The Persecution of Mildred Dunlap

by Paulette Mahurin

  “Josie, calm yourself. Come back in the house,” he pleaded.

  “Leave me alone!”

  “You’re gonna scare the children.”

  “Let ‘em get scared. Might do some good to teach ’em what happens when you’re nice to scum. They creep in and take over, rob everybody…”

  “What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense. So what if…”

  “So what?” she screamed. “Are you crazy?”

  “Okay, calm down. What’s gotten into you? You were in such a good mood when I came home. Pull yourself together.”

  “I will not!”

  “You will when you see this next one. Jew boy in France got his.” He held up the telegram.

  That got her attention. “Give me that.” She grabbed it out of his hand. “My eyes are blurry.” She reached into the pocket of his pants to get his handkerchief, wiped her eyes, and began reading.

  Satchel was relieved her flare-ups were short-lived.

  She smiled. “Oh this is good.”

  She read about Alfred Dreyfus, a French artillery officer of Jewish background, whose trial and conviction in Paris on charges of treason was becoming one of the most sensational political dramas in French history. He was a graduate of the elite École Polytechnique Military School at Fontainebleau. When a highly placed spy passed new artillery information to the Germans, widespread anti-Semitism in French society, particularly in the conservative military, threw suspicion onto Dreyfus. He became a target of the French Army’s counter-intelligence section, and was arrested for treason in October 1894. On the fifth of January 1895, he was summarily convicted in a secret court martial, publicly stripped of his army rank, and sentenced to life imprisonment. Josie was in glee till she came to the part about Dreyfus’s possible innocence being leaked to the French press. “What! That has to be a lie. Who’d come to a Jew’s defense?” Her laughter ceased as she read out loud, “…resulting in a heated debate on anti-Semitism, France’s identity as a Catholic nation, and a republic founded on equal rights for all citizens…” She crushed the paper in her hand. “They won’t let him get away with it. I know he has to be guilty. Can’t trust those kind…it’s his fault anyway. Why’d he have to go to that elite school? Should know his place. These people are so stupid.”

  Satchel responded. “He should stay in prison and learn his lesson.”

  Josie smiled and Satchel felt comforted that he had succeeded in breaking the tension.

  The next day, after Charley had finished helping the kids at school, he made his way to Gus’s store to pick up a few things for his supper. There was still a crowd gathered around the noticeboard, carrying on like there was no tomorrow, which annoyed Gus.

  “What’s all that about?” Charley asked Gus.

  “Some news came in about a religious scandal in France. Catholic Church against Jews.” Gus lowered his voice. “All our good Protestants here think they’re holier than…”

  “I’ve got a shopping list here,” interrupted Charley, as he ignored what Gus said and handed him his list.

  “And some Negro has them all up in arms.”

  Charley noticed the sarcasm in Gus’s tone, which was unusual.

  Gus took the list from Charley. “You eating alone tonight, Charley?”

  “Yes. Just get me a couple things here and I’ll make myself a little something.”

  “I’m going to clear the place out early. How’s about sticking around to share a meal with me? I’ve got plenty.”

  “That’s a darn nice offer. Don’t mind if I do.”

  Gus ushered everybody out as fast as he could and closed up shop. In the flat above the store where he lived, Gus prepared a meal while Charley sat and relaxed with a shot glass of whiskey. Charley looked around at the cozy flat. A single bed stood against the far wall next to a small bookcase, and on the other side of the room near the table where Charley was sitting was a wood-burning stove and cabinet with dishes. A dusty worn Persian rug rested on the wood plank floor underneath the table, something Gus must have ordered along with his other international items, Charley guessed. There were boxes scattered about with books stacked on them and a partially opened file cabinet spilling its overly stuffed contents. On the wall hung recent news articles that had been clipped from magazines.

  “Here you go.” Gus placed two plates of meat and fried potatoes on the table.

  They sat quietly as they ate until Gus broke the silence, “That crowd today. I tell you there are some days I’d just as soon pick up and go live alone somewhere else. Got some hermit blood in me.” He downed his third shot glass of whiskey.

