by Scott, Jamie
I confessed my inability to bridge the generation gap to Fie and together we decided on just the right story for the cantankerous old bat.
‘What’ve you got for me?’ Missus Robinson barked at me the next week.
‘It’s a lovely little book that I think would suit you ma’am. It’s called Heart of Darkness. By Joseph Conrad.’
She peered at me, looking for cheek. I kept my face as impassive as a cleric’s. ‘That’s more like it. Well, go on, sit down.’
I read for more than an hour, checking every so often to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep. A couple of times I thought she had, but when I stopped my recitation she set me straight on the matter. Finally she dismissed me, demanding my return the following week. I was sure she didn’t like me any better than she had the week before, but at least she was willing to let me exercise my charitable nature on her.
Chapter 15
‘What do you mean you forgot?’ Jim was regularly aggravated with me but, not to put too fine a point on it, he was mad as hell.
‘I just... forgot, that’s all. Look, you don’t have to make a federal case of it. We can go another day.’ The disputed outing was a trip to Bonaventure Cemetery. It’d been the scene of final repose for Savannahians for almost a hundred years, since Captain Wilberger converted it from a plantation, and Jim convinced Duncan to drive us out there after school to ogle the crypts.
‘But how could you forget? We’ve been planning to go for weeks. Where were you?’ His face was awfully red.
Without a thought I compounded my deceit with an outright lie. ‘At the library. I needed to get another book for Missus Robinson.’ How slippery the path to artifice once it was trod upon.
‘Well, I think it stinks. You made plans with me, you made a commitment. You broke your promise and now you’re acting like it’s no big deal! It is a big deal, May. It is to me.’ He stomped down the steps and crossed to his own yard with dignity shoring up his posture.
I let him go. I hadn’t forgotten about our plans, but his reaction was jolly compared to the fury he’d unleash if he knew why I really didn’t meet him as promised. I had been a traitor.
While Jim sat expectantly nursing a glass of Ma’s lemonade on my front porch, I was being courted by the curse of his childhood schooldays. He was called Clay, and was fated to play a big, if not altogether comfortable, part in making me grow up. According to Jim, Clay got his kicks by teasing him persistently all through grade school. He eventually outgrew his fondness for tormenting my friend, but Jim just couldn’t bring himself around to forgive him.
I knew the stories from Jim’s side, but the fact that Clay thought I was worth talking to made him irresistible. When he asked me out, I jumped at his offer. He was friendly with Minty, and unlike most of his gender he was fearless in the face of teenage girls. After class, Minty charmed him as usual with a facility that was marvelous to behold. I was reduced to inane giggles every time he directed a comment my way.
‘I’d be very pleased if you’d like to come have a soda with me,’ he said.
Minty smiled at me and I beamed back. She kept looking at me, expectantly. My smile faltered.
‘May?’ Clay watched me with the same anticipation.
Did he mean me? Well. ‘Sure, that’d be swell.’ How on earth that had happened, I had no idea.
His smile was impish, like he’d done something wrong that he knew would be forgiven without too much fuss. He could have robbed a bank and I’d have harbored no grudge against him. We walked to Duke’s drugstore and, away from Minty, I found my voice. The soda counter was doing a storming business. The signs of the times were all around us. Orange Crush, Frostie Old Fashion Root Beer, Buffalo Rock ginger ale and, of course, Coca Cola plaques were nailed to every square inch of wall behind the gleaming marble counter. As we hoisted ourselves on to a couple of stools, several faces turned curiously. Ice cream floats were spread as far as the eye could see, clutched in the hands of my classmates. Within a decade the same place would be at the center of the Civil Rights debate but just then it was lined with white faces whiling away the afternoon.
His eyes were different colors, one green and the other hazel. In fact he was an all–around dish, though possibly not the smartest coat in the closet. Because he was kept back he towered over me, and he had honest–to–goodness muscles rather than the ropy limbs the other boys carried around. He flashed the most perfect smile. ‘You’re eighteen karat, you know that?’ He said as we sipped our shakes.
