Without Prejudice (22 page)

He left. Back in the limo he thought fleetingly of his plan to return to the Loop and see the Impressionists in the Art Institute, just as he had so often done as a boy with his grandmother, then eat before catching the bus at the Palmer House for O’Hare and his flight home. But he had no desire now to stir any other memories of his childhood. He felt raw.

For the first time he felt his grief, and put his head in his hands as the driver, baffled by his new instructions to go to the airport, fought his way onto the Ryan. Robert shuddered once, twice, but felt too self-conscious for actual tears. He felt like he had been a neglectful son, separated from his surrogate mother by distance and a painful conversation during Duval’s trial. With Vanetta’s death he believed the Chicago chapter of his life was finally closed. After all, Duval had not even been allowed at the funeral.

XI

1

H
E TRIED TO
see the coach house through alien eyes, wondering what Duval made of this small estate, the maple-lined drive off the flat Indiana two-lane highway, and the big twin houses just visible in the distance at the beach-end of the property.

As Robert turned off the drive, Duval gave a low whistle. ‘This is pretty,’ he said.

‘We just rent it.’

‘Don’t make it less nice.’

Parking the car, Robert could see the broken windows. But there was no sign anyone had come into the garage. Leaving Duval to wait outside, he went and checked the coach house, but it too was undisturbed.

He climbed the garage stairs with Duval behind him, and unlocked the door to its small apartment. All seemed in order: the television sat untouched in a corner, with the CD player beside it – they would have been priorities for any thief.

‘Who lives here?’ asked Duval.

‘It awaits my mother-in-law. She’s supposed to come visit this fall.’

‘Don’t want her in the house?’ asked Duval with a sly grin.

‘We haven’t really got the room,’ he said, then laughed in acknowledgement of the truth.

After measuring the broken windows, they drove to a hardware store in the nearest town. It was a small poky place, too near the industrial Indiana belt to be a country town, too poor to be charming. They bought glass panes cut to order, a tin of putty, and a putty knife. Then he bought two steaks at a grocery store. As they drove back Duval started laughing.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Robert.

‘I ain’t seen a whiter town than that in a long time. Reminds me of downstate Illinois.’

‘You been down there? I mean . . .’

‘Yeah. I was six years downstate. Not that I actually saw the town. But I heard about it plenty from the guards. Lordy,’ he exclaimed, ‘they was a backward bunch of peoples. Illinois ’sposed to be a northern state, but you’d have thought you was in Georgia.
Crackers
.’

‘That bad, huh?’

‘It was okay if the guards thought you weren’t no trouble. They were more scared of us than we were of them – but they got the guns! Some of them had never known any black people ’til they come to work inside.’

Back at the coach house Robert cooked the steaks under the oven’s grill, then cut them into thick pink slices onto the buns he warmed in the oven. Taking the plates and two bottles of beer, he and Duval sat out in the small yard, since though the cloud remained it was pale and unthreatening. They ate hungrily, and he went and filled two more buns with the remainder of the steak.

‘You like to grill?’ asked Duval as he brought them back.

‘There’s something about the smoky taste.’

Duval nodded knowingly. ‘My first meal when I got out was barbecue. I made Jermaine stop the car as soon as we got to Chicago, and bought me a rack of ribs as long as my arm.’

‘What was the food like in prison?’ He felt able now to ask about life inside.

‘Some years better than others. That’s when you got a choice.’ He gave a sour snort. ‘Pig slop or beef slop. No ribs, though.’

‘Vanetta used to make ribs every week.’

‘She did at home, too. Man, she could cook. She told me once her mother taught her when she was just a little-bitty girl.’

‘Down in Mississippi?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You ever go there?’

Duval shook his head. ‘Aurelia wouldn’t take me. She didn’t like it there. She said it was too hot.’

‘I can believe that.’

Duval said harshly, ‘That wasn’t Aurelia’s real problem. She wasn’t going to like no place where you couldn’t get a nickel bag as easy as a Pepsi, and a man with a wallet as big as his dick.’

Robert stood up and collected the empty beer bottles. ‘Come on. Time to earn our lunch.’

