Part 19 (2/2)

Brady was at Det's house when Jimmy and that long head boy came there Sat.u.r.day night. But the people there was more interested in eating gumbo and drinking beer than they was in what Jimmy had to say. After that other boy had pa.s.sed out a sheet of paper with that girl's picture on it, they left out for Chiney to visit another fair. Fa-Fa youngest boy, Henry, was at the fair. He said the people at the fair listened to what Jimmy and the other boy had to say, and some of them even promised to come to Bayonne that Monday morning, but soon as Jimmy and the boy left the house the people at the fair changed their minds, too.

By the time he came to church Sunday the whole place had heard about it. Just Thomas was against even letting him come in the church, but Elder Banks told him n.o.body would ever be kept out of church long as he came there in peace. When Jimmy got up to talk some of the people went outside. Many of the ones who stayed didn't show interest or respect. I sat there looking at Jimmy, thinking: Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. It's not that they don't love you, Jimmy; it's not that they don't want believe in you; but they don't know what you talking about. You talk of freedom, Jimmy. Freedom here is able to make a little living and have the white folks say you good. Black curtains hang at their windows, Jimmy: black quilts cover their body at night: a black veil cover their eyes, Jimmy; and the buzzing, buzzing, buzzing in their ears keep them from 'ciphering what you got to say. Oh, Jimmy, didn't they ask for you? And didn't He send you, and when they saw you, didn't they want you? They want you, Jimmy, but now you here they don't understand nothing you telling them. You see, Jimmy, they want you to cure the ache, but they want you to do it and don't give them pain. And the worse pain, Jimmy, you can inflict is what you doing now-that's trying to make them see they good as the other man. You see, Jimmy, they been told from the cradle they wasn't-that they wasn't much better than the mule. You keep telling them this over and over, for hundreds and hundreds of years, they start thinking that way. The curtain, Jimmy, the quilt, the veil, the buzzing, buzzing, buzzing-two days, a few hours, to clear all this away, Jimmy, is not enough time. How long will it take? How could I know? He works in mysterious ways; wonders to perform.

But look at me acting high and mighty. Don't the black curtain hang over my window; don't the veil cover my face? And maybe, now, because my arms too weak to push the quilt down the bed I tell myself I'm brave enough to go to Bayonne. But do what in Bayonne when the least little breeze will blow me down?

That night after the Ed Sullivan show I told Mary I was going to bed. Her and Albert was sitting out there on the gallery talking. I told her I was going to bed but I wasn't going to sleep because I wanted to see Brady when he came home. I went to my side and knelt down at the bed to say my prayers. I prayed ever so long. Most of my praying was for Jimmy, for his protection. I asked the Lord to give us enough courage to follow him. Because it was us who wanted him long before he knowed anything about it.

After I got through praying I pulled down the bar and went to bed. Summer and winter I always sleep under my bar. Summer to keep out mosquitoes; winter to help keep out draft. Laying there, I looked at all the old furnitures in the room. The light was off, so I could barely make out the shape of the furniture. I looked at my old rocking chair just setting there. ”You can set there like you don't know what's happening, but tomorrow this time you might be headed away from here.” I thought about Yoko and that looking gla.s.s, and I looked at the gla.s.s on my washstand. ”You too,” I said. ”You ain't so high cla.s.s you can't get packed on a wagon.” I looked at my old sewing machine, my armoire. Looked like they was just as live as y'all is now. After you been round things so many years you get to be like them or they get to be like you. Exactly which way it works I ain't figured it out yet. Probably never will.

I laid there on my side waiting for Brady to show up. Then I heard Albert saying, ”Light just turned down the quarters.” He went to the gate to flag Brady down. A minute later, Brady was knocking on the door. When he came in I could smell he had been drinking. I told him to turn the light on.

”No ma'am,” he said.

”I like to see people when I'm talking to them,” I said.

”Yes'm,” he said.

”Well?”

”No ma'am,” he said.

”You been drinking, ain't you, Brady?” I said.

”Yes ma'am,” he said. ”And Miss Jane, I can't take you there tomorrow.”

”Take me where tomorrow, Brady?” I said.

”I know you promised him, Miss Jane,” he said.

”That's why you went out and got drunk, Brady?”

He didn't answer. I looked at him standing there in the dark.

”Snap that light on, Brady,” I said.

”No ma'am,” he said. And he started crying. ”I can't take you there, Miss Jane.”

”He did many things for you, Brady,” I said. ”Used to write for your mama and daddy all the time, you forget that?”

”I'm scared, Miss Jane,” he said, crying. ”They'll kick me off this place and I know it. I see how Tee Sho and them look at my house every time they go by the gate. They ready to knock it over now-and I'm still in there. Mr. Robert just waiting for a good reason to give it to Tee Sho and them.”

”Brady, Brady, Brady,” I said.

”I'm sorry, Miss Jane,” he said. ”You know how I like doing things for you. Anytime you want go to the doctor-things like that.”

”Brady, Brady, Brady,” I said.

”I know I ain't no man, Miss Jane,” he said.

”Brady, Brady, Brady,” I said.

”I know I ain't,” he said. ”I know it ought to be me, not him. I know all that.”

”Go home, Brady,” I said. ”Go to your wife and children.”

He didn't move, just standing there in the dark, looking down at me.

”Miss Jane?” he said. I didn't answer him. ”Miss Jane?” he said.

”Yes, Brady?” I said.

”I swear to G.o.d, Miss Jane, I'm go'n make it up to you one day. I swear. I swear to G.o.d.”

”You don't have to swear, Brady, I understand.”

He stood there crying now, crying and calling on G.o.d.

”Go home, Brady,” I said.

He went out crying.

Not long after Brady left the house, Lena came up on the gallery. I still hadn't shut my eyes. Laying there thinking who to turn to next. The only other person on the place with a car running was Olivia Antoine. I was wondering if I ought to ask Albert to go up there and ask her to take me. Then I heard Lena asking Mary about me. Mary told her I was in bed.

”I'm not sleep,” I said.

Lena didn't hear me because she knocked on the door and said, ”Jane, you wake in there?”

”Come in, Lena,” I said.

She pushed the door open and I told her to turn the light on. She was a big woman, but not well. Her health had been failing her now four, five years. I watched her pulling the rocking chair closer to the bed. I knowed she had come there to talk about Jimmy. I wondered what I could say to give her courage.

”You talked to Brady, too?” she said.

”Yes.”

”Won't take you either?”

”You going?” I asked.

”I have to go,” she said. ”I don't want go; I don't want see them kill him in front of me, but I have to go.”

”Nothing's go'n happen, Lena,” I said.

”They go'n kill him,” she said. ”I held him to my breast longer than his mon ever done, and I know when something go'n happen.”

She was holding her hand and looking down at the floor like she was praying.

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