Catfish Alley (36 page)

I feel like if I could just find out a little more
about what happened, I might be able to stop thinking about it. My visit with
Purvis's son was worthless. Either that man is hiding something or he ain't got
no idea that his daddy took lynching photographs. Looks to me like he just shut
Purvis's old studio down and left it to sit for forty years. And now, he's
trying to sell it. I sit and run the engine, listening to the radio for a weather
report.

I must be thickheaded this morning because I just now
notice there's a silver Cadillac parked in front of the office door. What is
somebody doing here at this hour? It can't be any later than seven o'clock. I
switch off my engine, get slowly out of my truck, and walk over to the car. A
young black girl who looks to be in her twenties is sleeping behind the wheel
of the car. Got her head slumped over on the steering wheel looking like she's
dead. In the backseat there's an old white woman pouring something steaming hot
from a thermos into a china teacup. The old woman has a big fancy napkin spread
across her knees. She's got gloves on and her hands are shaking so bad it's a
wonder whatever she's pouring ain't got all over her.

I tap on the driver's-side window, trying to rouse the
girl. She jerks her head up, lets out a yelp; the old woman jumps, spills the
hot drink in her lap and screams like a bobcat. The car door almost hits me in
the nuts as the girl jumps out, opens up the back car door and starts mopping
up the mess, apologizing all over the place to the woman she keeps calling Miss
Purvis.

"Miss Purvis, are you all right? Did that hot tea
burn you?" The girl fusses and dabs at the old woman's dress.

Miss Purvis pushes the girl's hands away; she's
stronger than I thought she would be. "Stop fussing over me, Ava!"
she says in a gravelly voice. "I'm fine. Now take this cup and thermos and
get back in the car!"

I move to stand at the front of the car and let these
two women sort out the situation, wondering what in hell they're doing parked
in my lot drinking tea at seven o'clock in the morning. The white woman turns
and stares at me through big round Coke-bottle glasses. She has hair the color
of weathered fence pickets that's fixed in a ball on the back of her head, and
as she turns in the seat to put her feet on the ground, I notice that one of
her legs is artificial. I automatically move to help her up, but she swats my
hand away like I'm some mosquito about to bite her.

Once again, I back up as she pulls herself to her full
height, which is about the level of my elbow. "Ma'am," I try,
"can I help you?"

She takes a minute to steady herself before she
replies. "No, Mr. Delbert Tanner. I am here to help you."

I have no idea why this woman is here, but this is
surely not the response I expected. I'm fixing to ask her what she means, but
before I can get out a word, she keeps talking.

"My name is Jimalee Purvis. I am the daughter of
the late J. R. Purvis, Sr. I have been made aware that you visited my brother,
J. R. Purvis, Jr., in order to inquire about a photograph that our father might
have taken."

I'm so taken back that my mind goes blank. Then I
realize she's staring at me and is waiting for me to say something. I recover
myself. "Um ... yes ... yes'm. I was just there last week. But your
brother said there weren't any records. Said he couldn't help me."

The Purvis woman grunts in response. "That's
because my brother is a stubborn ox." Miss Purvis states this as if it's a
fact well known to anyone with half a brain. "He chooses to close his eyes
to the darker aspects of our father's photography business. When our father
stopped doing photography in 1960, we simply closed the doors of the studio and
left if untouched. It wasn't until Daddy's death last year that my brother was
willing to consider selling the place." Miss Purvis turns slowly and
reaches inside the car for a cane. "Now, if you don't keep me standing out
here in this damp air all day, I will endeavor to give you the information you
require."

I'm still trying to take all of this in, but out of old
habit, I move again to help her, and once again she stiff-arms me. She taps on
the window with the cane and says to the girl, "Ava, bring my tea and
follow me in here with it."

I decide my best move is to unlock the office door. I
cross the short distance from the car to my office and fumble with my keys,
unlocking the outer door and propping it open for Miss Purvis. I glance around
at the office. It's a mess, as usual. I make a mental note to fire my
secretary. I push papers into piles and clear the only available chair. I have
no idea what this old woman is fixing to tell me, but I feel myself starting to
sweat, even though there's a chill in the air today.

The old Purvis woman is sitting in the chair across
from my desk studying me through those Coke-bottle glasses of hers. She's got
them pushed down on the end of her nose, and it's making me feel like I did
when the schoolteacher caught me cutting up in the back of the room. She done
made that little girl sit out there in the secretary's area and closed the door
to my office like she wants to make sure the girl don't hear us. My mouth has
gone dry and I'm wishing like hell for a cup of strong black coffee right about
now.

"So you're Ray Tanner's son, are you?" she
asks.

"Yes, ma'am, I am."

"And why is it you're nosing around the Purvis
studio trying to find out about a seventy-one-year-old postcard?"

I'm thinking this old woman should have been the lawyer
in the family. I feel like I might as well be sitting under a lightbulb down at
the sheriff's office being questioned. "I found it in some of my daddy's
things and I got curious.
I
...
I didn't
know ...
I didn't know how
my daddy came to be in that picture, so I thought Mr. Purvis might have kept
some kind of records."

"Mr. Tanner, there were some terrible things that
happened in the twenties and thirties around here. Shameful, unspeakable
things. Do you understand that?"

"Yes,
ma'am ...
I mean, no,
ma'am ... I
don't
know what you're talking about, ma'am."

