Nobody Said Amen (7 page)

The door opened, and a demure young woman stood at the entrance. Carrying a small linen purse and dressed in a white cotton shift, she seemed foreign to the scene and appeared uncomfortable. She stared at him and then said softly, “Good morning.”

“Good morning. Wasn’t sure anybody was here. Somebody who can help me with this tire? I’m staying across the highway and when I came out this morning somebody had—” He stopped to look around the deserted station. “Well, this tube has got to be repaired and the tire replaced.”

“My brother’s gone on a service call, and I promised to keep an eye on things till he gets back. I don’t work here. You can leave the tire if you want. Bobby Joe is pretty busy, so I can’t rightly tell you if and when it’ll get done.” She paused, cocked her head and looked hard at Mendelsohn. When she spoke again, the timidity had gone from her voice. “I don’t guess Bobby Joe is going to want to help you. You’re one of those Freedom Riders over in the Sanctified Quarter, aren’t you?”

Before he could answer, a pretty, blond, and pregnant woman emerged from the office and planted herself boldly in front of the office door. “We saw you when you first drove into the Quarter, didn’t we, Em? You had another white boy next to you and two Nigras crouching down in the back seat.” She chuckled. “Welcome to Shiloh. Population 3,107. The most vigilant town in Magnolia County!”

Mendelsohn had to laugh. “Thank you for the welcome.” He dropped the tire, suddenly conscious in their presence of how he must look, and wiped his hands on his grimy jeans. “Well, I sure can’t do much freedom riding with this damn tire, ladies. So I’m going to have to leave it. Maybe Bobby Joe will show a little Christian spirit. I’ll appreciate it.”

The pregnant woman smiled. “You don’t look like the others.”

“Beg your pardon?”

She flushed. “I said you don’t look like the others.”

He returned her smile. “I’m just like the others. I’m twenty years older than they are, but I’m just like them.”

She laughed softly, turned briefly to her embarrassed companion, then pointed her finger at him. “Take off your sunglasses,” she demanded. “I’ve got questions for you, and I want to see your eyes.” Puzzled, but intrigued by the glint of brazen fun in her voice, Mendelsohn removed his sunglasses and stepped forward. “What would you like to ask me?”

Surprised by his willingness, she wetted her lips and pondered. “Well, Em and I were wondering . . . ” She halted, then raised her chin, her green eyes flashing. “No, that’s not fair. Not Em. Me. I was wondering what are you doing down here in Shiloh?” The woman’s silent companion, lips parted and eyes wide, edged back to the entrance of the office.

“I’m spending the summer writing and taking photographs. I’m a journalist. And I’m covering the kids who came down here to work.”

The blonde’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you bein’ a journalist for?”

“
Newsweek
magazine.”

“
Newsweek
magazine! Up in New York City?”
Up in New York City
sounded as if she were speaking of the Land of Oz.

He tried not to smile. “Yeah. That’s where the publisher is. He sends us working types out to see the country. That’s how I got to Shiloh.”

Excited now, she moved closer. A very feminine summer aroma of lavender and suntan lotion made his thoughts drift. Her face was very near. “Would you answer me honest?”

Her companion interrupted from the doorway, “Willy! What in the world?”

“It’s all right, Em.” She never took her eyes from his face. “Would you really talk with me?”

Mendelsohn stared. Where was this going? He hadn’t been near a woman who smelled so good in—Christ! Six weeks? “Sure, Let’s talk. What’s bothering you?”

She pouted and frowned. “Well, we can’t talk here!”

He gazed slowly around the empty station and asked innocently, “Why not?”

She exploded, “Because this is a gas station!” Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “Would you come to my house?”

Em looked shocked but remained silent. Mendelsohn grinned and nodded. “Well, thank you. That’s the first invitation I’ve had from the white community since I arrived in Magnolia County.”

“Now don’t start that!”

“Look, before I accept your kind invitation, you ought to know that if I come I’m liable to jeopardize your position in Shiloh. When I drive in or out of the Sanctified Quarter, people notice. You both noticed. And I’m often followed.”

“Don’t be silly. Everybody in Shiloh knows me. Just come.” She pointed south. “You go down 49 past the high school. First road on the right. The Claybourne place. Anybody can show you.”

“Thank you.” He thought of what it would be like if Dale Billings met this woman, and could hardly suppress his smile. “Can I bring some of the kids I’m living with? You’d like them.”

