I WATCH THE REVEREND MR. LIONEL PARRISH, MY BOSS, come in behind the altar, through a little door I never noticed existed. Appropriately, it is a “Christian” door, one with a raised cross in the upper portion, and below it, two sections suggest an open Bible. From the outside, the minister enters dramatically, with a flash of the ordinary world behind him. I remember that day when the face of Christ was blown away and the ordinary sky presented itself. Mr. Parrish’s right hand is done up in a big white bandage, which all can see, and Mr. Parrish uses it to wipe his forehead. All can see the sign of recent violence, but I see the splatter of blood blooming out of the bare palm when, at the White Palace, he raised his hand in prayer. From my safe place between the stems of the stools, I saw the bullet enter his raised palm. Now the gauze bandage is pristine white, and I must focus on this place and this time.
I turn to see if Mr. Parrish’s wife and children are here. And there they are, nearly halfway back. His wife, Jenny, has the saddest face I have ever seen. Not torn with pain, like Arcola’s father or little Edmund Powers. Just sad. The resignation I have seen so often on the faces of my people, here intensified. Her face looks carved. Jenny Parrish sits with their four children, two on each side of her. The youngest are close to her sides.
It is a long way between me and where Jenny is. This was a four-room shotgun house, but all the walls have been removed, a few supports left standing. I look back the length of the house, with the dividing walls removed. From the platform, Mr. Parrish is signaling at me. He wants me to sit in one of the three chairs with him, close to Christine, who was my friend. But they were all my friends. He wanted Stella to sit up there, too, but she has said she can’t, that she doesn’t deserve to, so one chair will remain empty.
Stella sits close to her living friend, Nancy.
There is Sam West from school walking toward the front. He’s wearing a sports jacket and nice pants. He approaches Stella and kneels in front of her. “You doin’ all right?” he asks her, but he looks over her head and not into her eyes. Still, it’s remarkable that he’s gone down to greet her. I can’t hear what she says because she’s facing the front. He shows her a fan he has in his hand. “You get too hot”—he’s looking sideways—“give me the sign. I come fan you, Miss Silver.”
She holds out her hand to him. At first he doesn’t see it, then he jumps a little and shakes hands.
For the first time, he looks in her eyes. “We thank you for coming,” he says. “I don’t know what to say.” He shakes his head back and forth and looks down. “I so sad about all this. Charles was my bes’ friend.”
She nods, but he is looking at the floor. Then he straightens up and walks back to his seat.
One by one, Cat’s brother carries her friends to her coffin to say good-bye. Once, Cat told me, he carried her all the way up Vulcan to see the view.
I walk up the two steps and take my place on the platform.
Now I look out at a sea of faces, all black. Way in the back, I see Dee, Christine’s sister. I will her to come forward, but she doesn’t budge. I go down from the platform to fetch her. My mama and my four aunts, dressed in dark clothes, watch me, but my father’s hand covers his whole face. When Dee sees me coming, she shakes her head no. I stop. I glance at my mama, and with two motions of her head, she tells me to let Dee be and that after the service she will take care of Dee. I return to the platform.
The only white people here are the ones I know, clustered close to the front, and Cat’s white handicapped friends. No, here comes a white man I don’t know. He is extremely well dressed, in a light gray suit. It even has a matching vest and a fine gray silk tie. His hair is white, but it looks a little creamy, like butter frosting set off by the gray suit. He wears shiny glasses, and he has his mouth tucked tight and grim, as though he’s afraid of crying.
Everybody is looking at him as he makes his way down the aisle. But he doesn’t walk importantlike. He walks quickly, rather bravely, just to say “I’m here.”
Stella looks back, sees him, and is surprised. She scoots sideways, crowding the others, to make room, so he can sit next to her.
Later I find out that this is Mr. Fielding, who owns the big department store where Stella works at the switchboard. Later I learn what he is whispering into Stella’s ear: “I’m here to be with you, young lady. Like your father would be, if he could.”
Now Mr. Parrish rises to begin the service. He will speak, and we will answer, as in a responsive reading. He speaks quietly.