Orpheus Lost (10 page)

“It’s the Jordan River,” Leela said. “After you cross it, you’re in heaven.”

Cobb pulled a soft chunk of wood from a floorboard and threw it at the River Styx. “D’you remember
your
mother?” he asked.

“Sort of.”

“Like what? What do you remember?”

“I remember she smelled of lavender.”

“No one smells of lavender.”

“My mama did.”

“No she didn’t. I remember her. She didn’t smell of lavender, she smelled of fried eggs and soap.”

“She used to pick lavender every day and crush it up in her hand and put some in her pocket and give me some too. Sometimes she comes and puts it under my pillow and under Maggie’s pillow while we sleep. Yours will come back too, Cobb. Maybe she’ll leave something different. Maybe she’ll leave Confederate jasmine, ’coz she loved jasmine, didn’t she? Or maybe she’ll leave math answers under your pillow.”

“Did you see your mama when she was dead?”

“No,” Leela said. “Children aren’t allowed to see dead people.” She tried to summon up the image of her mother, but all that came was the sensation of softness, the lavender smell, and the shadowy woman in the photograph. There was always a blur like a too-bright light where a face ought to be. “She died in the hospital.”

“My mama told me that yours died in childbirth.”

“Yeah. When Maggie was born.”

“How come Maggie didn’t die?”

“Daddy says that Mama’s soul went straight into Maggie, so we brought her home, but Mama went to be with the Lord and that’s where she’s waiting for us.”

“I saw mine.”

“You mean, you saw your mama when she was dead?”

“Yeah.”

“Children aren’t supposed to. They’re not allowed.”

“It was me who found her.”

“Oh.” There was a long silence. Leela’s eyes wandered along the bends of the river on the ceiling. She was searching for the coffin Cobb had seen. “What did she look like?”

“She looked like a fish on a hook.”

Leela thought of fish, white and twitching, at the end of a line or in the bottom of a boat. She could not connect this to a mother. “But she isn’t dead really, Cobb. She’s gone to be with the Lord.”

“She’s dead. And she’s not in heaven. She’s at Thompson’s Funeral Parlor.”

“Well, she’s going to be in heaven soon,” Leela said. “After they bury her, that’s when people go to heaven. There’s your mother’s face, see? With angel wings. She’s watching us. And after the funeral, she’ll be in heaven.”

“There’s not going to be a funeral.”

“There’s always a funeral.”

“The minister told Dad we couldn’t have one.”

“There’s always a funeral. Why did he say you couldn’t have one?”

Cobb had rolled over and poked a stick through the softened veranda boards. There were acres of cobwebs and spiders down there. “I hope the spiders get her,” he said savagely. He began to sob, or rather, a tornado of strangled
sounds touched down on him. Leela was frightened. She did what she did when her baby sister cried and would not stop. She put her arm around Cobb and sang the song her own mother had left behind:
Hush, little baby, don’t you cry, Your mamma’s gonna sing you a lullaby-ay. All my troubles, Lord, soon be over.

Cobb stopped crying abruptly and sat up. “I’m not a baby,” he said.

“I know you’re not.”

“Don’t sing me baby songs.”

“I’m sorry. It’s what I do when Maggie cries.”

“I’m not a girl.”

“You’re allowed to cry for dying, Cobb. Even my daddy cried.”

“My daddy would never cry,” Cobb said.

“I bet he does when you’re asleep.”

“I bet he doesn’t.”

“I feel like crying, Cobb. I don’t know why.”

“I do too.”

“Let’s cry. I promise I won’t tell.”

“You wanna be my blood sister?”

“Yes,” she said.

He took his pocketknife then and drew blood from his middle finger and from hers. They pressed their fingers together.

“Till death do us part,” Leela said.

“If you ever tell that I cried,” Cobb said, “your blood will spurt out and you will die.”

“Cross my heart,” Leela said. “I’ll never tell.”

At school, when they stood for one minute of silence, Leela heard one of the teachers whisper: “What a dreadful business this is. I just hope that poor child will be all right.”

In her Cambridge apartment, Leela tried to reconstruct her mother’s face but the jigsaw pieces were fuzzy. Mrs. Slaughter’s face, suspended from a ceiling fan by a sheet, always looked like a fish. Leela could summon up blurred flashes of her father and Maggie and Mr. Slaughter. She had a fleeting image of Mishka with a ferryman in a boat, crossing to somewhere. She saw Cobb, then and now, and the pieces would not match up.

