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FIRST PLACE
Mourning Leroy
By Kathy Altman
King George, Virginia
The boy tugged at his mother’s
hand, his head turned back to stare at Joseph. His
mother ignored him and continued to step gingerly over
the gravel, the heels of her shiny black pumps held
awkwardly above the stones. The boy continued to gape
at Joseph and stumbled. With an instinctive tightening
of her grip, his mother saved him from falling forward.
He dangled from her clasp, his knees skimming the gravel,
the sleeve of his dress shirt pulled taut. He twisted
for a moment like a pocket watch suspended on the end
of a chain, and then his bright white tennis shoes
rested solidly on gravel once more. He looked back
at Joseph suspiciously, but Joseph had pretended interest
in something on the other side of the parking lot.
The boy hissed, “Mama! Who’s that behind
us?” Joseph watched the woman’s neck muscles
tense as she struggled to resist glancing behind her.
“Hush, Tyrone!” She bent to scold her son
and yanked at his hand sharply. He continued to stare
over
his thin shoulder at the white man following them slowly
up the church steps.
With a bright, automatic smile, Tyrone’s mother
greeted the preacher standing solemnly to the side
of the church doors. The preacher shook her hand gravely.
Belatedly, she closed her lips. “Mavis.” He
peered down at the boy. “Tyrone.” Tyrone
looked away from Joseph long enough to nod in the preacher’s
direction. “Good to see you both. Samuel’s
already inside. Mighty nice of him to come early to
help set things up.” He was already smiling curiously
at the stranger behind Mavis as she assured him prettily
that it was no trouble, no trouble at all.
Joseph took the large, dry hand that belonged to the
minister of the church. He hoped his own palm was not
damp.
“My name is Reverend Tulley,” offered the
preacher. “Welcome
to our church.” He paused. “I don’t
believe we’ve seen you here before.” His
eyes moved beyond Joseph, and Joseph turned to see
that the preacher’s “we” included
several people lined up behind him on the steps. They
stared back at him expectantly.
Joseph cleared his throat and smiled. “A pleasure
to meet you, Reverend. My name is Joseph. It was my
construction company that Leroy worked for.”
“Aaaaah!” It was an enlightened and approving
chorus of voices supporting Joseph from behind.
“So we finally get to meet you!” gushed
Mavis, who had stopped unashamedly in the vestibule
to hear
what Joseph had to say to Reverend Tulley. “Leroy
always spoke so proudly about his job. We’re
so thankful you gave him a chance.”
Joseph blinked at the wide-hipped woman with hair the
color of Concord grapes. She grinned widely at him
with generous lips painted to match. She teetered on
her thin high heels, and she had resumed her tight
hold on Tyrone’s hand. Joseph decided that she
probably needed her son as a counterbalance.
“And your accent!” she continued, ignoring
the grumbles behind them that they were blocking the
church
entrance. “It’s cute, honey! Leroy said
you talked fun--uh, different. French, right?” Orange-tipped
nails poked at her halo of hair.
“Hungarian,” corrected Joseph.
A few moments of silence, then “Aaah,” from
the crowd behind him. Heads nodded at each other knowingly.
“Well,” the preacher said heartily, “God
bless you, son. You’re a fine man who lost a
fine worker.”
“That I did. And a good friend.” Joseph
moved on into the dimness of the church. Soft organ
music
and hushed conversations floated around him. The gentle
background noise was occasionally punctuated by a loud
involuntary laugh hastily cut off. Curious looks darted
at Joseph from every direction.
He began to perspire. He had never before attended
a black funeral, and he had no idea what to expect.
He doubted that anyone would begin speaking in tongues,
but if they did, he was prepared to join in with a
few Hungarian phrases.
Mavis tottered ahead of him as they made their way
down the aisle. Every now and then she gleamed a smile
back at Joseph over her shoulder. She stopped beside
a pew in which lounged a lanky man with a shaven head
and a heavy gold loop in his left ear. The man’s
muscular shape made Joseph self-conscious. He had once
had a hard physique after years of construction work,
but lately the outline of his body had begun to soften,
like a gelatin salad left out too long under a picnic
sun.
“This here is my Samuel,” Mavis informed
Joseph proudly. Joseph extended a hand and Samuel took
it,
smiling a wide gold-toothed smile. “Why don’t
we all go up and see Leroy?” she suggested, ignoring
her son’s desperate attempts to free his hand.
Samuel protested. “I’ve already been up
there. I ain’t going again. Those crazy old women
crying and grabbing at you. Hell, you couldn’t
pay me to go back up there again!”
“You watch your mouth!” Mavis scolded her
husband in a hushed voice that still managed to carry.
She
glanced uneasily at Joseph. “Joseph here was
Leroy’s boss.” She groped for Joseph’s
arm and Tyrone took the opportunity to pull free. He
disappeared into the crowd. Joseph looked longingly
after him.
Samuel looked at Joseph, a shrewd look in his eyes. “Need
any workers? Used to be quite a hand with a hammer
myself. How much you been paying Leroy?”
“Samuel!” The circumference of Mavis’s
eyes would seem to indicate that she herself had never
considered
such a thing. “This is not the time to discuss
it,” she chided half-heartedly. She cast a hopeful
glance at Joseph and flashed him her plum-colored smile.
He returned it weakly. With a little less enthusiasm,
she repeated her suggestion that they go see Leroy.
Joseph and Mavis and a disgruntled Samuel worked their
way into the line of mourners waiting to make a circuit
around the open coffin. Tyrone was nowhere to be seen.
