A Fine Dark Line Read online

  “Mr. Stanley, you go on and leave the room,” Rosy said.

  “What?” Daddy said. “Are you talkin’ to me?”

  “I’m lookin’ at you, ain’t I?” Rosy said.

  “Now, Rosy—”

  “Now, you listen to me. I’m grateful for all you done for me. But am I part of this family, or ain’t I?”

  Daddy groped for words, didn’t find any.

  Callie said between tears, “You are, Rosy. You are.”

  “She is,” Mom said.

  “Well . . . yeah,” Daddy said.

  “Then I got a say that matters, don’t I?” Rosy said.

  “Sure,” Daddy said, “but—”

  “No buts. You don’t need to be in this business yet. This is for the women. Then, we’ll tell you when you need to know.”

  “If someone has hurt my little girl, I need to know,” Daddy said.

  “You gonna find out soon enough,” Rosy said. “Now go on and leave.”

  Daddy looked at me, said, “What about him?”

  “He knows already,” Rosy said. “Now go on.”

  Daddy, perplexed, turned and left the room. I heard him go outside on the veranda.

  “Callie?” Mom said. “Can we have the story now? What could be the matter?”

  Callie told her.

  When she finished, Mom said, “If we tell your father, and we must, you know what’s going to happen.”

  “He’ll beat James up,” Callie said.

  “Kill him maybe,” Mom said. “That’s what worries me. You weren’t raped. But you were mistreated.”

  “I flirted.”

  “Women flirt,” Mom said. “That’s what we do. A young girl like you, that’s all you do. It comes with being sixteen, and it doesn’t stop there. It goes on until your charms are rusty.”

  “Or they just run off and leave you,” Rosy said.

  “I am so sorry,” Callie said.

  “You ain’t done nothin’, honey,” Rosy said, and patted Callie on the back.

  “No, you haven’t,” Mom said. “But your daddy might. I don’t know exactly how to handle this. Tell you what. Go upstairs, clean up, and when you come down, I’ll have thought of something.”

  “And I’ll fix you some cookies,” Rosy said.

  In our family, food was always thought of as medicine.

  Callie went upstairs. Mom said to Rosy: “I’m tempted to tell Stanley right now, and have him get that man.”

  “You know Mr. Stanley kill that man, don’t you?”

  “I said as much.”

  Mom turned to me. “You were very brave, Stanley. I’m proud of you. Your daddy will be proud of you.”

  “Callie fought him off,” I said. “Looked to me like James was glad I broke the door down. I think I saved him.”

  Rosy and Mom laughed.

  Mom said, “I have to break this to Stanley in such a way he doesn’t take a stick and go find Stilwind. I’ve got to come up with something.”

  “You could lie,” Rosy said.

  Mom looked at Rosy and laughed. They hugged one another.

  “Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind,” Mom said. “Lying has its place. And this may just be the place. Way I see it, it’s over with. James Stilwind got his comeuppance, and Callie is okay.”

  “Does it once, he’ll do it again,” Rosy Mae said.

  Mom, who was holding Rosy’s hand, said, “You’re right, of course. Nothing says this was his first time, for that matter.”

  “Oh yeah. He old enough he probably done done it befo’,” Rosy said.

  “I guess lying is out,” Mom said.

  “You could sugarcoat it some,” Rosy said.

  “How do you mix sugar in this?” Mom said.

  “I can’t say, Miss Gal.”

  Mom laughed. “Did you see Stanley’s face when you told him this wasn’t any of his business and he had to leave the room?”

  Rosy giggled. “I sho did. He didn’t like it none, now did he?”

  “No,” Mom said, “but I sure got a kick out of it.”

  20

  NO ONE TOLD DADDY anything right away, and it was a long time before Callie came down from upstairs. She had bathed and was dressed in jeans and a man’s shirt that fit her in a very loose fashion. She wasn’t wearing any makeup.

  When Daddy, who was sitting at the table drinking coffee, saw her, he said, “Young lady. Maybe now you should tell me what went on?”

  Callie nodded. She sat down at the table. Mom and Rosy were fussing over a bowl of cake mix. Rosy poured the mix into a pan and quietly shoved it into the oven.

