This story is a bit autobiographical and fictional in many ways. It was very therapeutic to write it when I did back in 1998.
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A Gallery of Martyrs
As she walked down the dirt road to Dulcie's house, Jody stepped gingerly around the mule pies drying in the hot afternoon sun. They were evidence that Clarence had driven the turpentine wagon this way yesterday when coming in from work. It was his way of letting Dulcie know he'd be home for supper in forty-five minutes. That's usually about how long it took him and the other men to unload the day's worth of gum barrels and unhitch, feed and water the mule team. Once he got home Dulcie would have supper for the two of them on the table.
Their four boys, having already eaten, would be playing marbles or kick the can outside. Jody heard her tell Momma once that it was one of the few times that the two of them could sit and talk without interruptions. Living in a three-room shanty didn't leave much in the way of privacy.
Today was Saturday. Jody had finished with her chores and was reading when her mother asked her to run down to Dulcie's with a message. She needed to see if Dulcie could be to work by 7:30 on Monday. Momma had to take Granny to her doctor's appointment and wouldn't be home until late afternoon.
Jody reached Dulcie and Clarence’s house and hopped across the dusty ditch. She made her way past the assorted chickens feeding in the clean-swept front yard. There didn't seem to be anyone around outside. Most likely, Clarence and the boys were gone fishing.
As she stood looking at the small house with its weathered pine walls the color of mud, she kept thinking how crowded it must be to have six people living here. She bounded up the steps that led to the freshly scrubbed front porch.
Four heart pine pillars supported the roof and between each pair white twine was crisscrossed and covered with morning glory vines laden with flowers. The flowers were slightly closed now, with the pink tinges of their petals drooping in the May heat. The south Georgia sun was relentless. Off to the side of the front porch was a closed door that led to Dulcie and Clarence's small bedroom.
Jody stopped at the open front door and peered into the room. Its floor, also of heart pine, had been scrubbed as well, and was still damp around the edges. On either side of the fireplace were windows, big open squares without glass whose hinged wooden doors were now swung outward and latched against the house to let in light and a breeze.
On the inside of the windows old screening was tacked up to keep out the mosquitoes. Clarence had found it at the dump and brought it home for Dulcie to use. She proudly invited Jody to see her handiwork one day while she was visiting.
Now, Dulcie told her, those hateful mosquitoes couldn't come in at night and, as she put it, "suck her babies dry."
Inside the room was a small hand-hewn table on which a kerosene lamp and Bible rested. Tucked underneath it were two chairs with coon skin seats Clarence built himself. This is where he and Dulcie sat each night while their oldest boy, Taft, read to them from the Bible.
In the middle of the room sat an old sofa that used to belong to Jody's family. The floor was brightened by an oval braided rug made from fabric scraps Dulcie retrieved from old clothes Momma gave her. The door on the east side of the room led to the kitchen where a long table with benches served as the dining area.
At the back part of the living room against the wall were two iron bedsteads where the boys slept. On both of them lay quilts Dulcie made; one with a Flower Garden pattern and the other a Crazy Quilt that she stitched a couple of years ago.
Jody smiled when she looked at the Crazy Quilt pattern. It was vibrant with color, made from all kinds of materials cut in different shapes and stitched together with no particular pattern. The first time she saw it, she’d come here to deliver a message like today. Dulcie and her neighbor Bertha were sitting on the front porch joining together large sections of the quilt. After relaying her mother’s message, Jody asked if she could help with the project. Dulcie found a needle and some thread and showed her where to start.
That day, sitting there listening to the two women talk, and sewing until the light started to fade, was the beginning of many such times for Jody. She even convinced Dulcie to let her take some scraps home to work on at night while watching television. Momma laughed when she saw what Jody was doing, and jokingly asked what Dulcie was paying her for her piece work.
Jody knocked on the door frame and called out, "Dulcie, it's me, Jody. Are you here?" There was no answer.
She walked into the room, glancing around at the pictures on the wall. A large framed picture of Jesus hung in the place of honor over the mantle. His right hand was raised, and it seemed to Jody as though he were blessing the home and its occupants.
Apparently, Dulcie felt the same way. She told Jody that Jesus was her personal Savior who loved her and watched over her and her family every day. Jody once asked Dulcie, while she was at their house working, if she thought Jesus was really white or if he had just been painted that way by a white artist. The woman stopped ironing the pair of khakis stretched on the ironing board and looked puzzled.
She shook her head in disbelief and said, "Of course, Jesus is white! What kind of question is that? Have you ever seen a picture of a colored Jesus, girl!?"
Jody said no, but told her she'd learned in Geography that day in school that in the land where Jesus lived, most people were darker-skinned than any picture of Jesus she’d ever seen. She explained how it made her start to wonder exactly what shade of skin he had. He might not be colored like Dulcie, she said, but maybe he was at least darker than all those Bible pictures or the pictures that she and Dulcie both had in their living rooms. Maybe he was really the color of an Indian or Mexican...
