Eight
Blanche was solemn and quiet as she put away the last of the dishes and prepared to walk the two miles home. By the time they got there, it would be six-thirty and turning cool with the setting sun.
“Want me to call you a cab?”
“Naw, we all right, Miz Ora. Night air do us good.”
I suddenly felt silly for never having gotten a driver's license. My father disapproved of young women driving and, once I married Walter, I had no need to learn how. His Ford LTD was still sitting in the garage. It sat in the parking lot of the Rotary Club for nearly a week after his death before a fellow Rotarian thought to bring it home.
“Really, Blanche, I don’t mind paying for a cab tonight. There’s a breeze kicking up and - well - let me call a cab for you. I’ll be right back.”
Blanche might have argued, but Grace fussed as Patrice zipped her jacket. She wasn’t the only tired child. The twins yawned and fidgeted as they shifted leftovers from arm to arm. Blanche said nothing, so I called City Cab and gave them the address. The taxi arrived in minutes and the girls crowded into the back seat with Blanche taking the front. I gave Blanche a five to pay the driver and shut the door. I leaned into the open window and asked quietly, “What are you going to do about Marcus?”
“He’ll be all right,” she said softly. “He’s prolly out somewhere blowin’ off steam. He’ll be fine. What he don’t know can’t hurt him. That’s just all there is to it.”
“Thanks for today, Blanche. That was the best Thanksgiving I’ve had in years.”
“It was the onliest Thanksgivin’ you had in years, Miz Ora.”
“The only one with family, anyway.”
I patted Blanche on the arm and stepped back from the curb and the taxi pulled away. The side mirror reflected Blanche’s grin in the fading light and one dark arm reached out the window and gave a little wave as they turned the corner toward home.
I sat on the porch until the street lights flickered on, then went into the house and poured a glass of iced tea. I watched the evening news, and then I read for an hour or so until I felt sleepy. I had just turned off the porch light and locked up when I heard a commotion near the back door. It sounded like something had been thrown onto the stoop and then crashed into the bushes. I froze for a moment. The bushes rattled again and finally there was a low, insistent knocking on the door.
I looked at the clock. It was nearly nine-thirty. Long past the time when anyone should come calling, especially at the back door. My mind raced with unspoken questions. I couldn't remember where Walter kept that old pump-action Winchester he used to run the squirrels out of the pecan trees. Lot of good it would do me. I hadn't a clue how to fire it.
The knock sounded again, a little louder this time.
“Miz Beckworth? Miz Beckworth! It’s me - Marcus!”
I could barely make out what he was saying, since he spoke in nothing more than a loud whisper. I peered out between the blinds covering the back door. Sure enough, I could tell it was Marcus from the sound of his voice and the shape of his head. I wrenched the door open and he stumbled inside. Looking at his face in the fluorescent light, I might not have recognized him at all. One eye was swollen shut and thick black dirt covered his hair and one cheek. I grabbed a kitchen towel from the counter, but I couldn't figure out what to do with it.
“What in heaven’s name? Are you all right?”
“I’m in trouble, Miz Ora. Bad trouble.”
“I’m callin’ your mama.”
“Oh, Lord, Miz Ora, please don’t do that. It’ll kill her. It’ll kill her, what I done.”
I saw then the ever-widening red stain on my linoleum floor. It was blood that held the dirt to his head, despite the steady flow. I tossed the towel onto the floor, as if mopping up the mess would stop the bleeding.
“What happened to you? Why are you bleeding?”
The more I stood gaping at him, the more I realized how serious this was. Marcus’s right hand bled profusely. His shirt was saturated with blood and dirt. I flung a drawer open and pulled out several more towels. Marcus reached for one and I wrapped his hand with the largest, remembering finally the first aid I learned at the Ladies’ Auxiliary. He winced and clutched the towel against his chest.
“This doesn't look good, Marcus. Don't you think I should call a doctor?”
“I don’t know. I don't think so.”
“Well, I need to call somebody! Do the police know about this?”
“No! Lord, no! And they cain’t know. Oh, Miz Ora, what have I done? What have I done?” He looked at me then, as if he really expected me to answer him, but I had far too many questions of my own.
I pulled him to the sink and rinsed the dirt off his hands first, so I could see where to apply pressure. There was one deep cut below his thumb and several smaller wounds on his palm. I wrapped his hand tightly and told him to keep it that way. I was torn between the need to tend to his wounds and the desire to yank a knot in him and make him tell me what happened.
I forced his head over the sink and rinsed the dirt off with the spray nozzle. The matted mess had actually been helping to stem the flow and rinsing made the wounds bleed anew. I pressed a towel to the worst cut and pushed him toward the kitchen table. He stood, leaning on the table as I applied pressure to the wounds on his head.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?"
"No - I don't know. I don't think so."
"You have to help me, son. How did you get hurt?"
“I went to find Eddie. I wanted to know what happened to Grace.”
“Good Lord, Marcus, did he do this to you?” I couldn’t imagine it, but anything seemed possible at the moment.
