The Castle Cross the Magnet Carter (46 page)

“Optimism, Diana.”

She nods. “Optimism, optimism.”

“Your parents were born here. You said.”

“They had siblings in Warsaw. Cousins. Most of them starved to death in the ghettos before anyone ever thought up the word ‘extermination.' Well. Anyone since Andrew Jackson.” She opens a new package of index cards. “When my father was twenty he was threatened to be lynched. Did I tell you?”

“No.”

“Writing all these letters to the local paper in support of the Scottsboro boys. They
were
boys! The youngest just twelve, did you know?”

Eliot nods.

“And tried like adults. No gynecological evidence of rape, then one of the two so-called victims recanting, admitting she made the whole thing up. It was as if the more truth my father reported, the angrier his townsfolk got. He sent money to the International Labor Defense. I'm not sure what they found more revolting, him supporting Negroes or him providing funds for their Communist legal team, but one day he received a package in the mail with no return address. A noose.” She gazes at a mosquito dancing around the ceiling light. “Eliot. I never thought until now. If the judge might remember my father from those days, hold it against us.”

“I think with all the screaming protests we would have heard about it if it were in the forefront of the collective memory.” He goes back to his writing.

“Oh! Didi came across some letter to the editor Farn wrote back in 1940 in favor of
Chambers against Florida
. If that's true, if he
did
support the decision to reverse those
adult
Negroes' convictions because of coerced confessions, well. There's a little encouragement. Have you seen Didi lately?”

“Mm hm.” The affirmative, not interrupting his work.

“She'll be there tomorrow of course, but she really should be facing the judge with us, she was the team before there
was
a team. I wanted her to stay here with me, but I guess she preferred taking a room in the colored hotel, being closer to the parents. I know she's been
such
a comfort to them, someone with knowledge of the law keeping them constantly abreast.” Diana picks up a pad and makes a few notes. “You're
both
so good with the boys. They always look so happy when you arrive, Jordan just runs when he sees you and Didi coming! Even Max, reticent as he can be, I see the hope in his eyes when you two walk in. They even get along with old Steven.” She chuckles sadly. Eliot looks up at her. “They sure never run to me. I guess they're terrified now to come close to
any
thing white and female.”

“We have to get through this, Diana.”

She turns to him. “If he doesn't come I'll call him, even if it's goddamn three a.m. I'll tell him to be at the courthouse by seven so we can brief him on what we've talked about tonight. If he doesn't show, or shows too late. Or shows up
drunk
. Well obviously we'll have to send him home.”

“Really?”

She nods warily. “Steven can be very persuasive but he also has to be alert, tomorrow the judge can and will cut off and challenge his precious soliloquy at any time. Tipsy he can manage that dance, but if he walks in loaded.” She shakes her head. “Maybe we can use it to our advantage. Having to dismiss an—
incapacitated
member of the team just before we make our oral argument could prove very useful in getting us an appeal. Perhaps it's all part of Steven's brilliant plan that he just failed to mention to us.” She looks at her partner. “But seriously? I believe he
will
show. Tonight.”

“Since neither of us has ever worked with him before this case, I guess the answer to that mystery only time will tell.”

“And when he
does
come walking down those steps and into this room. There will be relief, but maybe also a bit of disappointment. All the eloquent words we're scribbling now that no one will ever hear.”

Eliot sits back in his chair. “I know.”

“Because no matter what you and I write, it will matter a thousand times more coming out of the mouth of a local white man.”

“I
know
.”

“What
are
your eloquent words, Eliot?”

“Give me another half-hour.”

“Can I have a hint?”

He looks at her.

“Alright, alright!” He goes back to his pad. “It's just. Like you said. They don't like things to move too quickly down here. I
know!
you're the one who keeps reminding
me,
no race. I only. It's late, we're exhausted. Who knows what crazy ideas might be popping into our heads.”

“Diana, I have been coming
down here
for five months, you and I and Mr. Jack Daniel's have been practically glued together the last eight days. I hope by now you know me enough to trust I'm not here to make any speeches about the lunacy of Southern customs and institutions, I'm here to do the best I can to save those little boys,
whatever it takes
.”

The outside door above them opens: footsteps through the house. Then slowly, carefully calculating each step, he makes his descent. When he has reached flat ground in one piece, his face easily betraying his relief, he squints through his bloodshot eyes to properly focus on his partners' images. Grins.

“So! Ya'all waited up for me.”

Eliot turns back to his work, finishing off at the bottom of one page and slamming onto the top of the next. The room quickly filling with the smell of alcohol and tobacco.

“Very thoughtful of you to leave the front door open.”

“After the
last
time you came pounding completely tight in the a.m., waking up my family and half the neighborhood.”

The elder attorney laughs. “I never understood ‘tight' as a synonym for ‘drunk.' Because right now I can't imagine feeling any more loose and mellow.” He takes a seat on the couch. “Well, team! Are we ready?”

“Steven. Eliot and I were not even certain you'd be showing up. We were deciding what to do in case you—”

“Oh I'll be there. I'm all prepared.” He pulls out of his hip pocket several folded sheets of paper, balls them up and basketball-shoots them toward the desk. The wad impressively lands on Eliot's writing hand, rebounding onto the page he's composing.

“Did I mention what a shock I had the other day? That picture in the
Sentinel
—well I've never been caught at such a bad angle. There I was between a coon and a Jewess, and I declare I appeared to have the largest nose!”

“Have you thought of this case as nothing but a joke, Steven? From the start?”

“Oh Diana, are you about to take me to task again? Because those lectures are really beginning to bore me. And what kind of hostess are you? You haven't even offered me a drink.”

