The Castle Cross the Magnet Carter (56 page)

The temperature is already nearing eighty, and Eliot has noticed that the line, as monitored by a white official, is directly in the sun, and needn't be, given that a clump of trees is nearby. Most of the hopeful registrants seem to be in their best attire, including coats if outerwear spruces up their appearance. Eliot remembers the shoes. At Didi's suggestion he would bring items for the poor on his trips South—used clothing, toiletries, school supplies—and the gesture was always deeply appreciated. It had occurred to him, since he now had the new wingtips she had bought for him, to give away his old, still in good condition. (He'd considered donating the new pair but worried it would be ungracious to dispense with a gift.) The moment he met giant Jeremiah he saw there was no point in offering his size 8s to him. As he looks at the queue now, he notices a few who appear to be in need, but it may be insulting to pick someone out of the crowd because his shoes look shoddy, or for that matter to approach one man and not his neighbor in line who may be of equal want.

The white protestors are in the shade. Eliot recalls Warren's caution about the school integration madness. By contrast the whites here seem bored, as if this is a special chore they are required to finish before getting back to their real work.

By eleven, only three people have been let into the building, and none of these allowed to register. Eliot had been warned about this and tries to keep his temper in check, standing in the oppressive sun. Periodically he or Beau gently inform the people of their rights, and are sometimes asked questions. Eliot becomes concerned about the frail elderly, some beginning to breathe unevenly, and he expresses this to Beau. Beau whispers to Warren, who nods, and Eliot isn't sure if he is considering some sort of action or if he assumed Eliot, through Beau, was simply commenting on the state of affairs.

The fourth rejectee, a tall thin old man, exits the courthouse furious. A couple of police officers walk over. The senior citizen is waving his arms wildly. One of the officers grabs at his arm, and the elder swings. The cops handcuff him, take him to the police van, lock him in and pull away. An old woman, apparently the man's wife, runs as best she can after them, yelling and crying. Eliot, urgently wanting to intervene, looks at Beau, who is looking at Warren, who says, “One a you come with me?”

Eliot now notices that Beau in his middle age seems to be waning in the heat himself. And while Warren had asked for either of them, his eyes were on Beau, presuming him to have the greater experience.

“You wanna go, Beau?” Eliot asks.

“Okay.” Beau is relieved, and he follows Warren to the jailhouse, apparently walking distance despite the cops' fanfare with the van.

There is absolutely no movement in the queue now, and at precisely one o'clock many employees pour out carrying lunch bags. Some NAACP volunteers, mostly women, arrive with sandwiches and water for those in line, but the police won't let them near, claiming they are obstructing the people's right to register to vote. Les has had about enough and goes to talk to the cops, who laugh in his face. At two o'clock, the employees return from lunch. At 2:05, a buzzer is heard, and the entire building empties, “Fire! Fire!” some say, laughing. At 2:10, the fire department shows up and runs straight through the queue, pushing people out of the way, causing tension among some of the standers who begin to argue about who was in front of whom. The firemen are in the building for some time, doing nothing that anyone can see, many of the Negroes surmising they are drinking Coca-Colas to kill time. At 3:10, precisely one hour after their grand entrance, they emerge, the captain announcing that the problem is electrical wiring and that the building will have to be closed the rest of the day, Come back tomorrow. This should legitimately have brought about a collective moan if not a riot, but the people, having by now anticipated this, sigh and quietly disperse. Eliot feels himself hyperventilating from a heat inside him having nothing to do with the sun, but he takes a breath and follows Les and Joe Archie to the jail.

When they walk in, the deputy briefly glances up from his newspaper with distaste. Beau and Warren sit nearby, both looking frustrated and Beau in particular worn out. The wife of the arrested man sits a few feet away, lost in her own thoughts.

“That's Delaware,” Warren says, out of the officer's earshot. “Said the sheriff has other business to attend to, which I reckon is a leisurely supper, and that he'll be back at six. The earliest we can see Mr. Yancey.”

