A Lesson Before Dying (5 page)

“My pleasure, Professor,” he said.

He put on his hat, and I noticed his eyes. He knew why Henri Pichot wanted me up there, all right. But Henri Pichot had not thought it was necessary to tell him. At his age, he was still only a messenger to run errands. To learn anything, he had to attain it by stealth or through an innate sense of things around him. He nodded to me, knowing that I knew he knew why Henri Pichot wanted to see me, and he walked away, head down.

6

INEZ WAS IN THE KITCHEN
when I came up the back stairs, and she opened the door before I had a chance to knock. I could tell she had been crying. She had wiped the tears from her cheeks, but I could see the marks under her eyes.

“How are you, Inez?”

“I'm making out,” she said, not looking at me.

“You know why he sent for me?”

“Mr. Sam coming here at five.”

I glanced at my watch. It was ten minutes to five.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Inez asked.

“No, thanks.”

“You want to sit down?” She still did not look at me.

“I'm all right; I don't mind standing.” I remembered how my aunt and Miss Emma had stood the night before.

“I don't know,” Inez said, shaking her head. “I just don't know. Now Mr. Louis in there trying to get a bet.”

“A bet on what?”

She looked at me directly for the first time. She had large eyes, brown and kind. I could see traces of tears that she had tried wiping away.

“You can't get him ready to die.”

“Henri Pichot didn't take that bet, did he?”

“I left them in there talking. Mr. Louis say he got a whole case of whiskey he can bet on.”

“Henri Pichot?”

“He ain't betting 'gainst you. He ain't betting on you neither.”

“Smart man.”

Inez looked at me sadly. I didn't know if it was because of my cynicism or the task I had facing me. She went back to the stove. With a dish towel she lifted the lid of one of the pots, and I could smell a strong scent of onion, bell pepper, and garlic. She raised the lids on two other pots, but still the odor of the onions, pepper, and garlic pervaded the room. Inez left the kitchen. I heard her knock on the library door, and I could hear her and Henri Pichot talking, then she came back into the kitchen.

“How's Lou?” she asked me.

“She's all right,” I said. “I left her there with Miss Emma.”

I thought about them sitting at the kitchen table at Miss Emma's house. I had gone home after school to drop off my satchel, and when I did not find my aunt at home, I figured she was keeping Miss Emma company. I found them at the kitchen table, shelling pecans into two big aluminum pans. I could see that neither my aunt nor Miss Emma had any intention of going up to Henri Pichot's house with me.

“But if you need me to hold your hand, I'd be glad to go,” my aunt said.

“I don't want him doing nothing he don't want do.” Miss Emma repeated the old refrain I had heard about a hundred times the day before.

I didn't answer them. I was angry already, and I knew things would just have gotten worse if I said anything else. I went back outside and got into my car and drove up to Pichot's.

Now I looked at my watch again. It was five-fifteen. No Sam Guidry, and no one else, except Inez, had come into the kitchen to say anything to me. Each time she returned from the library, Inez seemed more agitated. I knew she was feeling sorry for me.

At five-thirty, we heard people entering the house off the front gallery. Inez left the kitchen to meet them. She spoke to Edna Guidry, then to Sam Guidry, and to one or two other people. I could hear them talking as they came into the house. Inez returned to the kitchen with two empty glasses to be freshened. She added four glasses to her tray. She took that to the library and came back.

“I'm sure it won't be too long now,” she said. She knew how I felt, and she was trying to encourage me.

It was quarter to six.

At six o'clock, Edna Guidry came back in the kitchen. A tall woman in her early fifties, she had light-brown hair, a narrow face, and gray eyes. She wore a shapeless black dress, gray stockings, and low-heeled black shoes.

“Well, Grant—Grant, how are you?” she said, smiling and coming up to me with her hand out. She stopped a good distance back, and I had to lean forward to shake her hand, which was long and bony, and cold from her glass. “Why, Grant,” she said, “I just do declare. I haven't seen you in God knows how long. Been two, three years, I'm sure. Wouldn't you say?”

“About that long, Miss Edna,” I said.

