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Authors: Ernest Hill

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BOOK: It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining

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Chapter Sixteen

T
he Catfish Cabin was a beautiful little restaurant located just outside of the city limits. And when I got there Danielle had already selected a table and I was happy to see that it was near the back in a section of the room that afforded us privacy. I made my way to the table and took my seat and I faced the large beautiful aquarium with its beautiful aquatic fish. And between me and the aquarium was Danielle. And she was sitting quietly reading the menu, but when I sat down, she looked up at me and smiled.

“Nice, hunh?” she said.

And when she did I was still looking around, but when I heard her voice, I lowered my eyes and looked at her. And it was quiet in the room, and I felt strange sitting there with her for I could not remember the last time I sat across from a lady, in such an intimate setting and that lady was not Omenita. And never, in my twenty years of life had I sat in such a setting with a white girl. I turned my face from her and looked about. And though no one was looking at me, I knew they could see me, and I knew that they had seen me long before I entered the building and long before I had sat down across from her. They had seen me, of this I was sure. And because I knew this, I could not shake the feeling that I was being watched. And the fact that I felt this way made me uneasy and I had a wild impulse to rise and walk out for I wanted to end this thing and leave this place and go outside where I could breathe.

I nodded, then smiled. I wanted to answer her, but I could not. I was too nervous and because I was nervous my thick tongue would not work. I picked up the menu and began looking through it. And while my eyes were averted I heard her speak to me again.

“Order whatever you like,” she said. “It's on me.”

I lowered the menu and looked at her.

“I can't let you do that,” I said.

I saw her expression change, and I was afraid that I had offended her.

“But I insist,” I heard her say.

“That's not necessary,” I said.

And I saw her eyes on me again.

“But I want to,” she said.

“No,” I said. “I can't let you pay for me. I just can't.”

She looked away, then looked back. I saw her blue eyes become sad. And at that moment, I thought,
my God, she's going to cry.

“You're really hurting my feelings,” she said.

I paused, stunned.

“I don't mean to,” I said.

“I know you don't,” she said. And I could hear her struggling to maintain control of her voice. “I'm just being silly.”

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “I am, but it's just that I really appreciate what you did for me yesterday.”

“But that was nothing,” I said again.

“Well, it meant a lot to me,” she said. “I was in a difficult position and you went out of your way to accommodate me.”

“I guess,” I said.

“No,” she said. “Really. That was so incredibly nice. And I would really like to do something nice for you. After all, one good turn deserves another, right?”

“I guess,” I said again.

She sniffled, then smiled.

“Besides,” she said, “I was thinking, let me do this for you now and when you get to be this big, hotshot lawyer, you can take me out on the town. I mean chartered plane, limousine, fancy restaurant, the whole nine yards. Deal.”

She smiled again and I smiled back.

“Like you said,” I said, “one good turn deserves another.”

“Well that settles that,” she said.

And no sooner had the words passed from her lips than the waiter appeared and I looked up at him, and he was young and white, and in his left hand was a small pad and in his right was a pencil. He looked at Danielle, then at me, then back to Danielle.

“Afternoon, Miss Davenport,” he said.

“Good afternoon, Joe,” she spoke to him.

He looked at me again.

“How are you, sir?”

“Fine,” I said, then averted my eyes.

“How's your mother?” Danielle asked him.

“She's fine,” he said.

“When you see her again please say hello for me.”

“I will,” he said.

There was silence, then he looked at Danielle.

“Ready to order?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said.

She looked at me. I nodded, then she turned back toward the waiter.

“We're ready,” she said.

“Alright,” he said “What will it be?”

“I'll have the catfish,” she said.

I saw him write her order on the little pad, then look up.

“Would you like the fries or hush puppies with that?”

“Hush puppies,” she said.

“Anything to drink?”

“Iced tea,” she said, “if you have it.”

“We have it,” he said. Then he looked at me. “And you, sir?”

“I'll have the same,” I said.

He marked his pad then paused.

“Iced tea as well?”

“No,” I said. “I'll have a Coke.”

“Okay, sir,” he said. “A Coke it is.”

He turned to leave and there was in me this strange feeling that he, too, like all the rest had been evaluating me. And like the others, he was angered and incensed by my presence with her. Yes, she was a girl of this new South, but not him, and not them. I could feel it. I took a quick glance around and I could see them, young and old, male and female, sitting tall and important under the warm, yellow glow of the dim restaurant lights and yet I sensed an uneasiness among them. An uneasiness, not at my presence, for that was a condition to which they had long ago become accustomed. But their uneasiness was with the two of us sitting here together. And because of their uneasiness, I felt uneasy. No, guilty. And I wanted to scream: “We are not together. I have a woman ... a beautiful black woman.” Or did I? I was contemplating that when I heard a voice, soft and sweet, rise above the dull muddle of people talking.