It was at this point that Dulcie put a stop to the conversation. She told Jody indignantly to stop asking questions about the Son of God and go outside and play like a normal child. Besides, she threatened, what would Jody's Momma and Daddy say if they heard her talking like that? Jody hurried outside then, and never brought the subject up again; just the thought of what would happen if her parents found out was enough to silence her.
Standing in front of the painting now, she shuddered to herself at the thought. She still held the beliefs about the question she had raised with Dulcie, but she'd never discussed it with anyone else since then. She’d learned a valuable lesson that day: the religious climate of the Deep South didn't take to kindly to young girls who questioned the Bible.
There were two other pictures adorning the wall on either side of the mantle. On the left was a photograph of President Kennedy from a cover of Life magazine. It was encased in a cheap wooden frame. Dulcie's brother Ernest, who lived in Miami, had sent it to her when Kennedy was elected president.
A photograph of Martin Luther King, Jr. hung on the right side of the wall. It was a newspaper photograph of him in jail. The first time Jody noticed it on one of her visits; Dulcie walked over and took it down from the wall. She handed it to the girl and said quietly, "This was when he was in jail in Birmingham. He's a great man, Jody, and he wants to help people like me and my family. I thought President Kennedy was the answer, but now with him gone, it's up to Reverend Martin."
She said it with such conviction, as if she knew him personally, that Jody got a lump in her throat.
Footsteps on the back porch made her realize she'd been standing in the middle of the room daydreaming. Dulcie came in through the back door with an armload of clothes she had taken off the line.
"Hi Dulcie, I knocked and came in to look for you. I was waiting for you to come back."
"Hey, chile. I was out back taking in my laundry." As the woman smiled the gold rim on her front tooth sparkled in the muted sunlight. "What do you need today? Or did you just come for a little visit?"
Jody relayed her mother's message. Dulcie smiled, shook her head, and said, "Poor Miss Lila gotta spend all day with your mean ole granny. Tell her yeah, I'll be there early Monday morning, I can always use the extra money."
They chatted for a few more minutes. Soon they heard Clarence and the boys outside. Jody turned to leave and smiled at the string of perch and catfish they were proudly showing off. She knew that it wouldn't be long before the tempting aroma of frying fish and hush puppies would be wafting out of Dulcie's kitchen.
Later that evening after supper, Jody lay in the swing on the front porch. It was a favorite place to enjoy the evening breezes and listen to the whip-o-wills. She started thinking about Dulcie's house, trying to put her finger on something that had been in the back of her mind ever since her visit earlier in the day. For some reason she couldn't get the image of the wall of pictures out of her head. There was something so familiar about it, something she had seen before somewhere else.
Suddenly, she realized what it was!
She had seen the very same pictures hanging in the homes of several other residents in the quarters. But never before now had she realized that so many had those same three images: Jesus, President Kennedy and Martin Luther King, Jr., hanging on their living room walls.
It's like a gallery of martyrs, she thought, especially since the assassination of Dr. King. She felt tears welling in her eyes as she remembered the unthinkable act that took place last month. The somber faces on everyone after the news about Memphis had broken both worried and frightened her. She tried, in her young mind, to understand why it happened. Jody's parents avoided the subject altogether turning off the television after the first day of news coverage. Jody longed for an answer, and she turned to Dulcie for comfort. She wanted and needed an adult to give her a reason for the senseless act.
When Dulcie came to work the first time after the assassination, her eyes were bloodshot eyes and her eyelids swollen from crying. She wouldn't say much as Jody talked, occasionally nodding at the girl. Finally, Jody broke into tears, wondering out loud why it had happened.
Dulcie looked at her for the longest time, it seemed, and then said, "It happened 'cause this is a mean ole world we live in, Baby. There’s people who don't want it to get any better for some of us." She sighed heavily, as if the weight of the burden she bore was almost more than she could bear. She told Jody to run along outside to play so she could finish her work. She wouldn't say anything else about it after that, even though Jody tried to ask more questions a couple of times.
In the past month, Jody hadn't brought up the subject again. But now as this new revelation about the pictures had come to her, she couldn't wait for a chance to talk to Dulcie again. It would have to wait until Monday though, because every Sunday Dulcie and her family spent most of the day in church.
As soon as she got off the school bus on Monday, Jody bounded into her house and called out Dulcie's name.
"I'm back here in your momma's room, honey." Jody raced down the hall and found her polishing furniture in her parent's bedroom.
"You know what, Dulcie? I was thinking the other day, after I was at your house, about the pictures you have on your wall.” Jody had to stop to catch her breath for a second. “And you know what; I realized something about them I never thought of before."
"Uh-huh, what about 'em, Baby?" Dulcie said, never looking up from her task.
