Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [30]
Theophilus sat back in his chair, too outraged to say a word. What was "civilized" about the brutality inflicted on Negroes in this country, after they were dragged off from "savage" Africa? What kind of "culture" would burn a man at a stake shaped like a cross—just to cite one recent horror— and then savagely hack the source of passing on life right off his body?
It had been a long time since he was exposed to such internalized racial self-hatred. He was relieved that even Saphronia had the good sense to look annoyed at her grandmother. He now understood completely why Rev. James considered this home a safe hiding place for Negroes who were involved with the civil rights movement.
"Mother Harold, perhaps we should talk about something else. It would be bad manners on my part to continue this conversation, especially since you have so graciously opened your home to me."
Saphronia, already bored, took advantage of the tension between Theophilus and her grandmother to get him alone.
"Grandmother, I think it would be nice if we finished our coffee on the back porch."
"That is a fine idea, Saphronia. But you two young people will have to go ahead without me." Mother Harold stared meaningfully at Theophilus. "Rev. Simmons, I hope you will conduct yourself properly when you are with Saphronia. She has been raised to expect a man to act like a gentleman when in her company. Do I make myself clear?"
Theophilus was furious at this woman. First, she insulted his sermon, his background, and even his race. Now she was acting like he would go out on that porch and get all on top of her old stuck-up granddaughter. "Mother Harold, I don't have any reason to act in any but the proper way while I am a guest in your home," he declared.
He poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and followed Saphronia to the back porch, thankful to be relieved of the presence of Mother Harold and wishing he didn't have to be bothered with Saphronia, either. He knew from all those little looks she had been sneaking at him that she was interested in more than conversation. He hoped that she wouldn't do anything that would force him to hurt her feelings.
Saphronia motioned for Theophilus to sit down on the porch swing and placed herself only a couple of inches away from him. She yawned and stretched, arching her back and poking out her chest. "Whew, I thought we'd never get away from my grandmother," she said, edging a little closer.
"Sister McComb, your grandmother means well," he said in his best preacher voice, trying to ease away from her, wondering when she found the opportunity to undo the top buttons of her dress so the white lace of her bra peeked out at him.
"I guess she means well, Rev. Simmons, but I do believe that she went a bit too far with you."
Theophilus wondered what she would say to defend her grandmother, but she was headed in another direction. "I must confess that I often wonder what's inside of a man who can think like you do. When we were at church, I noticed that you made all the people you met feel comfortable. In fact, I found you to be especially adept at making the lower-class people in our church feel important."
Saphronia saw the guarded look on his face but mistakenly assumed he was confused.
"Oh, Reverend, what I mean is that you are adept at talking to people who aren't as educated and intelligent as you are—which is an admirable quality."
Theophilus was certain that Saphronia was referring to Essie and he fervently hoped she would not say any more. Because if she did, he was sure that the restraint that had seen him through so far was going to snap.
Unable to draw him into a discussion in which she could bad-mouth Essie Lane, Saphronia decided to tackle her objective more directly.