A Drop of Patience

by William Melvin Kelley

  Ludlow did not realize he was thinking at all about marrying Etta-Sue or anything close to it until one night, talking to Hardie during a break, he surprised even himself by blurting, “What you think being married is like?”

  Hardie was close to shouting. “Are you listening to yourself?” He took a swallow, finishing his drink and called immediately for another. “Don’t never mention that word when I’m around. It scares me.” He waited until his drink came before he went on. “You really thinking about hanging yourself?”

  Ludlow shrugged. He did not know why he had brought up the matter and wished he had not done so. “Well, I just wondering.”

  “When you just wondering, you is already gone and can’t be drug back, even in chains.” He stopped. “Who? Snow White?” After the first meeting, Hardie had called Etta-Sue nothing else; at times this annoyed Ludlow.

  Ludlow nodded.

  “Little miss daytime worker got you to see the light, huh?” Ludlow was not sure he liked Hardie’s way of teasing him. It must have registered on his face because suddenly Hardie was quite serious. “Getting married all right, man, but you got to know the girl’s with you. Understand me?”

  Ludlow was not sure he loved Etta-Sue because he was not sure he knew what love was. He did know that in the last two months, making love to her, talking to her, sitting with her in the kitchen, he had felt less empty than ever before. He thought vaguely that the emotions he was now experiencing must be like those he had once felt for his family, for his mother, although any real, lasting memory of those emotions had long since been driven out of him. He had ceased to think of Etta-Sue as just another girl to whom he made love, but as something else, though he was not at all sure what.

  “Do you understand me?” Hardie asked again.

  “I understand. I mean, I like to be with her. You been seeing me run out of here soon as I can. I’m getting home to be with her.”

  Hardie was silent for a moment. Behind him, the bartender talked to a numbers man who was having a hard time keeping the police out of his life. Finally: “That ain’t exactly what I’m talking about.” He hesitated. “I mean, do she like what you doing? The daytime workers, they different. You, me, all the whores, Rodney even, we all nighttime workers. The daytime workers don’t mind coming here once in a while, but pretty soon they start yawning and go on home. I mean, you blind and I ain’t, but I don’t get to see the sun any much more than you do. But that’s the way I like it. And you do too.”

  “So?” Hardie was making him uncomfortable; he had wondered about these things himself.

  “So—make sure she likes you working at night, and at Boone’s, not just don’t mind it—even that ain’t enough—but that she really wants you to do it.” He paused, then chuckled. “But whatever you do, man, good luck.” He gripped Ludlow’s elbow, but only for an instant.

  Ludlow did not answer; in his head he was listening again to Hardie’s advice. Somehow he would have to find out how Etta-Sue felt about this. He would have to do it without her realizing, because he was wise enough about women to know that once he had mentioned marriage to her, it could lead only to the actual marriage or to a breakup. All this was too good to lose by not being careful.

  She was waiting in his room, asleep in his bed when he got home. Her breathing stood out clearly above the slight traffic running below the window. She did not wake up until he had undressed and climbed beside her.

  She put her arms around his neck. “Hello.” She was on her back.

  “How long you been up here?” He rested his head on her shoulder, put his hand on her stomach, over her navel.

  “Since three. When I was sure Mama was asleep.” She turned onto her side and pulled herself in close to him. “How was you tonight?”

  “Okay.” He had not been thinking too much about music lately, but he was good enough so that no one seemed to complain.

  “I missed you.” She held him tighter and kissed him.

  His mind was not on the kiss; he was still thinking about what Hardie had said, but even so he could feel himself beginning to want her. They had not made love since the night before.

  “Etta-Sue, how come you ain’t been to hear me play lately?” It was a clumsy beginning but vague enough for him to get away with it.

  “You know how Mama is. She still don’t like me going there, even with you looking after me.” She pushed her knee gently between his legs. Her legs were warm, a bit sweaty.

