“AT THE KLAVERN,” RYDER JONES TOLD HIS WIFE, “THEY say white teachers are going out to Miles College.”
“Well, you can’t believe everything you hear,” Lee answered. “Now tuck your head down so I can shave your neck.” She was proud of her new electric shaver. What with Bobby getting big and needing haircuts, and Ryder going to the barbershop every two weeks, and Tommy outgrowing his bowl cut, she figured they’d save in the long run if she invested in some barber tools. She’d stitched up a little white shoulder shawl with a turned-up pocket all round the hem to catch cut hair. She’d used some leftover Klan robe fabric.
“Bob said he saw an old Pontiac with two white girls in it turn in at Miles College.”
“Maybe they was lost.”
“Maybe it’s time for some teachers and students out there to learn a lesson.”
She lifted the shaver away from the back of his neck. “What kind of lesson, hon?” She let the shaver go on buzzing.
“Don’t play dumb, Lee. You know I don’t like that.”
The shaver vibrated and buzzed in her hand like the most powerful bumblebee in the world. She thought how brave kids used to sneak up on bees massaging a clover head; the brave ones could grab a bee by its wings and hold it up buzzing between two clamped-together fingers.
Lee decided she’d better not say anything else to Ryder about his business. She put one hand on top of her husband’s head and pointed his chin down. He let her, just like she was the real barber. Now the white skin rose up out of the cape, a little crescent of white skin below the sunburn.
“Ain’t you ’bout finished?” Ryder asked impatiently. “I’m tired of this.”
“I just wanted to finish up good so it would last.”
“Kids at your mama’s?”
“Yep.” But why was he asking her that? It was Saturday night, first Saturday night of the month, Mama always kept them. “She’ll bring ’em to Sunday school in the morning, hon.”
“Lee, come round here to the front and kneel down and look me in the eye.”
She obeyed at once, snapped off the shaver, and laid it on the kitchen table.
“Now,” he said, looking down at her like he was a king on a throne instead of a fool on a stool. “Can I trust you, Lee?”
“ ’Course, honey. I ain’t done nothing.” But she was feeling guilty and scared. “Not a thing.”
“I’m talking ’bout the future.”
Why did he look all nervous and eager? What did he want to do to her?
“Yes, you can, honey,” she said. “Only—”
“Onlyest what?”
“Don’t hurt me.”
He smiled at her, and she felt the fear rise up her throat like the mercury column in a thermometer.
“I need to teach you something,” he said.
“Oh no,” she pleaded. “What I done done, Ryder?”
“I don’t mean like that. I’m gonna share something with you. Something secret, and I got to know I can trust you not to tell.”
“I won’t ever tell anybody,” she said. Her knees were hurting from pressing on the hard kitchen floor. Her eyes were just above the level of the tabletop. She looked at her barber tools lying on the kitchen table—the long skinny scissors with the extra loop for bracing. The little black plastic comb. The electric shaver, the dusting brush with the green plastic knob handle. The barber instruments resembled pieces from a doctor kit, special and expensive. “I could charge the neighborhood kids a quarter,” she said. “Do their hair. Earn a little extra.”
“Pay attention to what I’m trying to tell you.”
She stared up into his eyes.
“I’ve got the directions, and the things we need”—he was almost panting—“to make bombs. I want you to help me practice it. Not to set anything off by ourselves, but just to practice. And I don’t want you to tell a living soul.”
“I won’t, Ryder. I never would. But I don’t know nothing about bombs.”
“I do,” he said. “Bob’s been trying to teach me. You’re good with your hands, Lee. I always been kind of clumsy, and my fingers is stiff from being out in the weather all the time.”
“Want me to untie the cape now?”
“You can, but that’s not the point. You got good fingers what with sewing and now barbering. You could help attach wires. That kind of thing.”
She rose up from her knees. “Ryder, I’m not sure that’s a woman kind of thing. I don’t know if the other wives—”
“That’s why it’s got to be just our secret. I don’t want you talking to any other wives about this. Not even if they’re Klan. Especially if they’re Klan.”
Her gaze fell on the green plastic handle of the soft barber brush. Bombs? The handle reminded her of marble what with a few streaks of white running through it. She didn’t want to bomb anybody. She could hear again the distant thud when the little colored Sunday school girls were exploded. She blurted, “I want another pair of panty hose.”
“You what!” He was turning red in the face.
“Here, hon, let me dust you off with this soft brush,” she hurriedly suggested. Lee knew that the soft dusting always soothed him. She made a stroke on his neck. He closed his eyes. She softly, softly brushed the little cut hairs from his neck and cheeks. Carefully, she brushed down his nose like she was painting his picture with the brush. The ugly color drained back down into his body.
“The panty hose could be my reward for helping,” she said. “Just one pair. They’re so modern. I just love them.”
“I like you in a garter belt,” he said, with his eyes closed.
She saw the lust tension gathering in him—just the words garter belt.
“Well, I could still wear a garter belt whenever you liked.” She stopped brushing his face. “And I could wear the panty hose when I liked.” He opened his eyes. She looked at him and smiled. “I got a garter belt on right now.”
“And you’d study the directions and go over it with me?”
She carried the barber cape over to the garbage and carefully shook the hair out of the hem-pocket into the brown grocery sack. “Mama always said I could learn ’bout anything I studied on.”
He slid off the kitchen stool and held out his hand to her. “Let’s take advantage of the kids being gone.”
He winked a nasty little wink, but suddenly she felt excited. They would just go to it, fast, before he hit her about something.