Ford County_ Stories Part 19

"And then he got on his bike and hurried off. You can't catch that stuff just from the air, can you?"

No one ventured a guess.

By 8:30 Dell had heard of the sighting, and there was already some speculation about Joey's health. By 8:45, Myra and the clerks were chattering excitedly about the ghostlike figure who'd frightened the paperboy in front of the old Keane place.

An hour later, a police car made a run down Harrison Street, the two officers in it straining mightily to catch a glimpse of the ghost. By noon, all of Clanton knew that a man dying of AIDS was now in their midst.

The deal was cut with little negotiation. Bickering back and forth was futile under the circ.u.mstances. The parties were not on level ground, and so it was no surprise that the white woman got what she wanted.

The white woman was Leona Keane, Aunt Leona to some, Leona the Lion to the rest, the ancient matriarch of a family long in decline. The black woman was Miss Emporia, one of only two black spinsters in Lowtown. Emporia was up in years too, about seventy-five, she thought, though there had never been a record of her birth. The Keane family owned the house Emporia had been renting forever, and it was because of the privilege of owners.h.i.+p that the deal was done so quickly.

Emporia would care for the nephew, and upon his death she would be given a full warranty deed. The little pink house on Roosevelt Street would become hers, free and clear. The transfer would mean little to the Keane family since they had been depleting Isaac's a.s.sets for many years. But to Emporia, the transfer meant everything. The thought of owning her beloved home far outweighed her reservations about taking care of a dying white boy.

Since Aunt Leona would never think of being seen on the other side of the tracks, she arranged for her gardener to drive the boy over and deliver him to his final destination. When Aunt Leona's old Buick stopped in front of Miss Emporia's, Adrian Keane looked at the pink house with its white porch, its hanging ferns, its flower boxes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with pansies and geraniums, its tiny front lawn lined with a picket fence, and he looked next door to a small house, painted a pale yellow and just as neat and pretty. He looked farther down the street, to a row of narrow, happy homes adorned with flowers and rocking chairs and welcoming doors. Then he looked back at the pink house, and he decided that he'd rather die there than in the miserable mansion he'd just left, less than a mile away.

The gardener, still wearing pruning gloves to ward off any chance of infection, quickly unloaded the two expensive leather suitcases that held all of Adrian's things and hurried away without a farewell and without a handshake. He was under strict orders from Miss Leona to bring the Buick home and scrub the interior with a disinfectant.

Adrian looked up and down the street, noticed a few porch sitters hiding from the sun, then picked up his luggage and walked through the front yard, along the brick walkway to the steps. The front door opened and Miss Emporia presented herself, with a smile. "Welcome, Mr. Keane," she said.

Adrian said, "Please, none of this 'Mister' stuff. Nice to meet you." At this point in the pleasantries a handshake was in order, but Adrian understood the problem. He quickly added, "Look, it's safe to shake hands, but let's just skip it."

That was fine with Emporia. She'd been warned by Leona that his appearance was startling. She quickly took in the hollow cheeks and eyes and the whitest skin she'd ever seen, and she pretended to ignore the bony frame draped with clothing much too large now. Without hesitation, she waved at a small table on the porch and asked, "Would you like some sweet tea?"

"That would be nice, thank you."

His words were crisp, his southern accent abandoned years ago. Emporia wondered what else the young man had lost along the way. They settled around the wicker table, and she poured the sugary tea. There was a saucer with gingersnaps. She took one; he did not.

"How's your appet.i.te?" she asked.

"It's gone. When I left here years ago, I lost a lot of weight. Got away from all the fried stuff and never really became much of an eater. Now, with this, there's not much of an appet.i.te."

"So I won't be cookin' much?"

"I guess not. Are you okay with this, this arrangement here? I mean, it seems like my family forced this down your throat, which is exactly what they do. If you're not happy, I can find another place."

"The arrangement is fine, Mr. Keane."

"Please call me Adrian. And what should I call you?"

"Emporia. Let's just go with the first names."

"Deal."

"Where would you find another place?" she asked.

"I don't know. It's all so temporary now." His voice was hoa.r.s.e, and his words were slow, as if talking required exertion. He wore a blue cotton s.h.i.+rt, jeans, and sandals.

Emporia once worked in the hospital, and she had seen many cancer patients in their final days. Her new friend reminded her of those poor folks. Sick as he was, though, there was no doubt that he had once been a fine-looking young man.

"Are you happy with this arrangement?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"A white gentleman from a prominent family living here in Lowtown with an old black spinster."

"Might be fun," he said, and managed his first smile.

"I'm sure we'll get along."

He stirred his tea. His smile vanished as the moment of levity pa.s.sed. Emporia stirred hers too and thought: This poor man. He has little to smile about.

"I left Clanton for a lot of reasons," he said. "It's a bad place for people like me, h.o.m.os.e.xuals. And it's not so wonderful for people like you. I loathe the way I was raised. I'm ashamed of the way my family treated blacks. I hated the bigotry in this town. I couldn't wait to get out of here. Plus, I wanted the big city."

"San Francisco?"

"I went to New York first, lived there a few years, then got a job on the West Coast. I eventually moved to San Francisco. Then I got sick."

"Why'd you come back if you have such strong feelings against the town?"

Adrian exhaled as if the answer might take an hour, or as if he really didn't know the answer. He wiped some sweat from his forehead, sweat caused not by the humidity but by the sickness. He sipped from his gla.s.s. And he finally said, "I'm not sure. I've seen a lot of death recently, been to more than my share of memorials. I couldn't stand the thought of being buried in a cold mausoleum in a faraway city. Maybe it's just the Southern thing. We all come home eventually."

