Coming of Age in Mississippi
Anne Moody
CHAPTER 10
Not
only did I enter high school with a new name, but also with a completely new insight into the life
of Negroes in Mississippi. I was now working for one of the meanest white women
in town, and a week before school started Emmet Till was killed.
Up
until his death, I had heard of Negroes found floating in a river or dead
somewhere with their bodies riddled with bullets. But I didn’t know the mystery
behind these killings then. I remember once when I was only seven I heard Mama
and one of my aunts talking about some Negro who had been beaten to death.
“Just like them lowdown skunks killed him they will do the same to us,” Mama
had said. When I asked her who killed the man and why, she said, “An Evil
Spirit killed him. You gotta be a good girl or It will kill you too.” So since
I was seven, I had lived in fear of that “Evil Spirit.” It took me eight years
to learn what that spirit was.
I
was coming from school the evening I heard about Emmet Till’s death. There was
a whole group of us, girls and boys, walking down the road headed home. A group
of about six high school boys were walking a few paces ahead of me and several
other girls. We were laughing and talking about something that had happened in
school that day.
However,
the six boys in front of us weren’t talking very loud. Usually they kept up so
much noise. But today they were just walking and talking among themselves. All
of a sudden they began to shout at each other.
“Man,
what in the hell do you mean?”
“What
I mean is these goddamned white folks is gonna start some shit here you just
watch!”
“That
boy wasn’t but fourteen years old and they killed him. Now what kin a
fourteen-year-old boy do with a
white
woman? What if he did whistle at her, he might have thought the whore was
pretty.”
“Look
at all these white men here that’s fucking over women. Everybody knows It too
and what’s done about that? Lock how many white babies we got walking around in
our neighborhoods. Their mama's ain’t white either. That boy was from Chicago,
shit, everybody tuck every body up there. He probably didn’t even think of the
bitch as white.”
What
they were saying shocked me. I knew all of those boys and I had never heard
them talk like that. We walked on behind them for a while listening. Questions
about who was killed, where, and why started running through my mind. I walked
up to one of the boys.
“Eddie,
what boy was killed?"
“Moody,
where’ve you been? he asked me. “Everybody talking about that fourteen-year-old
boy who was killed In Greenwood by some White men. You don’t know nothing
that’s going on besides what’s In them books of yours, huh?
Standing
there before the rest of the girls, I felt so stupid. It was then that I
realized I really didn’t know what was going on all around me. It wasn’t that I
was dumb. It was just that ever since I was nine, I'd had to work after school
and do my lessons on lunch hour. I never bad time to learn anything, to hang
around with people my own age. And you never were told anything by adults.
That
evening when I stopped off at the house on my way to Mrs. Burke’s, Mama was
singing, Any other day she would have been yelling at Adline and Junior them to
take off their school clothes. I wondered If she knew about Emmet Till. The way
she was singing she had something on her mind and it wasn’t pleasant either.
I got a shoe, you got a shoe,
All of God’s chillun got shoes;
When I get to hebben, I’m gonna put on my shoes,
And gonna tromp all over God's hebben.
When I get to hebben I’m gonna put on my shoes,
And gonna walk all over God’s hebben.
Mama
was dishing up beans like she didn’t know anyone was home. Adline, Junior, and
James had just thrown their books down and sat themselves at the table. I
didn’t usually eat before I went to work. But I wanted to ask Mama about Emmett
Till. So I ate and thought of some way of asking her.
“These
beans are some good, Mama,” I said, frying to sense her mood.
“Why
is you eating anyway? You gonna be late for work. You know how Miss Burke Is,”
she said to me.
“I
don’t have much to do this evening. I kin get it done before I leave work,” I
said.
The
conversation stopped after that. Then Mama started bumming that song again.
When I get to hebben, I’m gonna put on my shoes,
And gonna tromp all over God’s hebben.
She
put a plate on the floor for Jennie Ann and Jerry.