  “Gus, you’re one of the most social guys in town. We’d sure hate to ever see you move on.”

  “I have to be. I own a store.” He downed a fourth shot. “Another?” He held up the whiskey bottle.

  “No more for me, thanks.”

  “Church people all riled up about some poor Jewish kid. People hating Negroes just cause of the color of their skin. All this bullshit because a Jew got some rank and status and a Negro got wealth and power. Big joke. Our little townsfolk think they’re better than them. Why? Religious people thinking others are inferior if they don’t hold the same views. It just don’t make any sense to me. Where’s God in all this?”

  “It’s really bothering you?” Charley asked, sensing that something was eating away at Gus.

  “This is why I don’t like to go to church. No offense, Charley. I like everyone all right. Things might have been different if I married and had kids. It’s different when you have to give the little ones some foundation.” He gulped down another shot.

  Charley noticed that Gus had begun to slur his words.

  “I tell you, to be honest Charley, I ain’t got no stomach for churches. What do they teach you? Hatred? Blame someone else? Make someone wrong because they don’t have your skin color, your bloodline, or your same beliefs? I’ll tell you what I believe, Charley, that we can’t get answers. That Bible is a story. Like any other book. How come people are so in love with that story? I don’t see God in any book. I don’t see God in hatred or thinking someone is less than you. I’m not less than anyone!” Gus’s speech was bordering on incomprehensible. “I’ll jes ha masef a lil more.” He grabbed the bottle.

  “I think you may have had enough there.”

  Gus pulled himself together. “Never enough. There ain’t enough booze in the world to shut my mind to what I feel is just plain wrong!” Gus was completely unaware of how loud he was becoming.

  “Maybe you could go over and talk with Amos? Seems like a decent enough fellow.”

  “I ain’t talking to no one from any church. Why, my mother would quake in her grave.” Gus knew that even in his inebriated state he had let slip something he’d never intended. He managed to catch himself and back down. “I’m okay, Charley. You’ve been so kind to listen to me. Hope my big mouth didn’t turn you off. Don’t mean nobody any harm. You know me, good old Gus.” He looked at Charley with bloodshot eyes and smiled, drool oozing down his chin.

  “Don’t be worrying about anything you say to me, Gus. I wouldn’t cause no trouble to come to you. Got enough of it myself with people asking about me and Mildred.”

  “She’s not a bad soul. Nice thing you got someone. Nice thing. I’m happy for you, Charley.”

  “Well Gus, think it’s time for some shut eye. Sure did enjoy the meal and our chat.”

  “Sure thing. Let me see you down.”

  Charley stood to leave.

  Gus stumbled as he tried to stand.

  Charley motioned for him to sit. “I’ll find my way out. Thanks again.”

  “We’ll be seeing ya,” slurred Gus before he nodded off.

  Two hours later he came to and readied himself for bed, but before he went to sleep that night, he pulled up a floorboard under his bed and took out a small metal box. Inside was an object wrapped neatly in a handkerchief. He unwrapped and kissed it. Gus rarely took out the box with the tiny o
bject in it that his mother gave him. It would have been too dangerous. People were persecuted and killed because of it, and so he hid his mezuzah.

  Gus’s family had changed their name when they came to America. The only thing his mother retained of her heritage was the tiny mezuzah that her parents had given her. She withheld knowledge of its existence until she lay on her deathbed. It was then she called her twelve-year-old son to her bedside and removed the mezuzah that she had kept hidden in her bust. It was still wrapped in the same cloth as when her parents gave it to her. “Gus, this is something I never told you about,” she said to the boy. “I never wanted to subject you to the hatred my parents witnessed in Russia. They were Jewish.” She went on to tell him of the horrors the Jews were subjected to. She handed him the tiny wrapped article. “It contains a piece of parchment scroll on which are written certain Biblical passages. Take it. Keep it safe. Protect yourself, my son.”