Did I? Not really. But it was wonderful to be told so. As I listened to him carry on, I thought that he made a much better first boyfriend than Jeremy, the bestower of my first kiss. I found myself willing to amend my romantic history to accommodate Clay, and dearly hoped he was thinking of applying for the position. When my straw made an unladylike sound in the bottom of my glass he offered a second round but, fearing for my seams, I declined. Then I could have kicked myself for ending our date.
‘Well, if it’s okay with you, and your father of course, I’d like to see you again some time.’ His words were wrapped in silk. I couldn’t imagine any boy from Williamstown being so formal. My parents were going to love him.
I should have known when Clay mentioned my father that dating was done a little differently in the South. Clay and the senior Mister Pearse drove to our house on Friday just before dinner. Duncan answered the bell and called for me. I nearly fell over when I saw them.
The two men smiled, shook hands and made nice–to–meet–you noises, interrupting Clay’s no doubt well–prepared speech. ‘... Uh, I’m Clay. I go to school with May. She may have mentioned me?’ I hitched my lip and shook my head. ‘Well anyway, sir, I was wondering if it’d be all right for me to take May to the pictures on Saturday, tomorrow. My father can pick her up and drive her home again straight afterwards.’
When Duncan relaxed against the railing I knew he planned to say yes. Eventually. I watched with my fingers crossed behind my back. Duncan could be a real stickler when he chose. Mainly he just liked to put folks through their paces. He rarely meant any harm.
‘Well son, that depends on a couple of things. What are you going to see?’
‘The Wizard of Oz, sir.’
‘And does May like Judy Garland?’
‘I... I don’t know. Do you, May?’
I assured him I did.
‘I see. Well, don’t you think the movie is a little violent to be taking a young lady to?’
‘Violent, sir? No, I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t? Hmm.’
Clay wasn’t scared to look my father in the eye. He straightened with resolve. ‘Well sir, that is to say, it isn’t very violent, not the whole way through. Just the flying monkeys, I guess. And when they’re attacked by the apple trees.’
‘So you’ve seen it before?’
‘Well, yes, sir. It’s very good. Worth seeing again.’
‘And how are you going to make sure my daughter isn’t frightened by all that monkey–flying and apple–throwing?’ I glanced at Mister Pearse and could see that everyone was in on Duncan’s joke except Clay, who defended his corner admirably.
When he offered to cover my eyes during the scary scenes, Duncan’s smile burst its borders. ‘Son, I think I know my daughter pretty well. If you can do that without losing a hand, I’ll eat my hat.’ My father gave his blessing and Clay ladled his thanks all over him. As we closed the door I socked Duncan, advising him to pick on someone his own size in the future. He laughed all the way to the kitchen to tell Ma.
The Lucas Theater had a strict dress code that added to the ceremonious air of my first real date. It was awfully nice of Clay to offer his father’s chauffeur services, considering that their house was on Abercorn Street only a couple blocks from the movie house. We alighted from the car into the throng milling in front of the grand building. The glass–fronted ticket booth winked at the line of patient customers, hinting that the wait was worthwhile because we were in for a real tre
at. Six sets of doors gobbled up the ticket–wielding public.
I was relieved that Clay didn’t buy us tickets in the balcony. Ever mindful of my virtue, Duncan wrenched a promise out of me that I’d kick up a storm if he tried to lure me to such a compromising perch. He escorted me through the lobby with his hand burning a hole through the fabric on my shoulder. The air was close, smelling of hot butter and cigarettes. Our classmates, parents, even our teachers filled the theater with laughing chatter. Cinemas were real egalitarian entertainment, though I noticed that no black people sat downstairs with us. They had their own section at the back of the balcony. We settled deep into lumpy velvet seats just as the organist stopped his assault on the keys and the lights dimmed. I’d never seen the Wizard of Oz and when it started I was crestfallen. It was in black and white. The posters outside were in glorious color and I thought the switch a dirty marketing trick.
