The Road to Memphis (19 page)

“Yeah, that’s a fact,” said Clarence.

“Well, I thank y’all,” I said snidely. “I’ll watch out for y’all as well.”

Stacey looked at me as he had often done in past years when we were younger and I had insisted upon tagging along with him; it was not a look of brotherly love. “What about that debate of yours?”

“I don’t think that’s so all-fired important right now, do you?” I took hold of his arm. “Stacey, I care about Moe much as you do. Let me go. Please.”

Maybe it was the fact that I seldom pleaded with him about anything. Maybe it was just that he was understanding how I felt about Moe. In any case, he gave in. “I don’t want you giving me a hard time, you hear?”

“What I’m going to give you a hard time about?”

“Just mind my words.”

I agreed to that, just to get the thing settled.

Little Willie slapped his hands together, ready to go. “Good, then! Let’s get on outa here!” Both he and Clarence turned for the car.

“Wait a minute, Clarence,” Stacey said. “What about your pass?”

“Shoot! Got till tomorrow night, six
P.M.
for that. Plenty of time to get to Memphis and back and still take a bus down to Camp Shelby. Ain’t ’bout to miss seein’ Memphis!”

“Thought you had the headache so bad,” I reminded him. “You up to this ride?”

Clarence shrugged. “Ain’t so bad right now. ’Sides, ride might do me good.”

“Yeah.” Little Willie laughed. “Maybe it’ll get your mind off that girl Sissy and becomin’ a daddy.”

“Don’t you start up again with me, Willie.”

Little Willie just slapped Clarence’s back and kept on laughing. He loved teasing Clarence.

“Look here, Stace,” said Oliver, “don’t think I’ll be going with y’all ’less you figure you need me. Jasper ain’t been feeling too well tonight, and Jessie pretty much having to run the cafe by herself. All these people here, I best stay on and help her out.”

“Yeah, all right. We’ll be fine. Need to borrow some money from you, though, for Moe’s ticket and for gas, too, if you can spare it.”

“Yeah, sure. Can probably get forty or fifty bucks, what with what I got in my pocket. That be enough?”

“Yeah, that’ll be fine.”

Oliver returned to the cafe to get the money. When he came back, he gave the money to Stacey, then pulled a small notebook from his coat pocket. “Look here, y’all get to Memphis and you run into any trouble, look up Solomon Bradley—”

“Solomon Bradley?” I said.

“Yeah. He was in here this evening. Gone now, though. He’s a lawyer up in Memphis.”

“He actually practices the law?”

Oliver seemed puzzled by my interest. “Among other things. You meet him?”

I nodded. “How did you all come to know him?”

“He drives down to New Orleans a lot and he just stopped by one day to get something to eat. Met him then.”

“Oh,” I said as Stacey looked curiously at me.

Oliver went on. “Wrote down his address. He’s a good man to know. Y’all run into any trouble, y’all get in touch with him. Most likely he can help.”

Stacey took the paper. “Thanks,” he said.

“You know how to get to the train station once you get to Memphis?” asked Oliver, who knew Memphis well. “There’s more’n one you know. One y’all wanna go to is Central Station.”

“It’s downtown?”

“Yeah . . . let me draw you a map.” Oliver quickly sketched out the directions on the notepad. When he finished, he gave Stacey the pad. “Shouldn’t have any problems, but you do, you can always ask somebody.”

Stacey nodded, then went to the driver’s side of the car and opened the door. “Ought to be back tomorrow morning or early afternoon sometime.”

“Yeah, all right . . . if that white boy Jeremy Simms or that Mr. Jamison ain’t done sold y’all out and told the police about Moe ’fore then.”

Stacey glanced once more at the distrustful Oliver and got in. Oliver shook Moe’s hand. “Moe, you take care, hear? Things gonna work out.”

Moe nodded. “Thank ya, Oliver. That money, I’ll pay you back every cent.”

“Yeah, I know you will. Don’t worry ’bout it. You just
make it to Chicago, ya hear? Tell Cousin Hammer I said hello. Hope to see him down here come Christmas.”

“I’ll do that.” Then Clarence got in the back seat, and so did Little Willie. I slid in beside Stacey, and Moe sat next to me. We were set to go.

