The Innocent Ignorance of ‘44

Meredith poked around the living room for the last time, dusting and squaring her knick-knacks before she settled in her chair like a hen on a clutch of eggs. Bill, who was reading the Daily Tribune in his lounger, breathed a sigh of relief because she had found the house in order. Her constant nitpicking and rearranging annoyed him to no end. Images of her mother, who had done the same thing when he had come to court her, hurled themselves at his mind. From behind his paper he could hear her searching through her blonde wicker basket in front of her leather ottoman where she would soon prop her feet. Next would come the tic-tic-tic of her knitting needles and the muffled crunches of almonds.

“Do you think we should have roast or a stew for dinner honey?”

“I like both Sweetheart. Whatever would be easier for you to make.”

“I would like a roast with fresh slice tomatoes.” Meredith looked out the window at her garden. The yellow sunflower crowns were friendly and waved to her in the gentle breeze. She knew though, despite their innocent demeanor, they housed an evil within their petals. More than once she had spotted black widows stationed in the dark centers of the flowers, like malignant blemishes on sunshine, waiting to ensnare some unsuspecting bug. The bees she didn’t mind, at least it was a fight, fang against rapier, but the butterflies, moths, and ladybeetles were something else. She could hear her mother say they were ‘God’s colorful gardeners’. Meredith’s mind drifted to the arachnid poison under the kitchen sink and she knew what she had to do. Through the haze of Bill’s pipe, she could just make out the tomato plants creeping along the fence. “Too bad they’re not ready yet.”

“They’re a fine looking bunch this year though, peaches too. Should get some good canning out of them.” He flipped a few pages forward in the paper.

“I’ll get the potatoes soaking here in a second. Shouldn’t the games be starting now?”

Bill folded his paper, fished the remote out the folds of the recliner, and turned on the television. The screen flickered and an overhead shot of a stadium appeared. In an excited voice, the broadcaster announced the opening of the 2044 Summer Olympic Game’s swimming competitions. Meredith sat up and munched almonds from the crystal bowl in her lap. In between handfuls she continue to work on a pink rabbit pajama set for her granddaughter, flicking her fingers against each other so not to coat her work with salt and honey residue. The only thing she loved more than almonds was God, her family, and the Olympics Games. Bill often told her in a previous life she had to have been a caterpillar because of her munching. Of course she balked at the idea of being green with that many hands and feet and told him if anything, she was a butterfly with an affinity for almond blossoms. He would never point out that all butterflies were at one time caterpillars.

Bill removed his smoldering pipe from its stand, which was a carved wooden gnome with a pointed red hat, blowing an alpine horn. He knew unhappiness was around the corner. He blew several smoke rings around his feet and waited.

“We should be there.” Meredith pushed out her bottom lip and slumped her shoulders.

“I know dear, I know, but how were we to know Judith would get pregnant last year, so it was Boston instead of Rome.”

The wrinkles in Meredith’s forehead smoothed out and her hazel flaked green eyes sparkled at the mention of her granddaughter. The winter pudge she had acquired from indulging in exotic chowders, cakes and pies during their extended stay in Boston, rounded her cheeks and gave her frame a softer look which Bill found appealing. She had buried a knitting needle under curls of red hair and scratched her scalp.

“I wouldn’t have missed Amy’s birth for anything, but it just feels like we should be there.”

“I told you I would take you to the next one.”

“As you should. It’s the only thing I’ve wanted other than to be a good Christian mother.”

“Humph.” Bill unfolded the paper with a snap of the wrist and clenched his pipe in his front teeth. “Yes, you’ve told me and I’m aware of it.”

Meredith studied his face for sighs of irritation and found none. She had always thought he look like Clark Kent and even more so when he smoked his pipe. That had been her attraction to him some twenty-five years ago. He hadn’t changed much. His jaw was still strong, his eyes, deep socketed lapis-lazuli, and his black hair only recently displayed waves of grey at the temples. Bill had managed to keep up his physique and had the body of an active man in his mid-thirties rather than a fifty-three year old who only muddled about the yard. Sometime, when he amorously swept her off her feet to make love to her, she would unbutton his shirt half expecting to find the red and yellow symbol of Krypton.

Seeing that he was sincere in his response, she returned her attention to the games, munching, and knitting. The 100 meter free style was starting. The swimmers stood on their platforms jiggling their lithe thighs and rolling their necks. The camera panned down the line of competitors, when Meredith dropped her knitting needles, covered her mouth and gasped in horror. Bill lowered the paper and looked from the T.V. to Meredith and back again.

“What?”

“What! Don’t you see?” She pointed at the screen with a trembling hand, then returned it to her mouth.”

Bill frown, still not getting the gist of her fear. He stared at the screen, assuming he’d missed something, but came up short again.

“Number four. Look at lane four! The girl from Nairobi, they’re going to make her swim.”

“And –?” Bill saw the Nairobian swimmer on the screen. She was tall and slender, except for her powerful thighs that seemed disproportional to the rest of her body. Her yellow one piece contrasted with her midnight skin so sharply it hurt Bill’s eyes to continue looking. Her face was thin, her cheekbones, high, broad, and proud, and she exuded a sleek cat like beauty and grace. Under the tight swimmers cap were the distinct outlines of corn-rowed braids.

“And? Bill, how could you be so cruel? They’re going to make her swim is what!”

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m not following you.”

“Bill!” Meredith shook her head at him. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“Let’s just pretend I’m dumb and don’t get it. What’s supposed to be so bad here?”

“You know she can’t swim.”

“Sweetheart she is an Olympic athlete. I think she’s going to be okay.” Bill chuckled to himself then stopped when he saw Meredith tuning red in the face.

“Don’t make light of the subject. You know what I mean. They can’t swim – Black people.” Meredith rubbed her hands together with nervous anticipation.

“Huh?”

“Their anklebones are fused together, don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“Are you serious?” Bill began to laugh when a ball of yarn caught him in the head. Meredith had turned two shades darker. She stared at Bill with a look of disbelief and disgust. Bill felt the conversation heading south and decided to talk his way out of trouble.

“Sweetheart the neighbor’s kids go swimming all the time and I even seen Mr. Jenkins in the pool a few times this summer.”

“My mother taught me about this years ago.” Bill held his tongue in check, knowing and argument would ensue if he admonished her mother’s simplicity. “Their American Blacks, not African Blacks. Their blood’s been mixed. Look at how light the wife is. She could pass for a –” A start gun fired and the crowd roared through the speakers. Meredith covered her face. “Oh, I can’t watch!”

Bill was torn between the competition and questioning the beliefs of his wife. He decided to not comment and let the meet play out, knowing she would see the silliness of her worries.

The swimmers had just reached the pool’s end, tucked under and shot off the wall in the opposite direction. Their arms and heads appeared and disappeared like a wet, blinking Egyptian hieroglyph of the eye. Each swimmer, at height of their game, moved deftly through the pool without a splash.

“Honey the Nairobian