“Jennie
Ann! you and Jerry sit down here and eat and don’t put beans all over this
floor.”
Ralph,
the baby, started crying. and she went In the bedroom to give him his bottle.
I got up and followed her.
“Mama,
did you hear about that fourteen-year-old Negro boy who was killed a little
over a week ago by some white men?” I asked her.
“Where
did you hear that? she said angrily.
“Boy,
everybody really thinks I am dumb or deaf or something. I heard Eddie them
talking about it this evening coming from school.”
“Eddie
them better watch how they go around here talk. lug. These white folks git a
hold of it they gonna be in trouble,” she said.
“What
are they gonna be in trouble about, Mama? People got aright to talk, aln’t
they?
“You
go on to work before you Is late. And don’t you let on like you know nothing
about that boy being killed before Miss Burke them. Just do your work like you
don’t know nothing.” she said, “That boy’s a lot better off In heaven than he
Is here,” she continued and then started singing again.
On
my way to Mrs. Burke’s that evening. Mama’s words kept running through my mind.
“Just do your work like you don’t know nothing,” ‘Why is Mama acting so
scared?”
I
thought. “And what If Mrs. Burke knew we knew? Why must I pretend I don’t know?
Why are these people kill. lug Negroes? What did Emmett Till do besides whistle
at that woman?
By
the time I got to work, I had worked my nerves up some. I was shaking as I
walked up on the porch. “Do your work like you don’t know nothing.” But once I
got inside, I couldn’t have acted normal If Mrs. Burke were paying me to be
myself.
I
was so nervous, I spent most of the evening avoiding them going about the house
dusting and sweeping. Every. thing went along fairly well until dinner was
served.
"Don,
Wayne, and Mama, y’all come on to dinner. Essie, you can wash up the pots and
dishes In the sink now. Then after dinner you won’t have as many,” Mrs. Burke
called tome.
If
I had the power to mysteriously disappear at that moment, I would have. They
used the breakfast table In the kitchen for mast of their meals. The dining
room was only used far Sunday dinner or when they had company. I wished they
had company tonight so they could eat In the dining room while I was at the
kitchen sink.
“I
forgot the bread,” Mrs. Burke said when they were all seated. “Essie, will you
cut it and put it on the table for me?”
I
took the cornbread, cut it in squares, and put It on a small round dish. Just
as! was about to set It on the table, Wayne yelled at the cat. I dropped the
plate and the bread went all over the floor.
“Never
mind, Essie," Mrs. Burke said angrily as she got up and got some white
bread from the breadbox.
I
didn’t say anything. I picked up the cornbread from around the table and went
back to the dishes. As soon as I got to the sink, I dropped a saucer on the
floor and broke It. Didn’t anyone say a word until I had Picked up the pieces.
"Essie,
I bought some new cleanser today. It’s setting on the bathroom shelf. See If it
will remove the stains In the tub,” Mrs. Burke said.
I
went to the bathroom to clean the tub. By the time I got through with it, it
was snow white. I spent a whole hour scrubbing It. I had removed the stains in
no time but I kept scrubbing until they finished dinner.
When
they had finished and gone Into the living room as usual to watch TV, Mrs.
Burke called me to eat. I took a clean plate out of the cabinet and sat down.
Just as I was putting the first forkful of food In my mouth, Mrs. Burke entered
the kitchen.
“Basis,
did you hear about that fourteen-year-old boy who was killed In Greenwood? she
asked me, sitting down In one of the chain opposite me.
“No,
I didn’t hear that,” I answered, almost choking on the food.
“Do
you know why he was killed? she asked and I didn’t answer.
“He
was killed because he got out of his place with a white woman. A boy from
Mississippi would have known better than that. This boy was from Chicago.
Negroes up North have no respect for people. They think they can get away with
anything. He just came to Mississippi and put a whole lot of notions In the
boys’ heads here and stirred up a lot of trouble,” she said passionately.
