Southern Ruby (12 page)

Inside the shed was a stand with weights and a set of parallel bars. A punching bag was suspended from one of the roof beams.

‘That's a fine set-up,' I said. ‘You must be fit.'

‘I used to be a scrawny kid and uncoordinated too,' Clifford explained. ‘When a boy pushed Kitty over at a children's party, I took him on and got myself hammered. I learned right then that if I intended to be chivalrous in life I needed to back it up with physical strength. I tried baseball, football and basketball and was hopeless at all of them. Then I tried boxing and discovered that I was surprisingly good at it. It's the only thing I do with any sort of grace.'

On one wall was a shelf filled with trophies and ribbons, a testament to his skills.

‘Are you a professional boxer now?' I asked him. ‘Surely you can't be an amateur. Look at all your awards!'

He grinned. ‘I guess in a way I am a professional boxer. I'm a lawyer. I used to work in the district attorney's office, but now my father is planning to retire I've taken over his practice.'

My only experience of lawyers had been with those representing the creditors who had made Maman divide our house into apartments after my father's death in order to pay off his debts. I didn't have a high opinion of them.

‘But doesn't that mean you end up defending the strong against the weak?' I asked. ‘A lawyer always represents his client's best interests, even if that client is guilty of causing harm to another party.'

Clifford's face turned serious when he answered me. ‘I served in the war. Believe me, what I experienced in Nazi Germany left an impression on me. You've got to do what's right, even if it hurts you, otherwise the human race is headed for disaster.'

I remembered the day in Avery's Ice Cream Parlor when I hadn't helped the coloured man whose suit was ruined by the white people attacking him.

‘It takes a courageous person to stand up for others,' I said. ‘When I was eight years old, my mother took me for a trip to Avery Island. We stopped at a drugstore along the way and the sales clerk offered Maman postcards showing pictures of lynchings. Most of them seemed historical, but you could tell from the clothing of the spectators in one of them that it was recent. “There's a discount if you buy more than ten,” the clerk told her. Maman left the things she was going to purchase on the counter and hurried out of the store, pulling me after her. It was the first time I heard the term “nigger lover” — that's what the clerk shouted at Maman as we ran away.'

Clifford was thoughtfully quiet as he guided me around a pond towards the summerhouse.

‘I know you don't have much time, Ruby,' he said, indicating for me to take a seat with him in the summerhouse, ‘but do you mind if I ask you a question? I'm curious about something.'

Oh dear, here it comes
, I thought.
He's going to ask me if I'm really a volunteer guide, or why I'm wearing black, or why I have a voodoo charm around my neck
. But Clifford didn't ask any of those things.

‘When Mother said she was writing letters to integrate the Latter Memorial Library . . . well, you didn't look at all surprised.'

I hesitated at the unexpected question. ‘Why should I have been surprised?'

‘You do understand what she meant, don't you?' he asked. ‘She wants coloured people to be able to use the same facilities we do.'

Now it was my turn to be curious. What was Clifford trying to say?

‘I didn't act surprised because your mother is right. Coloured people
should
be able to use the same facilities we do.'

Clifford's eyebrows shot up. ‘Forgive my questions, but you see, women like my mother and Kitty are rare . . . and well, I've never met another young woman before who supports integration. May I ask how you came to form that opinion?'

I considered his question a moment. ‘Perhaps it's my heritage. Unlike the American planters, Creoles didn't treat their slaves like livestock. They didn't separate children from their parents or husbands from wives. The slaves were allowed to read and write if they wanted to, and could eventually buy their own freedom. Taking away someone's freedom was a terrible thing to do no matter who was the owner, but the slaves of Creoles were at least regarded as human. Perhaps that's why I'm more open to the idea of equality than American women my age — it's something that's come down the generations to me.'

Clifford's already beaming face became still more radiant. ‘I think it's also got something to do with your character,' he said. ‘I've listened to a lot of arguments for and against integration, but you've expressed the situation in the simplest terms. Coloured or white, we are all human beings.'

It would be an odd person who didn't like Clifford Lalande, I thought. His heart was in the right place, and he embodied the finest traits of the Constitution: not only in his zest for life but also in his desire that the world be a fair place.

A twinge of guilt at my deceitful tales pained me and I pointed to the live oak tree where Mr Parkinson's head was supposed to appear. ‘I hope I haven't offended you with my ghost stories. Your home is charming. Your mother and sister too. It's just
that . . . I had to spice things up a bit. That's what tourists want.'

Clifford threw back his head and laughed. ‘A good entertainer gives her audience exactly what they want. And besides, you're raising money for a civic cause.' He stood up and offered me his hand. ‘Now, I've detained you long enough. I'd better get you on that streetcar and back to your mother.'

Something about Clifford's easy manner made me want to confess that I'd been guiding to make money for myself, not for a civic organisation, but I decided against it. What would he think of me? Instead I let him walk me to the streetcar stop on St Charles Avenue.

‘Ruby, it's been a pleasure talking with you,' he said, as the streetcar appeared in the distance. ‘Your next tour is on Thursday, isn't it? Please do come by when you finish. I'd certainly like to talk with you more, and I know Mother and Kitty would feel the same.'