I watched Dorothy’s rickety clapboard house spin into the air and thanked my lucky stars that hurricanes were the worst things Mother Nature set loose on Savannah. When her unlucky home finally landed and Dorothy stepped into Munchkinland I sucked in my breath. Her life bloomed in spectacular Technicolor.
The folks at MGM did a splendid job on the film but they couldn’t hold a candle to the interest my date’s hand elicited when it landed on my knee. The Yellow Brick Road and Dorothy’s new friends moved over for the more startling development. Was he waiting for some sign of encouragement? Was it simply an errant limb with a mind of its own? As I struggled with uncertainty my questions were answered. The hand turned over and began making unmistakably affectionate gestures.
After awhile he moved his knee–caressing hand over my shoulder with the ease of someone who’d had a bit of practice, and I shifted closer. The film was forgotten as I let myself feel all the things a sixteen year old in a dark theater on a date wasn’t supposed to feel in nineteen forty–seven. I was so swept up in the romance of it all that I didn’t stand much of a chance. He was quite a kisser, at least as far as I had any experience in the matter, and I did my best to keep up. Every so often a furry voice in my head that sounded like Duncan shouted stop. My libido advised it to shut up as we smooched our way through Dorothy’s adventures in Oz.
Chapter 16
Jim forgave me the next weekend when I followed through on my promise to visit the cemetery with him. He managed to stay sullen until we started poking around amid the grave markers. Then history excited his vocal chords, and he was compelled to divulge his knowledge.
I was raised with a healthy fear of the dead, but in the South people don’t distinguish so much between the living and the dearly departed. Bonaventure held a special place in the hearts of Savannahians and weekends saw them wandering between the tombs, their children clamoring over the bones of their ancestors. Unlike Williamstown’s final resting places where a couple of spindly trees were merely sad accents, in Savannah, the deceased were interred in a forest of shaggy oaks and twisted acacias. It was beautiful, someplace that if I had to die I wouldn’t mind spending eternity. Jim was happy to give me the particulars of such a strange and haunting place.
There was little left over from the Mulryne plantation days except a few grass smothered stones that we ambled over in the gnat–filled shade. Colonel Mulryne had sorely missed his homeland and the place he built must have been a sight for sore English eyes. The house burned to the ground in the middle of one of their dinner parties. I was curious about what became of the family.
‘The Colonel’s daughter married a Tattnall from Charleston and the whole clan came to Savannah. That’s how there came to be Tattnalls here now.’ Jim talked as if Tattnalls were a fixture in my life and I’d always wondered where the heck they came from.
‘Then the war, that’s the Revolutionary War, tested the family’s loyalties. The Colonel was a Royalist, but America had been good to his family, which probably made for some fireworks. Eventually the Colonel got his way, and everyone went back to England. They gave up everything the minute they got on the boat. It wasn’t until the Colonel’s grandson turned traitor on the family and fought with the Revolutionaries that they got their land back.’
‘So why’d they turn it into a cemetery? It’s a creepy thing to do to your home.’
‘They didn’t. The family sold it a hundred years ago and it was turned over to cemetery then.’
‘How come they sold it? Did they run out of money?’
‘They must’ve. Otherwise they wouldn’t have sold their family’s history like that.’
‘How do you know so much about the families and the land and all?’
‘It’s local history. Everyone knows it.’
‘You people sure put a lot of stock in history don’t you?’
‘Of course we do. You have to know where you come from.’
‘I hardly know anything at all about my family and I don’t miss it.’
‘You should find out. Who you are, I mean.’
‘Jim. I know who I am.’
‘No, you don’t. Not really. Not unless you know where you came from.’
What a peculiar thing to say. ‘What about you? Where’d your family come from?’
‘You know, I’ve told you. Savannah.’
‘From how long ago?’
‘From the beginning.’
‘Then why don’t you have one of the houses on the squares? I thought everyone from the old families had one of those places.’