“I'd
like
to offer you a punch in the nose.”

“So would Invisible Man over there, but right now he'd rather play the Noble Savage.” He sits back smiling. “Well, my esteemed Hebrew colleague, aren't you even curious as to what I've written regarding our adorable little black predators and their second-grade sluts?”

“Every word. I'll read it when Eliot's done. Meanwhile I
will
offer you a
cup of coffee.
Would you like that?”

“I've never seen you in pants so snug, Diana. What a pleasant change from your usual schoolmarm look! Wear them tomorrow. If we have nothing else in our favor, the outlined curve of your little round bottom might be somewhat inspiring for the judge.”

Diana opens her mouth, reconsiders, closes it. She gathers her mug and Eliot's before ascending the stairs, muttering something unintelligible.

“Have you read it?
Invisible Man.
By one of your people. Extraordinary. Or perhaps
Native Son
?”

“Yes.” Eliot does not look up from Steven's wrinkled papers, moving on to the next sheet. Water is heard running in the kitchen overhead.

“Which?”

“Both.”

“Well! Then you can understand why a white man might feel a little bit nervous. I mean it's one thing with the wild masses, but these notions of violence coming from the darkie intelligentsia. Oh what did that gentleman from the so-called Harlem Renaissance call it? The Niggerati!” and Steven throws his head back laughing.

“It's good.” Eliot has finished reading and is looking at his partner. “Different than we planned but. It might sway him.” He gently touches the text Steven had penned. “They're the words of a white man, Diana and I couldn't step in. Are you going to be there to say them?”

Steven turns to him. “I am no Cyrano de Berge—de Berge—” He giggles. “I'm afraid I am one drink past the limit of French pronunciation! What I mean to say: If I create the words, they are for
me
to utter.”

Diana descends the steps, carrying a tray holding three mugs of coffee and a pitcher of ice water. She sets the tray on the table in front of the couch where Steven sits, takes Eliot's mug to his desk, puts hers on the floor near her cards, then picks up the pitcher and flings its full contents into Steven's face. He stands sputtering, his mouth and eyes flung open.

“Sober yet? Colonel?”

In that moment he recovers his composure, turning forty-five degrees so as to easily look from Diana on his right to Eliot on his far left and, in fact, suddenly does appear to be sober.

“Your honor.

“Between the brief you have before you and the oral arguments we have presented, we have quite comprehensively examined our concerns vis-à-vis our current system of juvenile justice, which in the
parens patriae
mode has abandoned children's constitutional rights in favor of a benevolent, paternal role to be played by the court. We have weighed the consequences of this state of affairs, challenging the presumption that the reformatory is a place where wayward youth may be rehabilitated, given that evidence has universally demonstrated reform school is merely a juvenile penal institution, complete with all the unspeakable perils and alarming recidivist rates.

“In maintaining this legal path, however, we have tiptoed around the elephant in the room: the sensationalism engendered by this case. We have been speaking of Maxwell Williams and of Jordan Price, as is appropriate, yet we all know the issue is bigger than these two boys,
far
bigger. The incident has caused great embarrassment for Red Bank, and though I know, Judge Farn, you would never let such factors as the picketers outside influence the judgment of this court, I do feel we would be remiss not to directly address the basic facts—that two little black boys kissed two little white girls—so that you may make a most informed decision on what is best to be done about it.

“To try to put it all into perspective, let us briefly again go back to that notorious date, Thursday the 31st of March, or perhaps more accurately for most of us, the next morning, April Fool's Day, when we opened our papers and were shocked. And confused. How to deal with such a transgression when the children are so very young. We, a community of white folks and colored folks who have gotten along well for generations, but of course the international media was not interested in that. No, it took one dispute that has divided us to bring in all this worldwide attention, and I would wager we would not
be
so divided were it not for the egging on of the busybody outsider press.

“I don't believe those incensed citizens are out there on the steps because of this isolated event. No, this episode which sent a chill down their spines was the latest in a string of setbacks: the bus trouble in Montgomery, these recent disturbances in Greensboro. And most frightening for all of us: the forced desegregation of our schools. What happened with Max Williams, Jordan Price, Ginny Dodgson, and Leecy Pike confirmed all our worst fears about where school integration might lead.

“But was the incident with these children
really
an abomination? Or a blessing in disguise? Something happened, yes, something undeniably unfortunate happened, this kissing game had ramifications unforeseen by any of its players as they engaged in it, but oh have little Max and little Jordan been thoroughly upbraided for it since. You may have heard something of the surprise visit to the children in custody from our local Klan, and I am certain I needn't tell you that little black children in Georgia may not know what kissing is but they definitely know what the Klan is. Yes, Max and Jordan may not have understood that what happened with those little white girls was wrong when they did it, but they surely do now! Anyone who has looked into their terrified little eyes will know they will never ever make that mistake again. And as far as an example being made, the boys have already provided it: Negro mothers and fathers have learned it is
never
too early to tell your little boys that they are forbidden to
ever
kiss, or anything
else,
a little white girl. Problem solved.

“But what about retribution? Isn't society owed justice in the matter? The outraged cries of our neighbors are an assertion to the world that we have had enough, that we will not allow this manipulation of the South from the outside to go one step further. But I as a Southern man would like to show the meddlers, whether they be from Europe or New York, that we are not the vicious barbarians they claim us to be, brutes out to destroy innocent children. We are decent law-abiders who defend our customs, and who handle the breach of those customs in a just and dignified manner befitting Southern gentility. We are not here as reactionaries to the judgment of intruder fools, we are not stubborn crackers but reasonable men. And whether the world likes it or not, we
can
solve our own problems.