He decided to cut the strip of grass in their little fenced-in yard while Duval tackled the windows – he didn’t feel right reading scripts inside while his friend did manual labour. When he checked an hour later, Duval was almost done, though the putty had been applied unevenly. Next time he’d get the Poindexters’ handyman to do it.

He was just handing Duval a beer in the kitchen when he heard a car on the drive. Looking out the window, he was astonished to see the Passat pull into the garage, with Anna at the wheel and Sophie next to her in the front seat.

‘I’ll be right back,’ he said. Outside, he found Sophie rushing out of the garage, and gave her a bewildered hug as Anna emerged more slowly from the car. She was carrying a soft overnight bag. ‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

‘We thought we’d see how you’re getting on with the DIY. And the Poindexters said there’ll be fireworks tonight on the beach.’ She avoided his stare.

‘Have you forgotten the Crullowitches?’

She looked at him with a studied, defiant air that had recently become commonplace. ‘Your president is indisposed. A summer bug, according to Mrs Crullowitch. She sounded quite relieved not to be entertaining us all this evening.’

‘We still have to go back,’ he said sharply.

‘Why? We don’t have to go out tonight.’

‘Are you forgetting Duval? He’s got to be back in Chicago.’

‘That’s not what his release form says. You left it on the kitchen table. Anyway,’ she declared, looking over his shoulder, and her face broke into a grin, ‘let’s ask the man himself.’

For Duval had come out of the house. He smiled at Anna, then hesitated at the sight of Sophie.

Anna called out. ‘Hello, Duval. Sophie, say hello to Mr Morgan.’

Robert waited to see how she would react. An only child, she was easy with adults – too easy, Robert sometimes feared – though occasionally a childlike shyness would assert itself.

Duval bowed down, almost doubled over, and extended a hand, and Sophie extended a limper version. ‘How dee do?’ he said almost lyrically.

Sophie giggled, and looked at Anna. ‘How dee do?’ she asked, and giggled again. She pumped Duval’s hand in return.

Anna said, ‘Is there any reason you can’t stay here tonight with us, Duval?’

He didn’t look to Robert before answering. ‘No, ma’am. I’m good until tomorrow.’

‘Well, that’s settled then.’ She handed the overnight bag to Robert. ‘I’ll get Sophie’s bag out of the car.’

He was glad they had aired the guest flat above the garage, since Robert made sure that’s where Duval would be sleeping. He went up with Anna and helped make the bed, leaving Duval to watch baseball on the big television in the coach house living room. He said sharply, ‘You should have called and told me what you had in mind.’

‘I did. You must have been outside with Duval.’

‘What are you playing at?’ he asked angrily, but saw nothing but surprise on her face. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just I think we should be a little careful with this guy.’

‘We’re only putting him up for the night so Sophie can see the fireworks. You grew up with him – you don’t really think he’s dangerous, do you?’

Did he? It was the 64,000-dollar question. And the honest answer was no, he didn’t. Robert was not naïve about the potential violence in people – he knew he had the potential himself – but he found it hard to see any physical threat coming from Duval. There was something too shy and quiet about him. Doubtless prison had changed him, but not that much.

They ate early, with Sophie, since the fireworks would start as soon as it was dark. They sat at the kitchen table and Anna served them from a big bowl of spaghetti with a Bolognese sauce. Duval hesitated before starting to eat, and Robert suddenly guessed why.

‘Do you usually say grace, Duval?’

He nodded. ‘Ella is pretty strict that way.’ Jermaine’s wife.

‘Why don’t you say it now for us then?’

Sophie looked questioningly at Robert, and Robert put his finger to his lips and gave a little nod. When Duval bowed his head, Sophie imitated him, shutting her eyes as he said, ‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.’

‘Amen.’

Duval ate quickly, with his fingers wrapped around the fork handle as if it were a hammer. Sophie watched him, open-eyed. ‘Gosh, you’re hungry, Duval.’ He stopped with his fork in mid-air, looking self-conscious.

‘Sophie,’ said Anna reprovingly.

‘The food’s real good,’ said Duval shyly, as he put his fork down.

‘Sophie still eats like a little English girl,’ said Robert, trying to put Duval at ease. ‘They put their fork in their left hand, their knife in the right.’ He demonstrated.

