No Crystal Stair (11 page)

Randy stood by a table, his face austere and serious, as he spoke in that slow Southern drawl he could imitate so well. “Gentlemen, it has come to my attention that someone is destroying government property, namely the signs marked WHITE and COLORED. I called you in her today to make one thing clear.” Randy leveled an accusing finger at his howling audience. “The United States Air Corps adheres strictly to the separation of the races. I want you all to understand that not only is segregation a policy of this state, it is also a policy of the Air Corps.” At this point Randy slapped his hand hard on he table and glared belligerently. “No damn fool with a screwdriver is going to change that policy. I run this base! Anyone not adhering to regulations or vandalizing signs pertaining to same will be busted,
and
he'll be court-martialed.”

Randy's delivery, according to Rob, was dead on. After the colonel made his speech the previous evening, Rob said, he had not been challenged. Everybody had listened politely before being dismissed and filing quietly out.

Next, Ted Watson, who had been valedictorian of Randy's graduating class at Morehouse, rose to carry the mockery a bit farther. Amid gales of laughter, he stood up, assuming a quavering high-pitched voice. “I think it's a shame, sir. I really do. If I catch anyone tampering with signs that have guided me throughout my life, I'll sure turn him in. Court-martial! He ought to be horsewhipped. You done let us have this nice base with them neat signs and that pretty little picket fence in the cafeteria to keep us in our place. You let us fly them planes and wear these fine uniforms.” He paused to shine the bar on his shoulder. “And some damn fool is trying to mess it up! All I gotta say is he better not let me catch him.”Ted gave a suspicious glance around the room, as if searching for the culprit.

Randy, trying hard to suppress a grin, beamed in solemn approval “Spoken like an officer and a gentleman, Lt. Watson. One, I believe, in line for a promotion,” he added.

Rob stood and held up a hand. “I wish to commend Lt. Watson for his patriotic spirit, sir, and add my name to the roll for this sacred duty. If we're diligent and keep our eyes open, I'm sure we'll soon run the culprit down.”

“Toast,” said Pete, lifting his beer bottle “To the pursuit!”

Accompanied by several
Hear, hears
and the clinking of Coke and beer bottles, Randy—still impersonating the colonel—expressed his appreciation to those who understood his grievances. Pounding on the table, he listed things Ann Elizabeth was sure the colonel felt but dared not say “The pain and peril of being assigned to this godforsaken nigger base, the humiliation of seeing white enlisted men salute nigger officers, witnessing the degradation of a white soldier requesting permission to attend and sit with niggers at the base theater...”

Ann Elizabeth curled up beside Robs, feeling a little sleepy as the anecdotes rolled on and on.

It was Pete who told the one about the white flight officer who got hurt in a plane crash and was rushed to the Tuskegee Army Air Field Hospital for treatment. This really had happened. According to Pete, the officer became concerned and asked the Negro medics to check—was he getting black blood? The medic promised to do so. He returned, looking puzzled. “We got a problem, sir. Damned if this blood ain't all red.”

Ann Elizabeth was unaware when the banter subsided and the talk became serious. She awoke to the sound of Ted's voice loudly outlining the progress of the war.

“What do you mean we're beating the pants off them?” he shouted, evidently in response to some remark from Pete. “The Brits might be holding their own in Africa, but Hitler has invaded Russia.” He went on about which army unit was where and what had or had not been accomplished. Ann Elizabeth had always known Ted was brilliant. Everybody said he would be an even better lawyer than his father. But he was usually very
low-key and very funny. Amazing that he should know in such detail what was happening overseas.

“Your predictions sound gloomy,Ted,” Sadie murmured. “Do you really think we could lose?”

“Anything's possible, kid,” was Ted's answer. To a storm of protest from the others, he began to argue. “Look how fast the Germans have moved through Europe. And they're pounding the hell out of England. Fact is, the Japs did the Brits a favor where they bombed Pearl Harbor. If we hadn't come in, they might've been wiped out by now. Hitler has built up a powerful war machine in the last few years. He's either lucky or pretty smart.”

“He's crazy!” Sadie sounded so indignant they all turned to her. “Have any of you read Mein Kampf?”

