My Seoul Man

Chapter 47

When I got back to The Quarters, Bennie was parked on the old wicker sofa on Jennie's porch, with a church fan and some homemade lemonade by her side.

And she gave me her "Girl, wait 'til I tell you" smirk as soon as I asked, "Church meeting over?"

"Them biddies won't be home 'til God knows when—you better get over there, too."

"Me? Little sum sum mixed in with that lemonade, cuz?"

She took a sip to keep me hanging a little longer, and then put that smirk back on to tell me, "Shoulda sold that big ass house while you had the chance, that's all I know. They diggin' into deeds and whatnot tryin'a figure out how to get around all that historic stuff."

"Who is?"

"Them development people. Wanna build some outlet malls and whatnot over this way."

"Well, they can dig all they want but we qualified under what they call 'Criterion A.'"

"Like I know what that is!"

"It preserves places that have a special cultural or racial significance. In fact, it was created specifically to save places like ours from people like that."

"Well, they sayin' the only part that covers is the slave shacks and the two streets behind the big plantation house where Venita and them live."

Venita was the granddaughter of Cyrus, an actual former slave who'd run out this way to pick cotton back when. She'd built a small house next to the old two-room, tarpaper roofed one Cyrus had built with his own hands to keep from living in the old beat up shack the owner provided.

That part of The Quarters had been kept as close to the way it was back in the day as was humanly possible. But it was so much more than just "materials" that we'd tried to be true to.

It was our devotion to the values of our ancestors that had saved and strengthened us over the years. Even our white neighbors were forever saying how the world would be a better place if we all still "honored the old ways like those ones in The Quarters."

Until we got riled up and marched over to the mayor's house or something, of course.

Yeah, the women folk would run up on a public official like a pack of hyenas if they had to. Jennie right up front--nobody could "chicken head" better than my Auntie Jennie. Us younger girls used to practice in the mirror trying to get our necks to work like that.

So, I was sure she was over there at church planning to fill up all the spectator seats at the next City Council meeting with angry family members who would burn up that open mic.

I could just see all those poor paper pushers sitting there looking all sheepish and scared. Of course, they'd been bought by those big businessmen who were coming for us now. So they'd probably go into a closed session in the meeting room down the hall and call the cops to clear the rabble rousers out of the Council chambers.

That thought brought something...or someone else floating up out of my memory banks. Someone who knew about buying politicians...

Yeah. The other Butch. Who'd slid that card toward us, bragging about all the palms he'd greased--where had I put that damned card...

I didn't mention anything to Bennie, though. The state the family was in, they'd grab onto the tiniest bit of hope a little too hard.

I just said, "Well, I'm burnt out from being on the road all day and we still have to pick somebody up over by Wally's place. Dunno if I'll make it to breakfast but--"