“I spoke to Father,” she said.

I turned my face toward her, and she was looking at me again.

“You did?” I said, somewhat shocked.

“Yes,” she said. “And he was so pleased to hear of your decision.”

“Really!” I said, louder than intended.

“Oh, God, yes,” she said, smiling. “He's so proud of you.”

I smiled, but did not speak, and I did not speak because I thought her words strange for he neither knew me nor I him.

“He would like to talk to you as soon as possible,” she said. “If that's alright with you.”

“It's alright,” I said.

And though I said it, I was not comfortable with the prospect of conversing with the judge. In fact, I would rather not, but under the circumstances I felt obligated.

“Can you meet with him on Sunday?”

“Sunday!” I said. I thought this strange.

“Yes,” she said. “He's out of town until then. But he would love to have you over as soon as he returns.”

“You mean at your house?”

“Yes,” she said. “He's extremely anxious to speak with you. I can't remember when I've seen him so excited.”

I looked at her again, then looked away.

“What time?” I asked.

“Would three be okay?”

“Three is fine,” I said.

“Fantastic,” she said, and when she did I laughed.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I commented.

“Really,” she said. “What?”

“Nothing,” I replied.

“Liar,” she said, then smiled.

“It's just that you say that a lot.”

“What?”

“That word.”

“What word?”

“Fantastic.”

“Really!”

“Really,” I said.

She was quiet.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I shouldn't have laughed.”

“No, it's okay,” she said. “I'll work on that.”

“Why?” I said. “It's you.”

“It makes me sound like a ninny.”

“No,” I said. “It doesn't.”

“Then why did you laugh?”

“I shouldn't have,” I said.

“But you did.”

“I'm just being silly,” I replied.

“If you say so,” she said, “but I must admit, when I look at you I don't see silly.”

I paused and looked at her.

“What do you see?” I asked. She had opened a door and I was curious as to what lay on the other side.

“I don't know,” she said. “Maybe shyness.”

There was silence.

“You are shy, aren't you?”

“No,” I said. “Just quiet.”

“And considerate,” she said.

“I guess,” I said.

“Well, it's very becoming.”

“It's just me,” I said.

“And modest.”

“I'm not trying to be,” I said.

“And polite.”

“Stop it,” I said. “Please.”

She smiled. “And charming.”

I looked at her, but I did not speak.

“Quiet, charming, polite. Yes, you're going to make a fine attorney.”

“Well, I don't know about all that,” I said.

“Well, I do,” she said. “Trust me. I do.”

“Good that somebody knows,” I mumbled, “because I'm definitely having some serious doubts.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Difficult not to.”

“I don't understand what you mean,” she said.

“A boy like me,” I said. “From a place like this.”

“And?” she said.

“And!” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “What's your point?”

“Well, do you know any other attorneys like me?” I asked.

“As a matter of fact I do,” she said.

“Who?” I asked, stunned.

“Well, not exactly like you,” she said. “But Maurice, I come from a long line of lawyers. And over the years, I have learned that there's something about the good ones. They have âit.' Now, I'm not exactly sure what âit' is. But, whatever it is, you have it ... I mean it,” she said. “You have a presence about you that is simply uncanny. I noticed it the first time we met.”

“Really?” I said.

“Yes, really! I mean it. You're going to make a fine attorney.”

“I don't know,” I said. “But, thanks for saying so.”

“I'm serious,” she said. “You'll do fine.”

“I suppose,” I said.

“You'll feel better after you speak to Father,” she said.

I paused and looked at her.

“Why is Judge Davenport so anxious to help me?” I asked.

“Why?” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “Why?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” I said. “I am.”

“Maurice, you're practically family.”

“Family,” I said. I looked at her strangely. “How you figure?”

“Maurice!” She called my name again.

“What?” I said, dumfounded.

“Are you serious?” she asked again.

“Yes,” I said. “I'm serious.”

“We share the same mother, silly.”

“What!” I said, then chuckled.

“That's right,” she said. “My brotha.” And she emphasized the word
brotha
. And when she did I laughed. I didn't mean to, but when she said that I could not help but laugh. I brought my hands to my eyes.

“Really,” she said. “All jokes aside. I admire Mother Audrey so much.”

“Admire,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Does that surprise you?”

BOOK: It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining

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