Daughters of Jubilation

by Kara Lee Corthron

  This strange, familiar place. A nondescript block of a building displayed a gaudy yellow sign that said POPEYES, but it looked like a place for food, not a movie house where you might watch the cartoon. Then I understood, though I couldn’t understand. Not really. This Popeyes was where Lowcountry Records stood just yesterday.

  This was my town, and I didn’t recognize it.

  “Are you okay?”

  I just about fell down that hill, I was so startled by another voice! There was a girl sittin’ on the grass below me, and I’m certain she just scared ten years offa my life. Had she been there the whole time? No idea.

  “Yeah,” I told her. “I’m okay.”

  She gazed up at me for a bit. Long enough for me to realize that somethin’ was off about her. For one thing, she was wearin’ denim jeans like a farmer, and sneakers, but she didn’t look like she’d been runnin’ anywhere or doin’ any sports. Her shirt was purple with what looked like the words to a poem written on it in silver. DREAM IF YOU CAN A COURTYARD, AN OCEAN OF VIOLETS IN BLOOM. Somethin’ like that. Pretty. At the bottom it said REST IN POWER. She had these little white things in her ears with wires connected to a tiny box. At first I thought she looked like a martian, but then I wondered if the white things were some kinda fancy hearin’ aids and I felt bad.

  “Is your name Evalene?” she asked me.

  “Yes.”

  “I know you.”

  That’s when I finally figured out the oddest thing about her: she looked like me. A lot like me. Well, me if I dressed like a hobo. I thought she might be a cousin I’d never met. A close cousin.

  She stood up then, right next to me. Almost the same height, but she was a shade taller.

  “Do you think we have the power to alter the direction of our lives?” she asked me.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Good. That might make things easier for me.”

  “What?”

  “I apologize, but I have to do what they tell me,” she said.

  “Do what? Who?”

  She grabbed my shoulders and flipped me around so I was facing back the way I came. Only it was not the way I came. My heart leapt into my mouth, and loud cackling laughter danced on the air. Flames. Trees burning. Meat… flesh burning. And all these shapes. Foggy shapes. Women. Haints, of course. They all laughed like witches from a child’s worst nightmare.

  “Evalene!” one of them screeched.

  I shut my eyes in a vain attempt to make them go away. I opened my eyes, and not only had they not gone away, one of them had taken the place of my weird friend-cousin. She dug her talons into my shoulder, and the sensation was pain and arctic cold.

  I tried to turn to see her face, but when I did, I swear to God, her head started spinnin’ like a top! Then her body did the same thing. She was impossible for my eyes to perceive.

  “Notre destinée se rencontre fréquemment dans les chemins mêmes que nous prenons pour l’éviter,” she hissed.

  I’d heard that sentence before but couldn’t place where.

  “What does it mean?” I dared to ask.

  “Don’t you know? ‘We meet our destiny in the very paths we take to avoid it,’ ignorant girl.” She laughed. And the others laughed behind her and none of them had faces and the fire roared in my ears.

  “Take what’s yours, Evalene. You know you want it,” said another one.

  “Want what?” I asked. I don’t know how I said anything, my teeth were chatterin’ so hard from her icy grip.

  “Jubilation. There’s only one way.”

  “What is it?”

  “You got a taste of it at the prison, remember? Happy-happy you were, when you thought that man would die in your presence. Happy-happy you’ll be again, and it’s going to huuuuuurrrrt….”

  I didn’t want to hear any more. Somehow I broke free from her subzero grasp, and I ran. From the sky, a thousand voices shouted down to me: “THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY.”

  I kept running. I ran like I’ve never run in my life, and I had no idea where I was runnin’ to, but I had to get as far away from them as I could. I saw a gorge comin’ up ahead and there was no way around it, so I held my breath, and, at the last second, I jumped as high as I could. I landed on my butt on the edge of my bed, just about to squeeze these tired legs into my good Sunday shoes.

  I look down at myself and I’m ready for church and I hear the girls singing some Bible song out in the hall, and I don’t know how I arrived here. I also don’t know how to speak French, but those words come back to me about destiny, and I remember where I heard them.