“How
old are you, Essie? she asked me after a pause. “Fourteen. I will soon be
fifteen though,” I said.
“See,
that boy was just fourteen too. It’s a shame he had to die so soon.” She was so
red In the face, she looked as if she was on fire.
When
she left the kitchen I sat there with my mouth open and my food untouched. I
couldn’t have eaten now if I were starving. “Just do your work like you don’t
know nothing” ran through my mind again and I began washing the dishes.
I
went home shaking like a leaf on a tree. For the first time out of all her
frying. Mrs. Burke had made me feel like rotten garbage. Many times she had
tried to instill fear within me and subdue me and had given up. But when she
talked about Emmett Till there was something in her voice that sent chills and
fear all over me.
Before
Emmett Till’s murder, I had known the fear of hunger, hell, and the Devil. But
now there was a new fear known to me—the fear of being killed just because I
was black. This was the worst of my fears. I knew once I got
food,
the fear of starving to death would leave. I also was told that if I were ea
good girl, I wouldn’t have to fear the Devil or hell. But I didn’t know what
one had to do or not do as a Negro not to be killed. Probably just being a Negro
period was enough, I thought.
A
few days later, I went to work and Mrs. Burke bad about eight women over for
tea. They were all sitting around In the living room when I got there. She told
me she was having a “guild meeting.” and asked me to help her serve the cookies
and tea.
After
helping her, I started cleaning the house. I always swept the hallway and
porch first. As I was sweeping the hail, I could hear them talking. When I
heard the word "nigger," I stopped sweeping and listened. Mrs. Burke
must have sensed this, because she suddenly came to the door.
"Essie,
finish the hall and clean the bathroom,” she said hesitantly. "Then you
can go for today. I am not making dinner tonight.” Then she went back In the
living room with the rest of the ladles.
Before
she interrupted my listening. I bad picked up the words “NAACP” and “that
organization.” Because they were talking about niggers, I knew NAACP had
something to do with Negroes. All that night I kept wondering what could that
NAACP mean?
Later
when I was sitting In the kitchen at home doing my lessons, I decided to ask
Mama. It was about twelve-thirty. Everyone was In bed but me. When Mania came
In to put some milk In Ralph’s bottle, I said, “Mania, what do NAACP mean?
“Where
did you git that from? she asked me, spilling milk all over the floor.
“Mrs.
Burke had a meeting tonight—”
“What
kind of meeting?” she asked, cutting me off.
“I
don’t know. She had some women over—she said It was a guild meeting.” I said.
“A
guild meeting.” she repeated.
“Yes,
they were talking about Negroes and I heard some woman say ‘that NAACP’ and
another ‘that organization.’ meaning the same thing.”
“What
else did they say? she asked me.
“That’s
all I heard. Mrs. Burke must have thought I was listening, so she told me to
clean the bathroom and leave.”
“Don’t
you ever mention that word around Mrs. Burke or no other white person, you
heahi Finish your lesson and cut that light out and go to bed,” Mama said
angrily and left the kitchen.
“With
a Mama like that you’ll never learn anything,” I thought as I got Into bed. All
night long I
thought about Emmet Till and the NAACP. I even got up to look up NAACP In my
little concise dictionary. But I didn’t find It.
The
next day at school, I decided to ask my homeroom teacher Mrs. Rice the meaning
of NAACP. When the bell sounded for lunch, I remained In my seat as the other
students left the room.
“Are
you going to spend your lunch hour studying again today, Moody? Mrs. Rice asked
me.
“Can
I ask you a question, Mrs. Rice?” I asked her.
“You
may ask me a question, yes, but I don’t know If you can or not,” she said.
“What
does the word NAACP mean? I asked.
“Why
do you want to know?
“The
lady I worked for had a meeting and I overheard the word mentioned.”
“What
else did you hear?
“Nothing.
I didn’t know what NAACP meant, that’s all.” I felt like I was on the witness
stand or something.
