Little Sacrifices (2 page)

‘Hey, I hear you. You can quit with the bell.’ He didn’t spare me a glance when I opened the screen, but shot into the hall like he lived there. It was only when it dawned on him that he was trapped, surrounded by us Powells, that he had the courtesy to look uncomfortable. He shifted from foot to foot, adjusted his glasses and pulled on his shirt. He introduced himself as Jim Rumer, our new next–door neighbor.

‘I’m not really new of course, you are. I’ve lived my whole life next door. With my Nan, she made the pie by the way. Pecan. Southerners always introduce themselves with a pecan pie. I’m not sure why, I guess it’s like a pineapple. You know, like you see on signs and newel posts. It’s a sign of welcome. Not that anyone’d just hand you a pineapple, and why always a pie I’m not sure either. You could probably do with a chicken or something instead, cooked I mean. What would you do with a raw chicken on your first day in your new house? I reckon you don’t even have a baking dish handy. Do you?’

Ma blinked at him, smiling a little uncertainly. His was the most unprovoked conversation she’d had from a teenager in years. She thanked him, we all did. Duncan, in a particularly warm–hearted gesture, suggested I run along to make friends.

As Jim and I sat in pollen–covered rockers on the porch, my first impression of Southerners was that they were long–winded. He waxed poetic about Savannah and talked like he was personally acquainted with Oglethorpe and the rest of the founding fathers. His fascination with history was evident. Within a minute I’d learned that Camp Stewart, not forty miles from Savannah, had imprisoned German POWs during the war, and that I’d moved to a city where things happened first. The first horserace was run and public school was opened (not in the same place). The Girl Scouts were born there and the first motorized fire department in the country was set up. I nodded encouragement every so often, but it was an unnecessary gesture. There was no stopping him.

‘We have ghosts you know.’ He looked pleased to be the one to tell me.

‘What do you mean, we?’

‘Oh they’re all over, in town, in some of the houses. In fact, I’d say most of the houses are haunted.’

‘When you say most, do you mean, on our street?’

‘No, not
here
. These houses aren’t that old. But on the squares. There’re a lot of ghosts there. And out at the plantations too.’

‘What plantations?’ I thought Sherman took care of those four generations earlier.

‘There’re loads of plantations. Geez, don’t you know anything?’

Sure I did. I knew everything my parents told me about the South. Unfortunately they weren’t views that made for comfortable conversation when the other person was a Southerner. In fact, my parents had quite a few perspectives that were unlikely to make me any friends. That everyone ought to get treated the same, for example, no matter what color they are. No, I didn’t plan to enlighten anyone about their ideas. I stared across the road at a woman stooped in her flowerbeds. I could tell by the tilt of her gardening hat that she was watching us, no doubt speculating on how long we planned to wait before fixing the place up. Our grass grew knee–high, and weeds made the flowers cry uncle in the borders. A coat of paint wouldn’t be unwelcome on the clapboards. The only sounds to reach me were the grasshoppers courting in the bushes.

It took a minute to notice that Jim was asking me something. From the sound of it he was getting tired of asking. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘I asked what brought you down here.’

‘Duncan’s going to teach at Armstrong next week. History.’ It was a little bit of the whole truth anyway.

‘Who’s Duncan?’

‘My father.’

‘You call him by his Christian name? Why?’

Like so many other things, it wasn’t something I thought about. ‘It was one of my first words. Well, Dundun. I guess my parents thought I’d outgrow it and eventually start calling him Dad. But he’s always been Duncan.’

‘Your parents have some weird ideas.’

He didn’t know the half of it.

‘What grade are you starting?’ He asked. Tenth I told him. He said he was going to be a sophomore too, a claim that made me look closely at my one and only potential friend. His face carried the downy patina of childhood and his features were as delicate as a girl’s. Through his Coke–bottle lenses I could just make out blue eyes. His hair stood up in all directions like a hayfield recovering from a good trampling, and if he was any skinnier he’d blow away. Even in such a sun–soaked place he was ridiculously pale. He looked no more than ten years old. It seemed bad–mannered to call someone a liar less than an hour after they introduce themselves, so I smiled and nodded.

‘You’re not Catholic, are you?’ He asked.

What a question. ‘No.’