‘We do. We just don’t live in it.’
‘No kidding?’
‘Why would I lie?’
‘Where is it? Which house?’
‘On Oglethorpe Square. It’s run down, though. Unlivable.’
‘How long’s your Nan been in her house?’
‘Since she was married.’
‘Why didn’t she live in the old house?’
‘Because my great grandparents still lived in it when she got married.’
‘Will your Nan sell it?’
‘No, never!’ His voice cracked.
‘Sorry, I just meant, if she’s not going to live in it...’
‘I’m going to live in it some day.’
‘You are? When?’
‘When my mom comes back. We’ll live in it together. We’ll fix it up just like it used to be.’
‘When’s your mom coming back?’
‘Soon. Come on, we’d better shake a leg. Your dad’ll be waiting for us.’ He walked without looking back.
I had to run to catch up to him. ‘Listen. I’m sorry about canceling this trip on you last time.’
‘You didn’t cancel it. You stood me up.’
‘Well, whatever. I’m sorry about it anyway.’
‘It’s not right, you know, making a promise to someone and then not keeping it. It’s not right.’
‘I know! I said I’m sorry.’ For someone who had as few friends as Jim he was awfully demanding. In the months and years to come I’d realize that he wasn’t interested in having a lot of friends, just in making sure that those he had were true.
‘So where were you?’
‘Jim, I told you, I was ... I was having a soda.’
‘Uh hmm. With who?’
‘Clay Pearse.’
‘I see.’
‘No, you don’t, Jim. You don’t at all. I didn’t plan to break my promise to you. He asked me just that day, after school. I got so excited I said yes. I didn’t do it on purpose. Doesn’t that count for anything?’
‘Our friendship’s not a game where we keep score. Not doing it on purpose doesn’t count for anything. It isn’t like that. I forgive you. Just, please, don’t ever break your promise again okay?’
It struck me then how much his approval meant to me. He could say our friendship wasn’t a game all he wanted. The fact remained that I felt as if I’d failed an important test.
‘You know he’s a lousy person right?’ He said eventually.
‘I know he used to tease you, but that was a long time ago, wasn’
t it? I think he’s changed since then.’
‘Bullies never change. They may grow up but they never change.’
‘I think you’re wrong.’
‘Just be careful.’
I didn’t blame Jim for cautioning me, but he didn’t know Clay like I hoped to know him. I was love struck, and Mirabelle’s romance only fanned my infatuation. I admit it wasn’t a wholly healthy preoccupation, but the fact that we walked the same streets and both had admirers were enough to convince me that we were kindred souls, separated only by the thin veil of decades. I rocked away the hours in the sunlight on our porch, with her letters spread out on my lap, eager to get to the end of her story to see how it all turned out. Somehow, I thought, it was important for me to know.
Chapter 17
1917 Savannah
After her father’s lecture, Mirabelle turned on the charm. She had a closet full of new dresses that she gave Henry every chance to admire. Despite the war, and the frequent terrible news that some neighbor’s son wouldn’t be coming home, Savannahians managed to keep their spirits up, and had the parties to prove it.
Mirabelle blushed under the alert eyes of the other belles when she and Henry made their way to the evening’s hosts. Let them look, she thought. They’re absolutely green with envy. Try though she might, she just couldn’t see Henry as she knew he really must be; that is, moderately good looking. Love painted him positively gorgeous. He was lithe in his night blue tail coat, stretched even taller by his dapper top hat. He always looked impeccable, but especially so in his white linen waistcoat and gloves. No, she just couldn’t see him as less than perfect.
The house blazed with gaslight and candles. Fans swung lazily from the verandah ceilings, the doors pulled wide to let jasmine–scented breezes play among the guests. Ladies and gentlemen already crowded the ballroom where the band played softly. The young women shone in their sherbet dresses against the demure brocades of their mothers and aunts. Laughter and tinkling glasses relaxed the grip that the war had on everyone.