“Well,
next time your boss has another meeting you listen more carefully. NAACP is a
Negro organization that was established a long time ago to help Negroes gain a
few basic rights,” she said.
“What’s
it gotta do with the Emmett Till murder?” I asked.
“they
are trying to get a conviction In Emmett Till’s case. You see the NAACP is
trying to do a lot for the Negroes and get the right to vote for Negroes In the
South.
I
shouldn’t be telling you all this. And don’t you dare breathe a word of what I
said. It could cost me my job If word got out I was teaching my students such.
I gotta go to lunch and you should go outside too because It’s nice and sunny
out today,” she said leaving the room. “We’ll talk more when I have time.”
About
a week later, Mrs. Rice had me over for Sunday dinner, and I spent about five
hours with her. Within that time, I digested a good meal and accumulated a
whole new pool of knowledge about Negroes being butchered and slaughtered by
whites In the South. After Mrs. Rice had told me all this, I felt like the
lowest animal on earth. At least when other animals (hogs, cows, etc.) were
killed by man, they were used as food. But when man was butchered or killed by
man, In the case of Negroes by whites, they were left lying on a road or found
floating In a river or something.
Mrs.
Rice got to be something like a mother to me. She told me anything I wanted to know.
And made me promise that I would keep all this Information she was passing on
to me to myself. She said she couldn’t, rather didn’t, want to talk about these
things to the other teachers, that they would tell Mr. Willis and she would be
fired. At the end of that year she was fired. I never found out why. I haven’t
seen her since then.
Chapter 11
I
was fifteen years old when I began to hate people. I hated the white men who
murdered Emmett Till and I hated all the other whites who were responsible for
the countless murders Mrs. Rice had told me about and those I vaguely remembered
from childhood. But I also hated Negroes. I hated them for not standing up and
doing something about the murders. In fact, I think I had a stronger resentment
toward Negroes for letting the whites kill them than toward the whites.
Anyway, it was at this stage in my life that I began to look upon Negro men as
cowards. I could not respect them for smiling in a white man’s face, addressing
him as Mr. So-and-So, saying yessuh and nossuh when after they were home behind
closed doors that same white man was a son of a bitch, a bastard, or any other
name more suitable than mister.
Emmett
Till’s murder provoked a lot of anger and excitement among whites in
Centrevifle. Now just about every evening when I got to work, Mrs. Burke had to
attend a guild meeting. She had more women coming over now than ever. She and
her friends had organized canvassing teams and a telephone campaign, to solicit
for new members Within a couple of months most of the whites in Centrevile
were taking part in the Guild. The meetings were initially held in the various
houses. There were lawn parties and church gatherings. Then when it began to
get cold, they were held in the high school auditorium.
After
the Guild had organized about two-thirds of the whites in Centreville, all
kinds of happenings were unveiled The talk was on. White housewives began
firing their mai& and scolding their husbands and the Negro communitic were
full of whispered gossip.
The
most talked-about subject was a love affair Mr. Fox, the deputy sheriff, and
one of my classmates were carrying on. Bess was one of the oldest girls in my
class. She was a shapely, high brown girl of about seventeen. She did general
housekeeping and nursing for Fox and his wife.
It
was general policy that most young white couples in Centreville hired only
older Negro women as helpers. However, when there were two or more children In
the family, it was more advantageous to hire a young Negro girl. That way, they
always had someone to baby-sit when there was a need for a baby-sitter. My job
with Linda Jean had been this kind. I kept Donna and Johnny on Sundays and
baby-sat at night when they needed me.
Even
though the teen-age Negro girls were more desirable for such jobs, very few if
any were trusted in the homes of the young couples. The young white housewife
didn’t dare leave one alone in the house with her loyal and obedient husband.
She was afraid that the Negro girl would seduce him, never the contrary.
There
had been whispering In the Negro communities about Bess and Fox for some time.
