The Bernice L. McFadden Collection. Bernice L. McFadden
Читать онлайн книгу.
were many, many bends in the road.
Dearest, you must understand that crossing over to the other side is the same as drifting off to sleep. One full day for you is an entire year for a soul.
When Emmett had finally opened his eyes in the here-and-now, he found that his body was no more, that the boys he’d known were now men and the girls had blossomed into women. Tass was gone and Hemmingway was graying around her hairline.
He went first to the home of Moe Wright, but found only a dry tract of land where the house once stood. The next place he went was to Hemmingway Hilson’s house. He took up residence on her porch, where he remained for many years.
When Hemmingway died, her spirit came to him and said, “I figured that was you.” She looked off into the distance and then back at him and added, “She’ll be here soon.” And then skipped away into the blue.
Emmett had watched Padagonia step out of her house, cross the road, and knock on the door, calling, “Miss Hemmingway?”
When she did not receive an answer, she had gone to the window and pressed her face against the glass. Finally, she picked up the one lone flowerpot on the porch and removed the key hidden beneath it.
Moments after she let herself inside of the house, Emmett heard her gasp. When Padagonia reappeared, she had tears in her eyes.
Days later, when Tass and her son arrived, Emmett had sensed her presence as soon as she stepped off the bus. He was happy to feel himself in her thoughts and glad to know that she hadn’t forgotten about him.
But I ask you, dear reader, how could she forget him? How could she possibly forget, when year after year August 28 rolled around and Jet Magazine republished that horrid photo, reminding Tass and the rest of the world of what had happened here during the summer of 1955?
And what of the murder of Medgar Evers in Jackson, Mississippi, in 1963? And the following year, in Philadelphia, Mississippi, where three civil rights workers were beaten, shot to death, and buried in a field?
Those murders always brought Emmett Till back to the forefront of not just Tass’s mind, but the minds of many people all around the world.
Tass’s heart raced and her body tensed as she launched into a sprint. When she reached the street, she was trembling and her eyes were wild with fear.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” Sonny asked.
“You okay?” Padagonia took hold of her hand and squeezed.
“I’m fine. Just fine,” Tass stammered. “Let’s go home.”
The house seemed even smaller than she remembered. The ceiling was so low, Sonny had to walk stooped over through the rooms.
Together they carried out the task of sorting through, throwing out, and giving away Hemmingway’s scant possessions. They got rid of everything except for the beds, a dresser, and a rocking chair.
That evening, Padagonia and Tass sat on the porch and gazed up at the star-filled sky.
“You gonna sell the place?” Padagonia asked.
“Maybe.”
“Well then,” Padagonia offered with a gentle pat to Tass’s thigh, “I’ll keep an eye on it till you decide.”
Sonny and Tass boarded a bus headed north just four days after they arrived. Padagonia was sad to see them go and promised that she would come soon for a visit. Tass laughed and said, “I won’t hold my breath.”
Emmett floated on board and rode on Tass’s lap all the way to Detroit.
November through March had always been particularly difficult months for Tass. Detroit was beautiful in the spring, gorgeous in the summer, and breathtaking in the fall. But stripped and gray, the city became repulsive.
In the early days, when Emmett first came to Detroit, he would send a butterfly or bloom a flower to make her happy. A smile would glisten on Tass’s lips and she would fold her arms across her breasts and utter, “Well, would you look at that.”
Unfortunately, the wonderment did not last and soon the spectacle would fade from her mind.
One January, slate-colored clouds blanketed the sky over Detroit for three straight weeks, and while Tass had grown accustomed to the bone-chilling temperatures, the absence of the sun was nearly unbearable.
Tass was alone in the house dusting furniture one day, and for no good reason at all, she began to cry. Crumpling to her knees, she brought the dusty cloth to her face and inhaled a cloud of lemon-scented Pledge.
Over her sobs, she heard a chorus of chirping coming from the backyard. Baffled, Tass went to the window, yanked the curtain aside, and saw that the naked tree limbs were choked with hundreds of cardinals feath-ered in the most vibrant red she had ever seen.
Eager for a closer look, she opened the back door and stepped out onto the icy steps. Outside, the chatter was deafening and the vision so magnificently unbelievable that she presumed she was in the midst of an outlandish daydream.
Closing her arms around her shoulders to ward off the chill, she eased her foot onto the second step, immediately lost her footing, and bounced down the remaining steps, ending up on her back in the snow.
Engrossed by the vision before her, Tass hardly noticed the pain coiling around her tailbone or winter’s jagged teeth ripping at her skin.
One bird, two birds, five, and ten fluttered off, then the entire flock was airborne, and for one magical moment the winter sky appeared to be swathed in crimsoncolored Christmas foil.
When you are young, you are open to all things; that’s why the babies were able to see Emmett following Tass from room to room, and hunched in the corners watching her. Emmett would make funny faces at the babies and perform cartwheels and handstands until they fell over with laughter.
But as the babies grew into toddlers and beyond, that window known as spiritual consciousness slipped closed and Emmett became as invisible to them as air.
Animals are also extremely sensitive to the spirits that live amongst you.
Fish had to get rid of one the family dogs, a cocker spaniel named Soap, who found Emmett’s presence so disturbing that he barked himself hoarse. A hamster named George mounted his exercise wheel and ran until his heart gave out.
In 1978, Sonny brought his sweetheart by to meet his parents. She was from Ghana.
“Where is that?” Tass asked.
“Africa.”
The entire family came over to look at her. They had never met a real African.
Her name was Aida, and she was tall and brown, with wide eyes and cheekbones worthy of a sculptor’s chisel. Hearing her speak was like listening to music.
I noticed the distraction first, and then Sonny saw that she was straining to glimpse something on the far wall. He twisted around in his chair to see what had caught her attention and his eyes fell on the framed photographs that lined the wall.
At the end of the visit, Sonny announced that he and Aida were going to catch a movie. The couple gathered themselves to leave and the family followed them out into the foyer and grinned as Sonny helped Aida with her coat.
They said their goodbyes and left.
“Nice girl,” Tass said.
“Pretty too,” Fish added with a wink.
The doorbell rang, and when one of the younger children opened the door, Aida was standing there.
“I forgot my pocketbook.”
She walked back into the dining room and reached for the purse, which