Three Days Before the Shooting ... (128 page)

“Yes, Mister Big-mouth, I am,” the little woman screamed, “because I truly believe that he and his friend were sent here to shed some light on all this darkness—Speaking of which, let me ask
you
a simple question….”

“To hell with it,” Barnes said, “stick with your down-home messiahs!”

“All right, I will,” the little woman said, “but you might regret it.

“Gentlemen,” she called, “did either of you ever have the pleasure of meeting Lonnie Barnes’ mother?”

“His mother? Why, no, ma’am,” Hickman said, “I don’t think so—why do you ask?”

“Because if he interrupts me one more time I’ll tell you something about her that you probably didn’t know….”

“Woman, you never met my mother,” Barnes yelled, “so what you gonna tell him?”

“Which is true, gentlemen,” the little woman said with a mischievous smile, “I never met her personally, but I’ve been
told that
she has some cast-iron plumbing and a
bar-rass
washbowl!”

“Washbowl,”
Barnes shouted, “Now all of y’all can see that this woman is out of her cockeyed mind! First she’s raving about babies and diapers, and now it’s
washbow
ls!”

“Yeah, Barnes, my man,” a male voice called, “but this time she threw you one hell of a slow-breaking curve!”

“Curve,” Barnes yelled as the man wheezed with laughter, “what the hell does that mean? Has she driven you nuts with her raving?”

“Don’t tell him, Jerome,” the little woman called to the man who had spoken, “and while it’s traveling through that fat head of his maybe he’ll be quiet and let Doctor Hickman answer my question. And
please
, sir, do it
now!
Because while I’ve been accepting what happened to me as no more than natural, I’m sure a man like you can give me a better understanding of how it all hangs together. I say that because if our good Mother Earth can give birth to all the blossoms and birds that come in the spring without being married, why do
I
have to be? Am I not a genuine, nitty-gritty daughter of black Mother Earth, who’s the mother of us
all—
including that white detective who’s standing there grinning?

“White folks like him are always trying to low-rate us colored women by calling us
earthy
, so why can’t I just be my own earthy self and do what comes naturally? Why can’t I, gentlemen? Why do
I
have to be a victim of this black-and-white mess? Tell me why, gentlemen, tell me WHY!”

Keeping an eye on Barnes’ exasperated face, Hickman gasped. For now with the little woman’s reference to washbowls and plumbing taking on the rhythmic beat of a chant he recognized the word play through which innocent objects were substituted for the crude terms which players of the dozens used when referring to the private parts of their opponents’ mothers. And as memory supplied the rhyme’s missing details he stared at the little woman with mixed feelings of dismay and barely controlled laughter.

Hickman
, he thought,
what is this world coming to? She’s too ladylike to call a spade a spade and yet has the nerve to defy a white policeman and insult this thickheaded bully by signifying about his mother! Woman
, he thought as he wavered between outrage and laughter,
thy name is Confusion!—Yes, but what have I done to deserve having her strike me head-heel-and-thigh with her questions and dreams?

Nevertheless, desperate little Maud was one of his own, and as he scanned the bemused faces of tenants he felt compelled to say whatever he could to console her. Yet even as he surged with compassion his attempt to respond to her urgent appeal was mocked by its blatant, blues-like absurdity. And with her shrill voice grating his ears it was as though she were stretching his sense of reality to the point of breaking, much like a string on which a gyrating kite was threatening to fly free from all earthly restraints. And with the image of a kite soaring in his mind, little Maud, the tenants, and detective all seemed to fade, and he was standing on a sunny hilltop with Wilhite and the marvelous little boy who had once been their charge and constant companion….

It was a holiday in June and they were enjoying a moment of pleasure, during which he and Wilhite were holding the boy’s hands between them while looking high above a deep valley to where, weaving the air above a hill even higher, a handsome blue kite with a long spangled tail was dipping and diving in the bright summer sky. And as he watched the boy
react with delight to the kite’s lazy soaring he scanned the valley and far distant hill for a glimpse of the earthbound pilot who controlled its soaring. And there, outlined against the rocks and sparse grass, he saw a solitary man staring skyward as walking backwards with arms extended he fed the kite string from a spindle so long and curved that it looked like a dowser with which the man was searching for water in an unlikely setting
.

