Among the Living (7 page)

He said, “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

“I’d’ve dropped the glass if you had, Mr. Ike. See, I’m still holding it. You want something to eat?” She set the glass down and wiped her hands on her apron. “I got some nice melon, bread for toasting I made this morning, maybe some eggs and grits? Or you just want to start with coffee like usual?”

“Coffee would be good. Thank you.”

“You go on in and I’ll bring it in to you. There’s still the papers on the table.” She stepped over to a cupboard.

“I can eat in here, if it’s easier for you.”

“Both is easy.”

The light through the window came in like a spray of ice and played in gray spots on the wall. Just below them was a small table near the door to the back porch. For some reason Goldah was wanting the brightness. He stepped over and pulled back a chair.

“I think here this morning.”

“That’s fine.” Mary Royal brought a cup down and poured from the percolator. “Miss Pearl said you needed to have some eggs. And she was wondering if you got yourself ready for those grits yet.”

“Not ready.”

She was remarkably quick at splitting and whipping eggs. Goldah hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he smelled them in the pan. She slid them onto a plate and cut up a few pieces of melon and laid them alongside.

“Mr. Abe likes to fry up his pastrami. He just got it new yesterday. You ever try fried pastrami?”

“I haven’t, no.”

“It’s pretty good. I think Mr. Abe done it the first time ’cause a how much he love the smell a bacon. He told me how he used to smell it down in Yamacraw when they was young and living there, coming up along the street and just knew it
was the best thing he ever smelled in his whole life.” She set the plate in front of him and brought over a fork and knife. “He can’t eat it, a course, on account it not being koshuh. There’s lots a stuff he and Miss Pearl don’t eat on account a the koshuh. But he says fried pastrami just about as close as he’s going to get to that smell a bacon without it actually being the bacon. I can fry you up some, if you like?”

“Thank you, no.” Goldah took a sip of the coffee and started in on the eggs.

“You know, I ain’t asked you yet. You koshuh, Mr. Ike?”

“No.”

“Not at all?”

“Not at all.”

“So that’s something some Jewish folk do and some don’t?”

“I suppose. Yes.”

“I didn’t know that.” She smiled, and Goldah noticed the fineness of her cheeks as they rose toward the deep brown of her eyes. She went to the percolator. She checked something in the oven and then went across to a large cupboard.

“That’s the same with praying?” she said.

Goldah was struck by the directness in her question. He wasn’t sure how to answer. She said, “You can stop and start with that, too?” She refilled his cup.

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that one.”

“Miss Pearl none too happy you not going with them this morning.”

Goldah felt this more strongly than perhaps he had expected. “Did she say something?”

“She don’t need to say nothing. I know when she’s feeling something, and this morning she was feeling she wanted you with her.”

“Maybe I’ll go next week.”

“Oh — so you’ll be getting your believing back by next week?” He smiled and she picked up a cloth, opened the oven, and brought out a long pan. The smell was of apples and raisins and she set it on the counter. She sprinkled a handful of sugar from the tin over the pan, then brushed her hands, set the pan back in the oven and closed the door. “You like fresh tomatoes with your eggs?”

She was at a bowl with a knife before he could answer. She cut the tomato into thick wedges and set the pieces on his plate.

“You leave any of that on the plate and Miss Pearl’ll really find her anger, and I’ll be in more trouble than you.”

There was a knock at the door and Mary Royal peered over through the thin curtain. She wiped off her hands and bent down to catch her reflection in a tin tray on the counter. Goldah had never seen — or perhaps couldn’t remember — such tenderly plied preparations for a man. Mary Royal pressed at her hair, rubbed her finger across her chin and cheeks, then straightened her blouse as she stepped to the door. Goldah saw only her back as she opened the door and said, “Raymond Taylor, I can run a clock on you. Mr. Ike having his breakfast inside.”

Goldah saw a moment of unspoken communication between them before Mary Royal stepped back to let Raymond Taylor in.