  The Stranger.

  I rub my eyes, stretch, yawn, wiggle around. Anything to shake off my early-morning ordeal. I stare at my reflection in my li’l vanity mirror. I don’t know if that was all a dream. That would make the most sense, but why didn’t I wake up in my nightgown, sleep crustin’ the corners of my eyes, if it was only a dream?

  I slide the neckline of my dress down slightly, exposing my upper arm.

  And why do I have a sore, purple bruise where the haint dug her fingers into my shoulder?

  * * *

  This morning’s sermon has something to do with reachin’ for higher ground when the devil wants to pull you down to his level. I’ve heard this sermon before. More than once. No need to listen to it again. Anne Marie and her parents are in the front row, and she seems riveted. Bless her heart.

  On the way here, I was relieved that everything on the streets looked the way it always had and not like what I saw in my dream-vision. The horrors I experienced this morning feel far away. Mostly. That I heard the Stranger’s words in the mouth of a haint fills me with dread. But I try to put it outta my mind for now. There are more important things to focus on.

  Like Clay. He came to church with us today and sits next to me. Just bein’ near him makes me feel safer. He ain’t payin’ attention to this sermon any more than I am, but he’s leafing through the hymnal, so he at least appears to be engaged. I stretch and stare at the parishioners in the pews all around us and try to spot the ones noddin’ off. Clay starts scribblin’ something, and I can’t imagine he’s takin’ notes, and I sure hope he ain’t defacin’ the hymns!

  On my left, Coralene’s head falls into my side, passed out like she’s drunk. I adjust her head so her barrettes aren’t diggin’ in my ribs. I wish I knew what time it was, cuz it feels like we’ve been here for four hours already. Reverend Henry hits a high note, and folks chime in with “amen” and “yes, Lord,” and Clay taps my arm to show me what he’s been working on. He’s made a stick-figure drawing of Jesus with a conk and shades, playin’ the sax. A bubble coming from his face says, I’m king of the Jews and king of the JAZZ!

  I snort-laugh a little too loud. Mama leans over from my far left and gives me the evil eye. While she’s there, she pokes Coralene awake. I cover my mouth and sit back against the pew to avoid her face. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Clay’s tryna show me somethin’ else, but I just stop him with my hand and shake my head without lookin’ at him, tryna get rid a the damn giggles. I don’t want my mother to decide he’s a bad influence.

  Unfortunately, once I get the giggles, gettin’ rid of ’em is a real challenge. I stare at the floor and try to focus on the sermon for a few minutes.

  “I bet some a y’all were tempted by the devil just last night,” Reverend Henry says. “The devil loves Saturday nights! The devil wants you to get in all kiiiiiiiinda trouble with him, don’t he? He wants you to go out drinkin’ and chasin’ loose women with him when he knows you got a wife and four kids to raise. Ladies, the devil wants you to wear your tightest dress and strut all around town with him while your husband works the night shift.”

  I’m still lookin’ down at the scuffed-up hardwood floor when Clay slides another drawing into my view. This one is the devil with a sad face, a teardrop in his eye, and a bubble that says, Please come and make trouble with me. I’m very lonely. This time I lose it. A legit loud laugh erupts outta
me. I cover my face completely so I don’t see the scowls, but mostly so I don’t see Mama, who is surely ready to strangle me right now. I start coughin’ up a storm as a distraction, and that gets the twins laughin’.

  “Stop it,” my mother scolds. And then every child in the church starts laughin’ all at once. At first I think it’s funny, but then I realize it’s all of ’em. It’s like a mass hysteria of giggles for every person under the age of—I glance around to see.

  Looks like everybody sixteen and under. Reverend Henry’s given up on sermonizing and just stares out at us in confusion. Parents reprimand kids and drag ’em outta there, but nothing seems to make the laughter stop.

  “Holy shit,” Clay whispers. He’s not laughin’. He’s seventeen and too old to catch the virus.

  My mother jabs me in the shoulder. “Evvie??”

  I turn to her, alert, and just as suddenly as it began, the laughing stops. People chatter, tryna figure out what just happened. Reverend Henry God-blesses the children and says that they’re here to teach us about joy.