Suddenly Oliver said, “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” and ran back into the cafe. We didn’t know what had gotten into him. His return took more than a minute, but when he came back out, he was carrying a large bag. “Got shoeboxes of food for you there, Moe. Fried chicken and corn bread and some sweet potato pie. You’ll be needing it on that train. Got ’nough for the rest of y’all too, y’all get hungry.”

Moe smiled his thanks and took the bag.

“See you tomorrow sometime,” said Stacey and started the car.

“Yeah,” said Oliver. “Yeah . . .” He slapped the roof in farewell and stepped back.

Then we were on our way, leaving Oliver behind, a solitary figure in front of the cafe. We left Lynch and headed out State Street into the blackness of the Mississippi night. A few minutes later we were on the road to Memphis.

The Road to Memphis

All around us the world lay black. Only the headlights of the Ford cut a swath of brilliance across the night. Earlier a few cars had passed us going toward Jackson, and several huge trucks traveling north had closed in behind us, then sped on. But no other vehicles were now on the highway. There were no lights along the roadside either. For a while after we left Jackson we had seen lights flickering in roadside houses and in little towns still awake as we passed through. Now the towns were asleep, and all lights were out; we seemed alone in the world. Once Stacey stopped the car, and all the boys got out and walked off to the woods. I didn’t go with them. I didn’t
like the thought of squatting out in the night over things I couldn’t see. I told them I’d just wait.

“Won’t be any toilets we can use between here and Memphis,” Stacey told me.

“Said I’d wait.”

“All right, suit yourself.”

As we made our way through the hill country the smell of skunk and other wild things seeped like a gaseous stink into the car. Little Willie complained about the smell for a while, then fell off to sleep. Clarence, too, slept. Moe and I remained awake, and, of course, Stacey was at the wheel, but none of us said anything much. I suppose we were all too caught up in our own thoughts for talking. The day had moved so fast and the night even faster. There was a lot to think about. I thought about all that had happened in Strawberry. I thought about the once important debate, the once important grade I needed to get, and realized how unimportant they seemed now. I thought about Solomon Bradley, too, and wondered if we would see him in Memphis. I hoped so.

Since there was no radio in the car, there was no distant voice to soothe the night or the ride. Stacey fixed his eyes on the road; Moe stared out the side window into the blackness of the night. I shivered and pulled my coat close. The heater was barely working, and I was cold. Stacey glanced over at me and pushed the heater up to full blast, but it didn’t make much difference.

“Right about now I’m wishing this car had a better heater,” he said.

“No more than I,” I replied.

He smiled, then glanced at the gas gauge. He had filled the tank in Jackson, so there was plenty of gas. But I knew something about the car was bothering him. “What is it?” I said.

“I don’t know. Car’s not running quite right. Think I need to stop at a station somewhere and check under the hood.”

“You figure we can find something open this time of night?”

“I recall, there’s a truck stop along here somewhere. We’ll stop there.”

The silence settled in again. The night passed on. Finally we saw lights in the distance. It was the truck stop. In addition to the gas station, there was a small store and a cafe. Several huge trucks were parked on the lot. Stacey drove the Ford in and stopped alongside one of the gas pump isles.

Little Willie stirred in back. “’Ey, son, we in Memphis?”

“Does this look like Memphis?” I asked, glancing back at him. Little Willie looked out. “Could be. ’Member, I ain’t never been there.”

“Got a ways yet ’fore Memphis, Willie,” Stacey informed him and opened the door.

Little Willie and I followed him out. Clarence didn’t waken, and Moe refused to leave the car. “Could be police here,” he said.

I looked around. “Don’t see any police cars.”

“Figure it’s best I stay here.”

“Well, suit yourself, then.”

Stacey, Little Willie, and I stood by the car and waited. After a few minutes the station attendant came from the store. Stacey asked him to fill the tank. The attendant was a sandyhaired man, middle-aged with a cherublike face and a mind to talk. As he slipped the nozzle into the tank he looked around, his cheeks red under the lights that flooded the station, and observed: “Don’t see many of y’all traveling the road this late at night. Where ’bouts y’all headed?”

I cut my eyes to Stacey, wondering how he was going to
answer. He stood there straight-faced and lied. “Nashville,” he said without a blink.

“Nashville? That a fact? Y’all know folks up there? Always figure a place just ain’t right somehow less’n you know folks.”