“God, yes,” she said. “Why, you're looking just as fine, like you're living the good life. Doesn't he, Inez?”

“He's looking just fine, Miss Edna,” Inez said from the stove.

“Well, tell me all about yourself,” Edna Guidry said to me. “How've you been? No, no need to tell me; I can see you're doing just fine. But how is Lou? Why doesn't she come to see me? It's been how long? Oh, I bet you it's been six, no, eight months. And living so close. You tell Lou I say make you bring her to my house so we can sit down and talk. Lord, have mercy, do.” She turned from me to Inez. “Mr. Henri says you may serve anytime now, Inez.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Inez said.

Edna turned back to me. “Grant, please tell Emma how sorry I am about Jefferson. I would do it myself, but I'm just too broken up over this matter. I ran into Madame Gropé just the other day; Lord, how sad she looks. Just dragging along. Poor old thing. I had to put my arms round her.” Edna drank from her glass. “Tell Emma I'm sorry. I'm sorry for both families. I hear you would like the privilege of visiting Jefferson?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Well, I'll leave all that up to you and the sheriff,” she said. “He'll talk to you after supper.” She turned to Inez. “Inez, is there anything that I may help you with?”

“No'm, I got everything under control,” Inez told her.

“Well, in that case, I may as well help myself to another quick shot.”

She poured about two ounces of bourbon into her glass and added ice cubes. After drinking half of it, she went back to the library.

Inez dished up the food. She had cooked a pot roast with potatoes and carrots, onions, bell pepper, and garlic. She also had rice and mustard greens, green peas and corn bread. She took the platters and bowls to the dining room.

“Can I fix you something?” she asked me when she came back to the kitchen.

“No, thank you,” I told her.

I was hungry. I hadn't eaten anything but a sandwich since breakfast. But I would not eat at Henri Pichot's kitchen table. I had come through that back door against my will, and it seemed that he and the sheriff were doing everything they could to humiliate me even more by making me wait on them. Well, I had to put up with that because of those in the quarter, but I damned sure would not add hurt to injury by eating at his kitchen table.

Inez went to the dining room and came back.

“They talking up there now 'bout him,” she said. “Sheriff saying he don't like the idea at all. Saying nobody can make that thing a man. Saying might as well let him go like he is.”

“I hope that's his final word,” I said. “It sure would relieve my mind.”

“Why don't you sit down,” Inez said. “You'll feel better.”

“I'd rather stand.”

“You sure I can't fix you little something to eat?”

“No, thank you, Inez.”

She went and came back.

“It won't be long now,” she said. “They nearly through. Soon as I serve the coffee. You sure I can't get you a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks. I appreciate it, though.”

She poured coffee into half a dozen small white cups, and took the coffee, sugar, and cream to the dining room on a silver tray. She came back.

“He asked me if you was still here,” she said. “I think he go'n let you see him, but he say he still against it. I'm sure it's Miss Edna making him do it. Well, all the time Miss Emma done spent with this family, that ain't asking too much.”

At a quarter to seven, Inez cleared off the table in the dining room and brought the dishes into the kitchen. Then she took a bottle of brandy back with her. A half hour later, while she was putting away the dishes she had just finished washing, Sam Guidry, Henri Pichot, Louis Rougon, and another fat man came into the kitchen. I had been standing there nearly two and a half hours.

Sam Guidry was a tall man, well over six feet, and he was well tanned. His hair was dark brown, his sideburns and mustache showed some gray. His face was narrow, well-lined, and strong. His hands were large and hairy. He wore a brown suit and a tie. He usually wore a Stetson hat and cowboy boots. He had probably left the hat in the library or the dining room, but he had the boots on.

The four white men split into pairs. Sam Guidry and Henri Pichot stood on one side of the table, while Louis Rougon and the fat man stood over by the dish cabinet. They had brought their drinks with them.

Inez left the kitchen as soon as the white men came in. I tried to decide just how I should respond to them. Whether I should act like the teacher that I was, or like the nigger that I was supposed to be. I decided to wait and see how the conversation went. To show too much intelligence would have been an insult to them. To show a lack of intelligence would have been a greater insult to me. I decided to wait and see how the conversation would go.

