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Who’s Got the Body?

2016; Johns Hopkins University Press; Volume: 39; Issue: 4 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1353/cal.2017.0009

1080-6512

Jamey Hatley,

American Political and Social Dynamics

Who’s Got the Body? Jamey Hatley (bio) “The Harrises will fix it,” Gladys Bobo said to anybody who would listen. “Let’s wait and see what the Harrises say.” And if anyone in Memphis could have righted the body, it would have been this family who had taken care of generations of Memphis’s colored dead. A family who knew the intricacies of death even better than the dead themselves. Theirs was the language of crisply folded programs, a firm hand to the small of the back, precise white gloves that could direct grief down a tight corridor or give it room to flower if need be. Theirs was the lonely, quiet work of washing naked bodies, the arrangement of limbs, the art of camouflaging the cruelty of life. While Wayfarer Homes waited for the Harrises pronouncement on Mr. Bobo’s scar-riddled body, they stacked casseroles and trays of smothered chicken in the Bobo’s refrigerator, carted over gallon jugs of sweet tea and lemonade, skimmed nerve pills from their own stashes so Gladys Bobo could get some rest. And waited. The tremor that she carried away from the scene of the accident was not subsiding. No one knew what she said to Rabbit out in the street that day. Nobody there that day had the nerve to get up close to that strange grief, but they remembered how Rabbit leaned down to the older woman, his arm a gate between her and The Drummer who almost, but did not run over her husband with his Bel Air station wagon full of ladies’ fashions. Gladys Bobo was clearly the one instructing Rabbit, and Rabbit obeyed. Good, since her own son was off away from his family in California or somewhere. In the wait for the son Wesley to return, Rabbit stepped in. It was Rabbit who dealt with the people from the Veterans’ Cemetery. It was Rabbit who helped pick out the burial suit. Rabbit who ate dinner with the Bobos most nights from the covered dishes the neighbors kept bringing. It was Rabbit who drove Gloria and Mrs. Bobo in the Bobo family car to the funeral home to see if there was anything to be done about the state of the body. It was evening dark inside the funeral home. The light was filtered through thin strips of gold and blue stained glass. The air inside was crisp like a fall day, spiting the heat outside. When Gladys inquired about a viewing, the Harris man first looked at Rabbit and then Gloria. After a pause that had been calculated for effect over decades he looked at Gladys directly and said unfortunately the body could not be prepared to a suitable likeness. Gladys didn’t seem to hear him at all. “Oh, I have every confidence in y’all. I do. Your family has the anointing. You will do right by my Cliffus. Thank you. Thank you so very kindly.” “I want you to keep trying,” Gloria said, “And I will be back tomorrow with my clippers to cut his hair. Daddy was due for his haircut.” Gloria rubbed her wrist where her watch would rest if she had been wearing one. “Yes, Ma’am. Let us know if there is anything you need. Any time.” [End Page 769] As soon as they stepped out into the hallway one of the Harrises appeared from another office. Their noiseless movements made Rabbit feel like he was being watched. “Mama, sit in here in the cool while Rabbit and I go get the car.” Gloria pointed to a bench, and Mrs. Bobo dropped down there. She was still trembling like she had been since after the accident. Her eyes were soft and unfocused. Rabbit and Gloria stepped outside the funeral home. “Rabbit, I don’t know how to thank you for this. My husband Harold is doing freight. And the kids are driving me crazy. I still got heads to fix at the salon. Wes is taking his sweet time getting here—” “Look, I’m glad to help. Y’all are good as family.” “Now, Rabbit. Tell it to me straight. You saw him. I’m not going to...