Her eyes widen in horror. “Heavens, no!”

He laughed at her vehemence. “They don’t bite! When would you like me to come?”

Her eyes were bright with anticipation and she turned to Em. “Can Bobby Joe fix his tire by Wednesday? He’ll need his car to get out to the plantation.”

Looking very uncomfortable, Em stared at the blonde, then shrugged. “I’ll talk to him.”

The pregnant woman clapped delightedly. “Bobby Joe’s never said no to Emily in his whole life. So why don’t you come Wednesday afternoon, one-thirty. Em, you come, too.” She extended her hand to him. When he took it, it felt smooth and surprisingly cool. She smiled. “My name is Wilson Claybourne. What’s yours?”

Dale Billings was speaking to SNCC headquarters in Jackson when Mendelsohn dropped into the chair opposite. Billings was staring at the phone, seemingly unaware that Ted had even come in.

“J. Edgar Hoover said he’s opening an office?” Billings’s voice became strident. “Down in Neshoba? Be the first fucking office the FBI’s got in Tildon’s state if it’s true! Keep me posted. It’s lonely up here.” He hung up and saw the reporter. His long slender fingers beat a tattoo on the old desk. “Nothing new on the boys.” A sardonic smile creased his intent young face. “But the shit’s hit the fan in all the big papers up north. Mickey Schwerner and Andy Goodman, two white guys, are missing. So Jackson says J. Edgar’s gonna have to look interested. Word from Washington is he’s going to open an office down here.” His scornful voice filled the empty Freedom House. “After how many years? How many lynchings? How many burned down churches? How many black brothers gone missing or shot? Now two white civil rights workers, Mickey and Andy, go missing, and the FBI is going to open an office in Missafuckingsippi? I wish I could still laugh. It’s fucking pathetic.” He took a deep breath and pointed to the ham sandwich on the desk before him. “You want part of this? You been gone all morning, you must be hungry.”

“Hell, no. Unlike some of my brothers, I do like ham. But that sandwich looks as tired as you.” Even at the Ohio orientation Ted had thought Dale looked drawn, his eyes too large in his thin face. Rail-skinny, he thought. And the bottled intensity in the youngster seemed ready to spill now that he was back in the Delta. His fingers never seemed at rest, tapping a staccato accompaniment to his speech. The kid’s been waiting for this summer, Ted reflected, feeling everything, and not taking care of himself.

He walked to the ancient ice box and took out a quart of milk and placed it next to Dale’s sandwich. “Eat your lunch, Dale. You look like a poster child for the Salvation Army.”

“Still being my Jewish mama, Ted?”

“Well, your kin are down in Tunica, so I’m the only man in Magnolia County that knows you don’t know how to take care of yourself. So eat your pork and drink your milk.”

Dale slapped the desk, his laughter cascading. “Mercy, mercy!”

“You’ve been on the pipe most of the night with Jackson? You’ve got to get some sleep. Things are just getting started down here now that the students have arrived. They’ll need your help. Nobody knows Shiloh and Magnolia County like you do.”

Billings raised his hands in mock surrender. “Breeding, Mendelsohn. How many people you know have cousins in Magnolia County, Missafuckingsippi? That’s why I am so knowledgeable. Been a captive audience to my father’s second wife whose family is still in Tunica, just down the road. I’ve been down here on school holidays since before Emmett Till was killed over in Money. That was a cautionary lesson for a nice northern Negro like myself. Lucky for me, I never learned to whistle. What I don’t know, I can usually find out. Not talent, just breeding, Mendelsohn.”

Dale Billings always broke him up. Ever since the magazine had sent Mendelsohn to cover the first demonstration when Howard students picketed the Woolworth’s in Washington. Max had been prescient about its newsworthiness. Dale Billings had been the cheerleader, seemingly oblivious to the catcalls from a hostile crowd of whites that swiftly had gathered. His tough welterweight body was in constant motion, leading the students,
what do we want, when do we want it
, chanting, clapping,
freedom! freedom! now! now!
Celebrating the moment and making the others braver. Mendelsohn couldn’t take his eyes off him. When the picket line passed his part of the crowd Ted had called out “Talk to me later, I’m with
Newsweek
.” Billings was being hustled away by the police when Mendelsohn asked the cop, “What’s he done?” The cop shouldered his way past him. “Butt out. What the hell is it to you? You with them?”

Mendelsohn had flashed his press card and the cop had grunted, “He’s blocking traffic.”