  Mom said, “She can tell you, Stanley. But you have to hold your peace some. It’s important that you do. We can talk about what we should do when she finishes. But you can’t jump up and run off mad.”

  “Someone did something to you, didn’t they?” Daddy said. He was already halfway out of his chair.

  “That’s exactly what I mean,” Mom said. “Sit down, Stanley.”

  “I’m all right,” Callie said.

  “Someone didn’t . . . They didn’t . . .”

  “No, Daddy. I’m fine.”

  Daddy eased back into his chair. Callie was just about to start her story when there was a knock on the door.

  Rosy answered it. I heard her say, “Yes, sir. Can I help you?”

  I heard a voice outside, but couldn’t make it out.

  Rosy said, “Yes, sir. This is the Mitchel residence . . . Oh. You wait here jes’ one moment.”

  Rosy came back into the kitchen. “Mr. Stilwind. The older man. The daddy. He at the do’.”

  “Invite him in,” Mom said.

  Poor Daddy just looked perplexed.

  Mr. Stilwind seemed so much older than I would have thought, and as Buster warned me, not all monsters look the part. He had a pleasantly wrinkled face with slightly red cheeks and a touch of sweat above his eyes. He was tall and well dressed, wearing a suit with vest, tie, and hat, which he removed as he entered the door. His shoes were buffed and I noticed the reflection of his hand in the shine of one of his fine leather shoes as he extended it for my father to shake.

  “Irving Stilwind,” he said. “I suppose you know why I’m here?”

  “No,” Daddy said.

  “Yes,” Mom said. “You’re here to talk about what your son did to my daughter.”

  “What?” Daddy said.

  “He hasn’t heard yet,” Mom said. “We were just about to discuss it.”

  “I see,” said Mr. Stilwind. “Might we sit down?”

  “Your son is a dead sonofabitch,” Daddy said.

  “Now you hold it,” Mr. Stilwind said.

  “Stanley,” Mom said. “Just wait . . . Come sit down, Mr. Stilwind.”

  “I’ll po’ up some coffee,” Rosy said.

  They seated themselves around the table, except for Rosy, who made fresh coffee, and myself. I sat on the counter and let my feet hang.

  “My son told me he had a misunderstanding,” Mr. Stilwind said.

  “It was no misunderstanding,” Callie said. “A misunderstanding didn’t tear my blouse.”

  “I think it’s best the adults discuss this,” Mr. Stilwind said.

  “It happened to me,” Callie said. “I think that makes my opinion worth something.”

  “A young girl. A young man. Things can go a little too fast.”

  “A little too fast,” Callie said. “He had his motor running from the start, had his foot on the gas.”

  “Then,” Mr. Stilwind said, “you must admit, you should not have gone with him. Should not have encouraged it.”

  “She didn’t encourage nothin’,” Rosy said. “That boy of yours ain’t no boy. He a man. He know what he’s doin’.”

  “I’m not accustomed to the hired help speaking to me in this manner. My help. Anyone’s help.”

  “I’m beginning to have an idea what’s going on here,” Daddy said. “And what I’ll tell you is this. If this boy is your only son
, your name will not be spread. If you get my meaning.”

  “Are you threatening my son?” Mr. Stilwind said.

  “If what I think is being said here is being said, then I wouldn’t dare let you think I’m threatening. I’m making you a promise, and him one too.”

  “It may not be what you think, Daddy,” Callie said. “I wasn’t . . . Well, you know. Nothing like that.”

  Callie took time to tell her story. When she finished I told mine.

  Stilwind said: “Girls tease. Boys don’t always know when it’s a tease. Perhaps you encouraged him.”

  “I don’t care if she flirted with him or not,” Daddy said. “He went too far, teased or not.”

  “He ain’t got no right to lay hands on Miss Callie,” Rosy said.

  “I don’t believe you have a dog in this fight,” Stilwind said.

  Callie barked sharply.

  Stilwind turned red.

  “Mr. Stilwind,” Daddy said. “You and me, we’re already on weak scaffolding. You speak one more time to Rosy like that, say one more disparaging thing about my daughter, suggest it, I’m going to forget you’re twenty years older than me, and you may not wake up.”

  “Threaten me, and the police will know about it.”