Eliot looks at Beau. Beau, exhausted, stares at the floor. Eliot walks over to speak quietly to his colleague. “Why don't I drive you to Rosie's? I can get there and back by 4:30, 4:45, plenty of leeway.”

Beau stares.
“What?”

“I can counsel Mr. Yancey, Beau. Only one arrest, we got lucky. I'll leave you off at your sister's. You can see Roy, then I'll come pick you up in the morning on my way out of town.”

“What are you talking about? Go off and socialize when I came here to do a job?”

“You did your job. You stood with the people, advised them. If we hadn't been out there, some kind of deterrent, I imagine there would have been a lot more arrests, and worse.” Beau is anxiously unsure. “You don't look good, Beau, I think you got a little sunstroke. You could use the rest.”

Eliot notices the NAACP men looking in their direction. He indicates for them to come over. Warren does, as Joe Archie checks on Mrs. Yancey.

“I'm concerned about Beau. He seems pretty fatigued after being out in the sun all day. He has relatives nearby, and since there was only one arrest that I can offer counsel to, I thought I'd drive him to his family and he can rest for the evening. I'll be back before six.”

“I didn't ask him to! He just suggested, he—” Beau takes a breath. “I will be happy to stay here and do my job.”

Warren glances over at Les, who seems to be in a bit of a tussle with the deputy.

“You
do
look a little peaked. Whatever you two decide, I'm okay with.” He walks over to Les and the officer. Beau and Eliot stare at them, and after a few minutes Warren turns around to wave them on.

“Come on,” says Eliot. “Let's go so I can get back.”

“No, I haven't decided yet! This doesn't feel right.” Beau's hat oscillating in his hands.

“Excuse me.” Mrs. Yancey suddenly standing near. “Can somebody fine me the colored bathroom?”

Beau and Eliot are baffled. Mercifully there had been an outdoor facility next to the courthouse for colored use, but here in the jail, the cells undoubtedly filled with Negro inmates frequently, the only lavatory visible is marked
WHITE ONLY
. Joe Archie is looking in their direction, and walks over.

“She needs a bathroom,” says Eliot.

“Oh. Oh yes, ma'am, we'll find it,” and Joe Archie walks the feeble woman outside. Eliot is aware that this man who has lived here all his life is clearly not certain there
is
such a thing as a colored restroom in the vicinity.

“Well?” Eliot asks.

Beau struggles a few moments. Finally, “No! I came here to do a job, not to have a family reunion!”

Eliot stares at Beau, then moves away from him. He gazes out a window, hands in pockets, thinking of the recent reunion in Maryland of his own family, something getting smaller.

“I didn't mean that.” Eliot turns around. A softness now in Beau's face, and Eliot realizes the elder has surmised his thoughts. “I mean. Yes. Thank you.”

When Eliot drops Beau off at Rosie's, she is jumping up and down, and runs to hug her brother. Eliot steps out of the car but stands leaning against it, not wanting to intrude. He stares at the house, by no means indicative of wealth but certainly a few degrees above the Coatses' level of hardship. Rosie scampers over to embrace Eliot as well, then leads him by the hand into the house.

“I know you can only stay a minute but I wanted to introduce you to Roy.”

Roy on his cart is in the kitchen mending a pair of dungarees. From the top of his head to the floor he stands about three and a half feet. “Roy, this is Eliot.”

If Eliot's face reveals the shock and pathos he feels, no one seems to notice. “Nice to meet you there, Eliot,” and Roy shakes his hand.

Beau enters. “Whoa,” says the visitor, “looks like you lost a little hair there, partner.”

“Well now I see your big fat belly I guess you ate it.” They both laugh heartily, then Beau goes down on one knee, like some fairy-tale marriage proposal, something Eliot never would have guessed he could do so effortlessly, especially after the day in the sun. And now Eliot sees that just being with his family seems to have put Beau back in optimal health. The brothers-in-law embrace so tightly and for so long that Eliot becomes embarrassed and looks away.

“Here's your supper.” Rosie comes to Eliot. “It's a roast chicken sandwich an boiled egg. I didn't have time to peel the egg but I figure you can handle that.”

