New England White (47 page)

“Well, then, discuss this. When I married Lemmie, and you were upset about him being an Empyreal, it wasn’t because they’re small and unimportant, was it?”

Silence.

“Come on, Mona. I’m not letting you out of this.” At last she lifted her gaze, but Mona was an old hand and kept a poker face. “This Gina Joule business that Vanessa’s obsessed with? The Empyreals were involved somehow in the aftermath. I want to know how. And why. I want to know what your old boyfriend Bay Dennison was doing there.” Still her mother waited. “I’m only asking because I have this mess at home, and I think Aurie was trying to tell me that they’re related. Come on. You know something about them that I don’t. I think it’s about time you told me.”

“Told you what, dear?”

“Who the Empyreals really are.”

CHAPTER 52

THE EMPYREALS

(I)

“Y
OU HAVE TO PICTURE
what it was like, dear, back in the day. When we truly lived as two nations. The darker nation. The paler nation. The Empyreals invented those terms, dear. Or popularized them, anyway. They were such a big deal, the Empyreals. Back in the day.” They were walking again, along the path as it meandered through the trees. Water gurgled just out of sight. A fresh chill had settled, and Julia supposed they might get more snow. “Back when all these groups were being founded. So few of our people had education, but those who did, well, they’d study physics or Greek or Confucius, and the only job they could get would be on a loading dock in some big city, or maybe, if they were lucky, they could be undertakers or schoolteachers. All these brilliant, professional, educated men—some women, but mostly men—and the white world shut them out. So, naturally, they wanted to associate with others of their own kind. A lot of these clubs came out of that background, dear.”

“Looking down their noses at the rest of their people.”

“Maybe so. Maybe so. Let’s not judge them, dear. Not yet. The point is, they had difficulties. Lots and lots of difficulties. The clubs were a place to forget all that, to try to create a space where you could have intellectual talk, or at least talk to people who had seen as much as you had.”

Julia was too tired for this. “Mona, please. I didn’t come all this way for a history lesson. I don’t want to know how these groups got started. I want to know about the Empyreals.”

“Because of your Lemaster. Because he’s the Bubba.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

“What else, dear?”

“Ever since I talked to Aurelia, there’s been this story from my childhood I haven’t been able to get out of my mind. This was in Hanover. November 1972. I remember because Nixon had just been re-elected. Granny Vee was living with us then. You had some people over to watch the election returns that night. I was a kid, but I remember how the rest of you sat there, watching one state after another fall to Nixon, and you all had the same look on your faces, like you’d been kicked in the—well, kicked pretty hard. Remember that night?”

“Of course I do, dear. We were a family in those days. I still had you both. You and Jay, dear.” She smiled and brushed her fingers over Julia’s slim shoulder as if trying to decide whether to give her a hug. “And, my goodness, I’m surprised you remember. We had a regular party. There weren’t but a few of us on the faculty in those days. Black people, I mean. We were depressed. We were mad. We all got together and got drunk.” Her wide mouth turned down in disapproving memory. “And you remember that? How old were you, dear? Four? Five?”

“Twelve.” One child in the world, and Mona could not remember her age. Julia fought the urge to bristle. “The thing is, Granny Vee got tired. You made me take her up to bed. On the way out of the room, she said the strangest thing. Now, I know, Granny Vee wasn’t all there in those days, and I haven’t thought about it in years, but lately I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. She said it just goes to show you that the Clan should stay out of the election business. She said the Clan should have learned its lesson in ’56. What were they talking about, Mona? What happened in ’56? What happened in ’72?”

“The Republicans won by a landslide both times. That’s what happened.”

“No. That’s not what she meant. She said, ‘They backed the wrong horse, as usual.’ You told her to hush, but Granny Vee wasn’t so easy to quiet down. I got her out into the hallway, but she was still yelling. She said they kept trying and kept messing up. And she said, ‘The Paramount is such an idiot.’”

The path split, and Mona selected the more overgrown fork. The forest closed tightly around them, blotting out what little warmth the day offered. As the old woman danced on ahead, Julia found herself hurrying to keep up. “You heard wrong, dear,” she called over her shoulder. “Granny must have been talking about Perry Mount. He was a Harlem boy—you met him, but you were little, you wouldn’t remember—but poor Perry wanted so badly to have influence. He was involved in one of the other campaigns, not even McGovern’s. His man didn’t even get nominated. Poor Perry backed the wrong horse. That’s our history, dear. The Negroes are always backing losers. That explains why we’re where we are.”

“She didn’t say ‘Perry Mount.’ She said ‘
the
Paramount.’”

“I’m sure she didn’t.”