Directly in front of Joseph was a thin woman with question-mark
posture. Her head was bent under an enormous hat adorned
with fat pink roses and bobbing bluebirds. She stared
as if fascinated at her feet. Occasionally, she would
remind them to move forward. Joseph thought she resembled
a flower stalk drooping under the weight of a heavy
blossom. He kept an eye on her, ready to lend a supporting
hand if necessary. Mavis and Samuel whispered furiously
behind him. Joseph had a suspicion that they were negotiating
an hourly rate for Samuel the hammer wizard.
Joseph had thought it only right to show respect for
Leroy by attending his funeral. The grieving faces
around him were not unfriendly, but he had the feeling
that he had thrown the entire ritual out of balance.
He was a distraction, unfairly diverting attention
from Leroy.
He found it difficult to breathe, and became suddenly
aware of the pitiful wailing drifting back to him from
the front of the church. The hairs on the back of his
neck bristled.
Tyrone suddenly appeared. “Hey!” he hissed. “There’s
an old man up there with real long hair growing out
of his ears. Wanna see?” He pulled at Joseph’s
sleeve. Joseph wasn’t even certain he could handle
the main attraction, let alone a sideshow. He dug in
his jacket pocket and found what he’d stashed
there earlier. He handed Tyrone the candy bar without
a word. Tyrone took the hint. He vanished again.
“Oh, how sweet of you,” cooed Mavis from
behind. Joseph was doing his best to stay out of reach
of her
polyester bosom. It outdistanced Mavis by quite a margin.
Joseph was certain he had twin indentations in the
back of his jacket. He tugged discreetly at the back
hem.
He sympathized with Samuel’s reluctance to revisit
Leroy. As they neared the casket, Joseph saw that it
was surrounded by elderly women who all resembled his
third-grade teacher. Netted hats, clip-on pearl earrings
the size of quarters, massive square pocketbooks, drooping
mouths, sharp eyes. And the overwhelming odor of vanilla.
Joseph hesitated, and Mavis’s torso kindly prodded
him forward.
The keening and the sobs pained Joseph. He felt his
throat close. He looked down at the body of the man
who for three years had been a hardworking, dependable
employee. The waste troubled him. Leroy had died at
forty-two of a cocaine overdose. The only family left
to mourn him was his church family.
Joseph, never comfortable expressing his emotions,
could only shake his head sorrowfully. He wondered
if his quiet grief would disappoint the other mourners.
Tyrone returned to his mother’s side to whisper
loudly, “Mama, there’s a man back there
who burped in his pants.” He turned to point. “He
left real quick by that side door over there. I thought
we weren’t supposed to use that door.”
Mavis wasn’t paying attention to her son. After
a concerned glance at Joseph to make certain he had
recovered from his sudden coughing fit, she and Samuel
resumed their discussion of paid vacations.
Joseph continued around the coffin with a lighter step.
But then, he was abruptly stilled by a severe back
spasm. He stood, trapped into immobility, desperately
willing the staggering pain to disappear. The spasm
tightened its grip.
Joseph’s hands clutched at the small of his back
and his face contorted. He clenched his eyes shut to
hold back the tears, but they sprang forth disobediently
to drip down his cheeks. He was unable to suppress
a groan as the ruthless muscle contraction forced him
slowly to his knees.
Through crippling pain and intense mortification, he
was amazed to hear encouraging cries of “Hallelujah,
brother!” and “Praise Jesus!” all
around him. Sympathetic, supporting hands reached for
him, patted his shoulders and head. He ground his teeth
at each well-meaning touch. When he heard a woman in
a surprised but pleased voice cry, “They must
have been so close!”, his body clenched again
as hysterical laughter fought to bubble out through
his gritted teeth.
Tyrone joined the circle around Joseph and stared down
at him curiously. Joseph was rocking tightly on his
knees, tears running down his anguished face. Tyrone
looked up at his mother. “What’s wrong
with him?”
Mavis, her own face awash with tears of empathy, flapped
her hand at her son. “Hush, child, can’t
you see a man is grieving?”
The murmurs of surprise and approval and renewed despair
swirled around Joseph. Eventually the others moved
away to leave him alone with his sorrow. The elderly
women trooped back to their places and resumed their
wailing. Not to be outperformed, they raised the volume
just a bit.
Gradually, the pain in Joseph’s back eased enough
for him to work his way to his feet. With tiny, measured
movements, he walked his hands from his knees up his
thighs in order to push himself into an upright position.
He managed a slight nod at Mavis as he staggered to
the side door.
Tyrone was there before him. “Not supposed to
use this door,” he reminded Joseph. He eyed Joseph’s
pockets.
“Of course he can, Tyrone, what’s wrong
with you!” Mavis
batted at the back of the boy’s head. She turned
to Joseph. “You’re not leaving already,
are you, honey? The funeral hasn’t even started.”
“I apologize,” gritted Joseph, “but
I have to go.”
Mavis patted his arm sympathetically and he did his
best not to flinch. “We understand. But when
you get yourself settled down, you come on back for
something to eat, all right? Grieving is hard work.
Leroy wouldn’t want you to go hungry.” Behind
her, the organ started to lament. She hesitated and
then held out a hand to her son.
Joseph moved slowly past a disappointed Tyrone through
the forbidden door and out into the daylight. As he
made his unhurried, unsteady, painstaking way to his
car, he imagined that he must look as Mavis did on
her way in, stepping with exaggerated care to avoid
scuffing her ridiculous shoes on the treacherous gravel.
Copyright (c) 2003 for the
author, all rights reserved. |
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