None of them had.

“Well, I have,” she said. “And I tell you it was written by a man with a diseased mind. If somebody doesn't stop him, we're all in big trouble!”

She looked so distressed that Pete reached over and touched her hand. “Cheer up, honey. Don't pay any attention to Ted. We're winning. The U.S. Eighth Air Force is daylight bombing Germany and ...”

“And Hitler is launching massive retaliation on England,” Ted said. “He's not just sitting still!”

“Like we are,” Rob said rather quietly. Ann Elizabeth sat up, surprised at the bitterness in his voice as he went on.

“Fighter pilots sorely needed and here we are—six classes of airmen, three squadrons'worth, eighteen aircraft each, pilots and crewmen languishing in south-central Alabama.”

“Don't knock it, boy.” Randy chuckled. “I kinda like this languishing. Ain't hankering to be over there. I don't relish the idea of them antiaircraft guns pointing at me.”

The group laughed at his sally, but Ann Elizabeth shuddered while Ted chided, “Shit, man! Here you are with over
one hundred and fifty flying hours and you ain't learned how to dodge them bullets? All you do is ...” he made an upward swoop of his arm. “Quick, before—”

“Never mind the demonstrations.” Randy laughed and sang a plaintive tune. “Please, sir, I don't want to go. I ain't no expert like my friend Ted.”

“Don't be'shamed, buddy, don't be 'shamed! Ain't many can aspire to the heights of First Lieutenant Ted Watson.”

There followed a chorus of boos and verbal contest about who could outfly whom. Ann Elizabeth and the other women listened and laughed on cue, not understanding any of it—chandelles, figure eights, immelmanns and “on the deck.”

Ted was the loudest, contending that he “could fly the boxes the planes come in.”

“Didn't see you make it under the bridge,” Pete said.

Ted bristled. “Didn't see you make it, either.”

“And you're not going to,” Pete answered. “I can't quite fly the crates the planes come in. And I'm not planning to dive into the river or buy a farm.”

Ann Elizabeth knew about the bridge that rose high above the Tallapoosa River, near Tallassee, Alabama. She knew that some of these foolish bragging men, trying to prove themselves, had actually flown their P-40s under it. But “buy a farm”? Timidly she asked, “what's with that buy-the-farm business?”

Several of the men answered. “A crash.”

Then Randy explained. “When an aircraft crashes anywhere other than its airfield, it's generally on farmland, which the government then has to pay for.”

“Really?” Sadie asked. “They have to pay for a crash?”

“Sure, when a plane crashes and burns, the damage to the land is extensive.”

But there's no way to pay for a life, Ann Elizabeth thought, shuddering again. “Let's talk about something else. Okay?” As if in answer to her prayer, in walked Louis Armstrong with a
few of his band members. He was greeted with enthusiastic shouts of praise and soon they all gathered around the piano for another concert, this one impromptu and private.

 

 

On a sunny Sunday morning two weeks later Ann Elizabeth lay in bed, almost bursting with what she had to tell her husband.

Beside her, Rob yawned. “So you're being lazy today?” he said. “I'm glad.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He frowned at her. “Sometimes, sweetheart, I think you're a bit too much like my mom.”

“How so?”

“On Sundays when you bug me to get up and go to church!”

She laughed. “Just trying to save your sinful soul.” Often she did persuade him to accompany her to the college chapel. But not today. Today she'd—

“But not this morning. My sweet? Got something else in mind?” He nibbled her ear, his hand cupped her breast, his thumb gently teasing the nipple. The familiar urgent desire sprang to life at his touch. If he didn't stop...

“Wait!” She clutched his hand, held it still. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Mm.” Not interested, he continued his intimate caressing.

“Robert Metcalf, listen to me? I'm pregnant.”

“Preg—?”

She grinned up at him. She had his attention now! “We're going to have a baby,” She said, firmly placing his hand on her stomach.

Quickly he lifted it away from her body. “Careful. We don't want to ... to ...”

“Don't be silly. You can't hurt the baby by touching me. She chuckled. ”If so, it would've happened before now. Carl said I'm six weeks already. At the clinic yesterday, he—”

“Ann Elizabeth, you never told me!”