“No, Ma’am. He didn’t even wanna talk to me, but I kept after him. Finally he told me somebody'd attacked her in the woods.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“I couldn’t get it straight in my head, though. I thought he had just let it happen or something and I got really mad. God, I was so mad, I didn’t know what to do.” Marcus paced as he spoke. “I think I scared him pretty bad, ‘cause he got real calm and told me to sit down, so I did.” Then, as if obeying the command a second time, Marcus sat down at the table and finished his story.
"He told me he'd heard a commotion near where he stays and then he saw a couple of boys headed out of the woods. They were laughin' at another boy who was pulling up his pants and runnin' to catch up with 'em. He figured they just stopped to make water, like boys'll do, so he just turned around to go back. Then he said..." He paused then, his voice shaking with emotion.
"He said he thought he heard a...a puppy cryin'..."
"Oh, dear Lord." I felt sick to my stomach.
"But it wasn't no puppy." Marcus tried to go on, but his entire body shook with the effort and no words came out.
I thought my heart would break right there. Blanche and I had not spoken of this. I hadn't wanted to ask. I didn't want to know.
Marcus took several ragged breaths and continued.
"He found Gracie, cryin' and tuggin' on her clothes. He said he didn't touch her, just walked her here to Mama, and Gracie told her what happened."
I remember thinking I'd never felt so tired in my life. My jaws ached and my ears burned from trying to hold back tears. We sat in silence for a few minutes, long enough to breathe again.
“Did Eddie tell you who raped Gracie?"
“He didn't want to," Marcus shook his head, “I swear, Miz Ora, I only meant to take the boy’s name to the police, but once I learned who he was, I knew why Mama lied."
“I told her not to..."
“She couldn't do it no different, Miz Ora. That's the God's truth."
The boy was still bleeding on my table. I didn't have time to debate the particulars.
“You still haven't told me who hurt you. Did you have a fight with Skipper Kornegay? Is that why you don’t want to call the police? Because I swear to you, Marcus. I’ll make sure Ralph Kornegay treats you fairly. I tried to tell your mama the same thing...”
“No’m, that’s not what I’m worried about, Miz Ora. I wish that was all it was, but it’s not.”
“Then, what is it, son?”
Marcus took a long, ragged breath and dropped his head onto the table with a wail of anguish I’d never in all my life heard. I could barely understand him through his sobs.
“I killed him, Miz Ora. Jesus help me, I killed him.”
I don't know how long I sat there, stunned into silence, before I heard myself whisper, “You killed Skipper Kornegay?”
Marcus nodded, wiping his face on his arm as he did. Then, with his head still resting on the crook of his arm, he looked up at me. His jaw quivered and he drew in a few short, hiccoughing breaths and then grew calm.
“He’s dead, Miz Ora.”
I stood then, and walked into the kitchen on weak and shaky legs. I pulled two cups from the cabinet and poured water into the teakettle. I was buying time, I think - time to consider what had to be done and in what order.
Skipper must have put up some kind of a fight to have caused the damage to Marcus’s head and face, but I knew without having seen them together that Marcus was the stronger of the two.
I had to do something. But, I had to think. I finished brewing the two cups of tea and sat them both on the table. Marcus had not moved.
“Here's you some tea.”
“I cain’t drink nothin’ right now.”
“Yes, you can and you’re going to,” I commanded. “I need for you to compose yourself and tell me everything that happened.”
“You gonna call the po-lice, Miz Ora?”
“I’m not calling anyone until I hear the whole story, but first I have to know something.”
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Are you positive he’s dead? And I mean really positive, Marcus. I can’t sit here and do nothing if he's out there somewhere needing help."
“He‘s dead, Miz Ora. Graveyard dead. I know ‘cause I tried to wake him up when I got hol’ta myself, but he wasn’t breathin’ at all. I sat there for a long time prayin’ he’d wake up or breathe or something, but finally I knew it was done. I heard a noise off in the woods and I ran. I didn’t know where to go. I knew I couldn’t run down Main Street lookin’ like I did. So, I stayed in the woods as long as I could and came up in your back yard.”
Then he told the rest of his story. I never had a doubt that Marcus told me the truth. He never hesitated and he never blamed anyone but himself for doing what he did.
When Marcus left Eldred Mims, he was beside himself with grief and fear. He wanted justice for Grace and punishment for Skipper, but he was scared of what would happen to his entire family if he went to the authorities. There seemed to be no way to do the right thing. He needed time to think, so he walked through the woods and out around the Minute Maid plant at the other end of Main Street.
He was coming back through town when he saw Skipper and his friends coming out of the door of the local pool hall.
“I saw them boys and I got mad all over again. But there was four of them and only one of me. So, I ducked into the alley behind the drug store. My heart was beatin' so fast, I thought it was gonna jump out my chest."
He said he waited until the boys' laughter grew faint and then he waited ten minutes more.
“There was so much hate inside me, I was burnin' up with it. But still," he added softly, "I jus' couldn't put Grace through somethin' worse than what she already suffered, so I figured I'd best steer clear of him for now."