‘You eat that way too, Daddy,’ Sophie said accusingly.

‘Shhh. I don’t want Duval to think I went native over there.’

‘Daddy says you two knew each other when you were little,’ Sophie said to Duval.

‘That’s right.’

‘Did he get in trouble lots of times?’ she asked. A recurring motif – when Robert would tuck her in at night, she’d ask for stories about his childhood escapades.

‘Oh, not too much,’ said Duval, casting a sideways look at Anna. ‘I was the rascal.’

‘Really? What did you do?’

‘Nothing too terrible,’ Robert interjected, trying not to think of Lily’s panties or the
Playboy
magazine.

After dinner they walked down to the beach, and stood on the top of the small dunes in the lowering dark, waiting for the firework display to begin down the beach, where the Poindexters and their even wealthier neighbours were gathered in a small group which Robert could just make out. In front of them, the lake stretched like an infinite placid pool in the moonless, windless night.

The first rocket suddenly fizzed into the air, culminating in such a deafening bang that Robert flinched.

‘I can’t see it very well,’ Sophie declared. ‘Daddy, can I get on your shoulders?’

‘No,’ Anna said. ‘You know his back’s bad.’

Duval said, ‘You can go on mine, honey.’ Robert watched with mixed emotions as his tall friend reached down and, lifting the little girl up into the air with both hands on her waist, brought Sophie up over his head to sit on his shoulders, her legs dangling on his chest. ‘I can see everything now!’ she exclaimed.

As the firework display continued, Robert found himself distracted by his daughter’s presence on Duval’s shoulders. He tried not to let it bother him, but as soon as the fireworks ended, in a crescendo of colourful explosions over the lake, he said, ‘Get down, Sophie. Let Duval rest his back.’

‘Ain’t no problem, Bobby.’

‘Come on, Sophie,’ he insisted, and eventually she clambered down the tall man’s back.

Back at the coach house Duval started to head for the apartment above the garage, but Anna invited him to come into the kitchen for hot chocolate.

‘I thought we’d go have lunch at Little Slovakia tomorrow,’ Robert said. ‘It’s a restaurant in Michiana.’

‘Michiana?’ asked Duval.

‘Two states in one,’ said Sophie seriously. She remained energised rather than tired.

Anna stood up. ‘Come on, Sophie. Time for your bath. It’s way past your bedtime.’ The little girl said goodnight reluctantly and followed Anna upstairs.

When Anna reappeared, she was yawning. ‘Gentlemen, I’m fading, so I think I’ll go to bed.’

Duval said, ‘I think I’ll turn in, too. Could I borrow a radio from you all?’

‘Sure,’ said Robert. ‘Take the one in the kitchen.’

‘It helps me sleep. Kind of drowns out the noise.’

What noise? thought Robert.

Robert woke at three, as had been his habit in the days when he drank a bottle of wine a night, which would prompt a middle-of-the-night rising. There was a small stand of poplars that nestled in a semicircle of the back side of the dunes and shimmered now in the breeze that had come up after sundown. Robert lay listening to their thin music, feeling completely awake. He wondered whether to go downstairs and leave Anna undisturbed until he grew tired enough again to sleep.

Then he heard the noise, a faint creak of the outside door, a thump of a footstep. Someone had come into the kitchen. Duval? He waited, suddenly tense, listening carefully, feeling a test was coming. Sure enough, he heard the locked door being tried, between the kitchen and the hallway, the mild shake of its frame as it stayed firmly locked. The noise was unmistakable. Duval had been trying to get in.

He got up at once and grabbed his robe, while Anna stirred. ‘What is it?’ she whispered.

‘Nothing. Just going to the bathroom.’

At the top of the stairs he could see a pencil slant of light from under the kitchen door. Someone was still there.

It had to be Duval. Robert went down the stairs quickly now, turning the hall light on, making no effort to disguise his footsteps. When he got to the kitchen door he took a deep breath, turned the lock and opened the door.

Duval was sitting at the kitchen table, one hand cupped under his chin in a thinker’s pose. He seemed unsurprised to see Robert.

‘Did you want something?’ Robert asked.