by Robert Ward
“I remember one night we were sitting under the stars. I’d told my poor exhausted aunt I was attending a school play, and Wingate looked at the magazine The Messenger and started laughing.
“ ‘What is it?’ I asked.
“ ‘The Messenger … Hermes,’ he said. ‘And Iris … the messenger of the Gods. The River Styx … that could be the South River … the river of death.’
“ ‘Or of rebirth, in your case.’
“He smiled and came over and hugged me. I put my arm around him, and we looked up at Cassiopeia and the Big Dipper, and the world seemed full of magic and meanings. And I felt such love and affection for my friend …
“And yet, even then, there was something underneath that threatened to mar our happiness. Oddly, I think it was the same thing that made our friendship so unique … Wingate’s passion.
“It was true that we set each other’s minds on fire, but there was something about his eagerness, his endless passion for knowledge that frightened me. He was like a man who has been in the desert for three years, barely surviving on whatever moisture he can squeeze from succulents, and then all at once he’s seated at a banquet with the finest wines, and he drinks too much at once and makes himself drunk.
“I feared that he lacked judgment, that we could take this belief in magic too far…. I even tried to tell him that on occasion, but he would say, ‘Yes, yes, of course … Not a good idea to take anything too far … yes.’
“But it was obvious he was only saying this to please me. He hated arguments between us as badly as I did … and so I didn’t press him.
“Besides, I understood his hunger. He was in love with life and learning, and I wanted to be carried away myself … even though I had my doubts.
“I loved our secret world.
“The fact that it was secret made it all the more intense, magical. I felt that I would do almost anything to protect it. For the first time in my life, I became adept at lying. Lord … it’s true, so help me. It was so unlike me, against everything I had been taught…. And yet I felt that Wingate and I made up our own higher honesty … black and white. Even in the mythology books we found references to black and white … the underworld and the outer world. The combination of the two made a whole. I felt that I had found a friend with whom I could say or do anything and that I had opened up inside to the world around me in a way that was unimaginable only a few months ago.
“And so I began lying to my aunt and uncle about late meetings at new clubs I was joining in school. They were delighted that I was becoming part of the social scene, that I wasn’t always complaining … and I have to admit I gloried in deceiving them. They were, after all, still the enemy, apologists for the Ku Klux Klan, and so I felt it was practically my duty to lie to them.
“What could they possibly understand of the magic we felt when we were together?
“I remember one day I was riding my uncle’s old bicycle down the little path by the bay. The spring had finally come and Mayo was in bloom, which made it far different from the place it was in the gloom of winter. It was truly lovely, and I was pedaling fast, feeling the wind in my hair, thinking of Wingate, wishing he was here with me. Then I shut my eyes and pedaled blind for a few seconds, hoping that Wingate would be with me to share this perfect moment, and when I opened them again, it was like I’d willed it to happen. He was actually there … riding beside me on his own beat-up old bike … and I was so astonished that it took my breath away.”
Grace must have seen me make a face because she waved her hands.
“I know what you’re thinking. It was a coincidence that I’m turning into some kind of mystical moment…. Well, whether it was fated, like Wingate thought it was, or mere coincidence, it was still wonderful. I got used to the idea that we shared a common understanding of the world, of what we knew about history, of books and of nature. I found out that he knew every plant, every tree in Mayo … dogwood and pine and poplar, gum tree and pin oak … and he was a great fisherman as well … though we went out on the river only twice, both times after dark, when I told my aunt I was at Bonnie’s house. We went out on the old Rhodes River and caught bass and haddock.
“And cooked them over a fire right outside the cabin.
“Our talk wound around again and again … religion, mythology, the ultimate rise of the Negro, which I now totally believed in, and Harlem. For Wingate, Harlem was less a real place than a dreamscape. He showed me letters from his cousin Sonny, describing poetry readings he’d been to, where he’d heard Countee Cullen and Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston read from their works, and there were rent parties Sonny had attended in which some of the greatest jazz musicians of all time played, even Louis Armstong. Some afternoons when we walked in the woods, Wingate would describe in detail what it must be like there, and I could just picture the black women in their long dresses, the dignified young poets reading their work … the musicians playing…. Those were the kinds of sermons he preached to me as we walked through the trees … and down by the river. And I loved every minute of it.
