by Janet Beard
“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “I don’t usually cry like this.”
“It’s all right. Oh, June, it’s all right. You have nothing to apologize for. I mean, you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I didn’t love him.”
“That’s not your fault.”
She wanted to believe he was right. The tears stopped, but she kept her face pressed into his shoulder. After a moment, he gently pushed her back and looked down at her face. She felt self-conscious and knew that the eyeliner was probably smeared all over her face now. He brought his hand to her face and gently wiped away the remaining tears. Then he tipped her chin up and brought his mouth down to meet hers.
This time she wasn’t taken by surprise, and she didn’t push him away. She kissed him back, not quite sure what to do, but following his lead. He grabbed the back of her head and leaned into her. He pulled his lips away for a moment and pulled off his glasses. His eyes seemed smaller but as though they could see right through her without the curtains of glass. Before she could say anything, he leaned in and kissed her again. Finally she pulled away from him.
“I don’t want to go home,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure what she meant. It was certainly a reckless thing to say; it could be taken as an invitation, and maybe that’s even how she meant it. But mostly she meant exactly what she said. She didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to leave his side or for this night to end.
“Do you want to come home with me?” he asked. That almost certainly had to be taken as an invitation. She became aware of her heartbeat, aware that she was most definitely drunk. She didn’t feel herself; her emotions were heightened. She wanted to say yes to him, but she couldn’t say yes, could she? That was not what nice girls did. What would he think of her if she did?
Before she could say anything, he said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested that.”
“No,” she said, her own mind now made up. “I’d like to.”
He looked hesitant.
“Really,” she said. “Unless you think that . . . you think badly of me.”
“No, of course not. But I am worried that you’ve had too much to drink. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“My mind feels clearer with you than with anyone I’ve ever met.”
He kissed her again for what seemed like a long, long time.
***
SAM OPENED THE door to the house slowly, motioning for June to enter. It was late enough that Charlie and Ann would be in bed. He had stressed to June that she must be quiet, and he didn’t think she was too drunk to forget. The idea of Charlie and Ann realizing he’d brought a girl home was too humiliating to contemplate.
He was acting horribly. Getting her drunk and taking her home like this was fairly despicable, though he suspected that Max did this sort of thing all the time. June was sweet and would no doubt regret this all in the morning. The entire way to the house, he’d been trying to convince himself to take her home. But every time he was about to turn her around, the feel of her hand in his or the sight of the naked flesh between her scarf and coat was too much for his weak will.
His room was on the other side of the house from Charlie and Ann, thank God. He flipped on the light and closed the door behind them. She took off her coat, and he slung it across the back of his chair beside his own. She sat down on the bed and looked up at him expectantly. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he sat beside her. He would tell her not to feel pressured, that they didn’t have to do anything. But then they were kissing, and he lost his resolve. His hands seemed to have minds of their own and, before he knew it, were pulling her sweater over her head.
Luckily she was grinning when her face reappeared from under the cotton. He took off his own shirt and tie and kissed her again. His hands worked their way into her brassiere. Her breasts were soft and firm and fit perfectly in his palm. She didn’t seem to mind his hands there; she continued kissing him, hungrily.
Now there was no turning back, and his conscience had evaporated. Her skin was so soft, still cool from their long walk outside. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, feeling her nakedness pressed into his own. He laid her back on the bed, and she looked like an angel, her hair radiating from her head against the white pillow. Her mouth reached out for his, and he leaned over to kiss her.
She pulled back, and he thought she must be coming to her senses, ready to yell at him and tell him to stop. “Sam,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“I just feel like I should tell you . . . I’m not . . . I mean, it’s not my first time. Does that bother you?” The look of concern on her face was so touching that he almost regained his sense of remorse.
“Of course not.” He stroked her cheek for effect. “It’s not my first time either.”
Before his conscience reappeared, he knew he must act. As quietly and gently as he could, he began making love to her.
After two years of celibacy, it didn’t take long for him to finish. He collapsed beside her, unsure of how much she’d enjoyed it. They were both trying so hard to be quiet. He held her close to him. The sensation of a body next to his own in this small bed was unfamiliar. He was drifting off, not quite asleep but dozing and content, when she whispered, “Sam, the other night . . . what you said . . .”
“Hmm . . .”
“A bomb, you said. We’re building a bomb.”
His eyes opened, and he snapped awake. “Yes.”
“What kind of bomb? What could possibly take so many people to build?”
Briefly, he wondered if she was a spy. This was exactly the kind of thing a spy would do—get you into bed, then ask for your government secrets. But he probably did owe her some explanation after blurting it out like that. He cleared his throat. “We are building a bomb that will be a thousand times more powerful than any weapon ever created before.”
He wondered where to begin, how to explain. “Do you know what an atom is?”
“A little piece of something?”
“Sort of. Did you learn about the periodic table in school?”
“Yes, the elements.”
“That’s right. An atom is the smallest piece of an element you can get that still has all the properties of that element. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, I think so.” Her eyes were wide open, and she was staring at him eagerly.