  “Mamma,” he said, pointing to a name inscribed on the cover of the tiny wood container, “what’s this?”

  “That is the name of God,” she gasped. “Keep it safe. Never allow hatred to fill your heart. That will only hurt you.” He saw the light fading from her eyes. These were Miriam’s last words.

  “A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal is absolutely fatal.” OSCAR WILDE

  15

  Two weeks passed since the telegrams arrived. In the interim, Mildred sent another note to Charley saying that Edra was still fragile, a feigned excuse she was comfortable continuing to tell him, and that she would let him know when they could resume their visits. With word from Ben that the town’s gossip had calmed, she began to regain her equanimity. Once the commotion, the overwhelming stimulation, quieted down, her body started to heal: the heavy vaginal bleeding reduced to irregular spotting, the nausea and lack of appetite resolved, and color returned to her cheeks. The time away from Charley and town was exactly what she needed. It also helped that it afforded Edra’s anxiousness an opportunity to lessen and take a back seat. Once she regained her strength she decided she needed to resume forward motion on the plan. The fact that Lil’s hind shoe was loose gave Mildred the perfect excuse to return to town to have it fixed and drop in on Charley.

  “Think it’s time I head back to town. Lil’s shoe needs fixing.” Mildred watched carefully for any reaction in Edra and seeing none continued, “Also think I’ll pay Charley a visit.”

  Edra flushed. “Oh, you sent him a note?”

  “No, just thought I’d drop by his place. I don’t have to if you…”

  “No. It just took me a little by surprise.” She didn’t want to stir Mildred up. They had spent so much time unwinding, talking, starting to feel better, and had talked about resuming the visits but Edra assumed it would be out at the ranch. She knew Mildred was getting antsy about making excuses in notes back to Charley but didn’t want to face the time had come, still worried how things would play out. “You’re right. Glad we had this time together. It’s sure helped. Go on now.”

  Everyone in town was exhausted with stories about the Negro and the Jew, stories that by now had been blown way out of proportion. Unsuspecting, Mildred arrived at Pursey Funkle’s Blacksmith Shop around lunchtime, and met up with Pursey who was having a sandwich.

  “Hey there Mildred, been a long time.” Pursey wiped a few crumbs off the side of his mouth.

  “Sorry to interrupt your lunch. I’ll just have a seat over here and wait till you’re done.” She moved toward a bench outside the entrance when Pursey motioned for her to stay inside.

  “It’s no bother at all. Have a seat here if you like.” He patted a chair next to where he was sitting. “I have an extra apple if you haven’t eaten yet.”

  Mildred, feeling very uncomfortable and suspicious of his motives, took the seat. “Thank you, but I ate just before coming out.”

  “Sarah’s home with a bit of a bug. Upset stomach. Truth is I think she’s been running around too much. Having teas, visiting with the ladies in town. Too much excitement.”

  Mildred nodded with a smile.

  “Yeah, I tell you there’s no end to the commotion when news comes in. People getting rich just because they can stand in front of a crowd. They don’t have to do a lick of work, just talk and people with money, lots of money, take to them like flies to dung. You’d think a Negro would know what it means to sweat. All that talk over getting their kind into schools.”

  Mildred looked confused.

  Pursey took the last bite of his sandwich then pulled one of the two apples out of his bag. “You sure?” He held the apple out to Mildred.

  “Yes, very kind of you.”

  He took a bite, then attempted to speak but instead spewed acrid-smelling spittle mixed with bits of apple into the air, catching Mildred’s face. “Pardon, my excitement.” He held out a napkin to her.

  Mildred, repulsed, used it to clean her cheek.

  “What do you think of all these goings on?”

  She was perplexed. “I’m not really sure.”

  “Why Mildred, have you even heard the latest?” It finally dawned on him that maybe she had not.

  “I’ve not been around that much lately.”

  “Why, you don’t know!”

