Larry came back in with Whale. Whale ran over and plopped herself at Miss Jasmine’s feet after she had finished her last chair squat.
Kenneth and Larry returned to the dining table, both sitting to face Miss Jasmine. McArdle still sat at the end of the couch.
“That’s some heavy…” said Kenneth. Miss Jasmine interrupted Kenneth.
“‘Some heavy shit’ is what you were going to say? Wash your mouth out with soap, boy!”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry.”
Kenneth did not get up to wash his mouth out with soap. Miss Jasmine cleared her throat several times, almost as if she were choking.
“They say throat clearing can indicate various health issues. I don’t know what I have, but I do know I’m healthier than all the doctors I’ve seen.”
She continued her narrative.
“Sheriff Ortega went to his room. I tidied up the kitchen a bit, then read, washed a few clothes, then went out back to hang the clothes on the clothesline. The clothesline was then’s Internet for black people, you might say. News and gossip would spread down the clotheslines. Yard to yard, then block to block. That morning Miss Sarah was out hanging clothes. She worked for the Thomases. Miss Sarah was old; nobody knew how old.
“Miss Sarah called to me and said, ‘Miss Jasmine, is the sheriff home?’ Her voice shook.
“‘Yes, ma’am. He’s sleeping. He had some police business last night.’
“Miss Sarah was quiet for a moment.
“‘Then you don’t know? Miss Jasmine?’
“‘Do I know what?’
“‘Know about last night. About the police business?’
“‘No, ma’am. I don’t get involved in that, and he doesn’t talk about it. Except for who bought how many eggs in the morning. But no egg business today.’
“Miss Sarah started to talk, and it was evident she was about to cry. Finally, she got it out:
“‘They killed those boys last night. The ones in the jail. Miss Elaine saw them lying next to the highway. Filled with bullets.’
“‘You mean the boys arrested who stabbed the police officer? Shot dead?’
“‘They didn’t stab no damn police officer,’ Miss Sarah said angrily. ‘Don’t believe everything you read in that goddamn paper.’
“I had already heard a couple of goddamns that morning, and now Miss Sarah was cussing. People were mad about something. I think this was the first time I heard a black woman cuss.
“‘It was Richard and Ernest. Your cousins. Richard Ponder and Ernest Hawkins.’
“‘They didn’t stab that police officer?’
“‘Hell no they didn’t stab no goddamn police officer. Those boys didn’t do a damn thing!’
“Now it was goddamns mixed with damns. But I still wasn’t taking the news in. All I could manage to say was ‘Are you sure it was Richard and James? They are only fourteen. And what do the police have to do with it?’
“‘It’s goddamn common sense the police were involved. How else did they get those boys out of the jail? Who else has guns? The police got guns. The white people got guns. Black people don’t got no goddamn guns!’
“‘But what about Sheriff Ortega?’
“‘You and that goddamn sheriff. You think just ’cause he’s good to you he ain’t gonna go shoot some damn n——s? He’s a white man and you’re a goddamn fool.’
“Miss Sarah was angrily slapping the clothes she had just put on the line until they fell into the mud. Then Mrs. Thomas started to call, ‘Sarah, what is all this shouting and cussing? I thought I heard the vilest cussing out here. And why are all the clothes in the mud?’
“‘Shut your damn mouth, you stupid white woman. And you can wash your goddamn clothes your own goddamn self!’
“With that, Miss Sarah stomped off, leaving Mrs. Thomas eye to eye with me. We were both in shock and just stood there looking at each other. I was trying to process the news about my cousins. Mrs. Thomas was trying to process the cussing. Finally, Mrs. Thomas said, ‘Well, Miss Jasmine, I am so sorry about my maid. That is not her. She’s been here twenty years, always sweet. Did something happen to upset her, dear?’
“‘That is what I’m trying to find out,’ I said, and walked back into the house.
“I looked out the front window. The newspaper was on the lawn even though it was Tuesday, and we did not have a morning paper on weekdays. Only if there was special news and then there was an extra. But I couldn’t remember the last time we had an extra.
“I went and fetched the paper and started to read it standing in the front yard. There was the headline on the front page: ‘BULLET-RIDDLED BODIES FOUND ON ROADSIDE. PROBE ORDERED.’
“I dropped the paper and went into the house. The sheriff was awake and in the kitchen. He was standing near the stove. This is the last thing I remember until 1950. He said, ‘Miss Jasmine, if you don’t mind, when you get a chance, I’m ready for that breakfast now. And I still feel bad about this morning.’
“I walked up to him and shoved him with both hands. That’s all I remember. He must have hit his head, I don’t know. Thirteen years later different folks filled in the rest of the story for me. One of the people was Mrs. Roberta Atkins. She found me zigzagging down the road when she was driving by the house.
“She saw me stumbling around and got out to see what was going on. She went into the house with me and found Sheriff Ortega sitting on the kitchen floor. He was dazed and had blood running down his forehead. That’s what Mrs. Atkins eventually told me; I don’t remember at all. She put me back in her car and drove me to stay at her house. Mrs. Atkins was a member of the Association of Southern Women for the Prevention of Lynching.
“I stayed with her until 1950, almost like a vegetable. Then I started to recover. My recovery seems directly related to meeting my husband Leopold. Leopold had been my high school Latin teacher who I mentioned before. We ran into him at the produce market when I was out with Mrs. Atkins. We were in the section near the apples.
“That was the day I started to recall and work my way back into society.”
Miss Jasmine seemed satisfied with her storytelling.
“Boys, I must say today is a good day. I have never told so much to anybody except my Leopold. It’s a load off my mind, though, because who knows when I might kick the bucket. So far just not my luck. I can tell you more on another day.”
McArdle stood up and said, “Should I come back tomorrow morning then?”
“Definitely, Sam. Come about ten. We can talk, then have lunch. Different sandwiches tomorrow. Probably chicken salad. Then we’ll see where we are at with the stories.”
“Maybe you could take us to breakfast tomorrow at JHOP,” said Larry. “Me and Kenneth got no money. Maybe we could be your charity project.”
McArdle just laughed and said, “You mean welfare project. Don’t push your luck. Maybe if you hadn’t thrown that tomato at me… And what is JHOP? Don’t you mean IHOP?”
“JHOP is Jackson’s House of Pancakes. It’s a black pancake restaurant. I already explained why I threw the tomato at you. But I can see you are transactional…”
“Whooie,” said Miss Jasmine. “Transactional. Now, Larry, that a mighty fine word!”
“Transactional,” repeated McArdle. “What kind of transaction? I’m just a teacher, you know. Not very focused on transactions.”
“Well, I’m a librarian, and I got stories to tell, and stories to sell. Maybe true, maybe not, but some damn good ones. I can tell you one tomorrow during their naptime, so good you’ll want to take me to JHOP every day for the rest of your life. Or my life, whichever goes first.”
“Well,” said McArdle, “we’ll see what Miss Jasmine has to tell us tomorrow morning and then see what you have to say at naptime. Then I’ll decide if it’s worth a trip to JHOP. Deal?”
“It’s not a deal,” said Larry. “It’s a transaction.”
“Whatever.”
McArdle descended the porch to his car and drove off, all the time thinking, “Larry? Larry the Librarian? What a piece of work!”