“The center of the atom is called a nucleus, and it’s made up of parts called neutrons and protons. If you break up an atom’s nucleus, energy is released. And if you can figure out a way to create a chain reaction, where breaking up one atom causes other atoms to break up as well, then you could release a huge amount of energy.” It was hard to work himself back to the basics of things, and he wondered just what she’d learned about science in her backwoods high school. But she was nodding.
“That’s what we’re trying to do. Create a bomb that will break up atoms to release energy in a huge explosion. It will be horribly destructive—much worse than any weapon ever created.”
“So that’s why this town’s been built?”
“You would never see this money, these resources being spent in peacetime. No government would go to this trouble to research cures for diseases or simply advance human knowledge. No, we exert ourselves to this extent only in times of war, to invent killing machines. And this, my dear, will be a killing machine worse than any that man has ever dreamed up before.”
She looked frightened, and he tightened his arm around her. It was a relief for once to talk about what they were doing in plain, simple terms. But he’d gotten carried away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m glad you told me. I don’t care if it’s a crime, I wanted to know the truth.”
They were silent after that. The night was cold, but her body was warm. He couldn’t tell when she fell asleep or if she was still awake as he began to drift off. Her head was on his shoulder, and he felt the gentle rhythm of her breathing against his skin.
Chapter 11
JOE HAD BEEN ON THE EARLY SHIFT ALL WEEK AND FOUND HE couldn’t sleep past seven, much as he wanted to on his day off. He went out to the bathhouse and splashed some water on his face. The ground was hard and sparkling with frost, which made the run-down field of hutments look ghostly, pretty even, in the early morning light. He pulled his ragged jacket tight around his shoulders and walked toward the canteen.
He would eat breakfast and write a letter to Moriah. Sometimes he worried he couldn’t quite remember what she looked like—which was crazy; they’d been married for fifteen years. He could certainly picture her face but found it harder to conjure her in action. She always had the same expression when he thought of her, shaking her head, perpetually amused and affectionate. But it had been so long since they’d seen each other, it was starting to feel like he was making her up, like she might not even exist, not really. She might as well not exist, he thought, and then immediately regretted thinking it.
It was good not to be working, yet the day stretched out in front of him empty and lonely. Ralph was on a different shift. He saw less of the boy these days since he’d started going around with Shirley. Joe didn’t know what to make of the girl. When they first started dating, Joe had hoped a woman would settle Ralph down, but it turned out she was even more of a rabble-rouser than he was. Instead of calming him, she’d just gotten him dressing like he was off to a club in Harlem and talking more than ever about Double Victory. She was a real city girl, and Joe wondered what she saw in Ralph, fresh off the farm. It was clear enough to see what Ralph saw in her. She was undeniably lovely, with wide eyes and full pink lips. She spoke in a clear, strong voice, always confident. Bewitching, almost. If she walked right into Norris Lake, Ralph would probably follow and drown himself without thinking twice.
She was never rude to Joe, but never warm either. She’d graduated from high school a year ago and started working at the Coca-Cola factory in Atlanta. But when she heard she could make more in Oak Ridge, she’d decided to come north to Tennessee. She said she was saving up to go to school to become a teacher and told Ralph he should go to college, too. Joe laughed the first time he heard her say it. Ralph hadn’t been to school since he was nine years old. But Shirley said it didn’t matter, not if he was smart. Suddenly books started appearing in the hutment piled up by Ralph’s bed.
It was hard for young Negroes on the reservation to date. The only place to socialize was the rec center, but this was hardly a decent place to take a lady, what with all the card games going on. Men were allowed into the women’s hutment area for only a few minutes at a time. They called it the pen, and sure enough, the women were basically locked up there. No one was allowed to be out in the hutment area after curfew. So Ralph had to meet Shirley in the cafeteria or take her for a walk in order to court her. Occasionally they took the bus to Knoxville for a real date.
Not that Joe had had it much better courting Moriah back in the day. Most of their dating had been done at church. Joe had waited awhile to think about getting married. His mother had been anxious and was forever pointing out young girls in town or at church, nudging him toward them. He called on some of them, but none had tempted him to domesticity until Moriah. Something about her was different. She had opinions on most everything and wasn’t shy about sharing them. The first time he spoke to her, she’d told Joe he needed to clean his boots before wearing them to church next time. Somehow this wasn’t rude or off-putting; no, he’d had a clear sense then that Moriah knew better than he how he should be living his life.
In fact, it was Moriah who had first suggested that he go to work in Oak Ridge. Ralph had met a recruiter in town and had told them over dinner one night that he’d decided to go. It hadn’t occurred to Joe that he could go along as well. After Ralph had left and the children were in bed, Moriah had brought him a cup of weak coffee made with grounds left over from the morning. She sat beside him on their small homemade sofa. “You ever think of working in a place like that?”
“What—in Tennessee?”
She nodded.