“Of course, we didn’t agree on everything. We had some dandy arguments, let me tell you, about music especially. I loved Mozart above all else, and he argued for Bach. He had heard Bach on the radio … on the ‘Saturday Afternoon Symphony,’ the same one I listened to from Washington. But it was impossible for me to believe that anyone, especially my soulmate, could prefer Bach to Mozart. I was about to go home in a funk when he looked at me and said, ‘Isn’t this sad. We’re arguing about music that we can’t even listen to together,’ And the truth of that overwhelmed my anger. We were fighting about music we could never share, because we weren’t allowed to be seen together. The only place we could be together was the woods, or on the river at night, or in our cabin…. And so I told him that we couldn’t let that happen to us … that we absolutely had the right to listen to music together … and that we would listen to the ‘Saturday Afternoon Symphony’ on the radio within two weeks. He didn’t believe it, but I swore it was going to happen … and it did.
“Now it so happened that my aunt and uncle had cousins in Annapolis named the Weavers … very nice people I’d met once or twice. During the next week I told relatives that I really wanted to go see them, that I loved going to Annapolis, that my life would be over if I didn’t get to see the Weavers on Saturday. I must have driven them both crazy, and I’m sure they thought I’d near lost my mind. But they were so happy that I had conformed, they didn’t want to do anything that would set me back again, so they set up a day trip to Annapolis. The great day arrived, and I suddenly came down with a stomachache. It was hard to get my aunt and uncle to go without me, but I insisted on it. Oh, I was so noble, quite the martyr. But in the end I convinced them that they needed the trip more than I did anyway, that the Weavers would be deeply disappointed after going to so much trouble, and finally, at eleven o’clock, off they went. Five minutes after they left the house, I went flying on my bike to the cabin and met Wingate, and though he thought I was crazy, we went pedaling through the woods as fast as we could toward my aunt and uncle’s house. There was only one other house near them, a family of poor whites named the Sattersons, and we had to hide our bikes in the woods … cover them with leaves, and then sneak to the house. Mrs. Satterson was outside, a great fat woman in a dress with pink camelias on it. She was putting her equally plump children’s clothes on the line, and we had to sneak through the woods, going from tree to tree, both of us giggling like crazy, though if we’d been caught, it wasn’t going to be funny … but we made it. Suddenly, we were there. Inside my aunt and uncle’s house. Wingate was nervous, jumpy, and so was I. But I was also enjoying our subterfuge. If they had known that a Negro was in their house, listening to a symphony … this was my secret revenge on them.
“I made us both ham-and-cheese sandwiches, poured glasses of lemonade, and then we went into the living room and turned on the old radio. And there it was … the announcer with the deep classical voice say
ing, ‘Today’s presentation will be Beethoven’s Fourth.’ We looked at each other and laughed out loud. We sat together on the old overstuffed couch, listening to the great music together … and at some point I felt his head fall over in my lap, and I stroked his hair, and he smiled up at me, and it was perfect. Just perfect.”
She sighed and shook her head.
“And when it was over, Wingate had tears in his eyes, and he said to me that this was one of the finest days of his life … perhaps the finest ever … and I agreed. There could be, for me, nothing higher than this, to be in such complete accord with a friend…. I wanted it to last forever. I was about to tell him that, too, when suddenly we heard a car in the driveway.
“ ‘It can’t be them!’ I said. ‘They’ll be gone for hours.’
“I looked up and out at the driveway, and my heart fell into my stomach. It was Alma Marshall, Aunt Sally’s friend. She was a widow and often got lonely and just dropped in. Worse, she felt no need to knock at all … and I wondered if I’d even bothered to lock the front door.