“I didn't know it myself. Really. I was as surprised as you are right now,” she said, speaking rapidly. “Never suspected until last week. And then I wanted to be sure and I saved it to tell you today.” So they could savor the news on the one whole day they always spent together. “Oh, Rob, you are glad?”

“Almost as glad as I was when you said you'd marry me. Just ... bowled over, I guess. And scared. You ... are you all right?”

“Of course I'm all right. Being pregnant is normal, silly. And the doctor says I'm fine. He says—”

But whatever else the doctor said was muffled against Rob's chest. He held her close, but carefully as is she was fragile and precious. “We're going to be a family,” he gloated rocking her back and forth, telling her how much he loved her. “You'll be the mother of my child.”

“And you'll be the father of mine.” She whispered, wrapping her arms around him. This time it was she who coaxed. “It's all right. It's okay to love us both,” she wheedled as she touched and teased. And smiled when he groaned in submission.

Afterward they showered and dressed, then went out to stroll through the campus.

“I love this town,” she said, referring to Tuskegee Institute, named in honor of the college and quite separate from the town of Tuskegee, where the whites lived. “I guess Booker T. Washington had a point when he urged Negroes to ”let down your buckets where you are.”

“You're talking about the great compromiser, old Mr. separate-but-equal Uncle Tom himself? You agree with him?'

“All I know is that I like being here. It's a little country town, but way different from towns like Monticello where my uncle Jimmy lives. Negroes there live in dire poverty. Here they live well, thanks to the institute and the veterans' hospital, neither of which would exist if it hadn't been for Washington.”

“Right.”

“And face it, Rob. If the school hadn't been here, neither would the Army Air Corps base. And neither would you.”

“Right. Still separate but not quite equal. Flying round and round, going nowhere.”

Ann Elizabeth's heart lurched. Why did they want to go where bombs burst and bullet flew? Not only Rob, but all of them. All those handsome virile black pilots at the base. So anxious to go to war. Didn't they ever think about dying?

She saw the muscle twitch in Rob's cheek, and her heart ached for him. She felt a twinge of guilt. She wanted him here. Right here. Flying round and round, going nowhere. Not in Germany...

She couldn't help it. She didn't care if they never sent the black pilots overseas. She wanted Rob right here beside her, planning for their baby.

She touched his arm. “Let's go across the street for a burger. I'm kinda hungry.”

“You ... or my baby?” Rob smiled and reached around her waist to touch her still flat belly.

“Both of us. And behave yourself!” Slapped his hand, glad she'd diverted him.

 

 

On Monday Ann Elizabeth took the bus to the base and shopped at the commissary. She left her groceries to be picked up later. They would borrow Randy's car to haul them into town. She stopped at the base cafeteria for a hamburger and soda, sharing a table with Fran and some other base employees. When they left to go back to work, Ann Elizabeth walked to the Officers'Club to wait for Rob.

The Club was quiet. There were three officers at the bar rolling dice with the bartender. Two women seated at the table—Doris, married to one of the pilots, George somebody, and
another woman. They were involved in such a deep private conversation she dared not disturb them. She greeted them cordially, retreated to the lounge and settled into one of the sofas with a magazine.

She heard the siren of an emergency vehicle, but it seemed far, far away. Sounded as if it came from the direction of Tallassee. Not to worry.

Two articles later she heard a commotion in the bar. She looked up to see the three officers rushing out, heard them cursing.

The bartender was about to follow, but Ann Elizabeth stopped him. “What's wrong?” she asked, clutching the sleeve of his white jacket.

“Somebody's bought the farm.”

Ann Elizabeth's whole being plummeted. Her heart raced. Her head throbbed. She heard Doris exclaim. “No! No! Not George. It can't be George.”

Ann Elizabeth silently echoed the plea. Not Rob. Not Randy. Please God. Finally she managed some coordination between mouth and brain and was able to whisper, “Who?” Not Randy. Not Rob. Please, God.

The bartender, who had returned to his post, answered “We don't know. We'll just have to wait.” He poured brandy for the women and tried to reassure them. “We'll know soon. It might not be one of us. Could be somebody from Maxwell or Dothan.”