  “I was thinking maybe you didn’t like Boone’s. I mean, you a nice girl and maybe you don’t like being in there with all them whores and con men.” He tried not to let his body tense and give him away.

  “Well…Boone’s a real low-class place, but you won’t be there long. You’ll be starting your own band soon.” This did not help him. He had told her of Rodney’s hold on him, had shared with her his dream of starting a group of his own. “There anything wrong?”

  He had decided to try another approach and her question gave him an opening. “I don’t know for sure, but I’m thinking about quitting music.”

  “Oh, Ludlow, no.” She seemed really surprised and, more important, unhappy.

  “Like you say, Boone’s a real low-class joint and it ain’t a nice thing looking forward to playing in joints.” For effect, he turned away from her.

  She pursued him, pulled him back. “You can’t do that!” She was sitting up, her voice coming down at him. “You don’t even want to. I know you. All you got to do is just wait a year and then you’ll start your own band, and a really good place, maybe even a white place’ll hire you and then it’ll be good. All you got to do is wait a year, one little year!”

  Listening to her, he felt himself filling with real happiness. She did like his work and wanted him to continue doing it. He was glad he had talked to Hardie, because now he was certain. He turned back to her, held her tightly and kissed her, running his hand over her back, down to her buttocks. After a while, he rolled her onto her back.

  They were married two Saturdays later. Hardie was his best man. Missus Scott did not object and, in fact, did not seem at all surprised.

  6

  HE HAD been married five months. From time to time he felt bound by it—as on those occasions when Hardie introduced him to his current girl (they changed almost daily) and Ludlow got the scent of a new perfume or powder or just plain woman, or when, moving through the crowd at Boone’s, a soft breast brushed against his arm. But most of the time he was enchanted with having one girl, and felt free of the tensions of having to pursue many different ones. All in all, he liked being married.

  Things between him and Etta-Sue were even better now, for they no longer had to sneak or pretend. Missus Scott gave them a new double bed and another room on the third floor, which Etta-Sue fixed as a nice living room where they entertained their few friends, usually Hardie and whatever girl he might be cultivating.

  They ate meals with Missus Scott and now both women pampered him.

  “You want more meat, honey?” Etta-Sue put several spoonfuls of stew onto his plate before he could say he was no longer hungry.

  “Maybe he want some more rice too.” Missus Scott was on his left, Etta-Sue across from him.

  “No thanks, Missus Scott. I’m full.”

  “You supposed to call me Mama, remember? Nonsense, boy, you need more food than you been eating.”

  “Let me cut your meat, honey.”

  He was about to say it would not be necessary, but Etta-Sue had already snatched away his knife and fork.

  He crammed down the helping, and before they could offer more, stood up. “I got to go to work.” He started toward the door.

  Etta-Sue followed, speaking back into the kitchen. “I’ll be down in a minute, Mama.” There was a sly smile in her voice. “Now, I got to say good-bye to my husband.” She came to his side, took his elbow and guided
him down the hall. “Here the steps.”

  “I know that, Etta-Sue.”

  “Of course you do.” She continued to guide him.

  On the third floor they entered their bedroom. “Hey, Etta-Sue, why don’t you come by tonight? We got a new drummer, pretty good. Not that same heavy-handed old man.”

  She had released him at the door. He had gone to the bed, where now he sat running his fingers over his instrument. The night before a key had begun to stick and he had been attempting to repair it himself. He still might have to take it to the repair shop. “What you say?” She had not answered.

  She came from the doorsill to the bed, sat beside him, put her arm around him, and kissed his forehead. “I really tired, honey.” All at once, she sounded it. “But I hope it really good for you.” She kissed his cheek. “I be waiting for you.”

  He was disappointed. He had very much wanted her to come tonight. Recently his own playing had improved greatly, probably because things had been going well for him with her. He forced himself to smile, turned to her and kissed her lips hard. He liked the way she kissed. “That’s all right, Etta-Sue.”

  But he had not really responded to what she had last said and a note of unhappiness was in her voice now. “You ain’t mad, is you?”

