Free Paradise by Toni Morrison Page B

get it wrong or leave out something. My understanding is that K.D. here has done an injury, a serious injury, to Arnette. So right off we can say K.D. has a problem with his temper and an obligation—”
    “Ain’t he a little old to have his temper raised toward a young girl?” Jefferson Fleetwood, seething in a low chair farthest from the lamplight, interrupted. “I don’t call that temper. I call it illegal.”
    “Well, at that particular moment, he was way out of line.”
    “Beg your pardon, Reverend. Arnette is fifteen.” Jeff looked steadily into K.D.’s eyes.
    “That’s right,” said Fleet. “She ain’t been hit since she was two years old.”
    “That may be the problem.” Steward, known for inflammatory speech, had been cautioned by Deek to keep his mouth shut and let him, the subtle one, do the talking. Now his words blew Jeff out of his chair.
    “Don’t you come in my house dirt-mouthing my family!”
    “Your house?” Steward looked from Jeff to Arnold Fleetwood.
    “You heard me! Papa, I think we better call this meeting off before somebody gets hurt!”
    “You right,” said Fleet. “This is my child we talking about. My child!”
    Only Jeff was standing, but now Misner rose. “Gentlemen. Whoa!” He held up his hands and, towering over the seated men, put to good use his sermon-making voice. “We are men here; men of God. You going to put God’s work in the gutter?”
    K.D. saw Steward struggling with the need to spit and stood up also. “Look here,” he said. “I’m sorry. I am. I’d take it back if I could.”
    “Done is done, friends.” Misner lowered his hands.
    K.D. continued. “I respect your daughter—”
    “Since when?” Jeff asked him.
    “I always respected her. From when she was that high.” K.D. leveled his hand around his waist. “Ask anybody. Ask her girlfriend, Billie Delia. Billie Delia will tell you that.”
    The effect of the genius stroke was immediate. The Morgan uncles held in their smiles, while the Fleetwoods, father and son, bristled. Billie Delia was the fastest girl in town and speeding up by the second.
    “This ain’t about no Billie Delia,” said Jeff. “This is about what you did to my baby sister.”
    “Wait a minute,” said Misner. “Maybe we could get a better fix, K.D., if you could tell us why you did it. Why? What happened? Were you drinking? Did she aggravate you somehow?” He expected this forthright question to open up a space for honesty, where the men could stop playing bear and come to terms. The sudden quiet that followed surprised him. Steward and Deek both cleared their sinuses at the same time. Arnold Fleetwood stared at his shoes. Something, Misner guessed, was askew. In that awkward silence they could hear above their heads the light click of heels: the women pacing, servicing, fetching, feeding—whatever it took to save the children who could not save themselves.
    “We don’t care about why,” said Jeff. “What I want to know is what you going to do about it?” He shot his forefinger into the chair arm on the word “do.”
    Deek leaned back and spread his thighs wider, as though to welcome territory that naturally belonged to him. “What you have in mind?” he asked.
    “First off, apologize,” said Fleet.
    “I just did,” said K.D.
    “Not to me. To her. To her!”
    “Yes, sir,” said K.D. “I will.”
    “All right,” Deek said. “That’s first. What’s second?”
    Jeff answered. “You better never lay your hand on her again.”
    “I won’t lay a thing on her, sir.”
    “Is there a third?” asked Deek.
    “We need to know he means it,” said Fleet. “Some sign it’s meant.”
    “Sign?” Deek managed to look puzzled.
    “My sister’s reputation is messed up, ain’t it?”
    “Uh huh. I can see that.”
    “Nothing can fix that, can it?” Jeff’s question combined defiance and inquiry.
    Deek leaned forward. “Well, I don’t know. Hear she’s going to college. That’ll put all this