I waited for Stacey’s reply to this. If we had kin in Nashville, I wanted to know about it too. But the man went on cheerfully, not giving Stacey a chance to speak. “Been to Nashville once, and it was all right. Nothing like Memphis, though. Always preferred Memphis myself. Body can have a fine time in that town.”

“Well, maybe we’ll get lucky enough to get there one day.”

“Y’all do that, ’cause I know y’all’ll like it. I ain’t heard a nigra yet been there say they ain’t liked that place. It’s got all those kind of doings your folks enjoy so much. Got a lotta dancing and good-time music places, so’s I hear. That Beale Street, I hear, is really a jumping place with all you people there.”

Stacey’s eyes hardened. White folks were always doing that, assuming they knew what we all liked or didn’t like, what we all were like or weren’t like. Stacey changed the conversation. “I’m having a bit of trouble with my car. Seems to be running a bit rough. Had trouble with the engine missing before. Be obliged if you could check it for me.”

“Just give me a minute and I’ll give it a look.”

Little Willie glanced over at the store. “Suh, that store there open?”

“Yep, sure is. Y’all go on in. My wife and boy’s in there. Got some nice sweet potato pies and some pecan pies, too, y’all might wanna buy if y’all gonna be on the road all night. They’re fine, too, mighty fine. I oughta know. They keeps ten pounds too heavy on me.” He laughed generously at that. “Ole nigger
woman—Aunt Hannah Mays—cooks up those pies for us twice a week. Can’t hardly keep ’em in the place, folks love ’em so.”

“Sounds good,” said Willie. “Maybe we’ll give ’em a try.” Little Willie offered the attendant a pleasant grin, then as he turned his back to him he made a face only Stacey and I could see before asking us, “Y’all going in?”

“I’ll stay with the car,” Stacey said. “I need to get it checked out.” He glanced at the attendant. “Want to see what he thinks might be wrong with it.”

“While you talking to him,” I said, “ask him if they got colored restrooms.”

Stacey again glanced at the attendant, then, taking my arm, pulled me several feet from the car. “Course they don’t have them!” he hissed.

“Well, see if they got something—”

“Now, Cassie, you know good and well we’re not going to find a gasoline station that’s going to let us use their toilets.”

“Well, ask him anyway. He call himself being so friendly, maybe he can tell us where we can find one.”

“No need to even ask, Cassie, especially not this time of night. We get out from here, I’ll find a place to pull over.”

“Boy, I told you I’m not going squatting out somewhere in the middle of the night in a whole bunch of bushes! Anything could be crawling out there! You don’t ask him, I’ll ask him myself!”

Stacey’s look was scowling. “Thought you promised to mind my words.”

“Yeah well . . . that was before I had to face stooping down over some bushes in the middle of the night. Won’t hurt to ask.”

Stacey sighed in exasperation, then went back to the attendant.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but I’d like to know if you have a restroom my sister here could use.”

The man’s cheerful countenance didn’t change. “Like I said, don’t see many nigras traveling this road after dark. Truth of the matter is, don’t see many of y’all doing much distance during the day, neither, those of you got cars. Now, these was daylight hours, I’d tell y’all to look for Aunt Hannah’s place. She live just right down the road a piece. But seeing it’s way over past midnight, I know Aunt Hannah ain’t gonna wanna break her sleep this time-a night to show strangers her outhouse. That ole gal’d have my head, I sent y’all down waking her up.” He laughed. “Best I can do for y’all is to advise ya to make y’allselves welcome to the woods and bush we got ’round here. Got plenty of that!”

“Yeah, we saw,” I muttered.

Stacey cast me a chastising glance. The attendant came around to the front of the car. “Looks like your left front tire’s a bit low there,” he said. “I’ll get that for ya after I take a look under your hood.”

“I thank you,” said Stacey.

The attendant checked the water and oil and whatever else was under the hood, then pulled back with some bad news. “That fan belt of y’all’s is looking pretty worn through. It break on you, the car’s gonna run hot and damage the engine. Could mean big trouble, y’all goin’ all the way to Nashville.”

Stacey leaned down and took a look for himself. His frown told me the attendant was right.

“Now I got a fan belt here, I can go on and put on for ya.”

“How much would that be?” Stacey was sounding cautious. I knew he was thinking about the money.

“Gonna hafta check that.” Leaving the hood up, the attendant
stepped back, admiring the car. “Fine-looking Ford. What year is it?”

“Thirty-eight.”