  Mama looks at me mournfully. Without speaking, she tells me, You cannot do things like that.

  I know she’s right, but I honestly didn’t mean to, and I tell her so with the jube voice only we can hear.

  It was an accident.

  12 Bold

  “I’M JUST TELLIN’ IT LIKE it is. I have yet to see any real differences,” Uncle George says, and he shoves some more corn bread in his mouth, makin’ a damn mess.

  “Things don’t happen right away. You know that. Supreme Court said segregatin’ any kinda transportation is unconstitutional, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “Yeah. In February. Here it is July, and if you get on a crowded bus, you know who will always get the seats while the rest of us stand.”

  Mama shakes her head, swallowing her bite of collard greens. “Things are changin’, George. Accept it. Told ya things would improve once Kennedy got in office.”

  “Kennedy didn’t have nothin’ to do with that! Need I remind you how long it took him to send troops to Birmingham last summer? Them kids coulda all got blown up. He didn’t care till papers in other countries started callin’ us ‘the land of the free’ in quotations.”

  “That’s just cuz he thought the governor—”

  “Yeah and if he believed that bootlicker was gonna step in against some rabid crackers, I’m Queen Elizabeth the First. Kennedy. Please! He don’t even know how to keep white folks safe; how he sposeta be worryin’ ’bout coloreds? Soviets is in cahoots with Cuba. If he tries somethin’ else dumb as the Bay a Pigs, y’all kids gonna wind up speakin’ Russian and salutin’ Khrushchev. Course we might all just get blown off the face a the earth.” Uncle George laughs bitterly.

  Mama sighs. Though her words have been focused on Uncle George and the progress of civilization (and its possible decimation), her eyes keep shifting over to me. And Clay. And me and Clay. Like she tryna catch us misbehavin’ at the daggone dinner table. I try to keep my cool, but she can be so nosy!

  “Mama? Doralene’s chewin’ wif her mouf open again,” Coralene tattles.

  “No I ain’t,” Doralene protests, spitting half-chewed pieces of ham all over the table.

  “Y’all better act right while we got comp’ny here,” Mama says, using her stern voice. Coralene whimpers a little, since she didn’t get the response she was after, and Doralene grins at her, grease all over her mouth. These kids are just too disgusting for me. I know I never acted like that when I was their age. I hated kids that acted like that when I was their age.

  “Don’t make no never mind what Kennedy say he gonna do for colored people if he don’t do it. How many of us we know still can’t vote? We are among the fortunate, Indigo, and don’t forget how they treat us when we show up at the polls,” Uncle George says, ending his tirade. This causes the table to go quiet for a second. Mama stares out the window, saddened. The threat of nuclear war is too big for us to comprehend, but being forever locked outta democracy? Shoot, we feel that every day.

  Mama gets up to make some more iced tea. We don’t need no more iced tea, but she has to keep her hands busy when she gets upset. I wish Uncle George hadn’t come over today.

  Then Clay does something that shocks me. I’m just sittin’ here, mindin’ my business, when I feel his warm hand on my thigh. With Mama and them not two feet away! He got more nerve than a nun in a cathouse!

  “What about… the Voter Education Project?” he asks. This is the first thing Clay has said since we sat down to Sunday dinner other than “thank you, Ma’am” and “please pass the sweet potatas.” Uncle George smirks.

  It could be considered a minor miracle that Clayton’s over here at all. Mama’s not too keen on guests, Uncle George bein’ the exception cuz sometimes he helps us with bills. She also wasn’t too thrilled about me seein’ the same boy so much. She likes the Alexanders, though. Alexanders have done well for themselves in this community the past few generations, she’s said.

  Tryna get in good with her was all Clay’s idea. That’s why he came with us to church today like a good li’l lamb of God, and why he’s joinin’ us for Sunday dinner, and that’s a treat; it’s the one meal of the week that really matters to Mama. Most days we just have “catch what ya can” suppers, and in lean times PB&J, but Sunday is the day she goes all out. And here I am sittin’ with the most beautiful, sexy boy I’ve ever seen in my life with his hand on my thigh, and he’s pissin’ off mean ol’ Uncle George. Today is a good day.

