Clock Without Hands (28 page)

"No more do I, J.T. And I am fully cognizant that we, as members of this citizens' committee, are taking the law into our own hands. But if the law doesn't protect our interests and the interests of our children and descendants, I am willing to go around the law if the cause is just and if the situation threatens the standards of our community."

"Everybody ready?" Bennie Weems asked. "The X mark is it." At that moment Malone particularly loathed Bennie Weems. He was a weasel-faced garage man and a real liquor-head.

In the compounding room, Jester sat hugging the wall so closely that his face was pressed against a bottle of medicine. They were going to draw lots to bomb Sherman's house. He would have to warn Sherman, but he didn't know how to get out of the drugstore, so he listened to the meeting.

Sheriff McCall said, "You can take my hat," as he proffered his Stetson. The Judge drew first and the others followed. When Malone took the balled-up paper his hands were trembling. He was wishing he was home where he belonged. His upper lip was pressed against the lower. Everybody unrolled his paper under the dim light. Malone watched them and he saw, one after another, the slackened face of relief. Malone, in his fear and dread, was not surprised when his unrolled paper had an X mark on it.

"I guess it is supposed to be me," he said in a deadened voice. Everybody looked at him. His voice rose. "But if it's bombing or violence, I can't do it.

"Gentlemen." Looking around the drugstore, Malone realized there were few gentlemen there. But he went on. "Gentlemen, I am too near death to sin, to murder." He was excruciatingly embarrassed, talking about death in front of this crowd of people. He went on in a stronger voice, "I don't want to endanger my soul." Everybody looked at him as though he had gone stark raving crazy.

Somebody said in a low voice, "Chicken."

"Well, be dumed," Max Gerhardt said. "Why did you come to the meeting?"

Malone was afraid that in public, in front of the crowd in the drugstore, he was going to cry. "A year ago my doctor said I had less than a year or sixteen months to live, and I don't want to endanger my soul."

"What is all this talk about soul?" asked Bennie Weems in a loud voice.

Pinioned by shame, Malone repeated, "My immortal soul." His temples were throbbing and his hands unnerved and shaking.

"What the fuck is an immortal soul?" Bennie Weems said.

"I don't know," Malone said. "But if I have one, I don't want to lose it."

The Judge, seeing his friend's embarrassment, was embarrassed in turn. "Buck up, Son," he said in a low voice. Then in a loud voice he addressed the men. "J.T. here doesn't think we ought to do it. But if we do do it, I think we ought to do it all together, because
then
it's not the same thing."

Having made a fool and a spectacle of himself in public, Malone had no face to save, so he cried out, "But it is the same thing. Whether one person does it or a dozen, it's the same thing if it's murder."

Crouched in the compounding room, Jester was thinking that he never thought old Mr. Malone had it in him.

Sammy Lank spat on the floor and said again, "Chicken." Then he added, "I'll do it. Be glad to. It's right next to my house."

All eyes were turned to Sammy Lank who was suddenly a hero.

JESTER
went immediately to Sherman's house to warn him. When he told about the meeting at the pharmacy, Sherman's face turned grayish, the pallor of dark skin in mortal fright.

Serves him right, Jester thought. Killing my dog. But as he saw Sherman trembling, suddenly the dog was forgotten and it was as though he was seeing Sherman again for the first time as he had seen him that summer evening almost a year ago. He, too, began to tremble, not with passion this time, but from fear for Sherman and from tension.

Suddenly Sherman began to laugh. Jester put his arms around the shaking shoulders. "Don't act like that, Sherman. You've got to get out of here. You've got to leave this house."

When Sherman looked around the room with the new furniture, the bought-on-time baby grand piano, bought-on-time genuine antique sofa and two chairs, he began to cry. There was a fire in the fireplace, for although the night was warm, Sherman was cold and the fire had looked cozy and homelike to him. In the firelight the tears were purple and gold on his grayish face.

