Song of Solomon

“What did you want to see me about?” Susan Byrd placed a mild but clear stress on the word “me.”

“I’m trying to locate anybody who might have known my grandmother. Her name was Sing.”

Grace clapped her hands to her mouth and gave a little squeal. “Relatives! You all are relatives!” Milkman put his cup down. “Well, I’ll be!” Grace’s eyes were lit and dancing.

“You’ve come to the right place,” said Susan, “but I doubt if I can help you any.”

“What are you talking about, Susan? Your mother was named Sing, wasn’t she?”

“No, she wasn’t, Grace, and if you let me finish a sentence you might learn something you don’t know too.”

“I thought you said—”

“My mother’s name was Mary. M-a-r-y, Mary.”

“Well, excuse me.”

Susan turned to Milkman. “My father, Crowell Byrd, had a sister named Sing.”

“That must be her! My grandmother! Sing. Did she marry a man named—”

“I knew there was somebody in your family named Sing!”

“She didn’t marry anybody that I know of.” Susan interrupted them both.

“Oh, this is really something. A stranger walks right into your house and he’s your own …what? Cousin? I hate to say it, but this is a small world. Isn’t it? You have got to visit my class, Mr. Macon.”

Milkman joined Susan Byrd in ignoring Grace Long. “Where did she live?” he asked her.

“The last time my father saw her, she was on a wagon headed for Massachusetts to a private school up there. A Quaker school.”

“Your people Quakers? You never told me that. See, Mr. Macon, what your friends hide from you? I bet she’d hide you too.”

“And she never married?” Milkman couldn’t take the time to acknowledge Grace’s attentions.

“Not anybody we heard of. After she went to that Quaker school they lost track of her. I believe they tried to locate her, mostly because my grandmother—her name was Heddy—she was so torn up about it. I always believed the same thing my father believed: that she didn’t want to be found after she left that school.”

“You know darn well she didn’t,” said Grace. “She probably started passing like the rest of ’em, that’s what.” She leaned toward Milkman. “There used to be a lot of that. A Not so much nowadays, but there used to be a lot of ’em did it—if they could.” She shot a glance at Susan. “Like your cousins, Susan. They’re passing now. Lilah, John. I know John is, and he knows I know he is.”

“Everybody knows that, Grace.”

“Mr. Macon doesn’t know it. I saw John on the street in Mayville—”

“Mr. Macon doesn’t need to know it. He’s not even interested.”

“How do you know he’s not?”

“Because he said the woman he’s looking for was his grandmother, and if she’s his grandmother she’d be too dark to…” Susan Byrd hesitated. “Well, too dark to pass. Wouldn’t she?” She flushed a little.

Milkman ignored the question. “And you say she lived in Massachusetts, right?”

“Yes. Boston.”

“I see.” It looked like a dead end, so he decided to follow another line. “Did you ever know or hear of a woman around here named Pilate?”

“Pilate. No. Never. Have you, Grace?”

Grace shook her head. “No, and I’ve been here most of my life.”

“I’ve been here all of mine,” said Susan. “Both my parents were born here and so was I. Never been farther away than St. Phillips County. I have people in South Carolina, but I’ve never even been to visit them.”

“That’s because they’re passing too. Just like John. You couldn’t visit them if you wanted to.” Grace leaned over the plate of cookies and selected one.

“They’re not the only family I have left.” Susan was indignant.

“I hope not. It’s a sad thing, Mr. Macon, when you’re left without any people to claim you. I keep up with my family. I’m not married, you know, not yet anyway, but my family is very close.” She gave him a meaningful look. Milkman turned his wrist and looked down to see what time it was.

“Oh, look at that.” Grace pointed to his hand. “What a good-looking watch. May I see it?” Milkman stood up to hand it to her and remained standing. “Look, Susan, it doesn’t have a single number on it. Just dots. Now, how can anybody figure out what time it is from those dots?”

Susan rose too. “You ever been down here before, Mr. Macon?”

“No. This is my first visit.”

“Well, I hope it won’t be your last. How long will you be here?”

“Oh, I think I’ll get on back tonight or tomorrow at the latest.” He looked out the window. The sun was dropping.

“That soon?” asked Grace. “Why don’t you give him something to take with him, Susan? Would you like to take