“I reckon I could do the work. But what about you and the kids?”
Moriah didn’t say anything at first. “Thirty-eight dollars a week, Ralph says.”
Joe nodded. He knew they were both thinking of what they could buy with that money, the countless problems it would solve.
Moriah put her hand on the back of his. “You know I could manage on my own.”
He did. He had never doubted it, except when Ben was sick and he was mad with worry. If anything, now he had a selfish fear that Moriah and the children were doing too well without him. Of course they relied on the money he sent home, but how much of a difference did it make to the girls and little Ben that he wasn’t there to tuck them in at night?
Joe looked up from his tray and saw Ralph. The boy would be eating his breakfast, then heading to work. Joe waved, and Ralph slumped over to join him. He sat down across from Joe and shoved his tray down hard in front of him. “Runny grits again,” Ralph muttered. “Fourth day in a row.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday. They usually give us something nice on Sunday.”
“Can’t wait for tomorrow, then. These are more water than grits.”
Joe ignored Ralph’s sullenness. Their conversations often went like this—each man pursuing his own attitude, all but oblivious to the other.
“It’s warmer today. But I reckon we getting one more cold spell before spring.”
“I hope it snows again.”
“You crazy? Snow blows right in the hutment.”
“I ain’t only seen snow but two times.”
“Morning, gentlemen.” Joe heard Otis’s voice before he even looked up, disappointed to see him joining their table. Ralph, however, seemed to perk up.
“Shirley’s in line over there.” Otis raised a suggestive eyebrow.
Ralph turned to see her, then immediately stared down at his plate. He never talked about Shirley and got shy whenever Joe asked about her.
“Good lord, boy.” Otis laughed. “She’s your girl now—you can’t still be shy to see her.”
As she walked over to their table, Ralph looked up from his breakfast and she gave him a sweet smile. He smiled back, and for a moment Joe could see the boy he’d been when they first arrived in Oak Ridge.
“Howdy, Shirley,” said Otis in his lewd tone.
She gave a tiny nod and said simply, “Otis.”
As much as Joe mistrusted the girl, he did admire her obvious disdain for Otis. He gave her an approving “Nice to see you, Miss Shirley.”
“You too, Joe. Hard day’s work ahead?”
“As a matter of fact, it’s my day off. I don’t know what to do.”
“Not much to do in this place,” said Ralph. “You could take the bus to Knoxville.”
“What would I do in Knoxville?”
“Good question. There’s not much to do in Knoxville either.” Shirley was grinning, and Joe couldn’t tell if she meant this as a joke. He felt like she and Otis laughed at everything, just for different reasons.
“Shirley’s from Atlanta,” said Otis. “She ain’t impressed with our little Tennessee towns.”
“You’re telling me that you spend a lot of time on the thrilling streets of Knoxville?” Shirley snapped back.
“It ain’t Memphis. But you can find entertainment if you know where to look.”
“I’m pretty sure Joe isn’t after your sort of entertainment.”
If Ralph felt awkward at the tension between his girl and his friend, he didn’t let on, though he did make an effort to steer the conversation back to Joe. “You could go to the movies.”
“Yeah. Reckon I could.”
“There’s a Colored Camp Council meeting later on this afternoon,” said Shirley. “Ralph and I are going. You should come, too, Joe. It sounds like you don’t have anything better to do.”
“Oh, no—I’m no help at those m
eetings.”
“Just being there is a help,” she insisted. “The bigger our numbers, the more powerful our voices.”
Joe didn’t reply. Ralph knew better than to try and get him to go back to those meetings. But Shirley was hard to say no to.
“Besides,” continued Shirley, “you might find it interesting.”
Joe looked to Ralph, who stared down at his grits. Otis chimed in, “It sure do sound interesting, Joe. But if you decide to skip the meeting, you can always join me for a game of dice.”
Joe and Shirley both ignored him. “What do you say, Joe?” she asked.
“All right. I guess I can come along.”
“Excellent.” Shirley turned to Ralph. “I got a letter from my aunt Lillian. She’s bought a house.”
“How’d she manage that?” asked Otis.
“Years of hard work and frugal living.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Ralph.
“Real good news,” Joe added. “She must be quite a woman.”
“She is. She and my aunt Gladys sew some of the most beautiful dresses you can find in Atlanta. They also raised me up from a baby.”
“Was it just the three of you?” asked Joe.
Shirley nodded. “Neither of them ever married.”
“Ain’t you never need a man around the house?” asked Otis.
“No. In my experience, women do just fine without men.”
Joe’s thoughts returned to Moriah.
“Well, surely, Shirley, you need them for something.”
Otis’s leer was too much for Ralph. “Shut up, Otis.”
Shirley put her hand on Ralph’s. “It’s all right. I suppose they are necessary for procreation, but that takes only a few minutes, right, Otis?”
Joe dropped his fork, and it clattered against his plate. Ralph looked as stunned as Joe felt. Otis, however, laughed. “Suppose you’re right about that.”