Perfect Peace

by Daniel Black

  Anything else?

  Emma Jean sighed and sat at the kitchen table. “Nope.”

  Then I gotta stay ’til you see it. That’s what I’m for.

  As the days passed, Henrietta could tell something was wrong. Emma Jean’s outbursts frightened her at times and reminded Henrietta of her mother’s descent into dementia. Henrietta almost told Emma Jean to go home, but then she remembered why Emma Jean was there at all, and if Henrietta never did another living thing, she intended to make Emma Jean suffer. So she watched and listened as Emma Jean’s mind ran away.

  Are you ready now?

  “Ready for what?” Emma Jean said in the middle of her lunch break. She no longer cared that Henrietta witnessed the exchange, gawking in stark dismay.

  Ready to tell the truth.

  “You know what? Fine!” Emma Jean slapped her palms onto the kitchen table. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Good. I’m ready whenever you are.

  Henrietta froze. Was Emma Jean going completely off the deep end? “Emma Jean? Are you okay?”

  Emma Jean stood and paced Henrietta’s kitchen floor. “I was a terrible mother. Okay? Is that what you want me to say?”

  No, it isn’t. That’s not the truth. I want you to say the truth.

  Emma Jean burst into tears. “Okay! I was wrong. I shouldn’t’ve done it.”

  You shouldn’t’ve done what?

  “I shouldn’t’ve turned that boy into a girrrrrrrrrrrrl!” Emma Jean wailed like Gus at the Jordan. She hadn’t meant to mean it, but her spoken words ruined a lifetime of peace. So right there, with Henrietta watching, she whirled in circles, screaming, “I didn’t mean to do it! I didn’t mean to do it! I didn’t mean to do it!”

  “Emma Jean!” Henrietta cried. “Don’t do this to yourself!” The sight of Emma Jean’s deterioration was far worse than the thought of it, and all Henrietta wanted now was for Emma Jean to go home. “Emma Jean! Pull yourself together!”

  Emma Jean tumbled cups, plates, pans, and saucers onto the floor as she continued twirling like a hypnotized ballerina. “I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

  You didn’t mean to hurt who?

  Henrietta couldn’t restrain her.

  “I loved you! I really did! I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

  Emma Jean looked like a crazy woman possessed. Henrietta ran from the house, but Emma Jean never noticed.

  Very good, Emma Jean. Very good.

  Sweat streamed across her forehead and down the circular scar. She collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily. “I’ve been a bad girl, Mommy, haven’t I?”

  Yes, you have.

  “I’m sorry. I won’t do it no more. I promise.”

  Okay, Emma Jean.

  “Am I in trouble?” She coiled into a fetal position beneath Henrietta’s table.

  Yes, Emma Jean. You’re in trouble.

  “But I said I won’t do it no more!”

  You’re in trouble ’cause you already done it.

  “I said I’m sorry, Mommy!”

  Sorry won’t fix this.

  “I’ll do anything! I just don’t want no whippin’!”

  You ain’t gettin’ no whippin’, Emma Jean.

  “I ain’t?”

  No, you ain’t. You’re too old for that.

  “Then what’s my punishment?”

  Something worse than a whippin’.

  “What’s worse than a whippin’?”

  A painful memory. Silence laughed.

  “I thought you said if I told the truth I’d be set free?”

  I never said that. I said if you told the truth, I’d leave you alone. And, now, that’s what I’m going to do.

  “Oh no! Not yet! You can’t leave me. I need you now. I know I said all those bad things before, but I need you now. No one else understands me the way you do. You wouldn’t really leave me, would you?”

  There was no response.

  “NO!”

  Henrietta and Gus burst through the front door. They found Emma Jean crawling upon her knees, begging someone not to leave her. Henrietta told Gus about the arrangement and Gus asked, “Why didn’t you come tell me the truth? Way back then?”

  “ ’Cause Emma Jean blackmailed me, and I was scared.” Henrietta frowned at the absurdity of it all. “She promised to tell my business if I didn’t keep hers, so I kept my mouth shut. I know it was wrong, but I felt like I didn’t have no other choice. At least not then. You know how Emma Jean is.”

