Part 6 (1/2)

”No interviews,” she mumbled almost incoherently. ”You got to go away. My brothers say I should write my own book. But I ain't a writer. I'm sorry.”

I tried to speak, but she cut me off. ”I can't talk to you no more. Only thing to do is convince the men.” She gave me three phone numbers: her father; her oldest brother, Lawrence; and her brother David Jr.'s pager. ”Everybody call him Sonny,” she told me, then hung up. I wouldn't hear her voice again for nearly a year.

I started calling Deborah, her brothers, and her father daily, but they didn't answer. Finally, after several days of leaving messages, someone answered at Day's house: a young boy who didn't say h.e.l.lo, just breathed into the receiver, hip-hop thumping in the background.

When I asked for David, the boy said, ”Yeah,” and threw the phone down.

”Go get Pop!” he yelled, followed by a long pause. ”It's important. Get Pop!”

No response.

”Lady's on the phone,” he yelled, ”come on ...”

The first boy breathed into the receiver again as a second boy picked up an extension and said h.e.l.lo.

”Hi,” I said. ”Can I talk to David?”

”Who this?” he asked.

”Rebecca,” I said.

He moved the phone away from his mouth and yelled, ”Get Pop, lady's on the phone about his wife cells.”

Years later I'd understand how a young boy could know why I was calling just from the sound of my voice: the only time white people called Day was when they wanted something having to do with HeLa cells. But at the time I was confused-I figured I must have heard wrong.

A woman picked up a receiver saying, ”h.e.l.lo, may I help you?” She was sharp, curt, like I do not have time for this.

I told her I was hoping to talk to David, and she asked who was calling. Rebecca, I said, afraid she'd hang up if I said anything more.

”Just a moment.” She sighed and lowered the phone. ”Go take this to Day,” she told a child. ”Tell him he got a long-distance call, somebody named Rebecca calling about his wife cells.”

The child grabbed the phone, pressed it to his ear, and ran for Day. Then there was a long silence.

”Pop, get up,” the kid whispered. ”There's somebody about your wife.”

”Whu ...”

”Get up, there's somebody about your wife cells.”

”Whu? Where?”

”Wife cells, on the phone ... get up.”

”Where her cells?”

”Here,” the boy said, handing Day the phone.