"So your father did not apprise you of his white
supremacist activities?"

I don't know for sure, but I'm thinking she's talking
about the Klan. "If you mean him being in the Klan and all that, no,

ma'am, I never knew about all that. The only reason I
know now is on account of finding that postcard and his ... you know ... the
sheets ... and that hat thing."

"You mean his Klansman robes and hood?"

I shuffle some papers around on my desk, avoiding
looking at her. "Yes, ma'am."

All of a sudden she slams her cane down on the floor so
hard the door rattles. I almost jump out of my chair and I jerk my head up to
look at her.

"Mr. Tanner, are you prepared to hear just what
kind of man your father was?"

She's done scared me so bad with that cane,
I
don't know if
I
'm ready to hear
what she has to say or not, but I don't see no way to get out of it now. This
woman's got me feeling so pussy-whipped I just nod my head and don't say
nothing. Then she starts telling me a story about my daddy
I
wish
I
'd never heard.

December 1931

Jimalee
Purvis

I like to leave my bedroom door open
at night so I can smell the Christmas tree. Daddy cut a cedar from the woods
behind our house this afternoon and Brother and I helped him nail a stand to
it. We brought it in and decorated it tonight, and now the whole house smells
like cedar. I fell asleep dreaming of the green dress with the cut-lace collar
I saw today in the window of Pott's Department Store. Tomorrow I'll beg Mama to
let me have it for the Christmas dance.

I can see the moon
outside my window when Daddy shakes me awake, whispering, "Jimalee,
Jimalee, get up, girl. I need your help."

At first I think
something must be wrong with Mama. She's got another baby coming and this one's
been giving her trouble. "Is it Mama?" I ask, jumping out of bed and
looking for my housecoat.

"No, your mama's
fine. But I need you to help me with some pictures tonight."

"But, Daddy, it's
the middle of the night," I say, trying to understand. "What kind of
pictures are you going to take in the middle of the night?"

"Never mind that,
girl — just put these clothes on and hurry." He hands me what looks like
my brother's pants and a long-sleeved shirt. My brother is usually the one to
help Daddy when he takes photographs out around town. He knows just how to
carry the camera and how to set up the tripod. Daddy has never let me help him
before, so I'm confused.

"Daddy, I don't
understand," I whisper. "Where's J.R. and why do I have to wear his
clothes?"

"Jimalee, stop
asking questions and do as I tell you," he says. "When you're
dressed, come out to the car and help me load the equipment."

I pull on J.R.'s pants
and stuff my nightgown in them, hitching them up with the belt Daddy left on
the bed. I button the shirt quickly and try to roll up the sleeves that hang
below my hands. My thin thirteen-year-old body surely looks like a boy's in
these clothes, but I still don't understand why Daddy is making me do this. I
wonder again where J.R. is. He and Daddy haven't been getting along well for
the past several months, and J.R. has taken to sleeping out in the barn just to
get away from Daddy.

I can see my breath
tonight, it's turned so cold. I'm shivering as I close the back door behind me
and walk toward the barn. As I approach, I can see the words "Purvis
Photography" reflected from the moon shining on the side of Daddy's car.
When I walk into the barn, I glance up at the loft, but I don't see any signs
of J.R. Daddy is in his special room, laying out pieces of camera equipment. He
turns as I walk in, looks me up and down, and grunts. He takes one of his own
coats and a hat off a
hook on the wall and
thrusts them at me.

"Here, put these on
and carry this out and put it in the trunk. I'll be there in a minute."

I slide myself into the
warm jacket, thankful for its weight, and I can't help asking again, "What
are we taking pictures of tonight, Daddy?"

He ignores me and
continues to move quickly around the room, gathering supplies. I carry the
heavy tripod out, slide it into the trunk, and climb into the front seat,
feeling nervous and excited to be the one to help Daddy with his pictures. I've
always had to stay in the cramped little studio over Main Street. I get people
seated just right, touch up the women's hair, try to keep the babies from screaming.
A lot of times I have to help Daddy in his stuffy old darkroom, too. That's not
much fun, but tonight feels like an adventure.

Daddy gets into the car
and still doesn't say a word. We drive fast toward town and turn off just after
we cross the river bridge, flying down the gravel road that ends at the boat
dock. Near as I can tell, we're close to the Davenports' place, Riverview. But
we're not going toward the house. We pull off on what looks like an old hunting
road. In the headlights, I can see the thick woods all around us. We bump over
the deep ruts in the road for a few minutes; then Daddy pulls the car over in a
grassy clearing, turns the headlights off, and looks at me.

"Jimalee, you
listen real good now."

"Yessir," I
say, feeling grown-up and important.

"You keep your
mouth shut and do as I tell you. What I'm fixing to take pictures of ain't
gonna be pretty, but it's part of my job and something I got to do. We are
gonna get in and out of here as quick as we can, but it's important you keep
that hat down over your face and stay quiet. Do you understand me?"

I nod my consent, my
excitement quickly turning to fear of what's about to happen. We get out of the
car and I hold my arms out as Daddy places the heavy tripod across them. While
I'm waiting for Daddy to gather his camera and equipment, I look around. The
light has changed to a pale gray and I realize that it's closer to sunrise than
I thought. The moon is still bright and lights up the road through the woods.
Daddy starts walking fast down the road and I struggle to keep up with him,
shaking from the cold and not knowing what's happening.