Take My Hand(74)

The defense lawyer scoffed. “Your Honor, the federal government treats all people the same. These allegations of bias against the poor are unprovable and histrionic. And it doesn’t change the fact that the written notices were always available upon request.”

“Histrionic never, and I disagree that it’s unprovable.”

“Now cut it out before I hold both y’all in contempt of court. I won’t give another warning.”

Available upon request? The man lived in a fantasy world. And he had the nerve to say the federal government treated all people the same. He obviously was in denial about what happened up at Tuskegee.

Lou’s plan became clearer to me. He would first argue that the federal clinics were administering Depo-Provera without informed consent. Then he would move that argument to the issue of sterilization to prove an entire system of abuse.

I liked the strategy. But he had to prove it in this court of law. And I was seeing firsthand that it wasn’t going to be easy.



* * *



? ? ?

THE SCHOOL YEAR had started, and so had football season. I’d always loved Centennial Hill this time of year. When the leaves were changing and peaches were stewing on the stove and the camellia was blooming out back, the city became one of the most beautiful places I’d ever seen. People sat on their porches and waved at cars. Men in hats walked to the corner store to buy a bottle of Coca-Cola. The Popsicle truck sang out a tune from its bullhorn. Children played stickball in the street. The mailman knew you were waiting to hear from your sick cousin and knocked on the door to make sure he put the letter in your hand. To the world, Montgomery was the Cradle of Dixie. To me, she was home.

Of course, Montgomery had its other side, too. Meeting the Williamses had reminded me of that. On my side, we were protected by our education and jobs and ability to make noise, while poor Black folks went hungry or were humiliated by their employers who exploited the precariousness of their very existence. A lot of Negroes still lived in shotgun houses without indoor plumbing. There were none of us on the city council, and the idea of the city electing a Negro mayor anytime soon was laughable.

It was especially bad in the country. Out there, folks lived in ramshackle houses, eking out a living. Children ran barefoot because their shoes were too small, a lot of them hungry even as their parents cleared crops of perfectly edible food. Erica had told me that last Christmas her daddy had given her and India a bag of clementines. They ate those sweet little fruits until their stomachs hurt, she said.

In fall 1973, folks like the Williamses were never far from my mind. Every time I shopped at the market, I thought of them. Every time I checked a book out of the library, I thought of them. When I put gas in my new car, I thought of them. I tried to hold myself together because the trial was in full swing, and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone by getting in the way, but I was troubled and uneasy in those days.

Lou worked tirelessly. I believe the man slept in his clothes some nights, if he slept at all. He had a wife who worked in Selma, but no one had ever met her. I feared a divorce might slip up on him if he didn’t tend to his personal life, but when I noticed the determined look in his eyes, I dared not get in his business.

On Sundays after church, I went to Mace’s house to teach him to read. We sat in the living room while the girls played outside and Mrs. Williams prepared her Sunday dinner. Mace’s reading was improving. The local librarian helped me find more books. I couldn’t find very many books with Black characters, so I found ones that featured animals, books such as Swimmy by Leo Lionni. Although Mace had not wanted to stumble over words in front of people in a literacy class, he seemed to have no trouble with me correcting him. He would say “Come on now, girl,” to encourage me to teach even faster. He’d sit so close to me that I could feel the warmth of his breath as he sounded out the letters.

One day I heard his mother drop something in grease and the sizzle of the fry start up. Suddenly Mace turned and kissed me. It surprised me, but I was ready for it. After months of something rising up between us, we gave in to our attraction. The man tasted like I had imagined he would, like the outdoors. And kissing him was different than kissing Ty. Mace kissed hard, pressing himself to me, holding me tight like it was the last moment we would ever have together. He was a little rough and, frankly, I found that exciting. Ty had been all soft and inquisitive, more concerned with my comfort.

It wasn’t just that Mace was ten years my senior. He was different than any man I’d ever known. When the whir of the mixer blade started, we moved closer. When his mama opened the window to yell out to a neighbor, he put an arm around me. I kept telling myself Control yourself, Civil. And somehow, I did manage to convince myself that I had everything under control.

Eventually, as her dinner was finishing up, Mrs. Williams came in and sat in her chair to crochet. I continued with the lesson, as if nothing had happened, and I could tell she was concentrating on my words. Out of nervousness, I offered to teach her to read, but she declined, preferring instead to listen in.





THIRTY-NINE





For a long time, Daddy didn’t question my refusal to look for a job, nor did he mention my obsession. Each day I woke up and dressed for court as if I were going to work. I rotated three dark skirts and sweaters. Court-appropriate, as they called it. Sometimes I would pick up the girls in the afternoon, asking Erica if there were any school supplies she needed and what was the latest with the two friends she had made. The sole evidence of India’s love for her school was the big smile on her face when she got in my car. Somebody anonymously dropped money off at Lou’s office for Mace, and with that payment he bought a new carburetor for his unreliable truck and was able to get the two of them to school every morning.