‘Then what are you?’

What was I? I was a teenager, white like Jim and from what I could see, like everyone else in the neighborhood. I was the new kid. Other than that, I wasn’t so sure. ‘I don’t know.’

Jim wasn’t looking for a philosophical answer. ‘I mean you’re not going to St Vincent’s, are you?’ Embarrassed, I said no. ‘Then we’ll both be Blue Jackets! You’ll love it. Just wait till basketball season. The gym is packed to the beams. I’ve been waiting my whole life to go. To high school I mean, not the gym. Won’t it be great? A whole new start. New school, new teachers, new chance to make friends. Don’t you think so, May?’

Growing up in the Northeastern sticks, I had only the vaguest notion that America continued south of New York City. My peculiar view of geography wasn’t uncommon among yokels like me. My old life seemed a world away and I snapped without meaning to. ‘No I don’t actually,
Jim
. My friends are back home and I’d rather be starting high school with them. I don’t know a soul here.’

He inched uncomfortably close. ‘Yes you do. You know me. I’ll be your first friend in Savannah.’ Looking at him, I knew with the infallible radar teenagers have that Jim Rumer was a misfit. He was a by–the–way boy, living his life quietly at the fringes and only noticed after the fact. ‘By the way, this is Jim.’ I was willing to bet he didn’t have any friends. I felt tears sting my eyes. Who was I to be choosy about the company I kept? ‘Thanks.’

‘Hey, do you want to ride around and I’ll show you the school?’ A bicycle was one of my very few possessions. I said sure, and the awkward moment passed. We spent the afternoon pedaling amiably around my new home town. Adolescent clemency is a thing to wonder at.

I awoke the next morning to my parents’ futile attempt to shout in whispers. After fifteen years my ears were trained to pick out the sibilance of their anger. I crouched on the top stair to eavesdrop.

‘And I’m saying, Duncan, how can a
person
come with the house? That’s ridiculous, it’s not the eighteen hundreds anymore. Besides, you should be ashamed of yourself. You’re perpetuating the same system we’re against.’

‘Oh stop being dramatic, Sarah, I am not. I’m just telling you what the conditions of the sale were. Dora Lee worked for the old lady, and the executor promised he’d make sure she was employed by the new owners. That’s us. What do you want me to tell you? Those were the conditions.’

‘So you bought the woman with the house?’

‘No! I told you– ’

‘That’s just great. Are you going to have her call you master?’

‘It’s nothing like that. I didn’t pay anything extra for her,’ he paused. ‘I mean...’

I started down the stairs to watch Ma finish him off.

‘So she was free? Like the furniture, or the, the little crocheted doilies? Like the old cracked cups in the cabinets? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Morning. What’s going on?’

They gave their opinions at once, glad for an arbiter. Duncan was a real martyr in the name of the cause when he wanted to be. ‘Sarah, think a minute. This isn’t about us, or what we want. It’s about helping someone who needs it, by giving them a job. If we don’t hire Dora Lee, what’ll happen to her? Hmm? What do you think? There aren’t exactly a million jobs in town for maids, you know. She’s got kids. What’ll happen to them? Who knows what kind of person she might end up with, if she finds a job at all.’

Ma stayed quiet as her ideals and her heart debated their positions. ‘I don’t like it. I don’t need a housekeeper.’

‘Come on, we can afford to hire her. Let’s try it out. If you really hate it we’ll think again. What do you say?’ He smiled at Ma and after a time she smiled back. The matter was apparently settled.

Unbelievable. ‘Will someone please explain to me what the point is of having beliefs if you’re just going to bend them any which way when your husband says so?’ Ma looked away, shrinking a little.

‘May, that’s not fair. Your mother certainly has a mind of her own, and we discuss things, to come to agreements.’

‘Oh really, Duncan? So when was the last time you gave in on anything?’

‘That’s enough young lady,’ interrupted Ma. ‘Your father’s right. I won’t be responsible for someone being thrown out on the street. Not now. We can make sure she’s treated right.’

I found it curious that she let me run roughshod over her, but came out swinging when I went after Duncan. It didn’t matter. Arguing was a waste of time when they presented a united front. We were about to become people who had ‘help’.