  “Naw. I know you work hard.” He sighed and got up. “Well, got to get over there.” He went to the closet for his coat, returned to the bed. “You be waiting up for me?”

  This made her happier. “That what I said, honey.”

  He bent to her voice, found her mouth with his lips. “You be all set to go—hear?”

  “Oh, Ludlow.” She was embarrassed. He wondered why she was sometimes more embarrassed now than she had been before they were married. He remembered how she had joked that day about losing her underpants.

  He told her good-bye and went downstairs. Missus Scott was waiting for him near the front door. “I see some clouds up there, boy. You best carry your coat.”

  “I just has to get wet then, ma’am. Ain’t got no time now.” He opened the door quickly and was in the street.

  It was a weeknight, but it was spring too and people had come out onto their porches to talk and take the breezes from the Gulf of Mexico. He caught snatches of conversation as he passed, tapping his cane rapidly; he was anxious to play tonight.

  Hardie came with a girl, telling Ludlow as they were heading for the stage that he had met her in front of the barbershop. “I just standing out there, watching asses, you know. So here she comes, looking like she trying to beat out six-eight with her butt. So I step up and say, ‘Excuse me, miss, I’m a visiting preacher and I wonder if you can kindly tell me how to get to the Our Lord the Holy Savior Church?’ ”

  “How you planning to explain working here?” Ludlow set his case on the piano and snapped it open.

  “You ain’t let me finish, man. So she looks me over and I’m thinking it a good thing I got on my black suit. Maybe she go for my stuff. But that ain’t the way it is. She looks at me some more and then she snorts, and says, ‘Why you no-good lie-telling fool! Here you standing in front of a God damn barbershop inspecting my cheeks and you asking me to believe you a visiting preacher.’ So I starts thinking I can’t hit a home run every time. But then I look up and she starting to chuckle and then she laughing and then she howling and she don’t stop for ten minutes, all the time saying, ‘A visiting preacher! He say he a visiting preacher!’ Finally she stops and looks at me kinda serious, like she planning to rub my ass raw cursing at me. ‘Come on now,’ she say, ‘what you really do?’ I say I’m a musician. And she changes again. I mean, she look like I told her I was the President and she’d believed me. I mean, she was impressed out her clothes—or leastways I hope so.”

  Ludlow played a few warm-up notes. “So it come out all right.”

  “No, man! You ain’t got the point. Sure it come out right, but she the first girl I ever met in my entire life who was impressed with the truth!” He paused. “She went for the God damn truth, man!”

  After the set, Ludlow joined Hardie and the girl at a table. Her voice was shrill and hard to endure, but Ludlow liked her immediately. “So this the visiting preacher’s friend, huh? You a altar boy?”

  “That right, baby.” He was smiling. “I give the sacraments.”

  “But only to his wife,” Hardie added.

  “He married, Hardie? You married, Ludlow?”

  “Five months, about.” He was surprised at the pride in his voice.

  “You don’t look old enough to be quite weaned yet.” She was astonished.

  “I ain’t.” He puckered his lips.

  Hardie roared immediately, getting the joke, and in a moment so did the girl. Then she stopped. “You weaned yet, Hardie?”

  “Not on your life—even if I ain’t drunk milk in years.”

  They all laughed. Ludlow laughed until his temples ached.

  At the end of the evening they stood outside Boone’s and said their good-byes. If he knew Hardie, Ludlow would never meet the girl again.

  “You going the other way, right?” Ludlow was always a bit sad when Boone’s closed.

  “Yeah.” Hardie patted Ludlow’s arm, then turned toward the girl. “We going to your place, right, baby?”

  “We going.” Liquor and loud talking had made her hoarse. “But first I want some breakfast, some ham and eggs and grits.”

  “Awh, baby, let’s go home.” There was a whine in Hardie’s voice. Ludlow smiled.

  The girl stomped her heels, her voice angry. “Take it easy, man. I’m planning to give up some. But we got all day for that. Right now I’m hungry.”

