The Vain Conversation by Anthony Grooms

Author:Anthony Grooms
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of South Carolina Press
Published: 2018-02-01T05:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

He slept only two hours, rose with the sun and shaved, washed himself in the basin, put on a fresh white shirt, gold colored cufflinks, a tie, a suit and his oxfords. He thought that he might wear his army uniform, but now that he had put on a little weight, the pants had become too snug. He hoped his church clothes would not overemphasize the point that Jacks should respect him. Jacks didn’t have to like him, but he had to respect him. Bertrand gritted his teeth. Maybe it was pride, he thought. “Pride proceedeth the fall.” But why shouldn’t he be proud? He had done things to be proud of, damn it, and he was tired of being half a man just because white people wanted to treat him like one. He had been a corporal in the 761 Tank Battalion in General George Patton’s Third Army. He had fought in the Ardennes and had helped to liberate a camp of Jews. He had done as much for his country, this United States, as any man, woman or child in Talmaedge. Half a man was half a life, and he wanted to live fully. Why shouldn’t Jacks listen to him?

When he was dressed, he sat down on the bed next to Luellen. She appeared to be asleep, but he suspected her placid breathing a disguise to avoid him. He kissed her cheek. She seemed to stiffen, the breathing interrupted for a moment, but she did not open her eyes. Her last words to him before falling asleep had been that white men were bound to stick up for one another.

“I don’t believe you give Mr. Jacks enough credit,” Bertrand had said. “Mr. Jacks may be the best friend the colored have in Talmaedge County.” He knew when he said it that he was overstating, but drowsiness was taking him, and he hadn’t the focus to make good sense.

“Then the Lord help Talmaedge County,” Luellen had said.

When he went downstairs, he found that his mother had already left on her two mile walk to Woodbine. She had rekindled the fire in the cooking stove and had made coffee, fried potatoes, and bacon. He poured a cup of coffee and sat on the porch. Looking into the woods, he watched the light play among the trees, light and shadow replacing one another as the foliage moved in the canopy, but always it seemed the same degree of light and shadow. By noon, it would be mostly light as the sun shone directly down on the woods, but at nightfall it would be all darkness. This, though, was nature, he thought, and it didn’t always have to be this way with men. Men could let in as much light or darkness as they chose. They could live their lives in shadow, in ignorance, full of hatred and small mindedness, or they could embrace light. Wayne Henson embraced light. Who knows, even then, as he was sliding down the embankment with the buckshot riddled through his heart, he might have been reaching out to some great, bright spirit.

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