Harlem Redux (47 page)

“Sit, and yes—then what?”

Rachel sighed. “Don’t be such a worrywart. We listen. That’s all. We just get to listen. For at least an hour, while Daddy McKay rants and raves about the sins of white folk and the responsibilities of black ones. His children have a mission to advance the race, he says. He’s given them money and education—”

“Well, that’s true.”

“And he expects something for it.”

“‘Spects what?’” With a raised eyebrow.

Rachel smiled, bemused. “Why, he don’t expect nothing much—just that his children become big, important Negro leaders, members of the Talented Tenth.”

“The Talented what?”

Rachel looked at her. “Oh, you heard of that, Mama. Why, that’s a theory of Mr. W.E.B. DuBois. He says that there shall arise a Talented Tenth of the Negro people and they shall lead us to the Promised Land.”

Minnie failed to catch the cynicism in Rachel’s voice. “Is he some kinda false prophet, this Mr. DuBois?”

Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know. To me, he’s just like one of them white folk that think the better-offs should get more and the rest of us should keep struggling.”

“He ain’t black, is he?”

“Sure ‘nough is, Mama. One of them light-skinned educated race men, done studied in Europe.”

“Humph,” said Minnie. “Well, that explains it.” She picked up her knitting.

Rachel suppressed a chuckle. “You know something, Mama? I think you got more wisdom in your pinkie than Mr. DuBois’s got in his whole head. But a lot of people respect him. They think he’s done good things for our people.”

“Has he, now? Well, I ain’t never heard of him. And from what you tell me, I can’t b’lieve he’s interested in doing anything for poor folk like me.” Minnie paused to catch a dropped stitch. “What d’you do when Daddy McKay’s carrying on like that? What d’you say?”

“Nothing,” Rachel answered. “He’d never ask our opinion about nothing. He just wants to hear himself talk. So, yup.” She sighed. “That’s all I do ... is listen.”

And that’s hard enough.

Even if he did ever ask her opinion about anything, she’d be crazy to actually try to talk to the man. To tell the truth, he not only irritated her, he amused her. Who’d have ever thought to find so much racial ardor in a family that was by and large insulated against the ravages of racial prejudice? Of course, sometimes she
did
tire of his speeches on the ignorance, arrogance, and malevolence of white people. Sometimes, she wanted to stand up and cry out:
What do you know about it, really?

Instead, she always sat quietly, appearing to listen dutifully, while her thoughts and eyes wandered elsewhere—elsewhere inevitably meaning David McKay.

And now, finally, unbelievably, she was his wife.

Her eyes went back to him and she thought of Isabella.
She looked so much like him.

He looked up again, to find her eyes on him. Concern crossed his face. He closed his book, putting a finger between the pages to hold his place, and leaned forward.

“You all right?”

For a moment, she looked as though she were about to cry. “I’m fine.”

He laid his book on the side table and went to sit next to her. She snuggled into his arms and raised her face.

“You do love me?” she whispered.

“Hm, hmm ... Of course I do.” He kissed her on the top of her head.

“Then tell me. Say the words.”

His forehead creased. “What’s wrong, Rachel?”

Her eyes searched his. She saw what she suspected and something painful pinged inside her. She dropped her gaze and looked away.

“What’s the matter, baby?”

“Nothing. I was just being silly. There’s nothing the matter at all.”

34.
 
Nella Comes Clean

“You weren’t quite truthful with me before—”

“I don’t tell lies—”

“But you don’t always tell the whole truth either.”

It was Sunday. David was seated in Nella’s immense living room with a glass of suspicious contents pressed into his hand. She put a platter of sweets on the coffee table. Choosing what appeared to be a chocolate-covered cherry, she popped it into her mouth whole.

“Just what is it you want to know?”

“How to find Gem.”

“I told you—”

“You told me that while you were in Paris, you tried to contact her.”

“I told you that I was unsuccessful.”

“But you didn’t tell me that you didn’t give up.”

She stared at him, stunned. “How did you know?”

“You’re a stubborn woman. The kind who doesn’t change her mind once it’s made up.”

An admiring smile slowly spread over Nella’s face. She did not answer directly, but ate another cherry and chewed thoughtfully. “Remember our deal. Information for information.”

“Yes, yes, I remember,” he said mildly. “Now please, do what you do best. Talk.”

“David, you have a way with you—a way that ...”

She clenched her jaw and pressed her lips together. Words failed her. She lit herself a cigarette and jabbed the air with it. “If anyone else ever spoke to me that way, I’d have him thrown out on his ear. Not even Nikki—”

“Nella, you don’t have to throw me out. Just answer my question and I’ll leave.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll let that last little quip slide, but don’t—”

“Nella, please—”

“All right, all right.” She held up a hand, then took a deep breath. “You’re right. I didn’t give up.” She
 
plopped down in the seat opposite him, evidently unhappy. She took a minute to collect her thoughts, and then began.