Just about every young white man in Centreville had a Negro lover. Therefore Fox,
even though he was the deputy sheriff, wasn’t doing anything worse than the
rest of the men. At least that’s the way the Negroes looked at the situation.
Fox wasn’t anyone special to them. But the whites didn’t see it that way. The
sheriff and all of his deputies were, in the eyes of their white compatriots,
honorable men. And these honorable men were not put into office because they
loved Negroes. So when the white community caught on about Fox and Bess,
naturally they were out to expose the affair. Such exposure would discourage
other officers from similar misbehavior.
Mrs.
Fox was completely devoted to her husband. She too thought he was an honest man
and she was willing to do anything that would prove him innocent. Soon a scheme
was under way. Mrs. Fox was to leave home every so often. It had been reported
that every time she was out and Bess was left there alone, Fox found his way
home for one reason or another. Mrs. Fox left home purposely a couple of times
while the neighbors kept watch. They confirmed the report that Fox would always
return home. So one day Mrs. Fox decided to take the children and visit her
mother—but she only went as far as the house next door. Bess was to come and
give the house a thorough cleaning on the same day.
Mrs.
Fox waited almost an hour at her neighbors’ and nothing happened. It was said
she was ready to go home and apologize to Bess and call her husband and do
likewise. But just as she was about to do so, Fox drove up and went inside. She
waited about thirty minutes more, then went home.
When
she walked into her bedroom there they were, her husband and Bess, lying in her
bed all curled up together. Poor Bess was so frightened that she ran out of the
house clothed only in her slip with her panties in her hands. She never set
foot In Mrs. Fox’s house again. Neither did she return to school afterward. She
took a job in the quarters where we lived, in a Negro café. It was said that
she didn’t need the job, though. Because after her embarrassing episode with
Fox, her reputation was beyond repair, and be felt obligated to take care of
her. Last I heard of Bess, she was still in Centreville, wearing fine clothes
and carrying on as usual. Fox is no longer deputy, I understand, but he and his
wife are still together.
It
appeared after a while that the much talked about maids raids were only a means
of diverting attention from what was really taking place in those guild
meetings. In the midst of all the talk about what white man was screwing which
Negro woman, new gossip emerged—about what Negro man was screwing which white
woman. This gossip created so much tension, every Negro man in Centreville
became afraid to walk the streets. They knew too well that they would not get
off as easily as the white man who was caught screwing a Negro woman. They had
only to look at a white woman and be hanged for it. Emmett Till’s murder had
proved it was a crime, punishable by death, for a Negro man to even whistle at
a white woman in Mississippi.
I
had never heard of a single affair in Centreville between a Negro man and a
white woman. It was almost Impossible for such an affair to take place. Negro
men did not have access to white woman. Whereas almost every white man in town
had a Negro woman in his kitchen or nursing his babies.
The
tension lasted for about a month before anything happened. Then one day, a
rumor was spread throughout town that a Negro had been making telephone calls
to a white operator and threatening to molest her. It was also said that the
calls had been traced to a certain phone that was now under watch.
Next
thing we heard in the Negro community was that they had caught and nearly
beaten to death a boy who, they said, had made the calls to the white operator.
All the Negroes went around saying “Y’all know that boy didn’t do that.” “That
boy” was my classmate Jerry. A few months later I got a chance to talk to him
and he told me what happened.
He
said he had used the telephone at Billups and Fillups service station and was
on his way home when Sheriff Ed Cassidy came along in his pickup truck.
“Hey,
buddy,” Cassidy called, “you on your way home?”
“Yes,”
Jerry answered.
“Jump
in, I’m goin’ your way, I’ll give you a lift.”
Then
Jerry told me that when they got out there by the scales where the big trucks
weigh at the old camp intersection, Cassidy let him out, telling him that he
had forgotten something in town and had to go back and pick it up. At that
point, Jerry told me, he didn’t suspect anything. He just got out of the truck
and told Cassidy thanks. But as soon as the sheriff pulled away, a car came
along and stopped. There were four men in it. A deep voice ordered Jerry to get
into the car. When he saw that two of the men were Jim Dixon and Nat Withers,
whom he had often seen hang-big around town with Cassidy, he started to run.