  Hardie laughed. “Okay, baby, you the boss. Lead on.” He poked Ludlow in the ribs. They started away, the girl’s heels cracking unevenly on the pavement, echoing against the faces of the buildings. Ludlow smiled, enjoying the racket and the good, deep tingle it gave him. He shook his head, remembering the old days when he would have been following that sound. He started home.

  The memories of a good evening of playing and talking were still with him when he arrived home, crept up the stairs, and opened the door to their room.

  “Ludlow?” Etta-Sue did not speak as if she had been sleeping; there was no fuzziness in her voice.

  “You been up all night?”

  She hesitated. “Yes. You could tell from my voice?”

  “Sure.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers over her face, pausing at her eyes, which seemed to be squinting, then down to her breasts, a bit cold, and over her warm stomach. She was wearing a cotton nightgown. She should have been naked. “Even with this thing on, you feel good. Let me get myself in there with you.”

  She was silent while he undressed and got into bed. He slid a strap off her shoulder and ran his palm lightly across the nipple of her breast. “How you been, Etta-Sue?” He put his arms around her and found her as rigid, as tense as she had been that first time. “What’s the matter?” He was hurt that she was not responding.

  “Ludlow, you happy?” She was quite troubled.

  He was bewildered now. “Sure, Etta-Sue.”

  “Ludlow, I’m making a baby.”

  He hoped the lights were out. He did not know what look had crossed his face, but whatever, he wanted it hidden. He realized he had to say something, anything. “No fooling?”

  “No fooling. I ain’t had—well, you know. I remembered because last time was the weekend of Mama’s church supper. And now it almost ten weeks from then. That why I didn’t want to come tonight. I got dizzy coming up the stairs.” This had come out in a stream, with few breaths taken.

  He still worried about the light. He had to find out if the room was dark. He reached up and touched her eyes. “The light in your eyes, Etta-Sue?” Any answer at all would do.

  “No, it out. You happy about it?”

/>   She was asking about the baby. “Yeah. Hey, that great news.” He said this not because he believed it, or even did not believe it, but because he knew it was the only thing to say. He did not yet know what he believed.

  She hugged him. “I’m so glad you feel that way. I really want a baby.”

  He pushed his face into the pillow so that if light was coming from the street, or if day was breaking, she would not be able to see his expression. Anxiously he chased after his feelings. He was going to be a father, but he had never been within twenty feet of a baby. Some nights, while still in the Home, from the other side of the building, the crying of babies would carry to him. He would lie in his bed, surrounded by the deep breathing of the other boys, wondering what babies were like. He knew they grew up to be men and women, but not how much like men and women they already were. For Ludlow, a baby had never been more than a noise no less than twenty feet away. “When it happening? I mean—”

  “I guess in seven months if I really am. I mean, I still might not be.” For an instant he felt relieved, but tried to keep his body the same as it had been a moment before. She had not stopped talking. “But I pretty sure I am. I can feel the change.” He realized then that he did not want her to have a baby. But having no reason to dislike babies, he wondered why he did not want her to have one.

  “You sure you happy about it?” She seemed to doubt him.

  He could have told the truth, could have said he was not sure, but it would not have helped anyone. She would be having a baby no matter how he felt. “Sure, Etta-Sue. That real great.” He tried to sound enthusiastic, and he succeeded.

  7

  THE SEVEN MONTHS passed quickly. And now things were quite different. The two women paid little attention to him. Missus Scott fluttered and clucked only for Etta-Sue, and as her stomach grew large, Etta-Sue began paying more attention to it than to Ludlow, so much so that he began to think of her stomach and himself as rivals. He remained bewildered by the entire situation and was occasionally resentful. He felt himself a complete outsider to the excitement. Because Boone’s was more his world now than anyplace else, he began to spend a great deal more time there, even some long afternoons, when, alone in the empty bar, he would pick out tunes on the piano or practice his own instrument.