Come Destroy Me (19 page)

“What you taking your Panther jacket for, huh?” she had said, watching him pack; hanging around while he was packing as though he were going to China. “Don't you know it'll be too hot for a leather jacket in Georgia?”

“I'm taking what I'm taking” he had said importantly.

“Millard? On your way down when you get stopovers in all these cities? You going to drop us a card from them?”

“If I get the time, Pearl-O. I'll see about it”

• • •

Even the lecture he had received from his father had not completely destroyed his enthusiam. His father was a great lecturer anyway; about nothing. What he told Millard about the Southern white people's feelings toward Negroes, had startled Millard some — but more because of the fact his father really believed that crap about practically every Southern white man having a sheet with holes cut in it, hanging in his closet for that happy day a colored person got out of line.

“Man, a lot's changed, since you were down there,” Millard had said. “We learned all about it in school … Besides, I hold my own with the spics, don't I? Spics push us around plenty and I can hold my own. I'm hip, Dad!”

Pearl had said. “That's right, Pa. It's not so bad any more. It's not good, but it's not so bad.”

Henry Post had straightened himself to his full five feet and bellowed: “You forget school when you go down there! You forget what you learned, and carry on the way I say you should! You ‘sir' everyone! Everyone! And don't be looking white folks in the eye, Millard! Them white folks aren't like spics one whit! You crawl to them if you got to! Hear?”

“Sure,” Millard had said. “Sure, Dad.”

He had winked at Pearl across the room; they'd grinned together.

Sure, sure … All right it is going to be different down there. Millard jams the letter back in his suit pocket. His father is given to exaggeration a good deal of the time, he decides. Like when Millard joined the Panthers. His father raised hell because he said all gang boys used dope. Millard grins to himself recalling it. Not a hop-head in the bunch; that's how bad the Panthers are hooked.

Millard thinks: besides — believe all the old man's bed-tales about Georgia, being on this plane would make me a living creep.

Besides — not worrying about the white people. Worrying more about the colored. Bryan Post — Uncle Bryan — and Aunt Bissy. And Cousin Marilyn; Cousin Claude. And Cousin Major … Major — what kind of name is that for somebody?

If the bunch of them can't write a letter between them better than the one sent off — weeping Jesus!

“It's probably just true of the older folks.” Pearl had discussed the matter with him. “Because back in the days when they were going to school things were all different. Maybe they didn't even go to school at all, our aunt and uncle … But you know, Mil, now every kid goes. You wait, I bet our cousin will be just as sharp as you are.” She'd laughed and poked her finger in his ribs. “Least as sharp as you think you are.”

• • •

Behind Millard the door of the DC-6 swings shut; engines start their roaring. Big deal! Living! Millard grips the sides of his seat. Goddam, it is no picnic at that!”

“Your first time?”

She's a soft-spoken, middle-aged woman sitting beside him. “Yes, ma'am.”

Calmly she knits a pair of argyle socks. “Once we get up you'll feel better.”

“What I'm worried about right now, ma'am, is if we get up.” She laughs; she's nice. “Oh, don't worry, son. We'll get up.” “You traveled a lot, huh?”

“I make this run about once a week. Just to Washington.”

Then they are taxiing out far into the field, and over the loudspeaker the hostess with the soft white long-looking hands is using her candy tones to tell everyone not to smoke, to fasten belts, to expect luncheon in flight.

The plane takes the air. Millard feels like he's flying it himself. Leaning forward, he watches the land recede under him.

— So long, suckers!

Gee-ha, lookit it get smaller! Look like sticks down there. “Man!” slips out.

The lady looks at him; nodding. “There now, like it?”

“Yes, ma'am! Yes, sir. We just — took off. Crazy!”

“Maybe you'd like to sit here by the window so you can see better.” She stops knitting. Smiles at him. “I'll be happy to change seats with you. I make this run all the time.”

Millard doesn't look her in the eyes, but he asks, “You sure?”

“Sure” she says, getting her belt loose.

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