But the two in the back jumped out and grabbed him. They forced him Into the
car and drove out into the camp area. When they got about five miles out, they
turned down a little dark dirt road, heavily shaded with frees. They pushed
Jerry out of the car onto the ground. He got up and dashed into the woods but
they caught up with him and dragged him farther into the woods. Then they tied
him to a tree and beat him with a big thick leather strap and a piece of hose
pipe.
I
asked him if they told him why they were beating him.
“No,
not at first,” Jerry said, “but when I started screamin’ and cryin’ and askin’
them why they were beatin’ me Dixon told me I was tryin’ to be smart and they
just kept on beatin’ me. Then one of the men I didn’t know asked me, ‘Did you
make that phone call, boy? I said no. I think he kinda believed me ‘cause he
stopped beatin’ me but the others didn’t. The rest of them beat me until I
passed out. When I came out of it I was lying on the ground, untied, naked and
bleeding. I tried to get up but I was hurtin’ all over and it was hard to move.
Finally I got my clothes on that them son of a bitches had tore offa me and I
made it out to the main highway, but I fainted again. When I woke up I was home
in bed.
“Daddy
them was scared to take me to the hospital in Centreville. I didn’t even see a
doctor ‘cause they were scared to take me to them white doctors. Wasn’t any
bones or anything broken. I was swollen all over, though. And you can see I
still have bruises and cuts from the strap, but otherwise I guess Fm O.K.”
When
I asked him whether they were going to do anything about it, he said that his
daddy had gotten a white lawyer from Baton Rouge. But after the lawyer pried
around in Centreville for a few days, he suddenly disappeared. Jerry’s beating
shook up all the Negroes in town. But the most shocking and unjust crime of all
occurred a few months later, about two weeks before school ended.
One
night, about one o’clock, I was awakened by what I thought was a terrible
nightmare. It was an empty dream that consisted only of hollering and screaming
voices. It seemed as though I was In an empty valley screaming. And the sounds
of my voice were reflected In a million echoes that were so loud I was being
lifted In mid-air by the sound waves. I found myself standing trembling In the
middle of the floor reaching for the light string. Then I saw Mama running to
the kitchen, In her nightgown.
“Mama!
Mama! What’s all them voices? Where’re all those people? What’s happening?”
“I
don’t know,” she said, coining to my bedroom door.
“Listen!
Listen!” I said, almost screaming.
“Stop
all that loud talking fo’ you wake up the rest of them chaps. It must be a
house on fire or somethin’ ‘cause of all the screamin’. Somebody must be hurt
In it or some-thin’ too. Ray is getting the car, we gonna go see what it is,”
she said and headed for the back door.
“You
going in your gown?” I asked her.
‘We
ain’t gonna git out of the car. Come on, you can go,” she said. “But don’t slam
the door and wake them chaps up.”
I
followed her out of the back door In my pajamas. Ray. mond was just backing the
car out of the driveway.
When
we turned the corner leaving the quarters, Ray.. mond drove slowly alongside
hundreds of people running down the road. They were all headed In the direction
of the blaze that reddened the sky.
The
crowd of people began to swell until driving was utterly Impossible. Finally
the long line of cars stopped. We were about two blocks away from the burning
house now. The air was so hot that water was running down the faces of the
people who ran past the car. The burning house was on the rock road, leading to
the school, adjacent to the street we stopped on. So we couldn’t tell which
house it was. From where we sat, it seemed as though it could have been two or
three of them burning. I knew every Negro living In the houses that lined that
rock road. I passed them every day on my way to and from school.
I
sat there In my pajamas, wishing I had thrown on a dress or something so I
could get out of the car.
“Ray,
ask somebody who house it is,” Mama said to Raymond.