“Do you ever see Cobb?” she’d asked Benedict Boykin, a month or so back, in Harvard Square.

“Yeah,” Benedict said. “We’ve crossed paths.”

“Where?”

“Afghanistan. Iraq. Major Slaughter.”

“How is he?”

Benedict shrugged. “He was in his element, I guess.”

“It’s hard for me to imagine Cobb as a military officer.”

“He’s in intelligence. Special Forces. We both were. We were in the same unit.”

“That figures, I guess. Does he look the same?”

“No. You wouldn’t recognize him.”

“That I don’t believe,” Leela said. “I’d know Cobb anywhere.”

Benedict said nothing.

“So…between you two, how was it?”

“It was fine.”

“Ben, don’t do this to me. Give me something more substantial to go on. I mean, how
was
he?”

“He’s distinguished himself,” Benedict said.

“Meaning what?”

“He got a Bronze Star.”

“Wow. For what?”

“Our unit pinned down a Taliban stronghold. Slaughter himself did the high-risk stuff.”

“That’s fantastic. I’ve always loved that about Cobb. Someone who’s scared shitless but doesn’t back off, it’s the most impressive kind of courage, don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t say he’s scared shitless anymore,” Benedict said.

“Where is he now?”

“Couldn’t say. But I know he’s left the army. He’s running a private security force.”

“You mean he’s a mercenary?”

“We don’t call them that anymore. The army’s outsourced now. Lot more money to be had. He offered me a slot, as a matter of fact, but I turned it down.”

“Are you serious?”

“Leela, I’m on leave. I don’t want to talk about the war.”

“Sorry. Let’s talk about Promised Land. How are your folks?”

“They’re fine. How’re yours?”

“Fine.” Leela grimaced. “Maggie and I talk once in a while. I avoid talking to Daddy. I don’t feel good about that, but I can’t talk to him without getting exasperated.”

“I know the feeling only too well.”

“Really? I never ever saw the slightest splinter of anger in your family. You all seemed to be
blessed
, as we used to say back in Promised Land.”

“Blessed. Yeah. Exactly. Anger was a sin. We didn’t believe in it.”

“Do you remember that time you came rushing onto our porch—?”

“The night we got shot at.”

“They hit the pipe from the well and you had a waterspout.”

“That was the turning point for me.”

“Your father was laughing.”

“We had a fight. We’ve never really been close since that night.”

“Are you serious? But Ben, he didn’t really think it was funny. That was his way—”

“
Yessuh, Lord Jesus, Thy will be done
. It still infuriates me.”

“That’s really unfair,” Leela said. “He was NAACP. And we were…what? Nine years old? We were little kids.”

“We were ten.”

“You can’t still be angry—”

“Yes I can.”

“But that was years before we were marching, before the flag rallies…Your father was so proud of you. And you. You were
fiercely
defensive of him. No one hadn’t better say one bad word—”

“Right. Just like you on the subject of your father.”

“Touché,” Leela said.

After a time she asked: “Do you go back when you’re on leave?”

“No. Do you?”

“Are you kidding?” After a time, she added: “But I get homesick. Do you?”

“All the time. But it’s…you know, sentimental. Pathetic, really.”

“I know. Remember the time the bus broke down—”

“Outside Summerville.”

“Right. Banners on the side. From Charleston to the State House—”

“And we all piled out on the side of the road—”

“And we sang—”

Slightly drunk by now, they began singing in unison,
We Shall Overcome…
And, to the same tune,
The flag must come down to-day-ay-ay-ay
…

People in the bar turned to stare.

“This is sick,” Benedict said. “Nostalgia. And black schools are still falling apart.”

“The flag
did
come down.”

“Right. Let’s drink to Major Cobb and the good old days.”

Leela lifted the receiver in her apartment. She wanted to ask Benedict questions. She wanted to talk to Cobb. She had no idea how to reach either of them. She replaced the receiver. She crawled onto her bed and hugged her pillow and trawled through riddles. She fell asleep and dreamed she heard a violin in the subway. She followed the sound into the tunnel, deeper and deeper.

“Mishka!” she called. “Wait for me.”

“Don’t follow me, Leela,” he called back.

