“But I don’t want you to leave right now. I want you to stay. I’ve got all this food—”
Stacey glanced at the table. “Maybe your good, considerate friend can come back and enjoy it with you.” He turned to go.
“Stacey, listen—”
Stacey stopped at the door. “No, you listen, Cassie. You’re moving into some very dangerous territory here. You’ve moved away from your family, and now you’re moving away from your people too.”
I walked toward him. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re living in a white world, Cassie. Look at this apartment building, this white neighborhood. I was almost afraid to park my car out front the way people were staring at me. But you’re comfortable here, aren’t you? How’d you get this place anyway?”
I didn’t say anything.
“That friend of yours help you get it?”
I kept my silence. I did not want to lose my temper.
Stacey now took the time to lecture me. “Cassie, we’ve been slaves to white men since our people were first thrown on those ships and dragged here in chains. White men could do whatever they wanted to our colored women, our men too. Think about it, Cassie. You know all the stories as well as I do, and now you’re willing to be with a white man? You’re willing to turn your back on your family and your race too?”
I grabbed at his wrist. “Stacey, don’t you dare say that to me! That’s not what’s happening!”
Stacey’s look was cold. “Isn’t it?”
“Look here, I’m a woman grown, many years over! You can’t come in here telling me what to do!”
“I’m not telling you what to do, Cassie. I’m just telling you what you already know. You’re a good-looking woman, Cassie. You’re smart, highly educated. You’re the best of the best. You’ve got all this going for you and that white man sees it. Like I said, you need to come home, Cassie. This white man, he’s taking you away, taking you into that white world of his.”
“What if I told you he wants me to marry him?”
Stacey’s jaw set and he stared icily at me. “Do you think I give a damn if he wants to or not? You’d still be a black woman choosing to go with a white man! Too many of our women gone with them! Forced to go with them, our blood included! Now, you’ve got choices and this is what you’re choosing to do? You don’t go sleeping with a white man, Cassie, no matter what, marriage or no marriage.” He sucked in his breath and his voice grew quiet. “You do, you turn your back on all of us. I won’t even call you my sister.”
“Stacey—”
“Like I said, it’s time to come home, Cassie.” He shook his head, visibly disappointed in me, then looked down at my hand, still clutching his wrist. After one last look at me, he yanked away, opened the door, and went out.
“Stacey!” I called after him.
My brother did not answer as he walked down the hall, turned the corner, and disappeared down the stairs.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
It had been seven years since I had come to Boston. I had received my law degree and passed the bar examination on my first attempt. Being a lone woman of color on many occasions, I had stood out and come to the attention of people with influence, who pointed me out as an example of what a colored person could achieve. After my first semester at Boston University School of Law, I had been offered a scholarship, full tuition and board. I had been given a part-time job. After graduation and the bar, I was offered the opportunity to travel to Europe and Africa with a program funded by a philanthropic group associated with colleges in the region whose purpose was fact-finding and improving relations with emerging African nations. The program was for one year. It was something very few Negroes had the opportunity to do, and I reveled in it. Before heading to Africa I went to England and France and Germany, up to the Scandinavian countries, Denmark and Sweden, down to Greece and Italy too. With the group in Africa, I traveled to Egypt and down into Kenya and Uganda, Tanganyika, and Ethiopia.
Each African country where I went, people stared at me, studied me in silence, then welcomed me even more than they welcomed others in my group. They told me I was not what they had expected. In Europe, the people had seen our colored soldiers during the war and the ones still stationed in Germany. But in Africa it was a different story. Many of the people in the villages had never seen an American Negro before. All many of them had seen of the American Negro was what was presented in American films, and most of those films certainly did not flatter American Negroes. They were movies depicting the American Negro as enslaved, shiftless, ignorant, usually following behind or at the will of some white person. Few showed the Negro as heroic. Very few showed the Negro as standing up for herself or himself, educated, with a mind of her or his own. Few showed the Negro as handsome or beautiful or with an intellect equal to a white person. Although Negro filmmakers had produced films showing these qualities, such films were not widely distributed. In recent years, a handful of Hollywood movies had begun to depict these qualities too, but still the widespread concept of the American Negro was of a people enslaved, and maybe that was because in many ways we still were. As the lone Negro in a group of twenty Americans, I fit none of these stereotypes, and everywhere I went people seemed amazed that I didn’t. I was welcomed, and that amazed me.
Upon my return to the States I had gone first to Toledo, then with Stacey and Dee and the girls back home to Mississippi. Christopher-John and Becka, with Clayton Chester and Rachel, had followed with their children. We all went home to celebrate my being back. It was 1957, the first time all of us had been together in five years.
Some things at home had changed. Some things had not.