  He lapsed into a monologue of exaggerated details, altered beyond original description: The Negro must have lied, probably has some rich white women sponsoring him because he’s good in bed, and the Jew deserved to be imprisoned for having the gall to try to become something he was not born into. “People should know their place. When they are made by God to be inferior, they should just do their best to stay out of the way of the good hard-working folk who are the backbone of society.”

  Mildred was disgusted. Anger welled up into her throat that wanted to be let out in a scream and she felt an urge to pick up one of the horseshoes and whack him to shut him up. As the blood began draining from her head, she felt sick to her stomach. “Oh my,” she mumbled, trying to ease out of the tirade.

  He kept on and on, discharging a hatred that gave her chills. She knew then and there, beyond any doubt, that the fear she had felt when she first heard of Oscar Wilde’s conviction was not just about prejudice existing across a continent and ocean, but rather the ignorance that lives in closed minds everywhere. The seeds that grow and inflate the smallest minds into giants, those who believe they can take down anyone with their petty realities, was what she saw full-blown in Pursey. It mattered not whether his reality was based on prejudice, fear, or just plain ignorance, the end result would be the same, ruined lives. The tone in his voice reminded her of Josie that day outside the telegraph office. She now understood why up till that time this sort of talk didn’t bother her. The hatred was now something personal and she knew, no matter the excuses, that she and Edra no longer were immune from suspicion.

  These were realities, as sure as the loose shoe on Lil’s hoof, as painful as the belly cramps now gripping and sending spasms of bile into her throat, and the strained effort to breathe. This reality was something she knew she would have to live with for the rest of her life—that where closed minds live, she and Edra could never be free.

  She tried to settle the pain swelling up inside her gut while she listened to Pursey chewing loudly on his apple. She could no more control her insides than she could stop the blacksmith shop from spinning around her.

  Pursey ran to get a damp cloth while he yelled to Sam Larue who was passing by, “Go get Doc Nichols! Mildred just passed out!”

  When Mildred came to, she found herself on a bed in Doc Nichols’ home with Charley sitting by her side. Still nauseous, head pounding, she pulled at her dress that had stuck to her chest with moisture. She could hear Doc talking with a patient in another room. She tried to speak but words would not come.

  Charley brushed a cool damp cloth across her forehead. “Well, there you are.” He helped her take a sip of water.

  “Charley.” She barely got the word out of her parched mouth.

 
; “You gave us a scare. Here, have some more water.” He handed her the glass. She gazed up at him, still dazed. He put the water glass in her hand and helped her drink it. He watched her and saw innocence, a beauty that vulnerability brings, and he knew he was sharing something very sensitive with Mildred. He felt sorrow, for the last time he was in this room was with Emma, just before she took to her bed. He also felt somewhat responsible, that in wanting to cultivate this friendship he brought the town’s attention onto her. He wished people would shut up and leave her alone. He felt the same when Emma took ill, shut them up and shut them out, shut out everything but hope, until all became hopeless and he wanted to die, and then Mildred had changed that for him. Now he wished he could repay the favor. “You passed out over at Pursey’s. Doc and Sam Larue carried you here. Doc says you were moaning about someone, something about someone doing something bad. I came as soon as I heard.”

  Doc Nichols entered the room. “How you feeling?” He moved closer to her noticing her facial pallor, dark circles under her eyes, dry skin, rapid breathing, which were all signs of shock. He took her hand. “Let me check your hydration.” He took a fold of skin from the palmar surface of her hand and pinched some skin between his fingers. It stayed tented. “Just what I thought.” He put her hand down.

  “What is it, Doc?” asked Charley.

  Doc asked Mildred, “How much water have you been drinking?”

  She mumbled, “Not sure…”

  “I can tell you this,” he looked over at Charley then back to Mildred, “it’s not enough. You’re dehydrated.”

  Mildred felt her soaked clothes clinging to her body and knew she must have perspired a lot of fluid in the heat while Pursey ranted. She also knew she did need to drink more water.

  “Will she be okay?”

  Doc smiled at them. “Should be. Make sure you drink more, rest up…I’ll also give you something to help your iron in case that might be contributing to how pale you look.”