A Solitary Blue (10 page)

Jeff didn't say anything.

“Go away, Jefferson. You make me tired,” Gambo said. She leaned her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes.

Jeff went upstairs to his own room. He unpacked his suitcase into the drawers. He changed into his pajamas and folded back the bedsheets. Then he turned off his light and sat by the window, looking out over the back yard to the familiar lighted windows, savoring the remembered sounds and smells. But he'd thought Gambo liked him, he'd thought he was welcome, he'd thought this was his real home. The disappointment tasted bitter, but he swallowed it quickly, because what Gambo and the aunts thought didn't make any difference. It was Melody, only Melody who mattered.

After a long time, he went to bed. He hadn't heard her come in, and he thought he would wait up until she was home safe, keeping watch over her even though she'd never know. But he fell asleep.

When Jeff went down to breakfast, Melody was not yet awake. Gambo had eaten and was drinking a cup of coffee, taking pills that she selected out of a tiny gold box set by her place. He said good morning to everyone, first Gambo, then the aunts. Gambo rang for Miss Opal to come and ask what Jeff wanted for breakfast. “You're going to have to amuse yourself, I don't know what you're going to do with yourself,” Gambo said to Jeff. Her eyes were not friendly.

“I don't mind,” Jeff said.

“Very generous of you.”

“I'm really grateful to be here. I'm very glad you asked me,” Jeff said. He didn't understand what he had done wrong, so he didn't know how to undo it.

“I didn't ask you, you asked yourself.”

Jeft didn't know what to say. “I'm sorry,” he said.

“As long as you understand that.”

“I'm sorry you're feeling tired.”

“Not tired, old. Young people don't understand so I can't expect you to.” She breathed raspingly twice before continuing, “I must admit I thought your father would know better.”

Jeff thought she shouldn't talk, and he looked around him at the long windows with their folded drapes, at the smooth, creamy walls and the portraits hung on them. He smiled at the aunts, who chattered with their heads together, casting sidelong glances at him. He heard Melody's footsteps on the stairs and he looked to where she would appear.

She stood in the doorway for a minute, slim and smiling, her eyes seeking Jeff's before she went to kiss her grandmother good morning. Miss Opal set a plate down before Jeff and he picked up his fork. Melody wore a flowered sundress and sandals and she moved as gracefully as wind over a garden of flowers.

“I'll never understand why you did that to your hair,” Gambo said.

“I like it,” Melody said. “I like the way it looks.”

“It looks common.”

“If you want me to, I'll grow it out again,” Melody offered, her hand on the back of Gambo's chair.

“I've given up trying,” Gambo said. She reached for the little bell again.

“You know I'm going to eat in the kitchen,” Melody said.

“Take the boy with you,” Gambo said.

Jeff got up happily, carrying his plate and juice glass. He ate at the kitchen table, watching his mother ask Miss Opal for scrambled eggs, then sit down across from him while Miss Opal set the table with a fork and coffee cup, with a little bowl of jelly and a glass of juice. Melody didn't think there should be servants, so she always ate breakfast out in the kitchen, because she didn't think Miss Opal or anyone else should have to wait on her; Gambo didn't approve but Melody stuck to her principles.

“She's crotchety this morning,” Melody said.

“What can you expect?” Miss Opal asked, beating eggs in a little bowl. “She never likes it when you're out with that young man.”

“He doesn't come here,” Melody said, “and she can't ask anything more than that.”

“Oh well,” Miss Opal said, “once she faces up to things, she'll be herself again. Facing up is the hard part.”

“Well, I wish she'd hurry up,” Melody said. “I don't know what she's got to complain about.”

Miss Opal poured the eggs into a pan and stood with her back to them. “Just the usual things, and they're enough,” she finally said.

“Jeffie, Jeffie. What would you like to do today?” Melody reached over to take his hand, which he reached out to have taken, “I've got to work in the darkroom for a couple of hours, developing, and then I'll have to run off prints this afternoon — how would you like to take your old mother out to lunch? Would you like that? It'll give me something to look forward to.”

“Yes,” Jeff said. “Yes, please.”

“Can you amuse yourself this morning?”

“Sure. Can I borrow your guitar?”

“I sold it last fall. But I thought you had one of your own.”

“I didn't bring it. That's OK. How come you sold yours?”

“You know, I can't remember. Miss Opal, can you remember?”

Miss Opal set a plate of eggs down in front of Melody, flanked with strips of bacon and slices of buttered toast. “You said you needed the money, that's all I remember.”

“Well, there must have been some reason,” Melody said. She ate hurriedly.

“I could come down and help you out in the darkroom.”

“Oh no. No. Not today anyway. Are you interested?”

“Sure.”

“Then I'll teach you, I promise, first thing. It'll be our project for the summer, OK? I'll meet you up here, about noon; that should give me enough time. I'd steer clear of Gambo if I were you. She's having a bad day. Why don't you take a walk?”

So Jeff did that, because he wanted to do what Melody wanted him to do. When he was doing what she wanted, they were connected — in a way — they were touching, even if they weren't really.

* * *

He wandered for a while, and then walked uptown, to one of the cemeteries beside one of the old churches, where he strolled along the stone paths, reading inscriptions. The high walls made it seem like an overgrown garden, and muffled the city noises just beyond. The air grew hotter so that even in the shade of live oaks and glossy magnolias it was uncomfortable. Jeff sat beneath one of the oaks and waited through the ringing of the church clock, which marked off the quarter hours as the morning passed on toward noon. The thick silence of the graveyard was broken only by the chiming of the clock, 9:30, 9:45, 10, as he waited; 11, 11:15.