For our family house, some of the changes were major. The old outhouse was gone. We now had an indoor bathroom. The boys had built it themselves, walling off a section of their old room to install it. They had done all the work—the carpentry, the drywalling, the painting, even the plumbing, which was now in both the bathroom and the kitchen. We no longer had to draw water from the well, though that didn’t keep us from doing so. A bucket of well water with a ladle handy for anyone who wanted a drink still hung from a giant hook on the back porch. Electricity was now available in the community, and it had been installed throughout the house. The kerosene lamps were no longer needed, but were kept nearby in case the electricity went out. The boys bought an electric stove and a refrigerator for the kitchen. Big Ma balked at having to give up her wood-burning stove, but she liked the idea of the refrigerator, which kept her foods from spoiling. Telephone lines were also strung in the area, and Stacey, Man, and Christopher-John had insisted that Mama and Papa have a telephone in the house. Neither Papa nor Mama much cared for the idea. Mama still believed letters were the best means of communication, and Papa, who never wrote letters, figured there was nothing like face-to-face communication. Finally, they were persuaded that a telephone would allow the family to keep in contact more easily, and they relented. The boys even bought them a television. While I was going to law school and traveling, Mama, Papa, and Big Ma had allowed the modern world into the house.
There were changes in the community too.
Although Great Faith Church remained the same, there was no longer a Great Faith School. A new school built by the county for Negro students in the area was located several miles away. The old class buildings, which had been built by the church, not the county, still stood. Many of the families I had always known remained in the community. Moe’s brothers and sisters, most with families of their own, were all still in the area. So were the Averys, Claude and the others, and most of the Wigginses, although Little Willie and his wife, Dora, with their five children had moved to Jackson.
Some things had changed. Some things had not.
Mostly things remained the same. This was still Mississippi, and Mississippi at its core, despite some attempts at modernization, had not changed. When I we
nt into Vicksburg and into Jackson, life was still the same. I still could not eat in the white restaurants. I still could not try on clothes I wanted to buy in the department stores. I still had to go to the back door to buy ice cream or a hamburger from a fast-food parlor. I still could not go to the “white only” library. I still had to drink from nasty-looking water fountains marked “colored” in public places. I still had to sit at the back of the bus. And, of course, the signs all were still there. Signs, signs everywhere you looked.
Whites Only. Colored Not Allowed.
The racial divide in Mississippi had not changed. But I was different, and much of the world was different, and I expected Mississippi to be different too. I stayed with Mama, Papa, and Big Ma for three weeks, then returned to Boston. I had not been back since.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Stacey was right about more than one thing. I did live mostly in a white world. The law firm at which I worked was all white except for me. The neighborhood in which I lived was all white except for me. The building in which I lived, all white except for me. I had managed to get the apartment through my connections with the law firm. Guy had helped me get it, but I couldn’t admit that to Stacey. Although I was the only colored person in the building, I refused to let that bother me. At first there had been odd looks and hostile stares from the other tenants. I was reminded of the apartment Flynn and I were denied in Westwood, and I put up with their hostility. The apartment was worth it.
I worked at a law firm owned by Guy’s father and uncle. I had come to the attention of the firm in part because of Guy, but also because of my own merits at the law school. Before the trip to Europe and Africa, several law firms, impressed by my scholastic record, had approached me, but I had chosen Guy’s firm. It was another opportunity to advance. Opportunities always seemed to be coming my way, opportunities so many other colored folks didn’t have. I was fortunate. Most Negro lawyers could not get into such a firm, into any kind of white firm, so they established their own individual law offices or partnered with another Negro attorney. I knew the opportunities offered to me were because of my youth, my mind, even my looks. I knew also that I was accepted in part because I was the “only one.” In a white world, a few black folks could be tolerated, even welcomed, but if it was more than a few, that worried white people. I knew that too, and I snatched every opportunity presented to me, as the “only one.”
Despite the white world in which I lived, I kept connected to the Negro community. Each Sunday morning I took a bus across town to Roxbury, to the Baptist church I had attended since my return from Africa. I knew the congregation well and they knew me. They knew I was a lawyer, and some of them came to me for advice about their legal problems. Mostly their problems stemmed from landlord issues, such as people about to be evicted from their homes because they couldn’t pay the rent, or from a husband or child who was being charged with some misdemeanor and the family had no money for bail or anyone to represent them in court. I offered them advice and did not charge them for it, but I did not become fully involved in any of their problems until a woman came to me about a medical issue. She had been denied services at a doctor’s office in Boston. Her situation was similar to mine when I had been rejected by the Boulder medical office.
I talked to Guy about it. Guy was hesitant about taking the case. “This doctor works for a professional corporation. Unless you can prove the woman was denied medical care because of her race—and that might be hard to do—you’ll have no case. According to law, he has a right to accept or reject anyone he chooses.”
“I know. But I plan to file a complaint with the Massachusetts Commission Against Discrimination.”
“Could take a lot of time, and you won’t be able to bill for it,” Guy cautioned.
“It’ll be my time,” I said. “I need to help this woman.”