He was the young man on top of the ladder from that first day, not much taller than Mary Royal but far darker. His hair was cut close to the scalp with a thin part on the right, and he had small ears that sprouted like two sprigs of mint. He was carrying three large brown paper bags across his chest, each filled to the top. Goldah saw the deep strength in his forearms and the size of his shoulders, but it was the care between them that struck him most.

Mary Royal quickly took the packages from Raymond Taylor and set them on the counter. He smiled and nodded to Goldah. Goldah stood and extended his hand.

“Hello, Mr. Taylor. Good to meet you.”

Raymond’s eyes flashed. His smile remained fixed even as he shot a glance at Mary Royal, whose back was to them. She continued to unpack the bags.

“Take his hand, Raymond. He’s putting it out there for you.”

Raymond bobbed another nod and then took Goldah’s hand and shook it. “Yes, suh, Mr. Ike. Pleased to meet you.”

Mary Royal said, “Raymond comes every Saturday with groceries when Miss Pearl and Mr. Abe praying.”

“And I do deliveries sometime, too, for Mr. Jesler. I got a truck, take it down to Jacksonville or up to Charleston. Every third week or so.”

“He don’t need to know your schedule, Raymond. He knows it soon enough working with Mr. Abe in the store and all.”

Raymond nodded, as if to remind himself. “Mr. Jesler tell me about that. That sounds fine, Mr. Ike.”

“Raymond was in the war, too,” she said. “In Italy. I keep all the letters he sent, and I got a scarf he get me.” She opened the icebox and set a few packages in paper along the shelf. “He was in the fighting, not like most. Most Negro boys who come back did graveyards and mopping up. Raymond was a fighting man in Italy. We all real proud a Raymond.” She went back to the bags.

Raymond said, “She’s bragging on me too much, Mr. Ike. I just did what I was told.”

Goldah said, “Doesn’t make you any less brave.” He saw Mary Royal smile at this as she placed the last of the boxes on a shelf.

“Why don’t you take Mr. Ike down to the store,” she said and closed the cupboard. “He ain’t seen the store inside and
I got things to do here and you got to get yourself going. That sound good to you, Mr. Ike?” When Goldah didn’t answer, she said, “Raymond’ll have you back in time for lunch. Then when Mr. Abe take you down this afternoon you already feel like you know the place. You meet Calvin and Jacob. Make it easier on you.”

Goldah realized the decision had been made long before he had come down this morning. “Yes,” he said, “that sounds fine.”

Raymond stepped over to Mary Royal and she put her hand on his chest. “He knows you get to kiss me, so you don’t need to show it in front of him. Take him down Drayton by the big park so he sees everybody walking out.”

She took a rag and stepped over to the drying rack and started in on the plates. Raymond leaned over and kissed her on the back of her neck before quickly heading for the door.

“That’s just fresh,” she said as she continued to dry.

“But mighty brave,” Raymond said. He opened the door and waited for Goldah to step past.

Out in the truck, Raymond said, “I drive a bigger one for Mr. Jesler when I make the city runs.” Raymond kept his elbow propped out the window as he took them by the park. In the wind his arm seemed larger still. He said, “This one just for inside Savannah.”

It was a Ford from before the war but Raymond had kept it up, the engine easing into gear each time he shifted. Goldah had placed his white fedora between them on the seat and was tilting his head toward the window so as to feel the air run past him. Goldah liked the way Raymond spoke.

“Sometimes I take Mary Royal and her people out to Tybee for picnics and such. We do some fishing, dancing. Make a day of it. You been out to Tybee, Mr. Ike?”

Goldah watched as the large houses began to grow closer to each other, the porches with only narrow strips of land between them.

“No,” he said. “Not yet. Pearl said the beach is better when the weather cools down.”

“That’s smart. Too hot right now. Better when the weather cools.” Raymond looked over at Goldah. For a moment he seemed unsure of himself. He looked back at the road. “That’s a fine hat, Mr. Ike.”

“White for the heat,” said Goldah. “Pearl made sure it was white for the heat.”

“White hat’s good for a man in Savannah come June and July. Maybe even as far as October sometimes.”

