Делия Оуэнс - Where the Crawdads Sing

“Nome. Not a’tall. But I’ll keep an eye out.”

Kya nodded. She sat on the bed, the only place to sit, and stared at the plate. Here in jail was better food than she had seen all her life. She poked around the chicken, pushed the butter beans. Having found food, her stomach was lost.

Then, the sound of the lock turning, the heavy metal door swinging.

At the end of the hall she heard Jacob say, “Thar ya go, then, Mista Sundee Justice.”

Without breathing, Kya stared at the floor outside her cell and within a few seconds Sunday Justice stepped into view. His markings were surprisingly stark and soft at the same time. No hesitation this time, he stepped into her cell and walked up to her. She put the plate on the floor and he ate the chicken—pulled the drumstick right onto the floor—then lapped up the gravy. Skipped the butter beans. She smiled through it all, then wiped the floor clean with tissue.

He jumped on her bed, and a sweet sleep wrapped them together.

• • •

JACOB STOOD OUTSIDE her door the next day. “Miz Clark, ya got anotha viz’ter.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s Mr. Tate again. He’s done come sev’ral times now, Miz Clark, either brings sump’m or asks to see ya. Won’t ya see him today, Miz Clark? It’s Saderdee, no court, nothin’ to do in here the livelong day.”

“All right, Jacob.”

Jacob led her to the same dingy room where she had met Tom Milton. As she stepped through the door, Tate rose from his chair and walked quickly toward her. He smiled lightly, but his eyes revealed the sadness from seeing her here.

“Kya, you look good. I’ve been so worried. Thank you for seeing me. Sit down.” They sat opposite each other while Jacob stood in the corner reading a newspaper with considerate concentration.

“Hello, Tate. Thanks for the books you brought.” She acted calm, but her heart pulled into pieces.

“What else can I do for you?”

“Maybe you could feed the gulls if you’re out my way.”

He smiled. “Yes, I’ve been feeding them. Every other day or so.” He made it sound easygoing but had driven or boated to her place every dawn and dusk to feed them.

“Thank you.”

“I was in court, Kya, sitting right behind you. You never turned around, so I didn’t know if you knew that. But I’ll be there every day.”

She looked out of the window.

“Tom Milton’s very good, Kya. Probably the best lawyer in this part of the state. He’ll get you out of here. Just hang on.”

When again she didn’t speak, he continued. “And as soon as you’re out of here, we’ll get back to exploring lagoons like in the old days.”

“Tate, please, you have to forget me.”

“I have never and will never forget you, Kya.”

“You know I’m different. I don’t fit with other people. I cannot be part of your world. Please, can’t you understand, I’m afraid to be close with anybody ever again. I can’t.”

“I don’t blame you, Kya, but . . .”

“Tate, listen to me. For years I longed to be with people. I really believed that someone would stay with me, that I would actually have friends and a family. Be part of a group. But no one stayed. Not you or one member of my family. Now I’ve finally learned how to deal with that and how to protect myself. But I can’t talk about this now. I appreciate your coming to see me in here, I do. And maybe someday we can be friends, but I can’t think about what comes next. Not in here.”

“Okay. I understand. Really, I do.”

After a short silence, he continued. “The great horns are already calling.”

She nodded, almost smiled.

“Oh, and yesterday when I was at your place, you won’t believe it, but a male Cooper’s hawk landed right on your front steps.”

Finally a smile as she thought of the Coop. One of her many private memories. “Yes, I believe it.”

Ten minutes later, Jacob said their time was up and Tate had to leave. Kya thanked him again for coming.

“I’ll keep feeding the gulls, Kya. And I’ll bring you some books.”

She shook her head and followed Jacob.

45. Red Cap

1970

On Monday morning, after Tate’s visit, when Kya was led into the courtroom by the bailiff, she kept her eyes away from the spectators, as she had before, and looked deep into the shadowy trees outside. But she heard a familiar sound, maybe a soft cough, and turned her head. There in the first row of seats, sitting with Tate, were Jumpin’ and Mabel, who wore her church bonnet decked out with silk roses. Folks had made a stir when they walked in with Tate and sat downstairs in the “white area.” But when the bailiff reported this to Judge Sims, still in his chambers, the judge told him to announce that anybody of any color or creed could sit anywhere they wanted in his courtroom, and if somebody didn’t like it, they were free to leave. In fact, he’d make sure they did.

On seeing Jumpin’ and Mabel, Kya felt a smidge of strength, and her back straightened slightly.

The next witness for the prosecution, Dr. Steward Cone, the coroner, had graying hair cut very short and wore glasses that sat too far down his nose, a habit that forced him to tilt his head back to see through the lenses. As he answered Eric’s questions, Kya’s mind wandered to the gulls. These long months in jail, she had pined for them, yet all along, Tate had been feeding them. They had not been abandoned. She thought of Big Red, how he always walked across her toes when she threw crumbs to them.

The coroner tossed his head back to adjust his glasses, the gesture bringing Kya back to the courtroom.

“So to recap, you’ve testified that Chase Andrews died between midnight and two o’clock on the night of October 29 or the morning of the thirtieth, 1969. The cause of death was extensive injuries to the brain and spinal cord due to a fall through an open grate of the fire tower, sixty-three feet to the ground. As he fell, he hit the back of his head on a support beam, a fact confirmed by blood and hair samples taken from the beam. Is all that correct according to your expert opinion?”

“Yes.”

“Now, Dr. Cone, why would an intelligent and fit young man like Chase Andrews step through an open grate and fall to his death? To rule out one possibility, was there alcohol or any other substance in his blood that could have impaired his judgment?”

“No, there was not.”

“Evidence presented previously demonstrates that Chase Andrews hit the back of his head on that support beam, not his forehead.” Eric stood in front of the jury and took a large step. “But when I step forward, my head ends up slightly ahead of my body. Were I to step into a hole here in front of me, the momentum and the weight of my head would pitch me forward. Correct? Chase Andrews would have hit his forehead on the beam, not the back of his skull, if he was stepping forward. So isn’t it true, Dr. Cone, that the evidence suggests that Chase was going backward when he fell?”

“Yes, the evidence would support that conclusion.”

“So we can also conclude that if Chase Andrews was standing with his back to the opened grate and was pushed by someone, he would have fallen backward, not forward?” Before Tom could object, Eric said very quickly, “I’m not asking you to state that this is conclusive evidence that Chase was pushed backward to his death. I am simply making it clear that if someone pushed Chase backward through the hole, the wounds to his head from the beam would have coincided with those actually found. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Dr. Cone, when you examined Chase Andrews in the clinic, the morning of October 30, was he wearing a shell necklace?”

“No.”

To suppress the rising nausea, Kya focused on Sunday Justice grooming himself on a windowsill. Pretzeled into an impossible position, one leg straight in the air, he licked the inside tip of his tail. His own bath seemed to absorb and entertain him entirely.