Guy offered me his help if I needed it, but I forged on alone. I filed a complaint with the Commission which investigated the matter, but discrimination could not be proved. I chose not to give up, and I told the woman I represented not to give up either. We would bide our time and we would file again. I told several people who came to me much the same thing. We had to wait for another day.
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
I did not see Guy again until Monday morning at the law office. He had not called or come by after Stacey left, and I chose not to call him. “Your brother get off okay?” he asked.
“He left shortly after you did.”
“I thought he wasn’t leaving until Sunday.”
“Changed his mind.”
“What about that friend of yours who’s in trouble?”
I did not want to talk about Moe with Guy, although Moe had been constantly on my mind since Stacey left. I had called Lawyer Tate throughout the weekend and finally reached him at home late Sunday night. He told me what I already knew about extradition laws. “If Moe is in Canada and they arrest him there,” Lawyer Tate said, “they’ll send him back to Mississippi. If he’s still in the States, same thing. Now, we can fight the extradition, but most likely either way he’ll be on his way to Mississippi. There’s really nothing to be done until then. Let’s talk about it when you come home for Christmas.”
In answer to Guy’s question, I said, “He still is.”
Guy knew me well enough not to press the matter. “Well, I assume since you didn’t leave with your brother, you won’t be going early to Toledo. That means you can come up to Maine for my parents’ Christmas party.” Although Guy’s parents had a house in Boston, they also had what they called a vacation house in Maine and Guy said they usually spent their holidays there.
“Guy, I told you before I don’t know about that.”
“And I told you before they’d be happy to have you. Several other people from the office are going up. A couple of them will be staying at the house too. My parents know about you and they’re getting a room ready.”
I smiled. “They know all about me?”
Guy smiled too. “Well, I didn’t want them to be shocked when you arrived.”
“No, wouldn’t want that,” I laughed.
Guy grew serious. “Look, Cassie, they’re not stupid people. My dad and my uncle have seen us together, and they’re experienced enough to know a relationship when they see it.”
“Have they said anything?”
Guy shook his head. “Not to me. I know they’d rather I’d be with my ex-wife or someone like her, but so far, they’ve said nothing.”
I didn’t respond.
Guy put his finger under my chin and lifted my face upward. “So are you coming to Maine?”
“If I do, I don’t want it to be like that other time we ventured out together.” On that occasion Guy and a married couple who had gone on the trip abroad with us and to Africa had persuaded me to go to a Boston nightclub. The club was white, and although the entertainers onstage were colored, I was asked to leave. We had already been seated when the manager told us we were not welcome. The next day Guy had filed a discrimination suit against the club, but the suit went nowhere, which did not surprise either of us.
The club claimed it was a private club, for members only. We knew that it was not, just an excuse to deny me admission. It mattered to me that Guy had cared enough to file a suit against the club, but that was the last time I had gone to a public place with him. “Don’t worry, it won’t be anything like that,” Guy said. “You know I’m still sorry about that.”
“Yeah, I know you are. I am too.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
I had met Guy Hallis during my first year of law school. I was the only colored person in the class, and he had come right over and sat beside me and said, “Is this seat taken?”
I had looked around. Other empty seats were available, and I answered, “Guess not, just like all the others sitting there unoccupied.”
Guy had laughed, sat down, and opened his notebook as the professor approached the podium. He had said nothing else to me, not even when the class was over, but twice a week when the class met he sat in the chair beside mine, even when I sat in a chair different from the previous class. He always spoke pleasantly and with a smile. I always returned his greeting, minus the smile. He made me feel awkward, and silently I questioned why he was always sitting next to me, although I knew of course that it had nothing to do with the available seating. I knew that he was trying to befriend me. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was just because I was the lone Negro in the class. Maybe he thought I needed a friend.
I didn’t.
I went my lone way and was accustomed to it. Since arriving in Boston I had met few people outside the law school. I had no real friends, no need for friends, and I preferred it that way. I had come here to study law. I wasn’t interested in friendships. But Guy Hallis was. At the end of one of the winter class sessions he asked if I would join him for coffee. As I gathered my books, I shook my head. “Can’t,” I said. “I’ve got other plans.”
“It’s just coffee, Miss Logan, nothing else. I’m not the enemy and I won’t bite. I promise.” I thought of Flynn’s words to me.
“Why do you want to have coffee with me?” I asked outright.
Guy hesitated, then slowly said, “I think you know why. You look all alone here.”
“Maybe that’s what I want. Because I am.”
“You don’t have to be,” Guy said.
“Well, maybe I prefer it that way.”
“Like I said, it’s just coffee.”
I headed for the classroom door. Guy followed me. We walked in silence until we reached the library, where I stopped. I decided not to take Guy’s hand of friendship, if that was truly what it was. “I’ll see you in class,” I said, and walked away.
All the Days Past, All the Days to Come Page 27