“Been waiting long?” Sam Guidry asked me.

“About two and a half hours, sir,” I said. I was supposed to say, “Not long,” and I was supposed to grin; but I didn't do either.

The fat man glanced knowingly at Louis Rougon, but Louis Rougon was looking directly at me. I could see in their faces that they had talked all this over and Sam Guidry had already made up his mind what he was going to do.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

Louis Rougon and the fat man waited for my answer. I knew it didn't matter what I said, since Guidry had made up his mind. Henri Pichot, standing next to Guidry, looked more tired than he had the day before. He seemed more sympathetic. Maybe he had been thinking about all the services Miss Emma had provided for his family over the years.

“It's about Jefferson, Sheriff Guidry,” I said. I knew they had discussed it, still I had to go through the motions. “His nannan would like for me to visit him.”

“What for?” Guidry asked.

They had discussed this too. I could tell from the way the fat man drank from his glass. I could see in his face that he was amused. So was Louis Rougon. I knew they were both betting against me.

“She's old,” I said. “She doesn't feel that she has the strength to come up there all the time.”

“She doesn't, huh?” Sam Guidry asked me. He emphasized “doesn't.” I was supposed to have said “don't.” I was being too smart.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “She doesn't feel that she can.”

I used the word “doesn't” again, but I did it intentionally this time. If he had said I was being too smart and he didn't want me to come to that jail, my mind would definitely have been relieved.

“What about that preacher in the quarter? Can't he visit him?”

“I asked her the same thing.”

“You did, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said there'll be time for the preacher.”

“She did, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So she feels that he has that much time, time for teacher and preacher?”

The fat man grunted. Louis Rougon's eyes showed that he was amused. Henri Pichot, next to Sam Guidry, looked uncomfortable.

“What you plan on doing when you come up there—if I let you come up there?” Guidry asked me.

“I have no idea, sir,” I told him.

“You're not trying to play with me, now, are you?” Guidry asked.

“No, sir, I'm not. But I have no idea what I'll talk to him about.”

“I hear from people around here you want to make him a man. A man for what, at this time?”

“She asked me to go to him, sir. Her idea. Not mine.”

“That was not the question,” Guidry said. “Make him a man for what?”

“To die with some dignity, I suppose. I suppose that's what she wants.”

“You think that's a good idea?”

“That's what she wants, sir.”

“What do you think?”

“I would rather not have anything to do with it, sir. But that's what she wants.”

“So you think he ought to go just like he is?”

“I don't know how he is, sir. Believe me, Mr. Guidry, if it was left up to me, I wouldn't have anything to do with it at all,” I said.

“You and I are in accord there,” he said. “But my wife thinks different. Now, which one you think is right, me or her?”

The fat man snorted. He thought Guidry had me.

“I make it a habit never to get into family business, Mr. Guidry.”

The fat man didn't like that quick maneuver. I could see it in his face.

“You're smart,” Guidry said. “Maybe you're just a little too smart for your own good.”

I was quiet. I knew when to be quiet.

“I don't like it,” Guidry said. “And I want you to know I don't like it. Because I think the only thing you can do is just aggravate him, trying to put something in his head against his will. And I'd rather see a contented hog go to that chair than an aggravated hog. It would be better for everybody concerned. There ain't a thing you can put in that skull that ain't there already.”

I remained quiet.

“You can come up there,” Sam Guidry said. “But the first sign of aggravation, I'm calling it off. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have any questions?” he asked me.

“Yes, sir. When can I see him?”

“You can come anytime you like. Not before ten in the morning, not after four in the evening. Any other questions?”

“Any idea how much time he has left?”

“That's entirely up to the governor, not me,” Guidry said. “But I wouldn't plan on a diploma. Okay?”

The fat man and Louis Rougon seemed impressed by the sheriff's questions and answers to me. Louis Rougon, who had light-blue eyes, stared at me to make me look back at him, but I refused to pay him that courtesy. The fat man, drinking, rattled the ice cubes in his glass. Henri Pichot appeared to wish all this was over with.