Where Southern Cross the Dog (16 page)

“Whiskey. Two glasses,” Hannah said. The bartender placed a small bottle on the bar. Hannah picked up the bottle and inspected the seal.

“Don't worry, our whiskey's good,” the bartender said.

“Okay,” she said to Travis.

Travis laid some money on the bar. The bartender took what he needed.

They walked away, and Travis said, “Let's hope we don't have to get another drink. But I definitely need one now.”

They stood by the door while Hannah poured some whiskey into their glasses. She smiled at the first sip.

“Good?” she said.

Travis nodded. Hannah then turned to walk outside, and he followed. He could feel the eyes on him. She walked toward a vacant spot near an old fence line, and Travis followed slowly but deliberately, staring at the ground and choosing his steps carefully. When he accidentally made eye contact with someone he smiled, but didn't speak.

He felt out of place, like he was somewhere he shouldn't be, but was it any different for him than it was for anyone else here almost every day? Eyed suspiciously. Unwritten rules existed everywhere.

“Rebecca,” Hannah called to someone across the yard.

A woman's hand went up. She smiled at Hannah, grabbed the hand of the man behind her, and walked toward them.

“I didn't think you'd make it,” Hannah smiled, embracing the woman lightly.

“I thought we were going to Memphis this week but it's next week,” she said. “I got the dates mixed up.”

Hannah turned to Travis, “Travis Montgomery, this is Rebecca and Butch. They're friends of mine.”

Travis felt paralyzed by the awkwardness. Should he extend his hand or just nod politely? He let Butch make the first move. Butch extended his hand, and Travis shook it vigorously. “Butch,” he said. “Travis Montgomery, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Butch said with a well-mannered smile.

Travis could tell instantly why they were friends with Hannah. They, like Hannah, were from Clarksdale's elite black families.

“Has the band started yet?” Hannah asked.

“No, I don't think so,” Rebecca said. “But we just got here a little while ago.”

“Isn't your father the county coroner?” Butch said.

“Yes—yes he is,” Travis answered.

“Does he enjoy that line of work?”

“I think he does,” Travis said. “He doesn't talk much about it. It's not always good dinner conversation, how people die and all the associated topics.”

“Did he go to medical school?”

“No, he didn't. But he trained with coroners in Oxford. For Clarksdale, he's pretty well trained.”

“Will you be following in his footsteps?”

“
We're
still deciding,” Travis said with a grin, taking a sip of his drink. Butch also laughed, letting Travis know he understood the burden of family expectations. “What do you do, Butch?”

“I attend school up north. I'm just down for a quick visit. Helping with some family business.”

“Coming to see me,” Rebecca said, looking flirtatiously over the rim of her glass.

“Of course, that goes without saying,” Butch said.

“It better not,” Rebecca said. “You better say it often and with some enthusiasm.”

“Do you like coming back to Clarksdale?” Travis said.

“You've lived in Clarksdale a while. Would you if you were black?”

Travis assumed the question was rhetorical.

“No, I can't say that I enjoy returning,” Butch said. “I like to see my family, but that's about it. I try to stay around the house while visiting, or come to parties like this.” Butch looked around the crowded yard. “I might like coming back when I'm older, but not now. There's a lot of youthful rebellion in me.”

“In all of us,” Hannah said. Travis knew she was protecting him—with good reason.

The moon was almost full, and Travis felt more at ease in the dim light. He lingered in the shadows, moving gradually during the
conversation so that he ended up leaning against a tree: not hiding, just being discreet.

The conversation waned, and the foursome noticed that most of the people had started to go back inside the cabin. The strumming of a guitar could barely be heard above the hum of the crowd. The musician plucked a few notes, lazily practicing chords; then the sweet keys of the piano rang out, discordant against the guitar. A harmonica joined in. Finally, the beat of a drum emerged, a steady rhythmic pounding behind which the warm-up fell into step.

“Should we go inside?” Hannah said to the others.

“Sure,” Rebecca said.

