Jimmy’s meetings with Ted were exhausting, testing the old friendship in ways that surprised him. Mendelsohn was unrelenting, probing the sensitive spots in the careful edifice Jimmy had erected and defended for his whole adult life.
What’s the matter, black boy? You can’t deal with this cracker? You ’llowed in this part of town, nigger?
It wasn’t the taunts. Hell, he’d heard worse. It was Mendelsohn saying them. They seemed to come too easily to him. The more vulnerable Mendelsohn made him feel, the more suspicious Jimmy was about the role-playing. He was getting hit, and it made him irritable. “Why am I letting this white cat torment me?” he growled at Eula. “Maybe he likes it, enjoys baiting me, saying what he always felt but never said.”
She laughed at his fears. “He loves you, baby. It’s the way he’s trying to protect you. You’re talking about Ted, not just some cracker.” And he knew she was right. But as the days got closer to the campaign, Mendelsohn probed deeper, watching the days slip by, anxious to arm him before he tangled with Timmy Kilbrew in November.
By the night of the kickoff of the Mack for Congress campaign, Jimmy was no longer uncertain if he loved or loathed Ted Mendelsohn. Ted’s incessant racist barbs had induced a scar tissue that had grown into a sustaining patience deep within Jimmy, giving him the confidence to measure, think, and counter-punch. When they approached the auditorium, Jimmy felt the adrenaline rising, and he nudged Ted.
“You gonna be there to run interference for me, Honky?”
Ted grinned. “I’ve seen you in the open field, Nigger. You don’t need me. You just need you.”
Willy paused by the hall mirror, checking her hair, adding a little color to her lips. “I’ve got to be going, Luke,” she called. “Are you going to come with me? We’ve talked this Jimmy Mack rally into the ground. If you’re coming with me, we have to leave now.” She turned and saw Luke standing, his arms folded, his back against the front door. “Are you coming?” she repeated.
“Willy, don’t do this.” His words were stark, echoing in the small foyer.
“We’ve gone through this, Luke. You know I’m going. You know why I’m going. The word is all over Parchman that I am going to the Mack rally and speak there.”
“Oh, Christ. Just as I feared.”
“Feared? Why feared? You’re as fearful as the women in my group at the prison! ‘Gonna call you nasty names, Miz Willy. Nigger lover! Whore! Judas!’ They don’t want me to go, scared to death that the crackers will kill me.” Her voice softened and she stepped close to Luke. “I know you’re worried like they’re worried, and I hate making you worry. But I need to go.”
He touched her shoulders. “For God’s sake, listen to me. Those women could be right. This is not about redemption, Wil. It’s about a man getting elected to represent us. Us!”
“Us? Which us? The ones you remember who had the Claybourne place? They don’t live here anymore.” She removed his hands from her shoulders. “Those folks who closed the Shiloh pool in July, to keep them out?” Her voice was flat. “The ones who started the white academies in Magnolia County so our kids could be taught in a pure place?”
“Willy, this is Shiloh, not Gethsemane. We didn’t break all the eggs. You know that. What’s done is done.”
Her anger could not be leashed. “The black toilets are done, Luke! The black water fountains are done! The all-white juries are done!” Her voice rose, and tears were brimming in her eyes. “Segregation is not done!”
He waited for the storm to pass. “Wil, you were raised on a farm, you’re married to a farmer. We both know there are seasons.” He spoke gently. “The land’s got to be prepared. Plants got to be healthy. And you need patience and time, or you never make a crop.”
She stowed the damp handkerchief in her purse. “Some of us think time is all wore out, Luke.” She moved to the door. “And how long do you expect human beings to be patient?”
“As much time as it takes. It’s sure as hell not time yet to elect a black man to represent us, particularly, if the black man is Jimmy Mack. Remember, this is Magnolia County, Mississippi!”
“It’s not about what we choose to remember. There’s a whole lot I choose to forget. But right now I’m going to the Mack rally.” She stepped past him and held open the door. “I wish you would come with me.”
“Don’t do this, Willy.”
“It’s late, Luke. It’s very late.”
As if rooted, he watched her turn at the step, hesitate, and look back at him. He watched as she went down the flagstone walk and started the Chevy. The sound of the motor roused him and he stepped to the stoop.
“Willy!”
She eased her foot from the gas and watched him close and lock the door and start down the walk toward her.