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Ninety Days Inside The Empire: A Novel by William Appleman Williams

Afterthoughts

Page 54

*****

Some hours later, as the athletes stood at the bar exchanging twenty dollars bills, another group of citizens began to gather elsewhere to consider their thoughts on communion. Griff's nap had been punctuated but not disturbed by a gently insistent Lette, and they were glowing as they waited for their first guests.

"You shouldn't be so good, Reverend. The house isn't big enough for all's goin' to come."

"The Lord will find a place, or some Saint must have said sometime, somewhere."

They squeezed their hug tight enough to allow passage for two old friends. Then Lette went off to cope with her attendance forecast. The first two arrivals soon became a crowd that moved like the surf through the living and dining rooms into the kitchen and Griff's medical office, and late-comers who wanted to sit had to make do along the edges of the stairway to the second floor.

The excitement generated by the communion service had not dwindled away and it helped take the edge off the uneasiness (and in some cases suspicion) of those Negroes and whites who had never been part of such a large mixed group-especially in a Negro home. But the tensions remained. However come by, Marsh was graced with a sensitive barometer that registered the most subtle gradients of social and political atmosphere. He limped through the open, unattended door and the needle quivered. He paused to evaluate the scene and consider his strategy.

-- Too many people along the wall and too many friends talking to nobody but each other.

He returned waves from Maggie and Mitch, but his mind was occupied with identifying the three unknown whites at church and loosening the crowd. He slipped along between backs until he reached Griff and put a hand on one kidney: "I'm goin' to open this up." He continued on to one of the bowls of punch, grandly picked it up-and then had second thoughts.

-- Hold up, here, Mr. Harland; you are maybe being the High-and-Mighty white man.

He started to replace the bowl when he saw Griff nod his approval. Marsh carried the punch bowl over to a quiet group of Negroes each of whom he knew personally. Marsh hunkered down and put the punch on the floor between his knees. He proceeded to discuss their children and grandchildren by name, evaluate the advantages of playing hopscotch on plain dirt or concrete as compared with gravel, and quibbled about the weather. Finally one of the men punched Marsh on the knee with a crooked finger.

"You a funny man, Mr. Judge. What you after?"

Marsh realized that he had divided the attention of various self-selected groups, and he thought it was time to splinter them.

-- Mitch is going to have to forgive me this one.

"Randolph," Marsh punched him back, speaking quietly, "you know damn well what I'm up to and you should have done it yourself. We got to get people talking with strangers."

Then Marsh stood up with the punch bowl held out to Randolph and the others.

"Now, Mr. Henry," this time full voice, "this punch was made special by that Commander Taylor over there to ease the taste of that wine we got earlier. I think we owe him a toast."

The Reverend and many others simply shook their heads and laughed. Marsh did risk failure with great style. A few like Griff also knew to beware of Marsh playing the fool.

A younger Negro woman, new to the city and the church as the wife of a sailor and alone off in a corner, walked to the bowl and refilled her glass.

"The wine came from God. This nice brew came from a white man who came to worship with us Negroes. I'll drink to that."

Susan broke away from a group of people from the base and moved straight through the gap to the punch bowl. She touched her glass with the speaker.

"I want to drink to The Reverend and the gentleman who plays the organ. They gave me a new sense of The Grace of God. I thank them for that."

Lette walked by Cat, who was talking with Mr. Hank (whose bottom she patted lightly), and continued on to peer at Susan's face.

-- My God, thought Maggie: she does have something special. Maybe crazy, but sure as hell special.

"Who is this lady?" She ran a finger down Susan's cheek while winking at her, examined her finger and then turned to the crowd.

"I was wrong. I thought this lady was in White Face. Turns out she's just got a white soul like the rest of us."

It was done.

Griff and Marsh tucked that marvelous use of the word "just" into their files for use in sermons or the courtroom and joined the laughter and movement.

Suddenly even the Quakers, Richard and Marilyn Scott, relaxed enough to wander around separately. Two Negro men and their wives learned that the young woman's name was Barbra, and joined her in conversation with Susan. Marsh maneuvered the punch back to a table where he was greeted by two of the whites from church. They enjoyed his predicament.

One of them turned to Griff.

"Come on over here, R.J., and put this man at ease."