I had never met anyone like Clifford before. I was taken by him, and couldn't imagine anything more pleasurable than visiting him again and seeing Kitty and his mother too. They were so utterly different in a refreshing way.

The streetcar arrived and I climbed on board. I could feel Clifford's eyes on me. He was giving me the same admiring appraisal the Creole boys had at the debutante ball and I couldn't say I didn't like it. But as wonderful as his mother was, what would she say when she discovered that I didn't have any money?

I took a seat by the window and waved to Clifford. He beamed a smile at me.
Oh my, he is nice-looking
, I thought.
And smart too.

‘See you Thursday!' he called out as the streetcar pulled away.

‘Till Thursday!' I called back, fully believing that I would be spending another delightful afternoon with Clifford and his family.

But ‘Thursday' never happened.

I knew something was wrong as soon as I entered the courtyard of our building. There were no familiar cooking smells wafting from our kitchen, and the lamp in the window of the sitting room where Maman liked to read before dinner wasn't lit. I climbed the stairs to our apartment with mounting anxiety.

‘Maman!' I called as I stepped into the entrance way. I didn't even bother to remove my hat and gloves before running from room to room in search of her. ‘Maman!'

‘Is that you, Miss Ruby?' I heard Mae call from the kitchen. I found her sitting at the table looking lethargic and dejected. ‘Oh, thank the Lord you're home! It's been a terrible day!'

The blood drained from my face. In my world there was only one truly terrible thing that could happen. ‘What is it, Mae?' I clutched her arm. ‘Tell me. Don't torture me!'

My distress forced Mae to regain control of herself, and she stood and helped me into a chair. ‘It's all right, Miss Ruby, I didn't mean to frighten you. Your dear mother is still with us. It's just that I've been here waiting for you and you're much later than usual and I've got myself worked up. Mrs Desiree collapsed right after I brought her afternoon tea. Doctor Monfort sent her to the hospital. They're taking X-rays because her breathing was real odd. I stayed with her as long as I could in the ambulance, but they wouldn't let me into the white ward. So I came back here to wait for you.'

I put my head in my hands. Every time something happened to Maman, some further complication of her disease, my heart sank lower. How could God be so cruel? Didn't he hear my prayers every night before I went to bed? Maman was the kindest person in the world. Why was she suffering so when that old witch Aunt Elva never even caught a cold?

‘Which hospital is she in?' I asked Mae. ‘I'll go straight away.'

‘The ambulance took her to Charity —'

‘Charity!' I cried with horror, rising from the chair. That was a hospital for the poor of the city. Of course all the doctors and nurses there did their best, but it was no place for Maman. A de Villeray didn't go to a hospital for the disadvantaged!

‘Now, Miss Ruby, what else was Doctor Monfort to do?' said Mae, patting my arm. ‘We ain't got no money.'

No, we didn't have any money. The little I made on my ghost tours was just enough to meet our daily needs and buy the occasional luxury, and the only things of value we had left to pawn were the chairs we sat on, Maman's dressing table and our crockery. Financial troubles were nothing new to us, but now things were truly desperate.

‘What about Uncle Rex?' I asked. ‘Did you tell him?'

Mae looked at her feet and nodded.

‘And what did he say?' I tried to keep my voice steady. Surely Uncle Rex wouldn't completely desert us? Not now!

Mae began to cry softly. ‘He said, “I've helped all I can. It seems to be the Lord's will that my dear sister-in-law is not much longer for this earth.”'

I gasped like a drowning person who'd grabbed for an oar only to be shoved back into the water by the very person who should be rescuing her. I remembered the day I'd met Uncle Rex in Jefferson Parish. Something in his attitude towards us had changed. If he would no longer help us, then we were lost. Truly lost.

I stood up and walked to the sitting room, my mind a swirl of desperate thoughts. I noticed Maman's empty chair. No! I couldn't imagine life without her.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace. ‘I won't be defeated,' I said, clenching my teeth. ‘I won't.'

I didn't know what I was going to do, just that I was going to have to do something. But first I'd go see Maman.

I sat in the Charity Hospital's reception area, waiting for a nurse to escort me to the women's ward. My head pounded, and the pain was made worse by the inane conversation of the two women sitting next to me.

‘You know, they don't separate the blood up North,' one of the women said. ‘You get in an accident up there and need a transfusion, you won't know if they're giving you white blood or Negro blood.' When her friend gave a suitably horrified gasp, she continued, ‘I know! Negro blood! Can you imagine? They may as well give you the blood of a monkey!'

For the first time since I'd learned of Maman's collapse, I thought of Clifford Lalande and our conversation. It seemed like it had taken place years ago, not a few hours earlier. I remembered the way his eyes sparkled with interest when I told him I shared his belief that coloured people should have the same rights and facilities as white people did. But listening to the two women next to me, I realised what a fight that would be. Too many Southerners wanted coloured people to remain inferior.

A nurse came and took me to the ward where Maman was being treated. When I arrived I saw Doctor Monfort speaking with another doctor who looked young enough to be an intern. Doctor Monfort excused himself and took me to one side.