He was a little early getting back to Gambo's. He could hear lunch being served in the dining room. He sat on the bottom step of the stairs and waited for Melody. By the time she finally appeared, the women had finished their meal and gone back into the living room, to watch the afternoon soap operas. Melody ran up the stairs past him, “I've got to wash my hands and get my purse, I'll be about two seconds. Are you terribly hungry?” She stopped halfway up, came back down to where he stood and put her arms around him, then kissed his head, just above the ear. “It's so good to have you back,” she said, then ran up the stairs.

When they had ordered their lunches, after conferring about how much money Jeff had, she leaned across the table to smile into his eyes. Happiness welled up in Jeff so that there was nothing left of him but the beating of his heart and the gray of his mother's eyes. “What did you do this morning?” she asked.

It took him a minute to collect his thoughts. She laughed as if she knew the effect she had on him. “I went up to see the cemetery,” he said.

“I missed you terribly, all the time,” she said.

“Me too.”

“You've gotten taller.”

“Not much, only an inch or so.”

“Did you like Max? Isn't he wonderful? I'm so glad you two finally got to know each other. Gambo can't stand him — you probably figured that out. She won't have him in the house. Isn't that perfect? Just like somebody in Faulkner's books? Well, he's not one of her southern gentlemen, he doesn't bow over her hand and make pretty speeches. But Jeffie, I have to go out of town for a week, just a week, I wanted to tell you. You don't mind, do you?”

He minded terribly. “No,” he said. “Where are you going?”

“There's a folk festival in the mountains, the first annual South Carolina folk festival and fiddling contest. All the proceeds, after expenses, are going to the environmental group that's sponsoring it. I don't know if you've seen some of the eroded areas, the rural poverty — little children, Jeffie, who never get enough to eat, or medicine or shoes. Max wants to write an article on the festival and I'll take pictures. We talked it over and he said there wouldn't be anything for you to do, so it's better if you stay here with Gambo. That's all right, isn't it?”

“Sure,” Jeff said.

“And it's only for a week. And I have a picture I want to show you, I want to show you all my pictures.”

“I'd like that,” he said truthfully.

“Maybe this afternoon; we're leaving tonight. I'm really sorry, Jeffie,” she said, watching his face.

“I'll be fine. Don't worry about me.”

“I wouldn't go if I thought I needed to worry about you. I expect — living with your father — you're used to being left alone. That man left you alone even when he was with you.”

“I'll be OK, I promise,” Jeff said. He guessed he knew what she meant about the Professor; he knew he didn't want to argue with her. “Melody?” he asked, then waited until their plates were set down in front of them. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You sound serious.”

“It's OK, I'm not. I don't have to know.”

“Go ahead, you silly goose, ask.”

“Why did you marry the Professor? I mean — ” Jeff couldn't think of how to finish the sentence, so he let it dangle. Max had said she was pregnant and had to. The Professor hadn't said that.

His mother nibbled at a potato chip, drank some of her iced tea. “He was so handsome,” she said. “I was younger then — well, of course. Distinguished is the word I guess, he was so distinguished looking. I was taking a course with him, and we used to laugh because he got so embarrassed if you tried to talk to him. He was so — good looking, and shy and stand-offish. I thought about how lonely his life must be and the more I thought about it, I began to feel sorry for him. So I set out to be friends with him, just to see if I could, to see if I could make him like me. It was kind of like a challenge. And — well, when he talked with me he laughed and wasn't so dignified.
He'd been so lonely and I made him happy. The poor old thing.”

That made sense. Jeff could see how that would make her feel and she might decide to marry him if she felt that way. “But — then you left — ” he started to say.

“I was so unhappy, Jeffie. He didn't notice, he didn't care. That horrible little house and all the stuffy professors and their horrible frumpy wives, and he didn't
do
anything to make things better. We never had any money — I always had to pinch pennies, everything, no matter how small. There wasn't ever enough. You don't know how that can wear a person down.” Her eyes grew unhappy as she remembered.

Jeff felt so sorry for her he didn't know what to say. He wished he hadn't brought up the question at all. He was angry at himself for making her unhappy. “It's OK, really; I understand.”

“I don't think you can,” she said, her voice low and sad. “Sometimes, I don't think any man can.”

“I don't mind,” Jeff said. “But tell me about this festival; does it last all week? Who's going to appear, do you know?”

That cheered her up. “Max will, that's the important thing, for a whole week.” She smiled at Jeff as if they shared a secret. “And Gambo would be livid if she knew.” Then she mentioned a list of other names, some of which he had heard before, and the rest of the lunch went too quickly by.

Melody returned to her darkroom after lunch, telling Jeff to wait in the kitchen please. Then she took him by the arm and led him with her to the cellar stairs, to whisper in his ear: “Don't say anything about Willum to Miss Opal. He's in jail, for five years — he was selling marijuana. But if he'd been white it would only be two years and — don't ask about him, OK? It breaks her heart.”

But Miss Opal did want to talk about Willum, explaining how Willum couldn't help going bad, with the friends he had and his parents living so far away, with her having to work for their living, with the schools the way they were, and the job situation. “That boy — he never did have a chance,” she said, stirring sugar into her cup of tea. “But I tell him, his old Granny won't desert him, he always have a home with me. I ask the Lord to spare me for that time.”

“How old are you?” Jeff asked.

“Why, seventy-eight.”

Jeff stared at her. “But you're older than Gambo. I didn't know you were.”

“Well, I always was,” Miss Opal said.