly shaking. “You should have told me about this. I deserve to know. We’ve never kept things like that from each other.”

  “I just didn’t want you to worry yourself sick, and I kept hoping to get better reports. Now they want to do further treatment. Barry’s the only one who’d been aware of it all.”

  She began twisting her small sapphire ring. “I knew, the second I saw you at the airport, I knew you didn’t look right.”

  The waiter returned with the food. Ella thanked him politely, but she made no move to taste her oysters.

  “You need to see another doctor, maybe one at Duke or Chapel Hill,” she pronounced firmly. “They’re the best at Duke and Chapel Hill—some of the best doctors in the country.”

  Picking up his spoon, Tyler smiled. “My doctors are all at Sloan-Kettering, Mama, and it’s common knowledge that that’s the finest cancer center there is.”

  “It can’t be any better than Duke,” she protested with desperation now in her voice. “People come to Duke from all over the world, and…I just wouldn’t trust those New York hospitals. I hear they’re like factories up there. Patients like guinea pigs. You need to be down here where we can watch out for you till you get well. Barry could come with you, and…Goldie and I…I have a close friend at the churc
h whose son is a highly respected doctor in Chapel Hill, and…you need personal attention…. Why, we could fix you up with the best at Carolina or Duke; then, when you’re cured of whatever’s wrong, you could come home for a while and recuperate in the house—with Barry right there too.”

  Frustrated by his mother’s refusal to face reality, yet feeling equally guilty over causing her such obvious distress, Tyler had no alternative but to play down the gravity of his condition for the moment and pretend to concede to her blind notions. The tragic irony of the situation, he also realized stoically, was that if the prognosis of his disease was as dire as the doctor had led him to believe, the time would come when, despite his longstanding objection to living in the South, and his antipathy toward most of his relatives, he might actually prefer to return home and spend his final days with his own people.

  “Well, let’s hope things improve after this upcoming treatment,” he tried to reassure her blithely, “and that this time next year we can look back and wonder why we worried so. It’s amazing what modern medicine can do. Now, Mama, eat those oysters before they get cold, and, for heaven’s sake, tell me what you had to say that’s so earthshaking. I’m tired of talking about sickness and health.”

  Ella did eat an oyster, plus a forkful of slaw, but her mind was so agitated and confused, and she felt so defeated, that all she could do beyond that was stare down at her lunch and try to collect her thoughts. She had been so determined, so close to divulging the most tormenting secret of her life, but now, in just minutes, other unexpected and shocking forces had come into play that at once nullified the need to reveal this frightful truth and called for still another fiction to disguise the one that had to remain concealed. No matter how upright her motives, Ella knew that she was caught in a web of deceit, but she also realized that, somehow, exposing even the most painful secret was utterly inconsequential and futile when the very life of her son could be at stake. Where moral responsibility had been the motivating pressure behind her original intentions, maternal instincts now dictated the course of action. If Ella had ever been convinced of anything, she was convinced that Tyler would need her support and trust in the upcoming days as much as he’d depended on her when he was a child, and, at least in her eyes, this renewed need far outweighed any purpose he might derive from learning about the man whose grave he’d just visited.