  “Yeah. I’d like to see you go down to the courthouse and remind them ’bout the VEP. Boy, they’d bash your head in,” Uncle George scoffs.

  “Be worth it,” he says. Then he looks at the twins. One of Doralene’s plaits has come undone, and Coralene’s fixing it for her. It’s a sweet image if you can ignore all the food and shit she’s gettin’ in her hair. “If it means they might be able to vote when they old enough without bein’ disrespected or punished for it,” Clay finishes.

  Mama brings the iced tea back to the table.

  “Enough a this kinda talk. It’s a Sunday. God don’t like ugly, and neither do I,” she says. But when she thinks I don’t notice, I see the tiniest smile pass her lips, and it’s meant for Clay, even if she ain’t lookin’ at him.

  Clay helps me clear the table as Mama and Uncle George get into it again. This time it’s about baseball.

  “Clay? Wanna see the pitchers I colored?” Coralene asks.

  “Yeah, sure. Let me just help Evvie first.”

  “Clay Clay Clay! Can I show you the pitchers I drawed?”

  “I just said I would after I’m done helpin’—”

  “You said that to Coralene,” Doralene growls. I grab a plate from him, and he looks at both of them again like maybe they’re tryna trick him.

  “You can go with them. I got it,” I tell him.

  “Nope,” he says as he fills the sink. I watch in wonderment as he begins to wash dishes like he’s done this every day of his life.

  “You wanna dry?” he asks me, and I nod in a daze.

  Mama comes back into the kitchen, slippin’ into her apron, but she freezes. Her and me both just starin’ at Clay. That’s when it hits me: neither one of us has ever seen a man washin’ dishes before. The first time you see such a thing is a marvel to behold.

  And it don’t end with dishes, neither. Uncle George complains about our ’56 RCA set, cuz the Yankees are playin’ and he wants to watch Mantle, and he can’t hardly get no reception. Nobody asked him to do a thing, but Clay just walks on over to the TV, looks at the knobs, then pushes it out from the wall and slides around in back of it. “Boy, if you don’t know whatchu doin’ back there,” Uncle George starts to say, but before he can finish the thought, Clay’s got the picture coming in like it was a new set straight outta the Sears Wish Book. Mama looks at him like he just landed a spaceship.

  “How you know how to do that?” Mama asks.

  Clay shrugs. “You just gotta pl
ay around with electronics a li’l bit.”

  “Well. Thank you, Clayton. I gotta tell ya: picture looks better right now than when we first brought it home.”

  Clay smiles shyly. Uncle George kinda shakes his head like he can’t believe what he just witnessed, and Mama don’t say a thing when Clay thanks her for the meal and I walk right out the door with him.

  “You just charmed the shit outta her!”

  He laughs. I got my arm through his, and we just walk. I don’t know where we’re goin’, and I don’t care.

  “Never thought I’d see the day when my mother would be so charmed by a young man, but I knew if anybody on the green earth could do it, it’d be you,” I tell him. He gives my arm a squeeze.

  “Girl, you better quit flatterin’ me. You know I already got a pretty high opinion a myself.”

  “Guess you just gonna have to live with your big fat ego,” I say, and kiss his cheek. He offers the other one to me, and when I lean in to kiss it, he quickly turns his head and catches me with his mouth. Ain’t that somethin’? Crazy as I am about him, the fool still thinks he needs to trick me into kissin’ him proper. I could eat him alive.

  “Wanna go drivin’?” I ask him, knowing what I’m really asking. Can I be alone with you and eat you alive?

  He makes a face like he just got bit by a mosquito.

  “Wish I could, but I got work in the mornin’. Told Pop I’d open the shop. Five a.m.”

  “Five a.m.? What kinda lunatics need their cars worked on that damn early?”

  He chuckles and kisses my nose. “The dumbasses of the world.”

  We walk downtown just talkin’, and it’s nice. Even doin’ nothin’ at all is nice with him.

  We’re passin’ Brickney’s Music World when Clay stops us. He stares in the window with somethin’ like longing.