Then as the kite soared ever higher on its lengthening white string, he heard a shout from the valley and looked down to see another man and small boy who were both staring skyward. And as he watched the kite sail high above the hill on which his own little boy was admiring the dream-like effect of its effortless soaring there came a sudden shift in the breeze which sent the kite plunging earthward in a deep-dipping dive. And as it recovered and climbed with a triumphant snap of its long sparkling tail he heard the boy beside him pierce the silence with a scream of delight
.

And now, as they watched the kite flare in the sunlight, little Bliss began jumping up and down as he pointed to the silvery fish emblazed on its translucent skin. And as he smiled and stared upward he recalled the boyhood pleasure of watching the delicate motions of rainbow trout as they nuzzled the currents of clear mountain streams and heard himself saying, “Now there, little Bliss—and you too, Deacon Wilhite—we have an airborne sermon that’s most worthy of our thoughtful attention. Because when it comes to lifting the spirits of earthbound folks like ourselves, who among our fellow fishers-of-men can even
begin
to compete with that silvery soarer?”

“Just give this one time, A.Z.,” he heard as Wilhite pointed to the sky-gazing boy with a wink and a grin, “just give this little one time….”

Then came a sudden flash of bright summer lightning, and the sky and the hill were engulfed by a squall. And with rain veiling the valley and thunder shaking the hills he snatched up the boy in a run for cover—in the course of which, hearing a shout, he stopped and looked back to see a rain-drenched Wilhite pointing to the sky. And seeing the kite dipping and diving in the onrushing storm he pointed the boy’s attention to its tail-lashing agony and was taken himself with a feeling of dread
.

For now, whirling and tossing on its invisible string with its tail whipping the air like a withering water moccasin, the fish-emblazoned kite was battling the wind with bits of its skin flying from the fragile wooden cross that formed its skeleton. And as tatters of flayed skin whirled and took off in the wind there came flashes of lightning and loud claps of thunder, and fierce gusts of wind that sent the kite plunging earthward in a skin-flapping dive. And as he watched its thin wooden arm piece sag in the wind, the emblazoned fish tore free of its background and whirled in the sky like a bird on the wing. And as it circled high above the wrath of the storm he heard the boy beside him give a shrill cheer…
. And with the boy’s cheerful laughter echoing in his ear he snapped back to the present and stared at little Miss Maud through the scene’s fading screen.

She stood as before, still waiting; and as he groped for an answer it was as though the wind-battered kite were struggling to rise and rejoin its free-flying emblem. But even as nebulous fragments of an answer struggled to take form in his mind, the intense expressions of tenants crowded around her increased his
uncertainty that any answer he arrived at might well prove embarrassing, both to her and himself.

And suddenly it was as though he were taking part in a jam session, where with a crowd looking on he was being challenged to give melodic coherence to a progression of dissonant chords for which he was unprepared except for his musical ear and a grasp of tradition. Perhaps because jam sessions were battles of music in which the participants’ skills at revealing old forms in the new and the new forms in the old were rigorously tested. And now, taking courage from his success in such musical encounters, he grasped at the possibility that the answer he sought might well be one that linked the little woman’s frustrations and dreams to his own mixture of worldly and spiritual experience.

For as a jazzman he had become sensitive to such things as subtle timbres of voices, inspired variations on popular dance steps, tricky changes of rhythm and musical phrase, and had learned that spontaneous gestures were often more eloquent than words. And later, as a minister, he had learned to apply such knowledge when dealing with the sick and the dying, young mothers with infants, and spouses whose mates had defaulted; people whose array of problems, he realized with a pang, were inseparable from those that inspired the snarled emotions and motives that had brought him after prolonged resistance to Washington—yes! And into the improbable situation in which he was standing….

