Authors: Ernest Hill
Cry Me A River (34 page)
“I was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“That everybody would think that I did it.”
“Well, if you were so scared, why did you tell Mr. Stokes that you picked her up that day?” Captain Jack asked.
“Because he pulled a gun,” Rooster said, looking at Tyrone.
“A gun!” the chief said.
“Yes, sir,” Rooster said.
“On you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where is the gun?” the chief asked.
“In his truck,” Rooster said. “Under the seat.”
“That’s it,” the chief said. “Like father … like son … Lock ‘im up.”
The officer obeyed. And as a despondent Tyrone made his way to the cell block, Captain Jack approached him, saying, “I’ll still look for the diary. But what she said in there hurt us. I’ll do what I can. But I think you should prepare yourself for the worst.”
38
B
efore they processed him, they retrieved the gun from the truck, and he admitted everything, for now, there was no reason to lie. They did not book Beggar Man. He had been released, and as a favor to Tyrone, Beggar Man would tell Miss Hannah that Tyrone had violated his parole … and that he was back in jail. And for Tyrone, Beggar Man would tell her that he had said not to come to see him. And for Tyrone, he would tell her that he was sorry … and Miss Hannah would cry. And for Tyrone, Beggar Man would tell Pauline … and Pauline would cry. But no one would tell his son … and his son would die.
Yes, it was over … done … finished. Down in the cell block, they put Tyrone in the cell nearest the entrance. Inside the cell, he climbed upon the cot, curled his taut, tense body into a tight ball, and closed his eyes. And though his eyes were closed, he knew he would not sleep … And he did not sleep … And as night gave way to dawn and dawn stretched upward toward noon,
he held firm, clutching his pillow, lying comatose upon his cot, his weary mind a huge slate of granite, impenetrable to the gloomy forces that now were his reality. Death and dying were far from him now, for he had retreated within himself behind a dark veil where no one or nothing could touch him. He was invisible. And the world was nonexistent. Behind the veil there was no more hurt or pain; or right or wrong. There was neither rejection nor expectation nor hope nor regret. Only one long, continuous space of time shielding him from the dark, painful nightmare that had been his life.
From the cot where he lay, he had heard the comings and goings of the old trustee they called Rusty. And though morning had passed and he knew the hour was drawing nigh, he did not stir. For was it not better for him not to know, but to cut off that part of himself that belonged to a world that he would now leave behind? Was it not better for him to lie dormant in his cocoon, unaware of their comings and goings, their deeds and misdeeds, until circumstances beyond him forced him to emerge and face the reality that would forever more be his life? Inside the hollows of his head was the loud ticking of a nonexistent clock and the faint image of a time line sprawled across the dark open vast, measuring the journey that never was.
Yes, it was over. No one had to tell him, for though it had happened more than a hundred miles away, he could feel it in that part of his soul from whence all knowledge sprang. He could feel it lingering in the air riding ominously on the invisible currents of the too quiet jail. He could feel it in the dark, hollow void that was now his heart. He could hear it loud and clear, outside his cell, as he had listened to the large courthouse clock strike twelve. Yes, it was over. And he wanted but
to lie there. No, he wanted to die. He wanted to die and be free of the cages and the bars and the suffering and the pain.
Toward two o’clock, there was a jingling of keys outside the cell door. Then he heard the booming sound of the officer’s voice.
“Stokes … You got a visitor.”
Tyrone’s back was to the bars, and he did not move. Now there was no one he wanted to see. He wanted but to be alone.
“Mr. Stokes,” a different voice called to him. One that he had heard before. One that he recognized. It was Captain Jack, but still he did not move.
“Mr. Stokes, I brought someone to see you.”
Captain Jack was quiet a moment, and Tyrone was tempted to look; but he did not. There was no one he wanted to see. No voice he wanted to hear. No hands he wanted to touch. It was over, and emotionally he wanted but to live alone, in his self-imposed exile, on an island far from those he loved and free of those he hated.
“Ty,” he heard the soft, whimpering whisper of a female’s voice cut through the stale jailhouse air. “We don’t have but a minute.”