“ ‘In here,’ I called out.
“I pushed Wingate into the back pantry and went to the front door as she knocked for the third time.
“ ‘Grace,’ she said. ‘What’s the door doing locked?’ “ ‘I didn’t realize it was,’ I said. “ ‘Well, where’s Sally?’ she said.
“ ‘Gone to Annapolis,’ I said, my voice cracking. ‘I would have gone, too, but I got sick.’
“ ‘Oh, you poor thing,’ she said. ‘Let me come in and keep you company.’
“I nearly panicked when she said that.
“ ‘I would, Alma,’ I said. ‘But it’s catching, I’m afraid. Stomach sickness. I wouldn’t want to get you sick.’
“That cleared her out fairly quickly, but when I got back to the pantry, Wingate was sweating. He looked frustrated, even furious.
“ ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘She’s gone.’
“ ‘No, it’s not okay,’ he said, flopping into a chair at the kitchen table and rubbing his neck. ‘It’s not okay that we have to live like this. That we have to sneak around like … like criminals just to listen to music together.’
“ ‘I know. I hate it, too.’
“Wingate looked down at the floor and then stared directly at me.
“ ‘I might as well tell you now. I’ve been thinking hard about leaving for Harlem. I could go live with Sonny until I find a job.’
“I was absolutely crushed. I couldn’t stand the thought of his going.
“I gave no thought at all to why he wanted to go—the sheer impossibility of someone so brilliant living in such a limited place as Mayo. I simply thought of myself. I felt that I couldn’t bear life without him. And suddenly, I hated Harlem with all my soul.
“ ‘Why?’ I said, though I knew perfectly well why.
“ ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Grace, I can’t be seen with you. I can’t even listen to music without tricking your uncle…. I have to get away. And … I have no right to ask this, but I wish you’d come with me.’
“ ‘That’s crazy,’ I said. I was furious, upset. ‘I can’t go to Harlem.’
“ ‘Why not? You love the same things I do. There are plenty of white women there. It would be an education for both of us.’
“ ‘But I can’t just leave,’ I said lamely. ‘And I don’t really understand why you want to.’
“He raised one eyebrow, as he often did when he found something I’d said impossible to believe. ‘How can you not understand?’
“ ‘I’ll tell you how,’ I said. ‘Because your people don’t need you in Harlem. They need you here. Here is where you can make a difference. Here is where you can become great. You can preach and you can reach people. Here among your own country people. Think of it, Wingate: if you leave, who will help them?’
“He said nothing but stared down at the table. He took everything I said with the greatest seriousness.
“Finally he spoke:
“ ‘It’s so odd that you say that. I’ve thought those same things myself, Grace. I’ve prayed on this for weeks. And I asked God to give me a sign. Now that you’ve said this … I’ll think on it again. But I want you to know that I’m inclined to leave.’
“I was ready to burst into tears.
“ ‘Go ahead then,’ I said. ‘Why wait? You should leave now, this very night.’
“ ‘Don’t be like that,’ he said. ‘I can’t bear it if you’re mad at me.’
“ ‘Really?’ I said. ‘It seems like you scarcely care what I think at all.’
“And even as I said it I knew suddenly that I was wrong. That he might very well be better off if he went away.
“He was deeply upset by what I’d said. I’d hurt him, but I didn’t care. I wanted to hurt him as badly as he was going to hurt me by leaving.
“ ‘Grace,’ he said, coming around to my side of the table and looking down at me. ‘Please …’
“But I wouldn’t relent. All I could think of was myself. Alone in Mayo.
“ ‘Do whatever you want,’ I said. ‘If you want to leave me, if you want to leave the people who need you, go up there and enjoy yourself.
“I walked over and opened the back door for him.
“ ‘Grace, don’t be like this. It wouldn’t be about me enjoying myself. I’d learn, grow …’
“ ‘Don’t tell me that,’ I said. ‘You just want to go up there to be part of the social scene. Drink and listen to music and meet women.’