Jester said again, "You've got to leave this place."

"Leave my furniture?" With one of the wild swings of mood that Jester knew so well, Sherman began to talk about the furniture. "And you haven't even seen the bedroom suit, with the pink sheets and boudoir pillows. Or my clothes." He opened the closet door. "Four brand new Hart, Schaffner & Marx suits."

Wheeling wildly to the kitchen, he said, "And the kitchen, with all modern conveniences. And all my own." In an ecstasy of ownership, Sherman seemed to have forgotten all about the fear.

Jester said, "But didn't you know this was going to happen?"

"I knew and I didn't know. But it's not going to happen! I have invited guests with RSVP invitations to a house-warming party. I bought a case of Lord Calvert's bottled in bond, six bottles of gin, six bottles of champagne. We are having caviar on crisp pieces of toast, fried chicken, Harvard beets, and greens." Sherman looked around the room. "It's not going to happen because, boy, you know how much this furniture cost? It's going to take me more than three years to pay for it and the liquor and the clothes." Sherman went to the piano and stroked it lovingly. "All my life I have wanted an elegant baby grand."

"Stop all this goofy talk about baby grands and parties. Don't you realize this is serious?"

"Serious? Why should they bomb me? Me who is not even noticed. I went to the dime store and sat down on one of those stools. That is the actual truth." (Sherman
had
gone to the dime store and sat down on one of the stools. But when the clerk approached threateningly, Sherman said, "I'm sick. Will you give me a glass of water, miss?")

"But now you've been noticed," Jester said. "Why can't you forget all this mania about black and white, and go North where people don't mind so much? I know that if I were a Negro, I'd certainly light out for the North."

"But I can't," Sherman said. "I have rented this house with my good money and moved in this beautiful furniture. For the last two days I have been arranging everything. And if I do say so myself, it's elegant."

The house was suddenly all of Sherman's world. He never thought consciously about his parentage these days, since his discovery in the Judge's office. There was just a sense of murk and desolation. He had to busy himself with furniture, with things, and there was always this ever present sense of danger and the ever present sense that he would never back down. His heart was saying,
I have done something, done something, done something.
And fear only buoyed his elation.

"You want to see my new green suit?" Sherman, wild with tension and excitement, went to the bedroom and put on his new Nile green silk suit. Jester, trying desperately to cope with the veering Sherman, watched while Sherman pranced through the room in the new green suit.

Jester could only say, "I don't care about all this furniture and suits but I do care about you. Don't you realize this is serious?"

"Serious, man?" Sherman began to pound middle C on the piano. "Me who has kept a black book all my life, and you talk about serious? Did I tell you about vibrations? I vibrate, vibrate, vibrate!"

"Stop pounding the piano like a lunatic and listen to me."

"I have made my decision. So I am going to stay right here. Right here. Bombing or no. Besides, why the fucking hell do you care?"

"I don't know why I care so much, but I do." Over and over Jester had asked himself why he cared for Sherman. When he was with him, there was a shafting feeling in the region of his belly or his heart. Not all the time, but just in spasms. Unable to explain it to himself, he said, "I guess it's just a matter of cockles."

"Cockles? What are cockles?"

"Haven't you ever heard the expression, cockles of your heart?"

"Fuck cockles. I don't know anything about cockles. All I know is, I have rented this house, paid my good money, and I am going to stay. I'm sorry."

"Well you have got to do better than be sorry. You have got to move."

"Sorry," Sherman said, "about your dog."

As Sherman spoke, the little spasm of sweetness shafted in that region of Jester's heart. "Forget the dog. The dog is dead. And I want for you to be living always."

"Nobody lives for always, but when I live I like to live it up." And Sherman began to laugh. Jester was reminded of another laughter. It was the laughter of his grandfather when he talked about his dead son. The senseless pounding on the piano, the senseless laughter, jangled his grief.