  Gus nodded. “Yeah, I know. Guess ain’t no need in blamin’ you. It’s over with now anyway.”

  Gus lifted Emma Jean from the floor.

  “You can take her home now. I’m through foolin’ with her. God’ll do the rest.”

  Chapter 35

  Emma Jean never recovered. At Paul’s high school graduation on May 4, 1959, she stumbled through the church doors, like Sugar Baby, and sat on the back pew as though she’d never been there. Dressed in a wrinkled black dress and snow-white shoes, she rocked atop her hands, hoping desperately that Silence might come along and comfort her. It never did. Her neighbors’ voices wouldn’t allow it.

  “Is that Emma Jean back there?” Mamie asked another woman.

  “Chile, yes. Don’t she look a mess?”

  “Oh my Lord! What happened to her?”

  “I don’t know. Some folks say she just went crazy all o’ sudden. Gus found her at Henrietta’s, naked and screamin’ under the table.”

  “What? You don’t say. My, my, my. The Lawd shonuff works in mysterious ways, don’t He?”

  “Yes He do!”

  Miss Mamie studied Emma Jean’s shrunken form. “Ump. I never thought I’d see that woman like that. But you know what? She had it comin’.”

  Sugar Baby proclaimed, “The King is comin’! The King is comin’!”

  Emma Jean ignored him. She ignored everyone. Throughout the ceremony, she never lifted her head. When Paul’s name was called, her tears fell like raindrops and she apologized all over again. “I didn’t mean to do it,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

  Too embarrassed to celebrate, Paul escaped immediately following the commencement exercises. He encountered Johnny Ray on the road. They smiled as they approached each other.

  “Congratulations, Mr. High School Graduate.”

  “Thanks.” Paul said.

  “You the first in the family, huh?”

  “Well, I’m the first to graduate from high school, but of course Sol done already graduated from college.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right. Well, congrats anyway.”

  Paul thanked Johnny Ray again.

  “I’m sorry to hear about Miss Emma Jean.”

  “Yeah,” Paul said, shaking his head.

  “What happened?”

  “We don’t know. She just started actin’ real strange one day, and it kept gettin’ worse. It’s like she’s talkin’ to somebody, but ain’t nobody there.”

  Johnny Ray sighed. “If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”

  “Okay. Sure. Thanks.”

  The awkward silence came again. Paul wanted to touch Johnny Ray’s face, just to see if it felt as smooth as it looked, but his hand wouldn’t move. He wondered, if he leaned forward, would their lips meet halfway.

  “You’re really handsome, you know,” Paul said.

  Johnny Ray smiled bashfully. “I think I better go.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean nothin’ by that. I was jes’ sayin’ that—”

  “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the compliment.”

  With that, Johnny Ray strolled away. Paul watched his swagger disappear in the distance as the tingling sensation overwhelmed him. He’d made a fool of himself and he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever fix it.

  Later that evening, someone banged loudly on the flimsy screen door.

  “Who in the world . . . ?” Gus said. Emma Jean looked toward the door, but never moved from the sofa. Mister dashed to answer it and beheld a nervou
s, panting Johnny Ray. “I gotta talk to you.”

  “Who is it?” Gus called.

  “It’s just . . . Johnny Ray, Daddy. It’s for me.”

  Paul strained for a glimpse. What did Johnny Ray want? Were his eyes still shimmering like they were earlier? What if he asked for Paul instead of Mister? Paul’s curiosity calmed when he turned and beheld Emma Jean’s narrow, piercing eyes.

  “I thought we said we wunnit gon’ meet at each other’s houses?” Mister whispered, stepping onto the porch and closing the door behind himself. “This don’t look right.”

  “I know what we said, but I gotta talk to you right now. It’s important.”

  “Cain’t it wait ’til later? My whole family’s here. We’re gonna have supper soon. You know it’s Paul’s graduation day.”

  “Yes, I know that, but, no, it cain’t wait. I gotta talk to you right now.”