Dale had grinned at him. “
Newsweek
? Why’d I think you were with the
Amsterdam News
or
Ebony
?”

Since Mendelsohn was the only white reporter who showed up to cover the story, it started a long friendship with Dale Billings. When he’d run into him again at the Ohio orientation, the kid was hot to trot, couldn’t wait to join the group going into Shiloh in Magnolia County. “Gonna be Communications Director, Ted!” And Ted had teased him. “Is the movement that hard up? Don’t know if you can make the weight, Dale.” And Dale had shot back “Pound for pound I’m the toughest kid on the block. But they made me Communications Director because I am so smart and communicate so well. But mostly,” he laughed, “because I know where Magnolia County is in Missafuckingsippi!”

“What do you know about a family named Claybourne, Dale? It’s a long story, but I’ve been invited to the Claybourne house. It’s occurred to me that I may be getting set up.”

“Invited to the Claybourne house? You kidding? Other than the Tildon place, Lucas Claybourne has the biggest plantation in Shiloh. Must have more than forty tenant families on the place. Lucas invited you?”

“Not Lucas. I met Wilson, Mrs. Lucas Claybourne, and she recognized a gentleman and invited me to visit her on this Wednesday afternoon. It’s not talent, Dale. It’s just breeding. What I want to know is, should I go?”

Billings cocked his head and his eyes grew serious. “Don’t rightly know. Her husband gonna be there? If he is I don’t know if you ought to go. If he ain’t, I don’t know if you ought to go. I’d watch my back, old timer. He ain’t Klan, but he knows everybody who is. His wife, Willy? Been honey to all the Shiloh bees who wear pants and want to invite her into the hive for a little sportin’. But she’s more fizz than sarsaparilla, and folks think Lucas keeps her on a pretty tight lead. But she’s been news in Shiloh since she was Magnolia Cotton Queen in ’56, first summer I came to the Delta. Beautiful chick, sexy. Got one kid, Alex, and has another on the way. What’s she want with a wanderin’ Jew like you?”

Mendelsohn laughed and started for the door. “Age adds a certain dimension of allure, son. I explained that I was twenty years older than you agitators and that might have done it. So in my estimation as an old and very experienced journalist, I think she wants to entertain me, not kill me. However, I could be wrong. And as Communications Director, I’d like you to make sure I’m right. So if I’m not back by four o’clock, please come and get me. Or communicate with the new FBI office in Neshoba.”

“And what will I tell
Newsweek
when they call askin’ what happened to old Mendelsohn?”

“Tell them I’m on the case and the check never arrived.”

Bobby Joe Kilbrew nodded to Luther Lonergan. “That’s him.”

They watched from the gas station as Mendelsohn walked down the dirt road and paused at the Sojourner Chapel. When he methodically kicked broken glass from the steps, the two men grinned. “It’s too bad we missed the fucker the other night, Luther!” Minutes later they saw him start to cross Highway 49 then halt as four huge trucks carrying newly sawed pines rumbled past. Bobby Joe squinted through the waves of heat. “He looks younger than Em said.” He picked up a tire iron, swinging it like a pendulum into the hollow of his left hand, back and forth, “Let me do the talkin’.”

When the trucks passed, Mendelsohn trotted across the highway, crossed the baking asphalt, and strode into the office. “Is one of you Bobby Joe Kilbrew?”

“Yeah.” The arc of the pendulum continued, ending each time with a soft plop. “I’m BJ.”

Mendelsohn grinned. “I’m the guy with the fucked-up tire. I think your sister told you about it.”

“Yeah, she did. Said this reporter from New York needed help.”

“I sure do. Hard to do my job down here without wheels.”

“Depends. What is your job down here?”

“Reporting. I write about what’s happening so folks understand the news.” He smiled at the man at the desk. “So I need wheels to go talk with people. If I wasn’t staying so close, I would have had to use a car to come talk to you.”

“Luther and me’ve seen what New York reporters write about us rednecks.” Kilbrew turned to Luther. “Ain’t that so, Luther? Lot of us don’t think those Jew reporters write very patriotic stuff.” Kilbrew carefully laid the tire iron on the desk. His eyes met Mendelsohn’s. “That what you do for work?”

“My boss sent me down to write about what’s happening in the Delta now that the Negroes are starting to try to register to vote. He never said anything about rednecks, Mr. Kilbrew.”