Yes, Jester tried to warn Sherman, but he would not be warned. It was up to Jester now. But who could he turn to? What could he do? He had to leave Sherman sitting there, laughing and pounding on middle C of the baby grand piano.

Sammy Lank had no idea how to make a bomb so he went to the smart Max Gerhardt who made him two. The explosive feelings of the last days, the shame, the outrage, the insult, the hurt and fearful pride had almost gone away, and when Sammy Lank stood with the bomb that soft May evening looking at Sherman through the open window, his passion had been almost spent. He stood numb of any feelings except a feeling of shallow pride that he was doing what had to be done. Sherman was playing the piano and Sammy watched him curiously, wondering how a nigger could learn how to play the piano. Then Sherman began to sing. His strong dark throat was thrown back, and it was at that throat that Sammy aimed the bomb. Since he was only a few yards away, the bomb was a direct hit. After the first bomb was thrown a feeling savage and sweet came back to Sammy Lank. He threw the second bomb and the house began to burn.

The crowd was already in the street and yard. Neighbors, customers at Mr. Peak's, even Mr. Malone himself. The fire trucks shrilled.

Sammy Lank knew he had got the nigger, but he waited until the ambulance came and he watched them cover the torn dead body.

The crowd outside the house stayed on to wait. The fire department put out the fire and the crowd moved in. They hauled the baby grand out in the yard. Why, they did not know. Soon a soft drizzling rain set in. Mr. Peak who owned the grocery store adjoining the house had a very good business that night. The news reporter on the
Milan Courier
reported the bombing for the early edition of the paper.

Since the Judge's house was in another part of town, Jester did not even hear the bombing, and only heard the news the next morning. The Judge, emotional in his old age, took the news emotionally. Uneasy and nostalgic, the softhearted, soft-brained old Judge visited the morgue at the hospital. He did not look at the body, but had it removed to an undertaking establishment where he handed over five hundred dollars in United States greenbacks for the funeral.

Jester did not weep. Carefully, mechanically he wrapped the
Tristan
score he had inscribed to Sherman and placed it in one of his father's trunks up in the attic and locked it.

Rain had fallen all night but had now stopped, and the sky was the fresh and tender blue that follows a long rain. When Jester went to the bombed house, four of the Lank brood were playing "Chopsticks" on the piano which was now ruined and out of tune. Jester stood in the sunlight hearing the dead and no-tune "Chopsticks" and hatred was mingled with his grief.

"Is your father there?" he called to one of the Lank brood.

"No he ain't," the child answered.

Jester went home. He took the pistol, the one that his father had used to shoot himself, and put it in the glove compartment of the car. Then cruising around town slowly, he first went to the mill and asked for Sammy Lank. He was not there. The nightmare feeling of out-of-tune "Chopsticks," the little Lanks, added to his feeling of frustration that he could not find Sammy Lank and made him beat the steering wheel with his fists.

He had been afraid for Sherman but he never really felt it would ever happen. Not a real happening. It was all just a nightmare. "Chopsticks" and ruined pianos and the determination to find Sammy Lank. Then when he started driving again, he saw Sammy Lank lounging before Mr. Malone's drugstore. He opened the door and beckoned. "Sammy. You want to come with me to the airport? I'll take you on an airplane ride."

Sammy, sheepish and unaware, grinned with pride. He was thinking: Already I'm such a famous man in town that Jester Clane takes me for an airplane ride. He jumped in the car joyfully.

In the training Moth, Jester seated Sammy first, then scrambled around to the other side. He had put the pistol in his pocket. Before taking off, he asked, "Ever been in an airplane before?"

"No sir," said Sammy, "but I'm not scared."

Jester made a perfect take-off. The blue sky, the fresh windy atmosphere, quickened his numbed soul. The plane climbed.

"Was it you who killed Sherman Pew?"

Sammy only grinned and nodded.

At the sound of Sherman's name there was again the little cockles spasm.

"Do you have any life insurance?"