  Mister told the family that he and Johnny Ray needed to handle some NAACP business and that he’d be back shortly. No one—other than Paul and Emma Jean—thought to question him further. Through the window, Paul watched Mister lead Johnny Ray across the lawn and into the woods.

  “What’s so important?” Mister asked with a tone of frustration.

  Johnny Ray took his hand. “Well, remember I was tellin’ you ’bout my brother in Atlanta who does civil rights organizing?”

  Mister nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Well, I got a letter from him this morning.” Johnny Ray extended it, but Mister didn’t take it.

  “What he say? Is he all right?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine, but . . . um . . .”

  “But what?”

  Johnny Ray put the letter in his pocket and took Mister’s other hand. “He got me a job. And I gotta take it. It pays three dollars an hour.”

  Mister studied Johnny Ray’s face to make sure he wasn’t joking.

  Johnny Ray’s eyes moistened. “My brother works in a steel mill and he said he asked his boss about a position for me. At first the man didn’t say nothin’ but then he told my brother yesterday that he’d hire me if I could get there by Monday morning.”

  “Monday?” Mister blinked. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Ain’t nothin’ here for me, Mister. Except you and the organization.”

  “We ain’t enough?”

  “I ain’t worried ’bout the organization. More people comin’ all the time. It’s you I want. You know that. That’s why I’m here right now, ’cause I want you to come with me.”

  “Come with you?”

  “Yeah! Come with me. What you got to lose?”

  “De same thang you got to lose. My folks. Memories. Not to mention all the organizing we done done.”

  “But we can make some new memories. Together. Just you and me and Big Ole Atlanta. Somebody else can lead the NAACP here. Plus, we can make some money. So get yo’ stuff and let’s get outta here. That’s what we always wanted, right?”

  As often as he’d dreamed of escaping, Mister now hesitated. “I don’t know, Johnny Ray. I ain’t thought about movin’ that far away, especially with Momma sick and all.” He paused. “I guess it could be okay though.”

  “It could be great! Mr. Gus and your brothers’ll take care of Miss Emma Jean. We could stay with my brother until we got our own place. Course we couldn’t let on ’bout our feelin’s, but that would come soon enough. He wouldn’t mind. I’m sure of it. I just gotta leave this place.” He thought of what Paul had said earlier. “Somethin’ bad’s gonna happen if I don’t. I can feel it.” His breathing intensified. “Whatcha say?”

  Mister released Johnny Ray’s hands. “I don’t know, man. This is all happening so quick.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I just got the letter.”

  “When would we leave?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. We’d have to catch the noon train on Friday in order to get there by Monday. The next train don’t come ’til Monday afternoon.”

  “Aw, man!”

  “What is it?”

  “Momma’s birthday is Saturday, and we givin’ her a big party. Daddy said she always wanted one, so maybe it’ll help her feel better.”

  “Oh no.”

  “I cain’t miss that, Johnny Ray. I just cain’t. Ain’t no way. Daddy would kill me!”

  Johnny Ray’s pursed lips increased Mister’s anxiety.

  “But it’s our only chance. If we ain’t on that train, I can kiss that job good-bye.”

  Mister paced between two cypress trees. “Can’t I come later?”

  “Naw,” Johnny Ray murmured, “ ’cause I done already bought de tickets.” He extracted them from the breast pocket of his overalls.

  “Oh my God.”

  “Just take a chance and come on. Miss Emma Jean’s gon’ be all right.”

  Mister’s impulse was to run back to the house, grab his good overalls, shake Gus’s hand, kiss Emma Jean, hug his brothers, and follow his heart to Atlanta. But he couldn’t do it. “I wanna go. You know I do.”

  “Then let’s go!”

  “I can’t miss the party. I just can’t.”

  Both heads bowed.

  “Can I use the ticket Monday?”

  “Naw. The man said they’re only good for Friday.”

  Mister touched Johnny Ray’s face and whimpered, “Then I can’t go. I just can’t go.”

  Johnny Ray fought on. “Miss Emma Jean would understand! I know she would. Ain’t nothin’ you can do to make her no better. Don’t make me go without you.”