“She did. That’s exactly what she said.” Julia had caught up with her mother on the path. “And then she said—she said, ‘They should have listened to Preston.’ I wondered for years what she meant. Then, the other week, Lemmie told me that the head of the Empyreals is called the Paramount, and it was all clear. She was saying the Empyreals backed the wrong horse because their leader was an idiot. They were involved in the election, weren’t they?”

“Oh, well, electoral coalitions are complicated—”

“Mona, stop it. Stop. No more games. No more hiding. Tell me.” Mona’s cocky hazel eyes never shifted, but they did now. Julia pounced. “Come on, Mona. Granny wasn’t making general statements about the race. She was being too crafty. She was teasing. She thought she was telling secrets.” A frown. “And she said one more thing, Mona. I don’t think you heard it. I walked her up to her bedroom, the way I did every night. When I got her in bed and all tucked in, she said they needed either a new author or a new plan. I didn’t know what she was talking about. But it wasn’t the darker nation. She said ‘they,’ not ‘we.’ And the head of the Empyreals isn’t just known as the Paramount, is he? He’s also known as the Author. I think Granny Vee was talking about the Empyreals. I think they were trying to do something about the election, and it didn’t work.” Her mother reacted. Definitely. Squirming as she hurried on ahead. “What was it, Mona? What did they do?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“I’m not a child, Mona.”

“You are, in some respects.” Holding up a slim hand to forestall any protest. She was making one of her speeches. “Maybe you’re right, dear. No knowledge is ever sinful, is it? Secrets are the only thing that keep us apart in this world. The not knowing. That’s the danger. We’re reasoning creatures, dear. We’re designed to breathe the truth. We need it to live. When the truth we crave is hidden away, we’ll breathe the lies to keep from smothering.” The pale eyes grew somber. “All right, dear. Never mind. You want to hear the story, I’ll tell you the story. But, believe me, Julia Anne, you’ll be sorry you ever heard it.”

(II)

T
HEY HAD REACHED ANOTHER FORK
. Mona blinked owlishly, peering in both directions, a fist at her mouth, and it occurred to Julia that her mother was not sure which path to take. A part of her was prepared to wait and force Mona to ask for help, but before daughter could decide how long to make mother suffer, she had stepped past the hesitating old woman, laid a hand on the shrunken shoulder, and selected the left, which led slightly uphill, toward a clearing. As they climbed, Mona seemed to relax, and the words flowed easily again.

“It was 1956, just as you said. I was living at home while I did some graduate work at Columbia. Now, the thing you have to understand, dear, is that in those days the most powerful black man in the country—Negro, we said back then—the most powerful Negro in the country, and maybe the most famous, was Adam Clayton Powell. You met him. You were a baby. You wouldn’t remember. You used to see his first wife on the Vineyard. Never mind. The thing is, Adam, well, he had so much influence, he got Eisenhower to desegregate military bases and movie theaters, all of this back before the Supreme Court decided
Brown.
An amazing man. He was the pastor of Abyssinian Baptist Church on 138th Street, same as his father had been. He was also a member of Congress for years and years. A Democrat, of course, although in those days, dear, there wasn’t anything wrong with being a Republican. I think most of the Clan probably voted Republican. Not most Negroes. But most of the Clan. Well, things were different. But Adam was a Democrat. And then, in 1956, he stunned the whole world by endorsing Eisenhower for President. The Democrat was dear Adlai Stevenson. A sweet, sweet man. Didn’t have much of a chance, you understand, but you never knew. Especially if he could line up the whole Negro vote. It wasn’t like now. In those days, the Democrats didn’t have the Negro vote locked up. They couldn’t take us for granted and give us nothing in return, the way they do today. Our leaders were smart enough to do deals with the Republicans sometimes, instead of just calling them names and guaranteeing they’d never listen to us. Never mind. The point is, Adlai was trying to get the whole Negro leadership behind him. And then Adam said he was going to endorse Eisenhower. Took the poor Democrats completely by surprise. Naturally, Stevenson wanted to meet with Powell. They had a secret meeting. Guess where?”

“Granny Vee’s house?”