Again Raymond looked across at him, and this time Goldah turned just as Raymond was looking back at the road.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, suh, nothing wrong.” Raymond nodded to himself. Then, “Awful kind a you to give me your hand with Mary Royal, Mr. Ike, but maybe you shouldn’t be doing that no more.”

Goldah looked at the eyes focused on the road. If there was anger or resignation in them, Goldah couldn’t see it. “Because you’re black?”

“Yes, suh.”

“And I shouldn’t offer my hand to a black man?”

“No, suh.”

Goldah took a breath and thought, Was it really that easy to land on the other side of things?

Five minutes later, the truck came to a stop along a dirt alley that ran behind the store. Farther down, two men were
unloading what looked to be glass jars of hair tonic, electric blue glinting in the sun.

“I’ll let you say your hellos,” Raymond said. “I got to make a quick trip. No more than half an hour and I’ll be back. You okay with that, Mr. Ike?”

At the back door, Raymond used his key, then pushed through. The door stuck on the cement floor and he put his shoulder into it.

“Me and Jacob fix this door up next week, Mr. Ike. He’s good with his hands. He’ll try to wriggle out a it, but I’ll make sure he does it.”

The smell of dank cardboard and shoe polish filtered through the ceiling-high metal shelves, each stacked with boxes. Raymond led them through. They came to an archway. Across from it hung a curtain that draped to the floor and, at the side, a narrow hall. Stools, ashtrays, and a cooler stood alongside the walls. This was where the carpeting began. Goldah heard voices from the other side of the curtain.

Raymond said, “We can wait here ’til Jacob comes back. Calvin should be here. Don’t know why he ain’t.” He shrugged. “You want something to drink, Mr. Ike?”

Raymond reached over to the cooler and fished two Coca-Colas from the ice. An opener was hanging from a string on the wall and he popped them both open. He handed one to Goldah.

“No reason we can’t cool off while we waiting.”

They heard footsteps before the curtain drew back. Calvin stepped through. He was in a white shirt, dark pants, and a bow tie. If he was surprised to see them he didn’t show it.

“Morning,” said Calvin.

“This here’s Mr. Ike,” Raymond said. “Mary Royal thought’d be good for him to come down early.”

“Morning, Mr. Ike. Raymond here try and kiss my granddaughter this morning?”

Goldah found himself smiling. “I believe he did, yes.”

“Well, between you and me, one day I think she might just let him.”

“ ‘One day,’ ” Raymond said. “That’s rich.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. Ike.” Calvin turned to Raymond. “You drop off them groceries?”

“Yes, suh. Dropped them off. What you doing dressed up like that?”

“Mr. Jesler says I get boxes on Saturday mornings so Jacob don’t have to leave the front empty when he needs them. Any more questions, Romeo?”

Raymond smiled. “No, suh, no more questions.”

“Good.” He took Raymond’s Coca-Cola. “Then go back and get me lady sizes six and six and a half, wide, Naturalizers, black. You going to need the ladder.”

“But I got them deliveries to Delaney’s … oh, never mind.” Raymond looked over at Goldah. “You take care a this old man, Mr. Ike, while I’m getting him his boxes. Make sure you help him to his seat.”

Calvin said, “Just get the shoes, son.”

Raymond stepped through the doorway and Calvin pointed to two stools.

“Care to sit, Mr. Ike?”

The two sipped at their Coca-Colas, Calvin staring straight ahead and taking his time with each sip. He had learned how to steal these moments for himself. There was nothing too considered, no glance at Goldah. Calvin’s was an absolute stillness; its depth was one Goldah understood only too well.

Raymond returned with the boxes and Calvin set down his empty bottle and stood.

“I’ll tell Jacob you here,” he said. “Then you can come on out.” Calvin took the boxes from Raymond. “And you gotta fix that door to the alley, son. It’s still sticking.”

“The door?” said Raymond. “I just said I got to get them Kaybee crates over to Delaney by noon otherwise he ain’t going to take them.”

“That’s fine with me, but that door ain’t going nowhere. It’d be here when you get back.”