Читать книгу Nobody Said Amen - Tracy Sugarman - Страница 13

Dale Billings was speaking to SNCC headquarters in Jackson when Mendelsohn dropped into the chair opposite. Billings was staring at the phone, seemingly unaware that Ted had even come in.

“J. Edgar Hoover said he’s opening an office?” Billings’s voice became strident. “Down in Neshoba? Be the first fucking office the FBI’s got in Tildon’s state if it’s true! Keep me posted. It’s lonely up here.” He hung up and saw the reporter. His long slender fingers beat a tattoo on the old desk. “Nothing new on the boys.” A sardonic smile creased his intent young face. “But the shit’s hit the fan in all the big papers up north. Mickey Schwerner and Andy Goodman, two white guys, are missing. So Jackson says J. Edgar’s gonna have to look interested. Word from Washington is he’s going to open an office down here.” His scornful voice filled the empty Freedom House. “After how many years? How many lynchings? How many burned down churches? How many black brothers gone missing or shot? Now two white civil rights workers, Mickey and Andy, go missing, and the FBI is going to open an office in Missafuckingsippi? I wish I could still laugh. It’s fucking pathetic.” He took a deep breath and pointed to the ham sandwich on the desk before him. “You want part of this? You been gone all morning, you must be hungry.”

“Hell, no. Unlike some of my brothers, I do like ham. But that sandwich looks as tired as you.” Even at the Ohio orientation Ted had thought Dale looked drawn, his eyes too large in his thin face. Rail-skinny, he thought. And the bottled intensity in the youngster seemed ready to spill now that he was back in the Delta. His fingers never seemed at rest, tapping a staccato accompaniment to his speech. The kid’s been waiting for this summer, Ted reflected, feeling everything, and not taking care of himself.

He walked to the ancient ice box and took out a quart of milk and placed it next to Dale’s sandwich. “Eat your lunch, Dale. You look like a poster child for the Salvation Army.”

“Still being my Jewish mama, Ted?”

“Well, your kin are down in Tunica, so I’m the only man in Magnolia County that knows you don’t know how to take care of yourself. So eat your pork and drink your milk.”

Dale slapped the desk, his laughter cascading. “Mercy, mercy!”

“You’ve been on the pipe most of the night with Jackson? You’ve got to get some sleep. Things are just getting started down here now that the students have arrived. They’ll need your help. Nobody knows Shiloh and Magnolia County like you do.”

Billings raised his hands in mock surrender. “Breeding, Mendelsohn. How many people you know have cousins in Magnolia County, Missafuckingsippi? That’s why I am so knowledgeable. Been a captive audience to my father’s second wife whose family is still in Tunica, just down the road. I’ve been down here on school holidays since before Emmett Till was killed over in Money. That was a cautionary lesson for a nice northern Negro like myself. Lucky for me, I never learned to whistle. What I don’t know, I can usually find out. Not talent, just breeding, Mendelsohn.”

Dale Billings always broke him up. Ever since the magazine had sent Mendelsohn to cover the first demonstration when Howard students picketed the Woolworth’s in Washington. Max had been prescient about its newsworthiness. Dale Billings had been the cheerleader, seemingly oblivious to the catcalls from a hostile crowd of whites that swiftly had gathered. His tough welterweight body was in constant motion, leading the students, what do we want, when do we want it, chanting, clapping, freedom! freedom! now! now! Celebrating the moment and making the others braver. Mendelsohn couldn’t take his eyes off him. When the picket line passed his part of the crowd Ted had called out “Talk to me later, I’m with Newsweek.” Billings was being hustled away by the police when Mendelsohn asked the cop, “What’s he done?” The cop shouldered his way past him. “Butt out. What the hell is it to you? You with them?”

Mendelsohn had flashed his press card and the cop had grunted, “He’s blocking traffic.”

Dale had grinned at him. “Newsweek? Why’d I think you were with the Amsterdam News or Ebony?”

Since Mendelsohn was the only white reporter who showed up to cover the story, it started a long friendship with Dale Billings. When he’d run into him again at the Ohio orientation, the kid was hot to trot, couldn’t wait to join the group going into Shiloh in Magnolia County. “Gonna be Communications Director, Ted!” And Ted had teased him. “Is the movement that hard up? Don’t know if you can make the weight, Dale.” And Dale had shot back “Pound for pound I’m the toughest kid on the block. But they made me Communications Director because I am so smart and communicate so well. But mostly,” he laughed, “because I know where Magnolia County is in Missafuckingsippi!”

“What do you know about a family named Claybourne, Dale? It’s a long story, but I’ve been invited to the Claybourne house. It’s occurred to me that I may be getting set up.”

“Invited to the Claybourne house? You kidding? Other than the Tildon place, Lucas Claybourne has the biggest plantation in Shiloh. Must have more than forty tenant families on the place. Lucas invited you?”

“Not Lucas. I met Wilson, Mrs. Lucas Claybourne, and she recognized a gentleman and invited me to visit her on this Wednesday afternoon. It’s not talent, Dale. It’s just breeding. What I want to know is, should I go?”

Billings cocked his head and his eyes grew serious. “Don’t rightly know. Her husband gonna be there? If he is I don’t know if you ought to go. If he ain’t, I don’t know if you ought to go. I’d watch my back, old timer. He ain’t Klan, but he knows everybody who is. His wife, Willy? Been honey to all the Shiloh bees who wear pants and want to invite her into the hive for a little sportin’. But she’s more fizz than sarsaparilla, and folks think Lucas keeps her on a pretty tight lead. But she’s been news in Shiloh since she was Magnolia Cotton Queen in ’56, first summer I came to the Delta. Beautiful chick, sexy. Got one kid, Alex, and has another on the way. What’s she want with a wanderin’ Jew like you?”

Mendelsohn laughed and started for the door. “Age adds a certain dimension of allure, son. I explained that I was twenty years older than you agitators and that might have done it. So in my estimation as an old and very experienced journalist, I think she wants to entertain me, not kill me. However, I could be wrong. And as Communications Director, I’d like you to make sure I’m right. So if I’m not back by four o’clock, please come and get me. Or communicate with the new FBI office in Neshoba.”

“And what will I tell Newsweek when they call askin’ what happened to old Mendelsohn?”

“Tell them I’m on the case and the check never arrived.”