The slope was steeper now. The going was hard work for Julia, harder still for her mother, but neither wanted to be the first to call for rest. If Mona was disturbed at how Julia, by interposing an answer to the rhetorical question, had spoiled the drama of the moment, it didn’t show. “Exactly, dear. At the Veazie townhouse on Edgecombe Avenue. Right there in my father’s study. Your grandfather was not only host but also referee. I was dating a man named Eddie in those days, and we were going out that night. We were in the foyer. We heard bits and pieces of the conversation. Adam said he was tired of endorsing a party that was so beholden to its Southern wing that its platform couldn’t give even a lukewarm endorsement of the
Brown
decision, and a party that ran the Congress but couldn’t pass a federal anti-lynching law. He said if that was the best the Democrats could do he’d try the Republicans. Adlai said if he got elected he could change all that, but Powell wouldn’t budge. I think it was plain to Stevenson that the meeting was just for show, that Powell never had any intention of negotiating. He was for Eisenhower all the way. That’s what I thought, anyway. Then my father caught us listening in the foyer. He got mad and slammed the door.” Mona smiled. “You’d never have been in that situation, would you, dear? Listening in the foyer? In Hanover, you always made sure your young man waited for you. You liked that, didn’t you? Leaving your young man alone downstairs until you were ready to make your entrance. And they waited. You had them eating out of your hand. You always liked that, didn’t you? Guys falling all over you? You were such a terrible flirt in those days. Never mind.”

Julia, boiling, kept her peace.

“That night, Eddie and I talked about it. He heard a little bit of the meeting, too. And we decided, the two of us, that Powell had another reason. It wasn’t just about the lynch law, or if the Dixiecrats had too much influence in the party. No. He was too passionate. Powell was no fool. He must have known Eisenhower had doubts about civil rights, and Stevenson didn’t. But Powell was determined not to endorse the Democrats that year, no matter what Stevenson offered him. And Eddie, well, he had a theory about why that might be. He said, ‘Maybe Powell doesn’t like who else is backing Stevenson.’ As simple as that.”

They had emerged from the tree line on a ridge overlooking farmland and clustered toy villages. Mona had reached her limit. Julia knew it at once. Her mother’s hands were trembling.

“We can stop for a rest if you want.”

But Mona was too deeply into her story to consider it. “So, anyway, I asked my mother. Granny Vee. This was a few days later. We were getting dressed, probably on our way to a Ladybugs thing. A wake, I think. We were wearing orange and white, because, well, when a Sister Lady dies, you dress for her wake in Ladybugs colors. All right, you know that already. I forget sometimes. Never mind. I asked her. Amaretta. She gave me this look, Julia. I know, when you were little, you used to say I had these looks I’d give you, like you were just the lowest of the low. My how-could-you-let-me-down-this-way look. I remember. Well, I used to tell you, I got it from Amaretta. Only her looks were worse. She looked at me like just by asking the question I had betrayed the Clan. And you know what she said to me, dear? She said, ‘We had to give it a shot, dear.’ That’s what she said. That’s all she said. And, yes, I know, maybe she was just talking about the meeting. Trying to make peace in the Democratic Party. But that wasn’t the impression I got. I got the impression that she was talking about something bigger. And for Amaretta, only one thing was big enough to qualify for that kind of—of worshipful abstraction. Not God. Not America. Not Harlem, or the darker nation. The Clan. Only the Clan. There wasn’t any other ‘we’ for Amaretta. I got the idea that what she was trying to say was that the Clan had gambled and lost. That the Clan had made some kind of big bet on Adlai Stevenson, and Adam Clayton Powell had spoiled it.”

Julia shook her head. “Then I don’t see what the big deal is. The Clan supported Stevenson. He lost. So what?”

“I don’t think the Empyreals are dying at all, dear. I think they’re doing just fine. Secretive as ever, but going strong.”

“You’re saying that all of this about how they’re old and unimportant—it’s some kind of cover story?”

“I just think they’re up to something. They were always up to something.”

“Something like what?”

They had started back down the slope. Mona took short, almost mincing steps, and now Julia had to work hard not to drift on ahead. “I’m an old woman, Julia Anne, and you shouldn’t take me too seriously. But Aurelia’s information was wrong. Your grandfather wasn’t the Bubba. Or he wasn’t just the Bubba. Later, he became the Grand Paramount. He ran the thing for ten years, before Bay Dennison. And it’s all supposed to be a big secret, but Preston had no secrets from your grandmother. And let me tell you what Granny Vee told me, years later. They’ve always been obsessed with the Presidency. The Empyreals.”

“You mean, wanting to influence him?”

“No, dear. I mean, wanting to pick one.” The forest thinned around them. Mona was near the end of her resources, and of her story. “About that night in ’56. Granny Vee told me the Empyreals ran Stevenson. That’s the way Amaretta put it, that they ran him. He was their man. They didn’t just support him. They had some kind of influence over him. And again in ’72. Not McGovern. One of the other Democrats. But something happened and he didn’t get the nomination. You see, Julia, your grandfather had this idea that the only way to get anything from the Caucasians was to use their own tools against them. They would never do the right thing out of conscience, he said. They would only do it out of self-interest. We had to own a candidate, he told your grandmother. The same way the powerful Caucasians did. We needed a man who would do our bidding not because his conscience bothered him but because circumstances left him no choice.”