“Oh! You didn't have to.”

She gazes at her husband and brother. “Well you didn't have to neither. But cha did.”

When Eliot gets back to the center of town, it's 4:55. He walks to the park, a rectangle bordered by the jail, courthouse, and other public buildings. He makes certain to identify the Negro area before sitting on a bench to dine.

It's the first time he has been alone with his thoughts in a few days, and there has been plenty to process. After the funeral and a couple of respectful hours at the wake, he had gotten on the road, Andi (who had called in “sick” to work that Monday morning) following in her azure Beetle. Barely another hour had passed before he was suddenly aware that he was famished, and they pulled over to a small diner. They both ordered huge plates of spaghetti with garlic bread, and though neither of them said as much, they each came to recognize this as the first time they had been
out
to eat, what might be called a
date
. Eliot had wolfed down the pasta and still felt hungry, surprising himself by ordering a second full plate and finishing that one off too.

“How much have you eaten since Friday?” Andi had asked, and only then did he realize how empty his stomach must have been. “You made me hungry too,” she added, and told him about the cheese crackers episode, and for the first time in days they both laughed, and heartily. He then revealed, cautiously, that he wanted to be with her, and she answered, cautiously, that he had been through a lot recently, that she wasn't saying no but if they even considered this it would have to be taken slowly. In answer to a question he was afraid to articulate, she had admitted to her reluctance in the past, why Gary never happened, her fear that their age difference would eventually leave someone brokenhearted and she guessed she didn't want that someone to be her. But on her drive to Humble, she finally reasoned that age is only one of a thousand reasons relationships don't work, or do. Then she sipped her cherry cola. “Have you spoken with Didi lately?”

He had nodded, saying nothing more. Didi had called that morning before the funeral. He was very happy to hear from her, but it occurred to him that he was touched in the same way he would have been had an old friend called—not a lover, and certainly not a girlfriend. He knew he would have to have a more difficult conversation with her soon, but decided to postpone it until he felt a little stronger. He promised himself it would happen before anything started with Andi again.

Two days later, Wednesday evening, Didi had called him at home to tell him she had had an abortion the day before. She had been torn between laying this on him now and keeping something so important from him. He could hear the physical weakness in her voice and was upset that she had gone through it alone, but she said a friend had given her some contacts, and one woman, a registered nurse who had already been through such an ordeal herself, not only went with Didi for the procedure but stayed overnight at Didi's place to make sure there were no complications, all at enormous risk to the woman's career. “I'm sure she and I will be friends for life.”

Eliot was quiet. “Please at least let me pay for it.”

“Eliot, it's not your fault. You didn't know. And, believe me, I'm lucky compared to all the women making appointments with back-alley butchers. I'm rich, remember?” He was silent. “Alright. If it'll make you feel better, send me a check.” She paused. “I suppose you thought I hadn't been calling because I'd lost interest.” He could hear a smile in her drained voice.

“You suppose right.”

“Not yet, though you have definitely been on probation ever since the day you picked out those ridiculous underthings for me to wear.” He had laughed softly, and pondered what to say next. Before he could work it out, she continued. “This all kind of knocked me for a loop though.” He heard her swallow. “I'm thinking maybe we should back off a while. At least a year, till I see how this birth control pill thing is panning out.” A joke, and not.

She had made it all so easy for him, his moving on, and he felt a little sick with guilt. And then she had said, “Once when I called Maryland trying to get you, Andi answered.”

He caught his breath. “We didn't. We didn't—”

“I know you didn't. But you will.”

He sighed quietly. “Didi—”

“Listen, sweetie, if you were going temporarily out of commission, I can guarantee I wouldn't be a nun waiting for
you
. So what's good for the goose.”

“I don't know about Andi and me.” He was about to say more, he felt he owed her some sort of honest explanation, but she had laughed then, suddenly the old mysterious carefree Didi laugh that she knew drove him nuts by her refusal to ever define its subtext. He shook his head, a wistful smile, wiping a tear.

“I'm going to call tomorrow. And I'm going to keep calling. To see how you are.”