“It's probably a little hot in there right now,” Travis said. “I think I'll wait ‘til it cools down.”

Hannah, Rebecca, and Butch looked at each other and then at Travis.

“It's not going to get any cooler tonight.” Hannah laughed. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the door. “C'mon.”

“Hold on,” he said, pulling his hand from hers. He took a long drink, then refilled his glass from the bottle they had bought. He slipped it into his pocket. “Okay,” he said, “I'm ready.”

“It'll be fun, Travis,” Rebecca said. “You'll see.”

The four approached the door to the cabin just as the band started playing in earnest. What had been painful to hear a moment earlier now transformed into something the crowd clearly recognized, even if Travis didn't. Several people let out a shrill but controlled scream and a few whistled. Hannah picked up her pace.

The cabin was now packed. Everyone had crowded onto the dance floor in front of the band members.

Hannah led them into the crowd to get a better look at the musicians. Travis focused on the music. The drum pounded a beat while the piano player put his old but properly tuned instrument atop the rhythm. Several people had begun swaying to the music, but no one was dancing yet.

Travis passed through the mass of people and felt the stares. A stiff shoulder, a slight bump. He knew that everyone saw him as one thing—white. No matter what he thought or how he acted, he was white, and he was where he didn't belong. Suddenly, all he could think about was being the scapegoat for someone who had been cheated by a landlord or shopkeeper or boss earlier in the day. Why wasn't Hannah concerned?

Without stopping, the band moved into a much more upbeat tune. The guitar player joined the other three for a few instrumental bars, and then he started singing. The change in tempo brought the crowd into the beat, and the dancing began, slow swaying, picking up into a much more rhythmic and faster-paced movement. Travis watched and learned.

Hannah, who had been watching the band, turned to Travis and started to dance. Travis began to move but felt awkward because he was still holding his glass. He held it up to Hannah, who recognized his dilemma and held out her hand. Travis drank the remains and handed it to her. She turned and gave it to Rebecca, who set it on a table near the edge of the dance floor.

Travis's head was swimming. The heat and the bourbon were potent; he knew the next day promised a vicious headache and nausea, but he didn't care. It was Saturday night, and he was with Hannah—the only place he could imagine ever wanting to be.

He looked around the room and watched the others on the dance floor. Most were from the country, he surmised, and only a few came all the way from town.

Travis moved with the music while he made his way toward Hannah. Butch and Rebecca had danced themselves to another part of the room. Travis could barely see them now.

A few beats more and Travis stood right in front of Hannah. Their legs and arms touched intermittently while they danced.

Travis looked at her and she at him. She met his eyes then glanced away, drawing him toward her with each look, pulling and
teasing with every motion. A brush of her arm against his became a clasp of her hand around his forearm. She steadied herself and used him for support, stepping up the intensity of her dancing. Finally, he dared to place his arm around her waist and pull her toward him. Her thighs brushed his, briefly straddling his leg and then moving away.

Travis and Hannah each sensed that there would be no more teasing, no more arm's-length courting. He was attracted to her, and she to him. His equal in education and upbringing, she was his superior in having worked to her station while he had only drifted into his. His birthright was her triumph. For Travis, Hannah was the only woman in the room.

He hardly noticed the rivers of sweat pouring down his face. He could see the shimmer of wetness on Hannah's neck and upper chest. They danced closer and closer, and she grabbed his arms to support herself while she rolled her body into his, and he into hers.

The band played song after song, and her arms moved around his neck. He locked both arms around her waist and pulled her tightly. Her moves echoed and then incorporated his; Travis had never danced like this.

At last the band took a break. Travis's shirt was drenched, and he looked like he had just spent all day in a cotton field. They stepped from the dance floor, Hannah clutching his waist, and walked outside on the porch to get some fresh air. His legs were tight from the dancing, and his arm ached from squeezing Hannah.

“Is it hot tonight!” Rebecca said. She and Butch were waiting for them.

“How long have you been on the porch?” Hannah asked.