  “I’ll bury your ass in the suit you’re wearin’ out back of my place and I’ll plant a goddamn row of cactus on top of it.”

  I laughed.

  Daddy looked at me sharply, and I went silent.

  Mr. Stilwind, red-faced, sat for a moment sucking air. Finally he calmed. “All right,” he said. “Let me cut to the chase. My son told me what he did. He was ashamed of it. Let’s say it was his fault—”

  “It was,” Daddy said.

  “Very well. I’m prepared to apologize for him, and present you with some compensation for the anguish and so the story will not get spread.”

  “Compensation?” Daddy said.

  “Money.”

  “You want to pay Callie off to not say anything?”

  “The police will not get involved in this matter,” Stilwind said. “I can assure you of that. I know them quite well. The chief, the old chief, and the young man who will most likely take over the job, are all good friends of mine. I’ve always had good relations with the police.”

  “You give them money, they’re your friends,” Daddy said. “That what you’re saying?”

  “You could say that. But the money I’m offering is substantial.” Stilwind looked around. “You could do a lot with this place with that money.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with this place that a good fumigation won’t cure when you leave,” Daddy said.

  “I need not pay you a dime, sir. The police hardly see the flirtations of one little girl worth the trouble of bothering my son. I’m sure of this. But I don’t need the word spread. It’s not good for me. It’s not good for my son. It certainly wouldn’t be good for your daughter.”

  “Why isn’t he here to speak for himself?” Mom asked.

  “I felt this was the better way to go about it.”

  “Come in, pay us off, go to the house, forget it,” Daddy said.

  “If you want to break it down to a crude summation, I suppose you are right. It doesn’t do us any good to do otherwise. Your family or mine.”

  “I think your son is a coward,” Daddy said. “Uh uh, don’t speak, Stilwind. You listen to me. I think you are a coward. I think you think your money gets you out of everything. You’re fortunate the worst that happened was he tore my daughter’s blouse. Otherwise, I’d kill him.”

  “You’d go to prison for the rest of your life,” Stilwind said. “I’d see to that.”

  “That could be. Let me tell you this, and I’ll deny it if asked. I’m not going to bother your son. My daughter is all right. She took up for herself quite well. But, someday, he’ll get his. I can promise you that.”

  “Don’t lay a hand on him,” Stilwind said. “Never. I promise you. I’m going to make things rough for you in this town. Ordinances may not be being obeyed here. Police might need to pull you over from time to time, just to check and see if you’re driving right.”

  “You know,” Daddy said. “I don’t think you care about James at all. I think you care about you. How this hurts you, or your name. I bet this boy has been in plenty of trouble, that you’ve bought him out of all manner of it. He doesn’t feel he has to be responsible. Just like I bet you’ve never been responsible.”

  “I earned all that I have,” Stilwind said. “All of it.”

  “So have I. It may be less than you have, but I earned it. I think it gave me character. I think it gave you money and a shoeshine.”

  “Very well,” Stilwind said, picking his hat from his knee and rising. “You had your chance. It was not meant as a bribe. Just a token of apology.”

  “Your apology is nothing to me. And I wouldn’t give me too much trouble about ordinances either. I’m a fighter.”

  “Good day, sir,” Stilwind said.

  “I won’t wish you that,” Daddy said. “I wouldn’t give a damn if you flipped your car and it killed you.”

  “Stanley,” Mom said.

  “You tell your son to stay away from my daughter. Forever.”

  Stilwind put on his hat and made his own way to the door. I went to the window and looked out. There was a colored man in a black suit with a black cap waiting beside a long black car. The colored man smiled and opened the back door for Stilwind. Stilwind got in without saying a word. The colored man drove the car away.

  Rosy picked up Stilwind’s coffee cup and dumped his coffee in the sink. “He didn’t even drink a drop,” she said. “And me goin’ to all that trouble.”

  Callie took hold of Daddy’s hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, Daddy.”

  Daddy squeezed her hand back.

  “You did good,” Mom said. “Except for that car wreck part.”

  “Meant it,” Daddy said.

  “Uh oh,” Rosy said. “Think I smell our cake a burnin’.”

  ———

  HE WAS HERE in your house?” Buster said, wiping the projector lens clean with a soft rag.

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t that something? He old, ain’t he?”

  “Yes. Not real, real old. But older than Daddy.”

  “Old as me?”

  “No, sir. I don’t think so.”

  “Not many people are. And I’ll tell you, I’m starting to feel it. That walk to work is catching up with me. I have to start about twenty minutes earlier these days, just so I can stop along the way and rest a little.”

  “Buster?”

  “Yeah, Stan.”

  “What if it wasn’t the father?”

  “Do what?”

  “What if it’s James that did it? Not Mr. Stilwind?”

  “You been thinking again, ain’t you?”

  “Remember what you showed me about Margret’s letters?”

  Buster put the rag in his back pocket and perched on the stool behind the projector.

  “How do you mean?” he said.

  “I assumed Margret was seeing James. I thought J was James and it was Jewel.”

  “That was a normal thing to think, Stan. More them that like the opposite than like the same.”

  “That report you read to me. The chief’s report. Did the daughter actually say it was her father?”

  “I said it could be other ways, didn’t I, Stan?”

  “You did.”

  Buster scratched his chin, stepped on a bug running across the floor. He said, “You’re sayin’ the report didn’t say it was the father, so it could have been James . . . You know, it could. It could have been James knocked up the first sister, then the second. He was old enough. He maybe near forty now and still actin’ like some kind of teenager, trickin’ your sister like that . . . Older sister, Susan, she could have meant her brother. The old man just went down to the police station to smooth it over, way he tried to do today with your family. Sometimes a man thinks a son i
s more important than a daughter. It could be like that.”

  “Daddy thinks Stilwind doesn’t really care for his James. Just didn’t want to be embarrassed.”

  “Think your daddy’s right on that one, Stan. So now you think it’s James instead of the daddy?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Ever think it might have been the daddy on one, the brother on the other? Lot of times, you learn how you act from how your family acts. You can’t tell me Old Man Stilwind is all that good at how he acts. Evidence don’t show that. James may have found out his father was havin’ him a time with the older sister, and he done the same with the younger one. Now, mind you, I ain’t sayin’ it’s that way. Just tryin’ to teach you you can’t think somethin’ one way. That’s why you supposed to have trials, not lynchin’s. Most of the time things are just the way they look, but sometimes they ain’t.”

  “What’s a lynchin’?”

  “Most people mean a hangin’. But we colored, we’re talkin’ about burnin’, castratin’, torturin’. Way the law likes to work is they can’t find who done somethin’, they just go out and get a nigger. Sometimes the nigger done it. Sometimes not. That’s what I mean about a jury, and not just speculation. You see, you can think a thing all kinds of ways, even if you got bits of evidence. But evidence is in the way you look at it. ’Less you catch the sucker redhanded or they’re tryin’ to hurt you. Like Bubba Joe.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I seen a lynchin’ once.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh huh. Over in Nacogdoches. Nineteen and two it was. A nigger named Jim Buchannon. He was picked up for murderin’ a man and his wife I think. Stole a rifle from them, they said. And he had the rifle, which he claimed he traded a white man for. And he might have done it too. Or he might have killed them white folks. Can’t say.

  “I was just passin’ through, on my way to see a cousin, and I come to Nacogdoches on the day of the hangin’. It was an October and a nice cool day. They say there was a kind of trial, but the sheriff, John Spradley, he didn’t think it was fair enough, and he done all he could to save the man for a trial. Hid him out on trains and such, took him from one spot or another. But they finally got him and told him he could be hung later or now, to make his choice. He chose to be hung. I was at the back of the crowd. They had a kind of tripod made of lumber and they put Buchannon on that box and kicked it out from under him, and he strangled to death. Slow-like. I told myself I wouldn’t never purposely watch no hangin’ again. It was like a picnic out there, Stan. All the men and women, mostly white, but there were colored too, way out back of it like me, and we was there to see that poor nigger hang, him swingin’ with his toes just off the ground, that rope squeezin’ the life out of him. It wasn’t even tied right, and on purpose is my guess. That way they had a little more spectacle. No neck break, just slow and horrible, him kickin’ and his tongue hangin’ out of his mouth damn near six inches. There was a fellow out there sellin’ peanuts, and people with wagons, with women and children in them, sittin’ there havin’ a picnic lunch.