Where Southern Cross the Dog (15 page)

“You said they left you a present?”

“Yes, sir,” the other guard answered, “that's what they said.”

“Let's go see.”

The sheriff and the guards walked back to Luke's cell, shutting the doors that had been left open on their way. Only three inmates were left, and they were found in a single cell, playing cards. Collins decided to leave them alone for the time being.

They arrived at Luke's cell and looked inside. A figure was lying on the bed facing the wall. Collins couldn't make out who it was in the dark.

“Is that your present or is that Luke?” Collins said, pointing at the body.

They shrugged.

“You sure this here's Luke's cell?”

“Yes, sir,” Billy said.

“Hey, wake up in there,” Collins said, rattling the keys against the bars.

The man in the bed moved.

“Get up,” Collins said, a little louder.

Moses turned, looked over, and stared at the three men.

“Moses, what the heck are you doing in there?”

“The Klan put me in, Sheriff.”

Collins unlocked the cell door.

Moses rose from the bed and stepped out of the cell.

“Did you recognize anyone?” Collins asked.

“They were wearing hoods, sir,” Moses said.

“They didn't take them off at all?”

“No, sir.”

“Is that true?” Collins turned to ask the guards.

“Yes, sir,” Billy said. “They came in the front door wearing their hoods. We never saw their faces.”

Collins looked back at Moses. “You wouldn't tell me even if you had seen them, would you?”

Moses was stone-faced. “Well, it certainly wouldn't be in my best interest. I've known folks that have done that very thing. Couldn't find them after that.”

“Well, I reckon I wouldn't say anything either.”

“You saw the guy that came out of this cell?”

Moses was quiet for moment.

“I know you must have seen him.”

“I saw him.”

“Recognize him?”

“No, suh.”

“Sure this was Luke's cell?” Collins asked the guards.

“Yes, sir,” Billy said.

“Anyone else gone?”

“I think so, but from what I can tell, only a couple of drunks. They were getting out today anyway.”

“I'm going back to my office,” Collins said. “We'll need to start looking for Luke, although most people probably don't care one way or the other. I know I don't. You going back to the courthouse, Moses?”

“Yessuh.”

Collins opened the hallway door then turned back. “Billy?” Collins said.

“Yes, Sheriff.”

“No more escapes. Hear me?”

Collins and Moses approached the courthouse, and Moses veered toward the door that led to his supply room. “I'm over this way, Sheriff.”

Collins headed to the steps. “You let me know if you remember anything else,” Collins said.

“Yessuh,” Moses said.

He knew he wouldn't hear from Moses again.

Collins started up the steps. “And stay out of jail, Moses.”

If the river was whiskey, I'd stay drunk all the time.

—Furry Lewis

SATURDAY COULDN'T COME TOO SOON FOR TRAVIS, who was already tired by Thursday of Hannah's endless teasing about the upcoming party. And he still knew almost nothing about it, except that it would be held in some small shack near the river. Not the Sunflower River, like he had originally thought, but the big river, the Mississippi. Travis had heard stories about the rowdy house parties and juke joint get-togethers on the river, but he had never been to one.

Finally, the weekend arrived. Before heading home to get ready, Travis stopped by the local baseball field to watch one of the Negro teams from Louisiana, the Shreveport Black Sports, play a doubleheader against Clarksdale's local team, the Brown Bombers. The Negro field was located a half mile outside of town. When Travis
arrived, he noticed a handful of other whites who were also taking the opportunity to see some professional baseball in Clarksdale. Travis sat between home and third base, ten rows up. After some shadow ball, Shreveport led off. Travis ate peanuts and cheered for his hometown team, but mostly he thought about Hannah. He left after six innings of the first game.

When Travis arrived home with some groceries his mother had requested, she was listening to Ella Fitzgerald wistfully singing her most recent hit on the radio. His father was in the living room, finishing the paper. Travis bounded upstairs, changed clothes, and scrambled back down in less time than it took his mom to put everything away. He picked up an apple.

“When will you be home tonight?” she asked.

“I'm not sure,” Travis said. “It'll be late. I might stay over at somebody's house if I need to.”

“Be careful, and tell your father good-bye before you leave. Are you taking the car again?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You'd better ask him first.”

Travis sauntered into the living room. His father laid the paper on his lap.

“You going out?” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where to?”

“I'm gonna head over to Conner's house, and then we'll go to the movie or something. Can I use the car?”

“Sure. Can you put some gas in it?”

“Yes, sir. Thanks.”

As Travis headed to the door, his father said, “Before you go, son, I've been hearing rumors around town.”

Travis nervously turned toward his father.

“What kind of rumors?”

“Just things.”

Travis knew his father was being evasive. He didn't want to come right out and say it. Travis didn't want him to.

“You know, Travis,” he said, “we have rules that are written down and enforced by law. Rules against murder, for example.”

“Luke broke that rule.”

“That's right. And then we have other rules that aren't written down. Those rules are more like customs, and we know them because that's what we're taught from our parents and from the people around us.”

“Yes, sir, and for the past two years you've been bringing Hodding Carter's articles into our home, and we've been reading them, and you've been teaching us that some of those unwritten rules, well, they're just not right. You said Carter's the future of the South, and that if it's a foregone conclusion, then we ought to get on board now.”

Travis could see his father pondering this fact. Neither of them looked away.

“And you're correct. Those are my thoughts in my house. But that's not how everyone outside these walls thinks. I can't tell them what to think and neither can you. If I tried, I'd be without a job. The rules, morality, and the actions must all be unified.”

His father brought his hands together and interlaced his fingers. “Any one of those without the others just brings trouble.”