“Just a few minutes. It was so hot in there.”

“Did you have fun, Travis?” Rebecca said.

“I did, but I need to sit down,” Travis said.

Travis slumped into the nearest chair on the porch. He propped his foot onto a deteriorated railing and pushed back slightly so that the chair rested on its two back legs. Three men, two younger and one older, were talking nearby.

“How's it going, Cap'n?” the older man said.

At first Travis didn't answer, his eyes wandering out over the fields in front of the house, but then he realized the man was addressing him.

“Fine,” Travis said. “I just needed to sit down for a while. It's pretty hot in there.”

The three men smiled.

“You by yourself tonight?” the man said.

“Oh no,” Travis said. “I'm with her.” Travis turned in his chair and pointed at Hannah.

The men gazed from him to her and back.

“Any of these your crops?” Travis said.

“No, sir. I live a couple miles down the road.”

“How you doing this season?”

“All right, I guess. I might make a little. But mostly it's the vegetables to keep us fed.”

“I know that Ag Act payments were stepped up this year,” Travis said. “It's helped a few folks. You see any of that money?”

The three men laughed.

“The government money is for the voters,” the old man said. “We don't vote.”

Hannah walked up to the group. She leaned on the rail, just in front of Travis's chair. “What kind of lies are y'all telling?”

“Lots of them, and mostly about you,” Travis said.

The men laughed heartily.

Hannah smiled and lifted her foot to the edge of Travis's chair, which was still tilted on two legs. She looked over at the men standing at the railing and just before Travis caught on, she pushed, and the chair and Travis went tumbling back.

This time the men didn't just laugh; they roared. Travis, still lightheaded, scrambled to get up. He looked at Butch and Rebecca, who were laughing, too.

Travis stood up, slightly wobbly, and looked around for Hannah. The elderly man pointed out into the fields. Travis's eyes searched the darkness and finally found a lone figure running in one of the field's furrows. She was at least thirty yards away.

“Where's she going?” Travis said.

“What's it matter?” the man said, grinning. “When a woman runs like that, she wants to be chased. You better get moving.”

Travis jumped off the porch, fell to one knee, and then started his pursuit while the three men yelled encouragement.

“Go get her, Cap'n. Don't let her get away!”

Travis caught sight of Hannah and ran to the furrow she was in. She was so far ahead he thought he would lose her in the darkness, but he ran, sometimes stumbling.

By the time Hannah reached the tree line that bordered the field, Travis was only twenty yards from her. “I'm right behind you,” he yelled. Hannah let out a squeal.

The path through the trees was worn, so there were no low-hanging branches to slap them or tree limbs to trip over. Travis continued to gain on Hannah. He felt his heart pounding, and his breathing was heavy. He wasn't sure what he would do once he caught her.

The woods deepened, obstructing the moonlight so the path was almost completely dark, illuminated only by bright slivers that blinked through gaps in the trees. When Travis was about ten yards from Hannah, he could see her outline. And then, all at once, she was gone. By the time he started to slow down and look for her, he was hurtling out into midair, flailing his arms to keep himself vertical.

He was falling toward cleared earth, fully illuminated now by the moon. There were no trees to block the light, and he could see Hannah out of the corner of his eye as he plunged downward.

He didn't fall far, four or five feet he guessed, and hit the soft bank of the Mississippi River with a thud, feet first. Travis let out a wail as he fell backward, sprawling into a seated position. Hannah sat down, laughing and holding her stomach. Travis started laughing, too.

“What the heck did you do that for?” Travis said.

“Do what?” Hannah said, trying to look sheepish.

He scooted back and laid his head on a small log. The run had cleared his senses, and he was beginning to sober up. The air, though still thick with the day's heat, was cooler by the river. He glanced at the sky and then Hannah. He held out his hand to her. “Come closer.”

She was just out of Travis's reach. She leaned over and grabbed his hand, and he pulled her to him. At first she lay down with her head on the log, but then she slid her head onto his chest and turned her body into his. She wrapped an arm around him.