"Did you realize that lots of other folks in the quarters have the same three pictures: Jesus, President Kennedy and Dr. King, hanging on their walls just like you? I know for a fact that Bertha does, and so does Old Jonas, Miss Junie, and, Zachariah..." she paused to think for a minute about who else did. Jodie had been in many of the houses in the quarters to deliver messages about work from her daddy, or phone messages from family to some of the residents. She and her family had the only phone in the village.
"Yeah, I know what you mean Honey, what about it?"
"Well, I was just wondering,” Jody faltered as she tried to figure out how to say what she wanted to convey, “Uh, I don't know...well, why do you? I mean did y'all all do it at different times or did one person see it in someone else's house and decide to copy it or what? We have a picture of Jesus, but we don't even have a picture of any of the presidents. I was just wondering..." Jody's voice faded away, incapable of expressing her interest and puzzlement at the phenomenon.
Dulcie looked at the girl for several seconds, not saying anything. Her normally smooth brown forehead was wrinkled, and Jody could tell she was thinking intently. Jody suddenly felt foolish for asking, after all what business was it of hers, anyway? She started to speak haltingly, "Oh, I'm sorry Dulcie, it's really not any of my business, I'm sorry for bothering you."
"Wait a minute," the woman said, "I'm a-thinking ‘bout it...Hmmm, well let me see how to explain this to you, child. Wait-here, let me ask you a question first, okay?”
Jody nodded, anxious to hear Dulcie’s thoughts. “Why do you have all those posters on your bedroom wall?"
Jody frowned, confused by the question and what connection it had with what she had asked. She thought for a minute of the posters she had. There were a couple of some bands, one with a peace sign and the American flag as a background, and one of a picture of the sunset with the poem Desiderata on it. Of all the things she had on her bedroom walls the poster with the poem was her favorite.
When she spotted the poem in Mrs. Wright’s English classroom last year several of the lines spoke right to her heart. As she reread the words for several days they seemed to help her understand and accept the craziness of the world around her lately. She liked the part which said..."the world is full of trickery. But let it not blind you to what virtue there is: many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere, life is full of heroism."
She especially loved the last line, "With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world." Those words gave her a reason to believe that even amidst the madness that seemed to be part and parcel of the world in which she was growing up, there was still beauty and reason to be found somewhere.
All at once she realized why Dulcie asked her about the posters and what the pictures of those three men meant to her.
"Oh! I think I understand what you mean, Dulcie. I have those pictures and posters on my wall because I believe in what they stand for. I like the people in the pictures because their songs mean something to me and the saying on the poster ‘cause it helps me understand things better. They're special to me, just like your pictures of those people mean something special to you."
"That's right, chile. I have a picture of Jesus because he is someone who loves me and mine and will always be there for me. And President Kennedy and Reverend Martin were two people who tried so hard to do something for us and make the world a better place."
"But Dulcie, don't it make you sad that they are all dead now. I mean who are you going to look up to now?"
Dulcie looked at Jody and shook her head. Tears brimmed up on her eyelashes and she turned away to polish the chest of drawers. She seemed to be collecting herself before answering. Turning slowly back towards Jody, she took a long, deep breath.
“You sure do a lot of thinkin', don't you, Baby? Yeah, I reckon you're right; it does make my heart feel heavy sometimes, if I dwell on it too much. But, I been waitin' for Ernest to send me one of Bobby. He's still out there fightin’ and when he's elected I know he’ll do ever'thing he can to keep the dream alive. At least, we still got him to count on."
A sigh escaped her lips. Her eyes grew glassy with tears again. Jody suddenly felt responsible for making this woman, whom she loved dearly, feel so sad. She rushed over and hugged her.
"I'm sorry, Dulcie, I didn't mean to make you cry."
"No, chile, you just called it as you see'd it. That's the way of you young folks these day, and there ain't nothing wrong with that. I reckon I'll see that wall of mine in a different light from now on. Now, you got to let ole Dulcie go before you take her breath clean away from a-huggin' so tight."
Jody could hear the smile in her voice without even looking up.
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A month later, Jody sat on the side of her bed crying as she finished her task. Her tears splattered on the frame lying in her lap and she reached for another tissue to wipe the glass dry. She flipped through Life and Look for just the right photograph.
Finally, she found the one taken several years earlier, where he looked much younger. It was before the sorrow and grief of his brother's death had worn furrows in his forehead, darkened the twinkling in his eyes, and erased his beautiful smile.
Jody cut it out and placed it in the frame she'd purchased at the five and dime earlier that day. When she was finished, she walked out into the living room where her parents sat watching the television. Jody glanced and saw the image of a flag-draped coffin in the last car. The funeral train was making its final journey homeward. Hundreds of people lined the sides of the railroad, all colors, all crying.
"Momma, I'll be back in a little bit. I've got something to take to Dulcie." Her mother wiped her eyes with a tissue and nodded.
Jody swallowed back tears as she walked out the door bearing another picture for Dulcie's wall.
Rose S. Williams~1998
Southernstoryteller
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