"That makes sense."

"And, I ran out of money, to be honest. The drugs are very expensive. I needed my family, or at least its resources. There are other reasons. It's complicated. I didn't want to burden my friends with another agonizing death."

"And you planned to stay over there, not here in Lowtown?"

"Believe me, Emporia, I'd much rather be here. They didn't want me back in Clanton. For years they paid me to stay away. They disowned me, cut me out of their wills, refused to speak my name. So, I figured I'd upset their lives one last time. Make them suffer a little. Make them spend some money."

A police car drove slowly down the street. Neither mentioned it. When it was gone, Adrian took another sip and said, "You need some background, some of the basics. I've had AIDS for about three years, and I won't live much longer. I'm basically safe to be around. The only way to catch the disease is through the exchange of body fluids, so let's agree right now that we will not have s.e.x."

Emporia howled with laughter, and she was soon joined by Adrian. They laughed until their eyes were wet, until the porch shook, until they were laughing at themselves for laughing so hard. A few of the neighbors perked up and looked from far away. When things were finally under control, she said, "I haven't had s.e.x in so long I've forgotten about it."

"Well, Miss Emporia, let me a.s.sure you that I've had enough for me, you, and half of Clanton. But those days are over."

"Mine too."

"Good. Keep your hands to yourself and I'll do the same. Other than that, it's wise if we take some precautions."

"The nurse lady came out yesterday and explained thangs."

"Good. Laundry, dishes, food, medicine, rules of the bathroom. All that?"

"Yes."

He rolled up his left sleeve and pointed to a dark bruise. "Sometimes these things open up, and when they do, I'll put on a bandage. I'll tell you when this happens."

"I thought we weren't gonna touch."

"Right, but just in case you can't control yourself."

She laughed again, but briefly.

"Seriously, Emporia, I'm pretty safe."

"I understand."

"I'm sure you do, but I don't want you living in fear of me. I just spent four days with what's left of my family, and they treated me like I'm radioactive. All these folks around here will do the same. I'm grateful that you agreed to care for me, and I don't want you to worry. It won't be pretty from now on. I look like I'm already dead, and things will get worse."

"You've seen it before, haven't you?"

"Oh yes. Many times. I've lost a dozen friends in the last five years. It's horrible."

She had so many questions, about the disease and the lifestyle, about his friends, and so on, but she put them aside for later. He seemed tired all of a sudden. "Let me show you around," she said.

The police car drove by again, slowly. Adrian watched and asked, "So how often do the cops patrol this street?"

Almost never, she wanted to say. There were other sections of Lowtown where the houses were not as nice, the neighbors not as reliable. There were honky-tonks, a pool hall, a liquor store, groups of young unemployed men hanging around the corners, and there you would see a police car several times a day. She said, "Oh, they come by occasionally."

They stepped inside, into the den. "It's a little house," she said, almost in defense. He, after all, had been raised in a fine home on a shady street. Now he was standing in a cottage built by his father and owned by his family.

"It's twice as large as my apartment in New York was," he said.

"You don't say."

"I'm serious, Emporia. It's lovely. I'll be happy here."

The wooden floors s.h.i.+ned with polish. The furniture was perfectly centered along the walls. The windows were bright and clear. Nothing was out of order, and everything had the look of constant care. There were two small bedrooms behind the den and kitchen. Adrian's had a double bed with an iron frame that covered half the floor. There was a tiny closet, a dresser too small for a child, and a compact air conditioner in the window.

"It's perfect, Emporia. How long have you lived here?"

"Hmmm, maybe twenty-five years."

"I'm so happy it'll be yours, and soon."

"So am I, but let's not get in a hurry. Are you tired?"

"Yes."

"Would you like a nap? The nurse said you need a lot of sleep."

"A nap would be great."

She closed the door, and the room was silent.

While he was sleeping, a neighbor from across the street strolled over and sat with Emporia on the porch. His name was Herman Grant, and he tended to be on the curious side.

"What's that white boy doin' here?" he asked.

Emporia was ready with the answer, one she had been planning for a few days now. The questions and confrontations would come and go, she hoped. "His name is Adrian Keane, Mr. Isaac Keane's youngest, and he's very sick. I have agreed to take care of him."

"If he's sick, why ain't he at the hospital?"

"He's not that kind of sick. There's nothin' they can do at the hospital. He has to rest and take a sackful of pills every day."

"Is he a dead man?"

"Probably so, Herman. He will only get worse, then he'll die. It's very sad."

"Has he caught cancer?"

"No, it's not cancer."

"What is it?"

"It's a different disease, Herman. Something they have out in California."

"That don't make any sense."

"A lot of things don't."

"I don't understand why he's livin' with you, here in our side of town."

"As I said, Herman, I'm takin' care of him."

"They makin' you do it 'cause they own the house?"

"No."

"You gettin' paid?"

"Mind your own business, Herman."

Herman left and headed down the street. Before long, word had spread.

The chief stopped by the coffee shop for pancakes, and before long Dell had him cornered. "I just don't understand why you can't quarantine the boy," she said loudly, for the benefit of all, and all were listening.

"That takes a court order, Dell," the chief said.

"So he's free to just walk around town, spreadin' germs everywhere?"

The chief was a patient man who'd handled many crises over the years. "We're all free to walk around, Dell. It's somewhere in the Const.i.tution."

"What if he infects somebody else? Then what'll you say?"