“Your mama said the same thing."
“I wish she hadn't lied to me. That hurt me the worst. I ain't never known her to lie straight out."
“She never meant to hurt you, Marcus."
“I know that. And I'd made my peace with it in those ten minutes. Army say it done made a man outta me, so I decided to go home a man. I was go’n tell Mama I knew she did what she had to do. But, the more I thought about my mama, the more I just wanted her to wrap her arms 'round me and tell me everything was go’n be all right, like she did when my daddy died."
I thought about my own mother then, and how much I would have loved to have her hold me that way.
Marcus stepped out of the alley just as Skipper Kornegay crossed the street and stepped onto the curb, less than ten feet from where Marcus now stood. He said they both jumped like they'd grabbed a cow fence.
“Shit!” Skipper bellowed. “Boy, you scared the piss outta me. What the hell are you doin’ sneakin’ outta there like that?”
“I ain’t sneakin’ nowhere.”
“Looked like you was sneakin’ to me. You got some business back there my daddy oughta know ‘bout?”
“They’s a lotta things your daddy oughta know ‘bout, but I don’t reckon you’d really want him to know everything ‘bout everything.”
“What the hell is wrong with you, boy?"
Marcus said he got really calm for a minute. He stood looking at Skipper Kornegay dead in the eye. Not blinking. Not wavering. Just staring. I remember thinking that was downright courageous of him, starin’ a white man down. But, then I remembered that we’d come a long way since those days and that shouldn’t really be anything notable.
Finally Marcus found his voice again. “Ain't nothin' wrong with me. Not a damn thing!”
“Boy, you what my daddy calls a’ uppity nigger, ain’tcha?”
If I hadn’t known before, I knew when I heard that. Blanche was right about Ralph Kornegay and I was a fool. I’d been in polite society so long that I took social graces for social conscience. We may not hear that word much in public anymore, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t said in private.
Marcus said he'd held his tongue all he could.
“If uppity means I don’t take any shit off a child molester, then yeah, Skipper, I’m the uppity-est nigger you ever go'n meet.”
“What the…?”
Marcus said Skipper had looked confused for a split second, until he made the connection with Grace. He laughed then.
I saw the anger rise up in Marcus when he recalled that part of the confrontation and I knew what he must have felt when he stood face to face with that monster.
“I wanted to smash his face into the sidewalk, Miz Ora,” Marcus said through clenched teeth. “I knew right then I had to get away or I would do it. So help me, God, I would stomp him into the ground. I turned around and I ran - like a coward.”
Marcus’s face contorted with rage and shame. Listening to him then and knowing all I know to this day, I am absolutely certain that running was the most courageous thing he could have done at that moment, but you couldn’t have told him that. He saw no honor at all in the act, only necessity. He wiped his face on his sleeve and went on with his story.
“I ran as fast as I could, Miz Ora, but it felt like my legs was made of cement. I could hear Skipper runnin’ behind me, laughin’ the whole way. I made it as far as the woods and ran far enough in that I thought I had lost him. I stopped to catch my breath and I listened for him to follow, but I didn’t hear nothin’ so I thought he’d gone on home.”
“But, he didn’t, did he?”
“No ma’am, he didn’t,” Marcus sighed. “I had barely calmed my breathin’ down and all of a sudden he was just there, right in front of me. He was holdin’ out his right hand and he threw his left one up in the air like he was sword fightin’ or somethin’. I heard the click before I saw the blade. I hate knives, Miz Ora. Jesus help me, I hate ‘em.”
Marcus seemed resigned then. “I figured I was a dead man. I almost didn’t even try to fight him off. If he’da come cut me up slow, I’da pro'bly let him. But he just jumped on me swingin’ and so I fought him."
“Well, that’s self-defense, Marcus! You fought him in self-defense. No court will convict you for that!”
“But, that’s not all.” Marcus dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head from side to side. “I don’t remember what all happened, I swear I don’t. I just remember doin’ everything I could to keep him from hittin’ me with that blade. I reckon he got me a few times anyway. I don’t even remember tryin’ to get the knife outta his hand; but all of a sudden, it was in mine. We wrestled around ‘til my forearm was across’t his neck and I was pressin’ on his throat as hard as I could. He stopped fightin’ for the knife and started grabbin’ at my arm and that’s when… Oh, Jesus…” Marcus wailed. He grabbed the back of his head in both hands and rocked back and forth.
“That’s when what, son?”
Marcus stopped rocking and took a deep, wrenching breath. He looked me straight in the eye and delivered his confession.
“I stabbed him, Miz Ora. Over and over and over, I stabbed him. I don’t even know how many times it was, but it wadn’t no self-defense made me stab that boy like I did. It wadn’t nothin’ but pure hate and that’s the truth.”
He didn't shed another tear after that. He just laid his head on his arms and stared up at the table. I got up from my chair and put my arms around him, pulling him as tight to me as I could get. I wasn’t his mama and my bony arms will never be called anything near soft, but I did what I could do to give him comfort.