“After several attempts to contact Gem, I decided to go see her, to drop in on her unannounced. I knew it would be in bad taste. But I felt entitled. After all, she hadn’t taken the time to even answer my notes. The boy I’d sent told me there was a girl who accepted the messages. Clearly, the girl wasn’t Gem, but he said she seemed capable enough. He didn’t doubt that she was passing my notes on. It was Gem’s fault that she was about to get an unexpected visitor.

“I took a taxi to the address on the postcards Gem had sent me. I was very surprised when the driver pulled up in front of the place. It wasn’t at all what I’d imagined. For one thing, it was dirty; slummy in fact. The driver assured me that this was the address I’d given him. He was getting anxious about his money, so I paid him and got out. Then, on second thought, I turned back, gave him a little something extra, and asked him to wait.

“A young woman answered the door. I assume she was the one who’d taken my messages. She was rather tall, but stooped and starved-looking. Her clothes were fashionable, but they didn’t fit her well. They looked like the cast-offs of some wealthy, chic girlfriend. The young woman herself wasn’t chic at all. Her makeup was poor. Her jewelry were cheap imitations. The worst a long pearl necklace à la Chanel; it clanked when she moved. And her fingernails … they were broken and dirty and polished this bright garish red that was chipped and peeling.

“My opinion of her must’ve shown in my face. She drew herself up and tried to play la grande dame, but she was too young and too ignorant for the part. She told me in guttural French that Gem wasn’t there. She wasn’t exactly impolite, just brusque. Something about her made me curious. Her eyes kept flicking from side to side, glancing up and down the street. Obviously, she wanted me away from her door as quickly as possible. I think she wanted to shut the door in my face, but she was afraid I’d make a scene. I practically forced her to let me in.

“I followed her down a short hallway that opened into a small parlor. The room had a very low ceiling and one tiny window. It was like being in a dark hole. The place stunk—a repellent mixture of garlic, cheap perfume, and stale cigarettes. The room had dirty white walls with cracked and peeling paint. There was a lumpy red sofa, a couple of tables and a lamp, and not much else. She probably worked as a cheap fortune-teller. I noticed some battered Tarot cards laid out on a table.

“We seemed to be alone. She rolled herself a cigarette. I was sure that she was hiding something. Slyly, she admitted that she was. She wanted money. Naturally she asked for too much. We haggled. She was greedy, but I’m very, very stingy. Most rich people are.

“Finally, she came out with it. Gem had never been there, she said. She’d been collecting Gem’s mail and messages for months. I showed her a postcard I’d received. She admitted she’d written it herself. She said Gem had been paying her to regularly make up messages and send postcards to certain people in the States, had given her a list in fact. She showed me the letter from Gem that told her what to do. I made her give it to me. Here, I can show it to you. I brought it back.”

Nella jumped up and walked briskly out of the room. David waited impatiently. When she returned, she handed him a sheet of once-white, once-very-expensive stationery. There were only three sets of names and addresses written on it: Lilian’s, Nella’s, and Snyder’s. The page itself had been handled a great deal. Fingerprints smudged it and one part of it buckled under an old brown coffee stain. Nella caught David’s look and shrugged.

“That’s the condition it was in when the girl gave it to me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

Nella sighed. “I didn’t see what relevance it might have to Lilian’s death. But then it occurred to me that Gem’s silence might be causing you pain. I don’t want that. If you hadn’t come today, I would’ve sent for you. I realize that many people don’t think well of Gem, but I like her. Gem isn’t that callous. She hasn’t said a word because she doesn’t know about Lilian. I’m sure she would be here if she did.”

Interesting how two people can interpret the same thing differently. Nella was dismayed by Gem’s silence. Nothing more. She didn’t find it alarming—at worst, inconvenient. He almost wished he could feel the same way, too.

“Well then, where is she?”

Nella shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea. But I’m sure she’s fine. It’s obvious, don’t you see? Gem doesn’t want to be found. She’s played a little trick on us. It’s just her way. She’ll pop up sometime. We must be patient. We have no other choice.”

But we do,
he thought.
We do.

35.
 
The Bitter Truth About Sweet

His worry about Gem had reawakened his doubts about Lilian’s death, doubts he had never fully put aside. He rubbed his temples.
I’m tired,
he thought,
so damn tired of trying to believe in explanations that make no sense.
He thought of Lilian’s disappearing pregnancy and Gem’s faked postcards; of Lilian’s hatred of Sweet and Gem’s breakup with Snyder; of Lilian’s friendship with Nella and Gem’s refusal to answer Nella’s calls.

Things ain’t always the way they seem
. His inner voice, echoing Annie’s words, spoke to him now more loudly than ever. But the words were indistinct, muffled by conflicting thoughts and distracting opinions.

Back home in his room, David reviewed all the questions he had raised and the few answers he had found. Visualizing the details of what he had learned as puzzle pieces, he mentally shifted them around, trying to interlock them, breaking them apart. Gradually, he discerned a pattern. One by one, the pieces slid into place.