“ ‘No,’ he said, but he looked flustered. Of course that was part of it … as it should have been. But I wasn’t going to let him off the hook.
“ ‘Grace, don’t be this way,’ he said, his voice cracking.
“ ‘I’m not being anyway at all. It’s you who are …’
“Then I burst into tears and ran into the living room. I cried bitterly, feeling deeply sorry for myself, and when I got back, he had gone.”
Grace stopped and sucked in her breath. She looked tired; her body sagged.
“I didn’t see him for a week after that. I was crazy. Of course, part of me felt terrible for the way I had behaved. But I didn’t feel bad enough to go see him or to take it back. I spent the week feeling sorry for myself, trying to prepare for his departure. Finally, one day in school Bonnie came up to me. She told me Wingate wanted to meet me that afternoon at the cabin. With her I pretended that it was nothing out of the ordinary, but I was excited the entire day.
“It was nearly dark when I got to the cabin. Wingate was already there. He was sitting at the makeshift table, his hands crossed. He looked so serious it frightened me. He got up and came to me and held both my hands.
“ ‘Grace, I’ve thought about this,’ he said. ‘I’ve prayed on it and turned it every way. And then, yesterday, it came to me … I knew.’
“ ‘And what will you do?’ I said. I was certain he was leaving.
“He walked under the hole in the ceiling, and the moon shone down on him so that he seemed to radiate.
“ ‘All my life I have looked for signs. For portents like the star of Bethlehem, like comets, like a limb pointed in a certain direction, tracks in the sand … sounds only I can hear. The legacy of my grandfather.’
“He looked at me intensely, then went on:
“ ‘It’s funny,’ he said. ‘I’ve been looking to the heavens, praying to the stars above us, looking in the trees and on the earth … and the true sign has been here right in front of me all along.’
“ ‘Really? What is it?’
“He smiled and pointed at me.
“ ‘You,’ he said, staring into me. ‘You’re the sign. You were sent to me to make me see.’
“ ‘Wait,’ I said. I felt flattered, moved, embarrassed all at once.
“ ‘I have been waiting all my life,’ he said. ‘You know we both feel there’s something that guides our friendship but stands outside it. Well, now I’m sure what it is. It’s God’s will that you came into my life. You came her
e to Mayo so that I would know which way to go. And now because of you, dear friend, I do know which path to take. I’ve even started heading down it.’
“ ‘What do you mean?’ I said.
“ ‘Pastor Phillips,’ he said. ‘He runs a mission in town. He’s been after me to come and help him, and I’ve been resisting because I was going to leave. But since you have helped me see my way, I’ve gone to him and it’s settled. I’m going to assist him. Right here in town. We’re going to get things going here. And I have you, my dear friend, to thank for helping me see the right path.’
“We embraced then. Of course I smiled and said that was wonderful, but inside I was full of doubts. The idea that I was sent by God … that I had delivered God’s word … well, that was only true if God worked in truly mysterious ways and delivered His message through a young, jealous, and confused girl who was totally selfish. I tried to tell Wingate that, too, but it was no use. He had prayed and he had heard his prayers answered, and nothing I could say now could change a thing. I asked him then about Pastor Phillips … and he looked at me and said, ‘He’s a brilliant man. I think he’s a great idealist. He wants to help organize Negro people, and he’s started to make some headway.’
“Organize? In Mayo? I felt such a fear for him when he said that, and such a terrible premonition that I could barely speak.
“ ‘You aren’t going to go preaching revolution in Mayo, are you?’ I said, laughing a little, as though it was funny.
“ ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘Were going to preach the truth. I talked to Reverend Phillips last night, and he said an amazing thing to me. He said, “Christianity isn’t just about Jesus on the Cross but real jobs for the hungry.” They’ve done it in other places, so maybe we should try it here. Real Christian protest. “Don’t buy where you can’t work.” You see, you were right, Grace…. Harlem can wait. My mission and my calling are here.’