Nobody Said Amen

by Tracy Sugarman

  “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!”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  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 th
e 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.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  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.

  Jimmy lifted a bottle and said, “To better times,” and Eula said, “To you, buddy. We’re glad you’re back.”

  Dale said softly, “Bobby was so good with his kids.”

  Later in the evening, after supper, he began to wander the room, seeking to frame the questions he had been asking himself, repeatedly, since the night in the kitchen in Los Angeles when Bobby was killed. Could we have known? Should I have been closer after the speech? Why did the Arab kill the one guy in America who had learned not to hate? And much later, What the hell do I do now? There were options, and for days they had intruded on every quiet moment. Leave? Go to Africa and fight for a pan-African future? Write a book about fighting Third World wars? Go to Oregon, where there were communes, with good people he knew? Run for mayor here in Shiloh? Hang up his shingle and practice law in Washington as a civil rights advocate? Get involved with the new Kennedy School of Government burgeoning in Boston?

  Jimmy and Eula listened as he spoke, exploring avenues he might take, or not. “I was working for a man who had it all. The wit, the heart, the intellect, the family background, the money to make it all happen. And it all turned to shit!” And the final question, only half articulated in a faltering voice, “What qualifies me to even play in that league?”

  “Everything,” said Eula. “You’ve been paying your dues for ten long years, Dale. Everything.”

  Jimmy nodded concurrence. “You’ve seen so much up front, in the action, close to the center of gravity in this damn country. You know the stakes, you know the players. You even know when the deck has been fixed. And you’re in the position to pass that knowledge along, shape it, change it maybe. You loved Bobby for a reason. That didn’t get buried with him. I think you know the answer, Dale. You’re a born teacher. If they’ll take you, the new Kennedy School sounds like the place. You’d be working with the best and brightest young people in the country, most of whom don’t know what lynching, beating, harassing, surviving, organizing is all about. Teach them by telling your story. It’s an American story they should understand.”

  “And celebrate,” Eula said softly. “They need to know.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  It was dark when Luke left Parchman, and the road was slick, something daunting to drivers in the Delta . He strained to see the treacherous road, swerving to avoid the oncoming careening autos. By the time he pulled into his driveway his eyes were burning with fatigue. When he stepped into the house, Willy rose to meet him. “You look beat. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Just another terrible day at Parchman. The roads are glass and the drivers out there are lunatics. I’m just bushed.”

  She led him to the couch. “Come put your feet up. Got something amazing to tell you.”

  “Amazing? What could be amazing?”

  Her eyes shone with excitement as she curled up beside him. “A half hour ago I got a call from Eula May Baker! My God, I haven’t talked to that woman in years!” She hesitated and then plunged ahead. “After she walked out I swore I’d never speak to her again. And that’s what’s so amazing. In five minutes we were talking like we used to at the plantation.”

  He watched his wife quizzically. He hadn’t seen Willy this animated since they’d sold the house. “She said Jimmy’s doing well with the Mack Construction Company. Did you know that?”

  “Not really.” His voice was flat, but she seemed not to notice.

  “It was just so great hearing Eula’s voice!”

  “Yeah? I hear her voice every day, and I don’t always welcome hearing it.”

  “Oh, come on. You told me she’s been fine since you started working at Parchman.”

  He nodded. “Sergeant’s been more than fair. It’s the work I hate. Wearing this monkey suit. Dealing with those creeps every day. But what did she want with you?”

  “It’s the most exciting thing, darlin’. Eula wants me to start working with the women at the prison!”

  “At Parchman?”

  “Yes. To start a women’s group where they can talk about whatever is bothering them. Kind of like a ministry where I could help them deal with their problems.”

  “You . . . at Parchman?” His voice was incredulous. “Is Eula crazy?”

  “We were very close once, Luke. She knows I’d be good at it.” Her eyes kindled. “And I know it, too.”

  Luke said, “You’re as crazy as Eula. Dammit, Willy, get it through your head. I don’t want my wife working in Parchman Prison. That place is a landmine just waiting to explode. Don’t you understand that?”

  “I understand that. What you don’t understand is that I really want to help these women.” She walked away from the couch, then turned to face him. “Who do you think Christ was talking about when he said ‘the least of these’? They’ve been short-changed all their lives, and being in prison is just one more dehumanizing act.”

  “Dehumanizing?�
� His enraged voice was a shout. “Why do you suppose ‘the least of these’ are in there? Because their mamas weren’t nice to them? Because they swiped some beef jerky from the Seven-Eleven? They’re in Parchman because they killed a guy with a kitchen knife, because they robbed a gas station with a shotgun, because they were dealing dope outside the high school, because one of them drowned her baby to stop her crying. These are violent people, Willy, and I won’t have you exposed to that.”

  “I’m not stupid. I know these are desperate women. They’ve led desperate lives. I can help them, Luke. I know I can.”

  “Listen, Lady Bountiful, whether you think you can help them or not, I’m your husband, and I don’t want you there. I won’t have it.”

  “It’s not your choice. You’re doing something with your life. I need to do something with mine, something I can feel proud of. Working with the women at Parchman is what I want to do.”

  “They’re whores, Willy! Murderers! Eula Baker must be out of her mind.” His face was flushed. “What qualifies you to even get in the cell with them?”

  Willy touched his arm and her voice was quiet. “Because I understand where I come from. Much as you would like to think so, I wasn’t always the Magnolia Queen. Long as I can remember, my McIntire family was as dirt poor as some of theirs. You don’t know what hopeless is. And if you hadn’t come along and rescued me in high school, Lord knows what I might have become.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Sadie Perkins who runs the whorehouse over on Newcomb. Her family did shares on the same plantation we worked. Or like some of those ladies you find so fascinating down in Jackson. Neither of us are pure as the driven snow, honey. Sadie Perkins’s way would have looked like an easy path out of where I was.”

  He glared at his wife. “I doubt you would have made a good whore. You haven’t got the talent for it.”