Caught off guard, he turned from the wall, raised his head, and focused his weary eyes. Instantly, he felt his heart sink. It was Pauline. And though he did not want to see her, for deep within himself he felt that he could not face her, out of some morbid feeling of obligation, he slowly raised to his feet and moved next to the bars. For a brief moment, he looked into her eyes and saw that she had been crying. And at the moment, he could not look at her anymore. Ashamed, he dropped his head and looked down at the floor. Would it not have been better for her had they never met; had they never loved; had she never borne his child? Suddenly, he felt the
need to apologize to her. To free her from her burden. To make her understand that he had never intended for things to be so, and if only he could, he would take upon himself her pain, and her family’s pain, and their son’s pain, and bear himself that for which he somehow felt responsible. He would if only he could. Feeling convicted, his lips parted, and he heard himself speak.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
And no sooner had he spoken than emotions welled inside of him, the force of which he could no longer fight, and he dropped his head and cried. Through the bars he felt Pauline’s hand gently upon his own.
“It’s okay, Ty.” Her voice was consoling. “It’s over … It’s all over now.”
She made a strange sound, and he looked up. She was smiling. He continued to stare at her. Yes, this had been hard on her. And he knew that she had not been well. And he knew that she was in mourning. Yet, the way she had said, “It’s over,” and the way she had smiled evoked something within him … something that made his skin cringe … something that seemed unreal, and unjust, and out of place. It was as if she was relieved … Her only son was dead, and she was relieved. And at that moment, he felt swell in him an anger at a world that could make a mother feel toward her own son that which was not in her nature to feel.
Then as quickly as the feeling came, the feeling passed. What right did he have to be angry, for it was his life that had complicated her life, and his deeds and misdeeds that had ended their son’s. And it was a combination of it all that had caused her to feel so. Oh, why was she here? And what was it that she expected him to say? This was all beyond him now. And there was nothing more to say. He wanted but to lie on the cot and
face the wall and wait for them to come and take him back to the place that once again would be home.
“It’s over,” he heard Pauline say again.
Confused, he looked directly at her. Her eyes were glassy. No—spacy. More spacy than he had ever seen them before. And her face was relaxed and her skin was alive and her muscles were no longer taut. He was staring at her with bewildered eyes when from deep in the shadows of the doorway he saw emerge the faint silhouette of a black man. He could not see the man’s face, but he could see his clothes. He wore a plain white shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and a pair of white sneakers. His body was stooped, and he walked gingerly as if he was moving about uncertainly in a dark room in which he could not see and in which he knew not what dangers lurked. Tyrone squinted, and then reality set in.
“My God!” he said. “It can’t be … Marcus.”
Suddenly, he felt weak. His knees threatened to betray him, and he grabbed the bars to keep from falling. Then when Marcus was close, Tyrone opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Out of the shadows, he heard his name.
“Papa.”
“Son,” he heard himself say. Tears flooded his eyes.
“It’s over,” Pauline said again. She grabbed Marcus’s hand, and they both began to cry.
“I don’t understand,” Tyrone said. “I don’t understand.”
Bewildered, Tyrone looked at Captain Jack.
“We found the diary.” Captain Jack’s words came to him in some strange succession, distorted by senses dulled by his uncomprehending mind. Was this permanent? Or temporary? Was he free? Or out on bond? Tyrone continued to stare. He wanted to speak, but he could not.
“She was pregnant … with his child …” Captain Jack said.
“Pregnant!” Tyrone said, his mind a whirling mass of confusion. “Who? I don’t understand.”
“The girl,” Captain Jack said. “Amy Talbert … She confronted him … and he killed her to keep her quiet.”
“He, who?” Tyrone asked, trying desperately to control himself. Before an answer could come, his whirling mind flashed an image, and Tyrone ventured a guess. “Rooster!”
“No,” Captain Jack said. “P. K.”
Tyrone’s bulging eyes bucked, and for the first time, he saw Captain Jack smile. Then he saw his lips part, and he heard him say, “Paul Kyle Peterson.”
Stunned, Tyrone stared mutely at Captain Jack, his eyes wide, his mouth agape.
“They were having an affair,” Captain Jack said. “She was underage … and he was married. He killed her to keep her quiet.”
Tyrone did not speak, so Captain Jack continued.
“Benny—I mean, Rooster—picked her up in front of the store that night. He admitted it … once he was sure that he would not be implicated.”
“So they were home,” Tyrone said, finding his voice.
“No.” Captain Jack shook his head. “At least not Mrs. Talbert and the children. They were at her mother’s. Just like she said. But Paul joined them later. He went home after work to change clothes. Amy arrived just before he left. They argued. He killed her … then stripped her nude … to make it look like a rape. And then he dumped the body in the field where it was found three days later.”