“Hi!
Excuse me.” Raymond leaned out of the car and spoke to a Negro man. “Do you
know who house Is on fire?’
“I
heard it was the Taplin family. They say the whole family is still In the
house. Look like they are done for, so they say.”
Didn’t
any one of us say anything after that We just sat in the car silently. I
couldn’t believe what the man had just said. “A whole family burned to
death—impossIble!” I thought.
“What
you think happened, Ray?” Mama finally said to Raymond.
“I
don’t know. You never kin tell,” Raymond said. “It seems mighty strange,
though.”
Soon
people started walking back down the road. The screams and hollering had
stopped. People were almost whispering now. They were all Negroes, although I
was almost sure I had seen some whites pass before. “I guess not,”
I thought,
sitting there sick Inside. Some of the ladies passing the car had tears
running down their faces, as they whispered to each other.
“Didn’t
you smell that gasoline?’ I heard a lady who lived in the quarters say.
“That
house didn’t just catch on fire. And just think them bastards burned up a whole
family,” another lady said. Then they were quiet again.
Soon
their husbands neared the car.
“Heh,
Jones,” Raymond said to one of the men. “How many was killed?”
“About
eight or nine of them, Ray. They say the old lady and one of the children got
out. I didn’t see her nowhere, though.”
“You
think the house was set on fire?’ Raymond asked.
“It
sho’ looks like it, Ray. It burned down like nothing. When I got there that
house was burning on every side. If it had started on the inside of the house
at some one place then it wouldn’t burn down like it did. All the walls fell in together.
Too many strange things are happening round here these days.”
Now
most of the people and cars were gone, Raymond drove upto the little rock road
and parked. I almost vomited when I caught a whiff of the odor of burned
bodies mixed with the gasoline. The wooden frame house had been burned to
ashes. All that was left were some iron bedposts and springs, a blackened
refrigerator, a stove, and some kitchen equipment.
We
sat In the car for about an hour, silently looking at this debris and the ashes
that covered the nine charcoal-burned bodies. A hundred or more also stood
around— Negroes from the neighborhood In their pajamas, night-gowns, and
housecoats and even a few whites, with their eyes fixed on that dreadful scene.
I shall never forget the expressions on the faces of the Negroes. There was
almost unanimous hopelessness In them. The still, sad faces watched the smoke
rising from the remains until the smoke died down to practically nothing. There
was something strange about that smoke. It was the thickest and blackest smoke
I had ever seen.
Raymond
finally drove away, but It was impossible for him to take me away from that
nightmare. Those screams, those faces, that smoke, would never leave me.
The
next day I took the long, roundabout way to school.
I
didn’t want to go by the scene that was so fixed In my mind. I tried to
convince myself that nothing had happened In the night. And I wanted so much to
believe that, to believe anything but the dream Itself. However, at school,
everybody was talking about it. All during each class there was whispering from
student to student. Hadn’t many of my classmates witnessed the burning last
night. I wished they had. If so, they wouldn’t be talking so much, I thought.
Because I had seen it, and I couldn’t talk about it. I just couldn’t.
I
was so glad when the bell sounded for the lunch hour. I picked up my books and
headed home. I couldn’t endure another minute of that torture. I was in such a
hurry to get away from the talk at school I forgot to take the roundabout way
home. Before I realized It, I was standing there where the Taplins’ house had
been. It looked quite different by day than it had at night. The ashes and junk
had been scattered as If someone had looked for the remains of the bodies. The
heavy black smoke had disappeared completely.
But
I stood there looking at the spot where I had seen it rising and I saw it
again, slowly drifting away, disappearing before my eyes. I tore myself away
and ran almost all the way home.
When
I walked In the house Mama didn’t even ask me why I came home. She just looked
at me. And for the first time I realized she understood what was going on within
me, or was trying to anyway. I took two aspirins and went to bed. I stayed
there all afternoon. When It was time for me to go to work after school, Mama
didn’t come in. She must have known I wasn’t In the mood for Mrs. Burke that
evening. I wasn’t in the mood for anything. I was just there inside of myself,
inflicting pain with every thought that ran through my mind.