W
HEN THE TELEPHONE
rang, Leela could not remember where she was. She seemed to be in a canoe and there were swamp channels with streamers of Spanish moss trailing in the water and Cobb had left her without a paddle or gone for help perhaps. She could dimly see a dock where Mishka was stranded, and behind him was a shack, and the telephone would have to be in that tumbledown place but it was too dark to see. Leela propelled herself toward the dock by pulling her bare hands through the water and then she stumbled over floating paddles and a pair of shoes and yesterday’s mail and found the source of the ringing.

“Yes?” she said. “Cobb, can I just ask you—?” but the voice was not Cobb’s, it was a young woman’s voice. “Maggie?” she repeated, puzzled. “Oh my God,
Maggie
!”

“We saw the subway bombing on TV,” her sister said. “We’ve been worried sick.”

“What time is it?” The swamp had turned into bedroom floor, but it was still too dark to see.

“Wasn’t that your stop?” Maggie asked. “We’ve been so afraid. Are you okay?”

Leela moved to the window and raised the shade and was almost blinded by afternoon sun. “I’m all right, I’m fine. I didn’t take the T yesterday.”

“You sound funny.”

“I’m groggy. I had a very bad night.”

“Were there delays getting home?”

“No. I don’t know. Actually, I could have been on that train, but I walked home instead. And then this very strange thing—”
Just remember that we’ll be listening in.
“Uh, Maggie, listen,” Leela said. “I’m in a rush. Can I call you back?”

Fifteen minutes later, from a pay phone in Harvard Square, Leela called back.

“Maggie? Sorry about that, but I can’t take calls in the apartment. Don’t ask me to explain because it won’t make sense.”

“I kept trying your cell last night,” Maggie said.

“I don’t keep it on. I hardly use it. I only have it for emergencies.”

“I would have thought an explosion qualified. You must have known we’d be beside ourselves with worry. You’re the most unreachable person.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“Well, I figured we’d have been notified if anything dreadful…if you’d been carted off in an ambulance or something worse.”

“Maggie, it is really really good to hear your voice. You have no idea…” Leela was aware of the numbness of shock wearing off. She was aware that her hands were shaking. She could feel a crying jag coming on, as overwhelming as it was shaming. The phone booth felt like a coffin. She pushed the door open, gasping air, and clapped one hand across her mouth.

A passing jogger paused in consternation. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Leela, embarrassed, nodded and waved him on.

She lifted the receiver to her ear. “Leela? Leela?” Maggie was saying. “Are you there? What’s the matter with you? What’s happening?”

I don’t know what is happening, Leela thought.

“Leela, are you there?”

“Sorry,” Leela said, her voice thick. “I’m on the edge of Harvard Square. Too much traffic. How’s Daddy?”

“How do you think? He’s been a nervous wreck, mostly on his knees by the porch swing, praying for you. How’s Mishka?”

“What do you mean, how’s Mishka?” Leela asked sharply.

“Well, I don’t mean anything. I just mean, is everything okay?”

“You’ll never believe who I saw yesterday.”

“Why are you changing the subject? Is Mishka okay?”

“I just don’t want to talk about Mishka right now.”

“Because of the bombing?”

“What do you mean,
because of the bombing
?”

“I don’t mean anything. I mean, I suppose it’s hard to think of anything else.”

“It is, yes.”

“But you thought I meant something else.”

“Everyone’s rattled here, Maggie. I can’t deal with this third degree.”

“Well, I hope nothing’s gone wrong with Mishka.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Why are you so touchy?” Maggie wanted to know. “I meant I liked the sound of you being in love and settled. If it’s over already, it’s still the longest relationship you’ve had. That’s a good sign.”

“Of what?”

“Of you turning out normal.”

“Thanks,” Leela said. “Guess who I saw yesterday.”

“Who?”

“Guess.”

“Benedict Boykin.”

“Funny you should mention Benedict,” Leela said. “I
did
see him, but that was about a month back.”

“Mr. Boykin told me. He heard from Benedict.”

“Hmm. That’s interesting. I got the feeling from Benedict that he was keeping a certain amount of distance from his family.”

“Yeah. He does. Same as you. But he calls them when he’s on leave. Mr. Boykin and I have tried to figure out why you two won’t visit.”

“Good grief. People in Promised Land still got nothing better to talk about than me and Benedict?”

“Promised Land has a limited range of topics. By the way, I get my teaching degree next month.”