“You sure?” Tyrone said. “I mean, it’s over?”
Captain Jack nodded, then smiled again.
“It’s over,” he said. “Paul confessed … Besides, we
got him dead to right. Amy kept meticulous details about their affair … and there is a three-month-old fetus … an autopsy would have proven that he was the father. It’s over … Peterson killed her … case closed.”
Suddenly, Tyrone buried his face in his hands, crying. Marcus reached through the bars and placed a trembling hand on his father’s back. He caressed him but did not speak.
“It’s over …” Tyrone mumbled, his entire body shaking. “It’s over …” His voice was soft, unsteady. “It’s over … my God … it’s over.”
“Mr. Stokes,” Captain Jack called to him softly.
Tyrone looked up, and Captain Jack’s gray eyes were moist.
“I spoke to Harland,” he said. His breath came fast, hard. His voice broke, and he paused, then resumed again. “Your parole has been revoked … I’m afraid they’re sending you back to prison.”
“I know,” Tyrone said. “I know.”
“Ty,” Pauline called to him softly.
Instantly, his head turned and their eyes met.
“I spoke to Mama Hannah … I told her what you had done… I told her I was proud of you…. I told her you done gave me my child back.”
“She’s alright,” Tyrone aked, his lips trembling.
“She’s alright,” Pauline said. “She say she proud too … she say if I see you befo’ she do be sho’ to tell you she proud too.”
“Time’s up, Jack,” the officer called from the door.
“I’m sorry, Papa,” Marcus said.
“No, son,” Tyrone said, smiling. “Don’t be … ‘Cause right now, I’m the happiest man in the world.”
“You need anything?” Captain Jack asked Tyrone.
Tyrone shook his head.
“Bye, Ty,” Pauline said, still crying.
“Bye, Pauline.”
“Bye, Papa,” Marcus said.
“Bye, son.”
They stood for a moment taking each other in; then Captain Jack turned to leave. Marcus slipped his arm around his mother’s waist. She leaned her head again in his chest; then they, too, turned to leave.
“Son,” Tyrone called through the bars.
“Yeah, Papa.”
“Take care of your mama,” Tyrone said, his voice reverberating through the hollow halls. “When I get out of here … We gone be a family.”
CRY ME A RIVER
ERNEST HILL
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The suggested questions are intended to enhance your
group’s reading of CRY ME A RIVER
by Ernest Hill.
Much of the case against Marcus Stokes hinged on the testimony of the two original eye witnesses. Did they lie? And if so, what does their testimony reveal about the reliability of eye witness testimony?
What is the significance of the title?
What does the underwear symbolize? What plausible explanation can be given for its presence? And how does this fiasco affect your views of circumstantial evidence?
What does the plot reveal about the American system of jurisprudence that you were not aware of or that you find most difficult to believe? Especially as it relates to the African-American experience.
The relationship between Tyrone, René and Mr. Titus could be described as nothing short of contentious. What was the source of that contention and in what ways, if any, do you think Tyrone’s act of heroism will impact his relationship with René and Mr. Titus?
Explain the significance of the confrontation in the diner. What does it say about nepotism, politics, and small-town justice? Can you cite other situations in the novel where these elements exist?
Pauline and Miss Hannah made independent decisions to keep information from their respective sons. Were they justified? Were their actions helpful or harmful? What do their actions say about African-American women and their views on motherhood?
Redemption is a thread that runs throughout the novel. By the conclusion of the novel do you believe that Tyrone’s life has been redeemed? If so, how? Are there others who have been redeemed as well?
For centuries religion has played a key role in the African-American community. What role does religion play in sustaining Miss Hannah, Pauline, and Marcus? Explain.
Manhood is a central theme in much of African-American literature. How was manhood depicted in the novel? Cite specific examples of references to manhood and the images that those references evoke.
Do you think Captain Jack believed in his client’s innocence or was his judgement tainted by his own biases and prejudices? If so, did his perceptions affect the quality of service he rendered and is this typical or atypical of the type of representation that men like Marcus receive?
What are your perceptions of Janell? What is the significance of her character?
Why do you think Pauline never divorced Tyrone? What do you think is the possibility of
the two of them reuniting? Will the love that they feel for each other be enough? Or are there simply too many obstacles?Does this novel affect your views on the death penalty? If so, how?