[LEGEND]

A
ND WITH THE LITTLE
woman waiting it was though he were being challenged to give voice to an elusive melody which a mocking pianist had deliberately concealed in a wild outpouring of dissonant chords. And yet he suspected that the answer to her anguished appeal would be one in which her frustrations and dreams were linked to his own. But how proceed, when he had so little to guide him? As a jazzman his ear had been sensitized to subtleties of sounds and nuances of rhythms, and watching frolicking couples improvising new steps while dancing had taught him that bodily gestures and facial expressions could be most revealing. But how use such knowledge in this situation? And as he stared at his questioner’s anguished expression, he reminded himself that in spite of its endless diversity, all human life was united by patterns that gave it coherence and unity. Thus as a minister he had applied his jazzman’s knowledge when counseling the sick and the dying, young motherless children, or disconsolate spouses whose mates had defaulted. People whose assortment of sorrows, he recalled with a pang, were akin to the snarl of emotions and motives that had brought him at last to Washington—yes! And into the unlikely predicament in which he now stood….

And suddenly a moth’s erratic circling of little Maud’s head evoked a scene
from a movie in which the petals and leaves of a wind-shattered flower had whirled in slow-motion retrograde and assumed the form of a lovely red rose. And recalling the legend of which the rose was symbolic he gasped at its being evoked by the scene before him. Yet even as little Maud held him fixed in her cross-focusing gaze the rose resurrected in memory was asserting itself against all that opposed it: the times, the tenants, the white detective, and his own reluctance in recognizing its presence in the wild cacophony of little Maud’s dream.

And now with the legendary rose imposing tremulous order on the strident dissonances of the little woman’s appeal, he felt a strong surge of emotion. And as he gazed at the scene he realized that far from having heard the mere retelling of a hysterical dream, he had listened to a dejected form of public confession. And one through which the pathetic little woman had given public voice to her hopes and despair. As a minister he had listened to countless confessions, but now he was so dismayed that he stalled for time by removing his glasses and mopping his brow with his handkerchief.

So, Hickman
, he thought, staring upward,
even if her neighbors were aware of her fantasies, they’re probably embarrassed by her exposing herself with this white man listening. Yes, and for a second even you felt that she was making you and Wilhite a target for mockery. But since she knows nothing about your reason for being here she’s probably appealing to you because she senses that whatever it is that’s upset her is of a nature that binds her secret heart to your own. Or it could be an effect of a woman’s change-of life crisis, but whatever caused it has to be terrible. And considering our helplessness, her appealing to a couple of strangers for comfort is a sad mistake. Even so, she seems to sense that we’re dedicated men of the cloth, so who knows? Maybe she sees deeper and straighter with those focusing eyes than I see through mine with my glasses…
.

“You,” little Sister Maud called from the stairs, “can’t you see that I’m waiting! So why don’t you give me an answer?
Tell
me!”

“Yeah,” Barnes said, “so she’ll stop bending our ears and go back to bed!”

And as the detective glance at Barnes and back to himself he gazed at little Sister Maude and asked himself,
Hickman, what can you tell her with all these Washington Negroes listening and this white man looking on like he’s been caught in a three-ring circus full of sideshow freaks? Tell her that her dream strikes you as the distorted version of a legend of hope? And one she’s made sound like an old sacred song played out of tune on a broken-down organ? Tell her that what happened in her dream is a version of what’s happened to others, and usually with mixed consequences of pleasure and pain? Tell her that she’s been gripped by a dream experienced in the full flowering of its mystery by one blessed woman, and that long ago? Stand before this upset crowd and tell her something she’ll find acceptable concerning a mystery which I’ve had trouble getting across to my own congregation for years…
.

“What are you
waiting for,”
she called. “Here I am, up to my neck in trouble, and all you’re doing is standing there gaping like a catfish struggling for air! So, I’m telling you again: I need an
answer!
My brain needs it, and my
soul
needs it,
and with everything in this house gone so crazy you can forget my brain and just speak to my
soul!
I’m begging you now for an answer because after being ‘buked and scorned, now even this fool Lonnie Barnes is putting me down. So I’m telling you and that other gentleman too, that when a woman gets in my condition something like that makes for pain in her
soul!
What’s more, it makes her feel
evil
! Which brings me to another question: