I said, “So I understand,” and he laughed.
“‘Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish, and wine unto the bitter in soul.’ Isn’t that right?”
Word for word.
He said, “The first thing she ever said to me was ‘Thank you, Reverend.’ She was walking home in a rainstorm with an armful of books and papers — she was a teacher — and some of the papers fell onto the pavement, and the wind was scattering them, so I helped her gather them up, and then I walked her to her door, since I had an umbrella. I didn’t think about what I was doing, particularly. My impeccable manners.”
“You were well brought up.”
“I was indeed.” He said, “Her father told me that if I were a gentleman I’d have left her alone. I understand why he feels that way. She had a good life. And I am not a gentleman.” He wouldn’t let me object to that. “I know what the word means, Reverend. Though I can now say that the influence of my wife worked a change in me for the better, at least temporarily.” Then he said, “I don’t want to tire you with this. I know I’ve interrupted you. I’ll tell you why I have kept trying to talk to you.”
I told him he was welcome to take all the time he wanted.
He said, “That’s very kind.” And then he just sat there for a little while. “If we could find a way to live,” he said, “I think she would marry me. That would answer her family’s most serious objections, I believe. They say I can’t provide a decent life for my family, and that has in fact been the case to this point.” He cleared his throat. “If you can really spare me the time, I will explain. Thank you. You see, I met Delia during a fairly low point in my life. I won’t go into that. Delia was very nice to me, very pleasant. So I found myself now and then walking down that street at that hour, and sometimes I saw her and we spoke. I swear I had no intentions at all, honorable or otherwise. It was just pleasant to see her face.” He laughed. “She would always say, ‘Good afternoon, Reverend.’ I was not at that time accustomed to being treated like a respectable man. I must say I enjoyed it. It got so that I would walk along her street with no thought of seeing her, just because there was a kind of comfort in being reminded of her. And then one evening I did meet her, and we spoke a little, and she asked me in for tea. She shared rooms with another woman who taught at the colored school. It was pleasant. We had our tea together, the three of us. I told her then I was not a minister. So she knew that. I believe she invited me in in the first place because she was under that impression, but I was honest with her. About that. It didn’t seem to matter too much.
“I don’t know just how it happened — I stopped by to lend her a book I had bought in order to lend it to her — as if from my library — I even dog-eared a few pages — and she invited me to come for Thanksgiving dinner. She knew I wasn’t on excellent terms with my family, and she said she couldn’t have me spending the holiday by myself. I said I was uncomfortable with strangers, and she promised me it would be all right. Still, I had a couple of drinks before I came and I was later than I had intended. I thought I would walk in on a gathering of some kind, but she was there all by herself, looking terribly unhappy.
“I apologized as well as I could and offered to go away, but she said, ‘You just sit down!’ So we sat there eating, neither one of us saying anything. I told her the dinner was delicious and she said, ‘It probably was once.’ Then she said, ‘Two hours late, liquor on your breath—’ speaking to me as if I were, well, what I was, and it came over me that I had no business there, I was no one she could respect, and the grief I felt was amazing to me. I stood up to thank her and excuse myself, and then I left.
“But when I had walked a few blocks I realized she was following along behind me. She came up beside me and she said, ‘I just wanted to tell you not to feel so bad.’
“And I said, ‘Now I will have to walk you back to your door.’
“And she laughed and said, ‘Of course you will.’
“So I did. And then the other woman came home, Lorraine, the one who shared her rooms. There was a dinner at their church, but Delia had made some excuse about not feeling well and having to stay home. I should have been long gone by then, but there we were, eating our pumpkin pie. What could have been more compromising?”
He laughed. “It was all so respectable. But word got to Tennessee somehow and her sister came to visit, with the clear intention of scaring me off. I’d come in the evenings with a book of poetry and we’d read to each other, while her sister sat there glaring at me. It was ridiculous. It was wonderful. But when the school year ended, her brothers came and took her back to Tennessee. She left a note for me with Lorraine, saying goodbye.