“Wow. Where does the time go? My little sister with a master’s degree.”

“You
will
come home for my graduation, won’t you?”

“Sure. Well, if I can get away.” What Leela felt was an onset of claustrophobia so extreme that she had to push open the door of the phone booth again, taking deep breaths.

“What are you doing?” Maggie asked. “You sound funny again.”

“I’m in the middle of Harvard Square. It’s noisy.”

“Will you fly down or drive?”

“Will you promise Daddy won’t hold a prayer meeting on my behalf?”

“Beyond my power. I won’t forgive you if you don’t come.”

“I’ll try, Maggie.”

“You won’t just break Daddy’s heart. You’ll break mine.”

“Maggie, you don’t understand. You weren’t ever the black sheep, the way I was.”

“People who make a career out of being black sheep just like to be the center of attention.”

“You haven’t guessed who I saw,” Leela prodded.

“Someone from Promised Land.”

“Otherwise I wouldn’t ask you to guess.”

“Cobb Slaughter.” Leela was startled. “How could you know that?”

“Not very difficult. You can count on one hand the folks who’ve left Promised Land to live with Yankees.”

“Cobb left Promised Land to join the army.”

“I know. But now he’s in Boston, and I knew that because Benedict told Mr. Boykin he was there.”

“He did? That’s weird. When I ran into Benedict, he said he didn’t know where Cobb was now. What else did Benedict tell his dad?”

“Don’t know. Mr. Boykin sends his love.”

“D’you ever see Cobb’s dad?”

“Sometimes. Never see him sober. He’s in worse and worse shape. I’ve heard that he’s diabetic and his liver’s shot but he’s too damn stubborn to die.”

“I believe it. How’s Daddy’s business?”

“It’s fine. I still help out with sharpening knives and mower blades on weekends. He’s never short of work. People drive all the way out from Columbia with stuff to be fixed.”

“Sword of the Lord and of Gideon,” Leela said.

“You’re smiling.”

“What?”

“I can hear the smile in your voice,” Maggie said.

“Is that sign still on the truck?”

“Still there. One of the Boykins, the painting and
sign-writing uncle, gave it a touch-up. Everyone loves Daddy, you know.”

“I know that. They also think he’s slightly crazy, which he is.”

“You were his biggest defender.”

“He’s my father, isn’t he? He’s only got us and magic numbers, Maggie. But that doesn’t mean you have to chain yourself for life.”

“I’ve got no complaints.”

“Don’t you want to escape? Try your wings?”

“Escape from what? From where I belong and where I’m happy?”

“What about after graduation?”

“I’m staying,” Maggie said. “Got a teaching post at DeLaine Elementary. It’s only ten miles, so I’ll live at home. I don’t want to leave Daddy alone.”

“Accusation noted.”

“None intended,” Maggie insisted. “If you take it as one, you’ll have to ask yourself why.”

“DeLaine Elementary. Isn’t that where Daddy used to donate all the maintenance work?”

“Still does.”

“Big changes, I imagine, since my day.”

“Not many. Still mostly black kids. Still shockingly underfunded, like all the schools in Clarendon County. The buildings are falling apart and the governor and the legislature don’t give a damn. It makes me furious.”

“Next thing I know, you’ll be running for office.”

“I might.”

Leela sighed. “It would be easier to come home if you and Daddy weren’t quite such good people.”

“Oh please,” Maggie said. “Don’t make me throw up. I’m doing this because the kids give me pleasure. I enjoy teaching the
way Daddy enjoys fixing things and you enjoy math. We’re all the same.”

“Maggie, we’re so different I can’t even begin…”

“We’re really not, you know.”

“You and Daddy think about other people all the time, and Daddy thinks about God. I only think about math. Plus I’ve got an intensity addiction.”

“Like Cobb.”

“What?”

“Face it.”

“A bit like Cobb, I suppose. You mean our math obsession?”

“Math and everything else. Obsessive, intense, tunnel vision. The way you two used to go at each other…
whooo
, talk about electrical storms! I remember watching you on the Hamilton veranda—”

“You what?”

“I used to hide in the azaleas. You were quite the show. You used to give off blue sparks.”

“Glad you found us so entertaining,” Leela said. “Give Daddy my love.”

“How about you tell him yourself?”

“You’ll do it better. Bye, Maggie.”