That
night Centreville was like a ghost town. It was so quiet and still. The quietness
almost drove me crazy. It was too quiet for sleeping that night, yet it was too
restless for dreams and too dry for weeping.
A
few days later, it was reported that the fire had started from the kerosene
lamp used by Mrs. Taplin as a light for the new baby. Nobody bought that story.
At least none of those who witnessed that fire and smelled all that gasoline.
They were sure that more than a lampful of kerosene caused that house to burn
that fast.
There
was so much doubt and dissension about the Tapun burning that finally FBI
agents arrived on the scene and quietly conducted an investigation. But as
usual in this sort of case, the investigation was dropped as soon as public
interest died down.
Months
later the story behind the burning was whispered throughout the Negro
community. Some of the Taplins’ neighbors who had been questioned put their
scraps of information together and came up with an answer that made sense.
Living next door to the Taplin family was a Mr. Banks, a high yellow mulatto
man of much wealth. He was a bachelor with land and cattle galore. He had for
some time discreetly taken care of a white woman, the mother of three whose
husband had deserted her, leaving her to care for the children the best way she
knew how. She lived in a bottom where a few other poor whites lived. The Guild
during one of its Investigations discovered the children at home alone one
night—and many other nights after that. Naturally, they wondered where the
mother was spending her nights. A few days’ observation of the bottom proved
she was leaving home, after putting the children to bed, and being picked up by
Mr. Banks in Inconspicuous places.
When
the Taplin family was burned, Mr. Banks escaped his punishment Very soon
afterward he locked his house and disappeared. And so did the white lady from
the bottom.
I
could barely wait until school was out. I was so sick of Centreville. I made up
my mind to tell Mama I had to get away, if only for the summer. I had thought
of going to Baton Rouge to live with my Uncle Ed who was now married and
living there with his family.
A
few days before school ended I satin the midst of about six of my classmates
who Insisted on discussing the Taplin family. By the time I got home, my nerves
were in shreds from thinking of some of the things they had said. I put my
books down, took two aspirins, and got Into bed. I didn’t think I could go to
work that evening because I was too nervous to be around Mrs. Burke. I had not
been myself at work since the Emmett Till murder, especially after the way Mrs.
Burke had talked to me about the Taplin family.
But
she had become more observant of my reactions.
“What’s
wretg with you? Is you sick? Mama asked me.
I
didn’t answer her.
"Take
your shoes off that spread You better git up and go to work. Mis. Burke gonna
fire you.”
“I
got a headache and I don’t feel like going,” I said.
“What’s
wrong with you, getting so many headaches around here?
I
decided not to wait any longer to tell Mama my plan. “Mama, I am gonna write Ed
and see can I stay with him this summer and get a job in Baton Rouge. I am just
tired of working for Mrs. Burke for a dollar a day. I can make five dollars a
day in Baton Rouge and I make only six dollars a week here.”
“Ed
them ain’t got enough room for you to live with them. Take your shoes
off," Mama said, and left me lying in bed.
As
soon as she left, I got up and wrote my letter. About five days later I
received an answer from Ed. He said I was welcome, so I started pacbing to
leave the next day. Mama looked at me as if she didn't want me to go. But she
knew better than to ask me.
I
was fifteen years old and leaving home for the first time. I wasn’t even sure I
could get a job at that age. But I had to go anyway, if only to breathe a
slightly different atmosphere. I Was choking to death In Centreville. I
couldn’t go on working for Mrs. Burke pretending I was dumb and innocent,
pretending I didn’t know what was going on in all her guild meetings, or about
Jerry’s beating, or about the Taplin burning, arid everything else that was
going on. I was Sick of pretending, sick of selling my feelings for a dollar a
day.