“It's got to start somewhere.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“You're a man now, and I'm not going to tell you what to do. You have to make your own choices. But what I will tell you is that even the unwritten rules get enforced. And breaking them carries a penalty.”

“I understand, Dad. If I spend the night out, I'll make sure to be back for church. 'Night, Dad.”

Travis drove toward the movie theater near Hannah's house. He arrived at 6:40 p.m. and parked across the street, exactly one block
from the building where she had asked him to meet her. He could see the front of the theater and several blocks on the other side of it. He couldn't miss her.

At 7:05 p.m., he began to feel impatient. At fifteen after, he was concerned. Maybe she wouldn't show, had gotten into trouble, worked late, or any number of other possibilities. By twenty-five after, he thought about just driving home and forgetting the party.

“Hey, Travis!” Hannah said. She poked her head in the passenger's side window.

Travis flinched in his seat. “Where'd you come from?”

“I walked between those two buildings,” she said, pointing over her shoulder.

Travis hurried out of the car and opened her door.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling her skirt into the car and tucking it up under her legs.

“I never even saw you coming. Where have you been?”

“Oh, you know, it always takes a woman a little longer to get ready,” Hannah said, settling into her seat and turning slightly to face him. “It also took a little longer than expected to get out of the house.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Everything's fine.”

“What time do you have to be home?”

“Tomorrow before church. I told my parents I was sleeping over at a friend's house.”

“So did I.”

Travis drove northwest out of town past the Stovall plantation and then back south.

“You know, we're only a few miles from the river, as the crow flies,” he said, squinting ahead. “But we'll probably have to drive thirty to get where we're going. By the way, where are we going, exactly?”

“Just keep driving.”

Travis kept glancing at Hannah. She seemed to glow in the light from the setting sun. She was wearing what appeared to be a new blouse and skirt. It was neither flashy nor prudish, and its color perfectly complemented her brown, flawless skin. Hannah was self-assured: she knew who she was and what suited her, and she never failed to capitalize on it. Travis realized he had yet to find any faults in her.

About ten minutes into the trip, Travis pulled a small flask from under the seat. Hannah looked down at it, then up at Travis. “I'm a little nervous,” he said.

“Bourbon?” Hannah said.

Travis nodded.

“Where you'd get it?”

“There's a little storage room in the courthouse for confiscated contraband.”

They passed the flask back and forth a few times as they chatted about nothing in particular. “You still nervous?” Hannah said a little while later.

“Maybe just a tad. But a few more swigs should help.”

Around one corner, Travis took a turn a little bit wide, and Hannah grabbed the wheel and yanked the car back on the road. “Why don't I drive?” she suggested. “That'll give you time to sip. And I know where the party is.”

Travis pulled over and stopped the car. They switched places and continued.

“I think I'm finally relaxed,” Travis said after he capped the flask. “I only wish I had brought another.”

“There's plenty more where we're going, so don't worry.”

There was still some light in the sky when they reached their destination. Hannah parked the car about a hundred yards from a brightly lit cabin. Near their car were more cars, trucks, four wagons, and several horses tied up among the trees.

“We're certainly not the first ones to arrive,” Travis said.

“I bet some of these folks have been here all day,” Hannah said.

Travis's bourbon had done its work. He felt comfortable, relaxed—almost too much so. The smell of roasted meat wafted around the front yard and grew stronger as they approached the house.

“Ever been to a juke joint before?” Hannah asked.

“No, never. What's a juke anyway?”

“Juke? Juke, or joog, is Gullah. It means ‘disorderly.'”

Just as Hannah stepped onto the porch, the cabin door opened and raucous chatter and laughter spilled out. The cabin was old, but there was still a roof on it in most places. Because of its odd layout, Travis couldn't tell right away whether the cabin had three or four rooms. It looked like two of the rooms had been an afterthought. One of these, near the front, housed the kitchen, where several women were cooking and serving food. Two boards were nailed across the doorway and served as an ordering window. There was never a line, just a steady stream of customers filling themselves in anticipation of the events to come.

In the back, one of the newer rooms held a noisy group of men shouting and cheering.

Travis leaned over to Hannah. “What's going on in there?”

“Cards, craps, sometimes a chicken fight,” she said. “Always some kind of gambling in there.”

In one corner of the main room stood an old piano with a guitar laid across its top. Travis knew it was just a matter of time before the instruments would come to life and the main room would be packed with people juking off the chains of their everyday lives.

Travis looked out onto the backyard through two doors that stood wide open. Most of the crowd seemed to be back there. Some sat at tables, some on blankets, and still others stood eating, drinking, and talking. Several men tended cooking meats over two open pits.

Standing alongside Hannah, Travis felt friendly because of the bourbon, but he knew better than to act familiar. He stayed close to Hannah but was careful not to appear possessive of her.

They approached the makeshift bar. It wasn't big, but it was functional. “Let me do the talking,” Hannah whispered.

Travis nodded in agreement, trying not to stare at the bartender. He was such a huge man that Travis figured he must double as the peacekeeper.

“Good evening,” Hannah said to the man behind the bar.

“He with you?” the bartender asked without greeting her. He was obviously offended by Travis's presence.

“He's with me,” Hannah said.

“Is he staying long?”

“As long as I do.”

“Is he here for business?”

“No, he's here just like you and me. For a little music, food, dancing, whatever.”

“Maybe y'all can stay out the way. I've got regular customers.”

Travis wanted to grab Hannah's arm and leave, but the moment his arm moved toward hers, the bartender glanced down at it. Travis redirected his hand into a pocket.

“We'll just stay where we stay,” Hannah said, not backing down. “Can we have a drink now?”

The bartender jerked his head, indicating he was ready for their order but not happy about it.