I was finishing my pancakes when Jim turned up, glasses still on the end of his nose, hand still leaning on the bell. Did I want to take a walk into town with him? Ma and Duncan both urged me to go have fun. What they meant was, I might as well go. No one else was beating down the door to spend time with me.

Sleep did nothing to dampen Jim’s fondness for minutiae. He launched into the town’s local history while we were still in view of the house, sounding like he meant to take a running start at it from two hundred years ago and enlighten me chronologically. I thought about turning back until I remembered my alternative. To be honest, I was developing a middling interest in Jim’s trivia. He seemed to know something about everything. It was one of the unintended rewards of not having a social life to take up his time.

The air was heavy, humid and strong with the smell of green things. There was a pace to the city like a long exhale. No one was inclined to hurry, and even brisk walkers managed to move with a softness in their hips that implied leisure. I kept finding Jim behind me and had to slow down or risk losing my guide altogether. Eventually he steered us into the park that had spoiled Duncan’s plans to find our neighborhood the day before. It rambled off into the level distance and was much leafier than the squares farther north. Palm fronds rustled and clacked in the breeze, giving the place a tropical feel in some parts while live oaks shaded the sidewalks in others. Spanish moss swayed from their branches like old men’s beards.

All of my mother’s hard work raising me to mingle in polite company went out the window as we walked. I’d never seen so many black people, and couldn’t keep from staring at them. Some looked just like us except for their skin. The women wore pretty dresses and hats. They tottered around on high heels with matching handbags. Little girls in pinafores and boys in short pants clasped hands as they strolled along. They weren’t the people, though, who most captured my interest. It was the poor Negroes living at the edge of the society I saw in front of me. They looked sad and worse, they looked cowed, haunted, hunted, and dangerous. Most were men. All sported mismatched rags, dirty dinner jackets with patched dungarees or raggedy trousers tied with cord. Their faces were shiny with sweat. Hairs stood out on my arms and heat crept along the back of my neck. I was plain scared of these people, finding menace in their unfamiliarity.

Snatches of conversation flowed over us, so heavily accented that I couldn’t make heads or tails of what anyone was saying. Southerners chewed on their words, stretching them like bubble gum. Jim, too, had a drawl that put more syllables in his words than we thought prudent up north. I asked him who all the poor people were.

‘Oh they’re just regular folks, come in off the farms mostly. They bring the produce over to City Market.’

‘They’re here all the time?’

‘Uh huh. Why?’

‘Are you, afraid of them?’

‘Of them? Of course not. Why would I be?’

Why should he be? He’d grown up in Savannah. I just wasn’t used to being around them. Nothing to be afraid of. If he wasn’t. Besides, even though there weren’t any Negroes in Williamstown, it wasn’t like I’d never seen anyone with dark skin before. It behooved me to make this point to Jim. ‘We had an Indian fellow over to our house once for Thanksgiving. He was in Duncan’s class, from England. It was too far to travel home for the holiday so we took him in. He was nice.’

‘Why would English people care about Thanksgiving?’

I had no answer. The notion that anyone might be different from me was one I was still getting used to. There was an awful lot to learn so, not realizing that there were topics polite Southerners did not broach, I asked. ‘Jim? What’s it like for them, living here?’

He weighed up my question but found no threat in it. ‘They’re a lot better off here than in other places. We’re known all over as the most tolerant, liberal–minded people in the South. We generally keep to ourselves and let everyone get on with their business. Do you know we don’t even have the Klan in Savannah?’ I didn’t. ‘Um hmm. In fact, there’s never been a lynching. Not many other towns can say the same around here. Though we did come close, it was a long while back. Over ten, maybe fifteen years.’ He looked at me suddenly with something like embarrassment flashing across his face. I gave him a smile that was meant to be encouraging. He went on. ‘Anyway, a Negro got himself accused of shooting a white man. By Southern etiquette, he should’ve been lynched with no questions asked. But our sheriff had him locked up to wait for his trial instead. You see, we believe in the law for everyone, no matter if they’re white or not. Some people didn’t take kindly to our way of thinking though. A bunch of Klansmen from down in Statesboro heard we weren’t keeping our Negroes in line, and came to do the job themselves. Our sheriff waited for them on the jailhouse steps and when they showed up, he shot one man dead in the road. And that was the end of that.’