The Fugitivities, стр. 14

she was very proud…She had that poor working pride, tough as nails, boy. She wouldn’t bend, and she never asked for help. Always figured things for herself, did things her own way. And that was okay with Vern, but what happened was she was so proud, she wouldn’t say when she wasn’t well. They had been seeing each other almost a year, and Vern is in the bathroom and sees some blood in the sink. Come to find out she’d been sick for months but hadn’t allowed that she was, didn’t want to bother him about it and figured neither of them could afford the doctor. Well, Vern loved this woman, Jonah. He says, ‘You have to see the doctor. I’ll pay for it.’ Finally, he convinces her to go, and you know what, she has a cancer, but now they got it too late. And she got real sick, and Vern took care of her and then moved with her to be by her family. She died the same year. Like that. Wilted and all shriveled up…it was terrible. Your uncle, he never really recovered from Evelyn. In fact, he kind of retreated from the whole family, kind of like me, but in a different way. Threw himself into work. I would hear sometimes about a woman here and there, but it never lasted more than a few months. A few times I think because he was abusive, wasn’t treating them right. Didn’t treat himself right either. You know, I wasn’t so surprised when I heard. He’s had a lot of problems the last few years, gained a lot of weight, always seeing doctors. Tellin’ him he has to exercise and all that. We had so many arguments about him needing to get better that I finally just gave up. I didn’t want you to be around his troubles. For a long time, I was angry at him for having put the family through such concern about his well-being, for his refusal to get better, but as I flew over here, I got to thinking that maybe his depression went deep. For him, there was no light at the end of the tunnel. It was like he only had that one love, and that was it. And that loss came between him and the world, and between us, and now…”

His father made a gesture to finish the sentence. They sat for a while in silence, watching the crowds circulate through the eatery line with their trays.

His father snapped back into logistical mode. “Come on, I want to get us to the motel early so you can get a good night’s sleep. I want you up and sharp for the service tomorrow.”

—

The following day, under the beleaguering Jersey mugginess of an overcast summer’s morning, Jonah and his father joined the rest of their kinfolk in a long shimmering line of wide-crowned brims, flitting fans, tie clips, pocket squares, brooches, impeccable footwear, peppery wafts of cologne and grandmotherly jasmine, that overflowed the parking lot and spilled over onto the corner of Elm Avenue. Muted gasps of delight rose in the air as cousins and elders exchanged strong effusive clasps. As with all large families, a peculiar energy hovered over any Winters reunion, and it gained in strength now, as the reunited prepared to enter Mount Zion Victory Baptist Church for Vernon Winters’s homegoing.

Since the time of Grandfather Earl’s passing, they had multiplied considerably. Jonah had no idea he had so many cousins, aunts, folks who had driven all the way up from Florida, from the Carolinas, from DC and Baltimore, down from Mount Vernon and New Rochelle. And Vernon was beloved by the people of Pleasantville. A city councilman, members of the local school board where he had donated heavily to after-school programs; even two or three white folks showed up from the Honeywell office and were greeted just as warmly.

The whole service, Jonah was in a daze. The minister spoke. The siblings gave testimonials. They sang “Lord Keep Me Day by Day” because it was known to have been one of Uncle Vernon’s favorites. The piano and the choir led the assembled, old folks and young, family and friends, neighbors and coworkers, in sending Vernon Winters home.

I’m just a stranger here And I’m traveling through this barren land

Rapturous vowels thundered around their heads and the rolling march of foot stomps charged the air with the acknowledgment of the one whose journey was won, who watched them now, from a building not made by hand.

Then it was announced that a young lady, Jonah’s cousin Esther, would line a hymn she had practiced for the occasion: “A Charge to Keep I Have.” Little Esther couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen, and her range and tone weren’t perfect or even sweet exactly, but she laid it out. Everyone was on their feet and called back to her. Go ’head. They clapped her on. Lord, Jesus. The voices raised the hymn together until its unearthly roar was only praise and the praise took the body before it took the voice.

To serve the present age, My calling to fulfill

From out her tiny frame, songful Esther moaned the lines with utter ferocity. No one could deny. She was there with him, and she brought the church with her in her singing. Jonah felt all the hairs on his neck stand on end and the shivers run down, and he saw that even his father was crying.

O may it all my powers engage. To do my Master’s will!

Esther stretched it out. Mmmhhhmmm. Yes, Lord. She stretched it out. She left nothing, allowed no one to feel they were not hand in hand with the one they had come to see off to the other world. Somebody give Gawd some praise for that one, someone shouted. And the church gave forth.

When the pallbearers emerged, the sun had broken through and glinted off the chrome trim detailing the hearse, and off the waiting Cadillac Escalades and