Read Online Catfish Alley by Lynne Bryant - Free Book Online Page B

phone calls. I could even hear magazine pages
turning. We chatted randomly about nothing — mostly clothes, home decor. I
haven't told her anything, of course, about the problems between her father and
me. She did ask what I'm working on now. I told her about the tour.
    "An
African-American tour? You're kidding, right?" she said.
    "No,
I'm really not kidding. The committee wants to launch it next spring."
    "Ew.
Sounds depressing. What is there to tour?"
    "So
far, not much. A couple of interesting houses, maybe," I equivocate,
surprised at myself for feeling a little defensive. I might not like it, but
this tour is part of my work.
    "But
you don't really know any black people ... well, except maybe Ola Mae. How are
you getting your information?"
    "From
a woman named Grace Clark, who taught school here forever. She's retired now,
but she's helping me out." Of course Milly doesn't know her, because Milly
has been in all-white private schools her entire life — until Ole Miss, that
is. She seemed to seamlessly mesh herself into an integrated environment in
college. Although she never brought home black friends, there were two black
girls in her sorority.
    "So,
how does that work, exactly?" Milly asked. "Does she just sit and
tell you about these places? Or, I mean, like, do you have to actually go see
them?"
    I
took a deep breath, already imagining her response to my answer. "Miss
Clark has insisted that I drive her to the places and that I write down the
stories that she tells me."
    "Wow!
So let me get this straight. You actually go to the black parts of town and
visit these places with this old black lady. Are you, like, the only white
person there?"
    "Well,
I've only been to a couple, but yes, pretty much. ..." I think about
telling her about my experience with Del Tanner, but decide not to.
    She's
laughing now. She's so smug in what she thinks is her enlightened racial
attitude.
    "Oh,
Mama. I would love to be a fly on the wall when you are touring around with an
old black woman. That would be a sight to see."
    I
manage to change the subject and get off the phone, feeling even more
frustrated and confused. Am I angry because I'm having to do this or am I angry
at Milly for thinking I can't?
    Adelle
puts her arm around Grace's shorter bony frame and gives her a comforting
squeeze. It's obvious that standing here in Dr. Jackson's exam room eighty-one
years later still brings back some painful memories for Grace.
    Grace
looks up from the exam table and shakes herself slightly, as if trying to wake
up. "I guess you'll be wanting to see the rest of Dr. Jackson's office and
the house now. Adelle, be sure and take her in there and show her the
library," she says, walking out of the office, talking over her shoulder.
    "Just
a minute," I say, following her. I can't seem to help myself. "You
stopped in the middle of the story. What happened to Zero? Who was his fight
with?"
    She
pauses, but she doesn't look at me. "I'll finish the story, but first I've
got to sit down. Y'all complete your tour while I rest in the parlor. When
you're done, come meet me."
    Adelle
shows me through the rest of the
    Jackson
home. It's not an antebellum, but it's an attractive Victorian. I wonder how
both these women ended up as old maids, but I decide not to ask right now. My
list of questions about these women just keeps growing — and their history is
not even part of this tour.
    "Miss
Jackson, how do you feel about your family's home being part of an African-American tour of Clarksville?" I ask, after we finish the tour and head
back to the parlor.
    "If
you can put together something like that in Clarksville, Mississippi, I would
be happy to have y'all tour this old house. There are a lot of memories here
for me, some good, some bad. Since I walk around with a couple of ghosts all
the time, it might be nice to share them with someone else for a change."
    This
makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. She sounds so matter-of-fact.
"Ghosts? You're