  “I’ll always love you, Johnny Ray Youngblood. Don’t neva forgit that. Neva.”

  “Aw, Mister, please! You gotta come. We’ve talked about it a million times. And, anyway, I don’t know when I’d get back or when you’d save enough to come on your own. Or even if you’d come on your own at all.”

  “I don’t know, either, but I’d never forgive myself if I missed Momma’s party. Not in the condition she’s in.”

  “But you could forgive yourself if you let me go? Is that it?”

  “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

  Johnny Ray kissed Mister lightly. “I’m sorry. I understand. I’m not mad at you. I’m just disappointed. Tell Miss Emma Jean happy birthday for me, okay?”

  “You know I will.”

  They embraced tightly and held on for several seconds. Locals would have frowned at the scene, two striking young men crying in the woods about a love they weren’t supposed to have. Someone might have told them to get some help or to ask God for deliverance and, in the moment, deliverance was precisely what they wanted—from caring about what other folks thought and from believing that God didn’t sanction their union. They might have turned, that very second, and told Swamp Creek residents to go to hell or at least to consider that, since they had already wrestled with God, a human battle would be easy.

  Their lips met and melted in an exchange of love and sorrow. For the first time, they didn’t care who was watching.

  “If you don’t come with me now, I’ll never love again. It hurts too bad.”

  Mister wiped Johnny Ray’s tears, then forced a smile. “You’ll find someone in Atlanta. That’s a big place, I hear.”

  “I don’t want nobody—not if I can’t have you.”

  Their foreheads touched.

  “Here’s the other ticket if you change your mind. I’ll be at the station at eleven—with my fingers crossed.”

  Johnny Ray kissed Mister again and walked away. Mister retrieved his pocketknife and did what, the day before, he wouldn’t have dared. With vehement rage and meticulous precision, he carved the letters into the trunk of the cypress tree, then stepped back to look at his work.

  MP

  LOVES

  JRY

  His heart felt lighter. He and Johnny Ray had discovered—or created—something beautiful that the world deemed diabolical. The proof of their love would forever be etched into the universe now, and Mister decided that whoever figured out the initials wou
ld simply have to know.

  Paul sensed Mister’s distress when he returned, but offered no sympathy. He hoped that, maybe, the two had parted ways and Johnny Ray was now free to love him.

  Chapter 36

  Emma Jean’s birthday began with a brilliant sun and a light, cool breeze. “Yes!” Gus declared as sunshine poured through the kitchen window. The day was becoming everything he’d hoped for—clear and warm, but not too hot. “Come on, y’all! Rise and shine!” he called to Mister and Paul shortly after five.

  Mister emerged from the bedroom, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Time for lazy Negroes like you to get up off they asses and get ready for this hyeah party!”

  “What’s the rush, Daddy? I thought you said it wunnit ’til this evening,” Mister grunted.

  “And leave it to Negroes like you to wait ’til the last minute to get ready! Well, not today! Yo’ momma’s sick. You know that. And I want everything just right. Now come on and get to movin’ so we can make sure everything’s in place.” Gus snatched the quilt from Paul, who wanted to curse him, although he knew better.

  Throughout the day, the boys straightened up around the house while Eula Faye, Caroline, and Puddin’ prepared food. Paul decorated the living room with yellow ribbons, just as he’d done years ago, while Emma Jean observed silently. Her mind wasn’t completely gone; she simply entered and exited reality like one might move from one room to the next and back again. As Paul moved about, she saw him—in her mind’s eye—at eight, dancing around the living room in the frilly yellow dress, and, now, after having been beaten with the truth, the memory saddened her.

  “I didn’t have no right to do what I did, son,” she murmured in a whisper.

  Paul stopped abruptly. He thought his mother’s days of lucidity were gone. “It’s all right, Momma. I’m fine. You just worry about gettin’ yo’self better.”

  Emma Jean smiled as the painful memories resurfaced.

  See! Didn’t I tell you? This is worse than a beatin’, huh?

  “You can’t come here!” Emma Jean yelled. “It’s my birthday and you ain’t welcome!”

  I go wherever you go.

  “I said, leave me alone!”