dreams, looking up at her from a dish that rested in the sink waiting to be cleaned, in her own reflection in the mirror and peeking at her from behind the living room drapes. Sometimes she would call to her, “Jude? Jude, baby, is that you?” And walk over to where she thought she saw her daughter’s almond eyes. Joe, if he was there, would grab her firmly by the shoulders and guide her back to bed or the couch. “She gone, baby,” he’d say and sit and rock her until the tears and weeping were done.
It was the hardest time in her life and after fifteen years it was still hard.
The worst incident had come when she and Joe went to Short Junction to meet the train. Joe’s nephew and his wife were coming in from Jackson to spend some time with them. It wasn’t too long after Jude’s death. Colored papers were still hot with the story. No one had been picked up as a suspect and the police had all but given up on their halfhearted efforts at finding the killer.
The wife of the nephew was a nurse in Jackson and Joe had felt it would be a good idea to have her around. Pearl didn’t seem to be getting any better; he thought he would lose her to grief.
Pearl stood beside him, lifeless, shoulders slumped, giving her a hunchbacked appearance. Her dress hung slack from her body, which was growing thinner by the day. Her straw hat sat limp on her head and stiff gray strands of hair poked out from beneath it like wild weeds. Her eyes were small dull black stones that held vast emptiness. She was nothing more than a dead tree trunk in the middle of all the hustle and bustle of the station.
Joe was holding her hand and looking toward the train that had just pulled in. Joe Jr. and Seth stood restlessly behind them, tugging at their shirt collars. People rushed to the train, waiting anxiously for loved ones to appear. Children chased each other around and between the legs of grown folks, and porters moved like sleek, black wildcats to and fro, moving large steamer trunks through the buzz of people like rats through an intricate maze.
“Here they come, Pearl,” Joe whispered to her and squeezed her lifeless hand. He was waving at them as they approached. Pearl lifted her head slightly and tried to offer a weak smile, but none would come. Jude had taken her smile with her. And then her head bounced. She caught sight of a girl, just the same age as Jude, dressed in a dress that was too mature for her. Her face was painted, hiding the last threads of innocence. She turned to say something to the man that was with her, excitement swirling all over her face. Pearl saw her. Saw Jude. And began to walk toward her, slow at first, pulling Joe along with her. He followed, believing she was walking to greet his nephew, but she blew straight past them, her speed increasing to a run, leaving them standing, mouths agape, in shock. “Pearl?” Joe had yelled above the throng of the people. “Wha—” and then he saw what Pearl was rushing toward. He saw the girl that looked so much like his dead daughter and his heart thumped hard in his chest. He gripped Pearl’s hand and jerked her sharply backward; she slammed into his chest and then turned eyes on him that reflected such savagery it made him shudder and he smelled his own sudden fear break out on his body in tiny beads of sweat.
She spoke to him between clenched teeth and quivering lips. Pearl looked like a trapped animal. “Turn me loose, Joe Taylor.” And he did, without thinking of the consequences, he turned her loose and with the agility of a child, Pearl raced through the station toward the young woman and she screamed her dead daughter’s name as she went, “Jude! Juuuudeeee!!!!”
Thank goodness it was too late. The girl had boarded the train. “All aboard!” was yelled one final time and the whistle was sounded. Steam bellowed out from beneath the cars and then the train started its steady movement as it pulled slowly out of the station. Pearl was running alongside
Learning to Kill: Stories