Novel Podcast: A War Between States, Part 15
This week’s installment of A War Between States has my esteemed colleague Stephanie Thornton reading a different part than she usually does. When she came over to read for me, she told me that the voice she’s been providing for the character of Tamara Granger has gotten her several offers for dates and even one marriage proposal. She does sound kinda sexy, doesn’t she?
Well, this week she plays the part of Tabitha Green. I’m curious to hear what the men who made offers to her think of this.
A War Between States Part 15:
Chapter 8, Part Two: Campaign: Sarah
September 5, 2003
Their next stop was down the street from Mrs. Mobley’s, as was the next one and the one after that. Each stop met them with either a wistful noncommitment, earnest confusion, or a half-hearted assurance that indeed, the people of the household old enough to vote would vote for Sarah when the time came.
“November sixth,” she would say, and they would wave I know to her and say good-bye.
The warm, invigorating morning sun, which had dazzled their eyes and delighted their anxious senses through the haze of cigarette smoke rose high into the sky. Later, it sank behind the countless oaks and pecan trees which shaded the lawns of Washington Street, then Hunt Street, then Hancock Street. It hinted and winked at them between branches and browning leaves as they made their way up one street and down another, leaving an occasional trail of yard signs behind them.
“Stop here,” Sarah said at around five-thirty, pointing to a low, ranch-style block house on the corner of Hancock and Kendrick Lane. The house was painted sunflower yellow with white trim, graced with yet another screened-in veranda, this one filled with a porch swing and a jungle of dark ferns and hanging vines.
“Who’s this?” Nancy asked.
“The Greens.”
They stopped, got out, and crossed the yard.
Betty Green came out of the house to meet them, her face dancing indecisively between a wary frown and an inviting smile.
“Hey, Betty,” Sarah said with a wave, and finally Betty’s face came to settle on a place halfway in between the points of its fluctuation — on what could only be described as a wary smile.
“Hey there, Mrs. Dobson,” Betty Green said. She had always addressed Sarah as Mrs. Dobson, despite the fact that both women were roughly the same age. Betty’s youngest son Terminius was six years younger than Sarah’s youngest, and Sarah had been secretary at the school up until the year Terminius was going to go into the 11th grade. That was the only explanation Sarah could think of for the formality with names.
Quietly, almost slyly — as if they were cats stalking a cautious mouse — Betty’s two daughters slunk out of the front door and came to stand just behind and on either side of their mother. Sarah recognized both of them, although she could only remember the younger one’s name. Tabitha.
Tabitha Green was twenty or so, pretty despite her too-red lips, her scraggle of untoward hair (which usually had braided extensions in it but today did not), and the unfriendly scowl that was on her face. Sarah couldn’t remember a time that Tabitha didn’t wear that scowl, and she thought maybe Tabitha offered it to her all the time because of something Sarah had done or said to the girl back in high school. Sarah did remember Tabitha struggling with school. Sarah also recalled the girl being trouble.
The other girl — or woman, Sarah corrected herself — appeared much older than Tabitha, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties. She was fat and a little careworn, but unmistakably Betty Green’s daughter and Tabitha Green’s sister. Her face wore a blank expression. But her eyes followed Sarah — with occasional flitters in Nancy’s direction — through the whole conversation which ensued.
“Been a while, Mrs. Dobson. What brang you way out here?” Betty Green said.
Sarah smiled. “It has been a while. How’s Terminius?”
Betty’s own half-hearted smile disappeared. Tabitha’s scowl deepened so that Sarah thought the girl might pounce on them, tearing at Nancy and herself with her Lee Press-on nails.
“Terminius done got arrested,” Betty said.
Now there were no smiles on any of the faces in Betty Green’s front yard. It seemed like the chill of winter — which in Marionville usually came in late December and left about mid-February — had settled in prematurely, threatening to crack their stark, still faces like ice if any of their expressions changed again. The silence that came between them was so pervasive that a nattering squirrel in a nearby tree all but roared in comparison.
Sarah decided this was a test — and she was determined to pass it. “Well,” she said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Tabitha’s eyes narrowed, and her sister grunted in a deep voice that could have been a man’s. Betty’s face remained unchanged, but her own voice now sounded strained and tense.
“Oh,” she said. “Is that the first you heard about it?”
Sarah nodded. She felt nervous suddenly, and she couldn’t think why.
“I heard there was a teenage boy got busted a couple of weeks back, down at the Underground,” Nancy volunteered. “That was the same time they got that Williams creep.”
Tabitha didn’t quite lunge at them, or swing her Press-on claws, but she did go on the offensive right then. Sarah was surprised by the young woman’s virulence, and even more surprised when she found herself taking a frightened step back.
“Coach Williams ain’t no creep!” Tabitha all but shrieked. “He was set up to go down — to make some high-up man at the po-lice happy! He ain’t no drug dealer, and our Terminius ain’t neither!”
Betty regarded her daughter with a look that Sarah couldn’t place, at least not at first. Later, when she had time to think about it, to ruminate over it, she decided the look was weird mix, and that was why it was so hard to pin down — a weird mix of sympathy, of defiant agreement, and strangely, of pity and disgust.
“Shush, Tabby,” Betty said. “Mrs. Dobson and her friend done said they didn’t know the whole story. Mrs. Dobson even said she didn’t know T been arrested.”
Tabitha threw up her arms, revealing hairy pits caked with whitish-yellow deodorant. “Fuck that! She know! She part of the system! She part of the problem!”
Tabitha’s sister lifted her own flabby arms and stepped between Tabitha and Sarah. She uttered a stream of something, mostly incomprehensible, though Sarah did pick up the words blame and Jesus. Tabitha didn’t calm down — in fact, she seemed further provoked, and a stream of profanity spewed out of her mouth and filled the air. She did back away, though, herded by her sister back into the depths of the house, still waving her arms and screeching foul words.
Sarah and Nancy only watched, bewildered, until the two sisters had disappeared, letting the screen door slam behind them. Betty watched Sarah and Nancy timidly, as if she was afraid of them now that they were alone.
“I’m — I’m sorry about Terminius,” Sarah offered.
Betty waved her off. “Ain’t nothin’ you coulda done. Terminius got mixed up with the wrong crowd. Jamal and Elgin are bad examples of the black race, and I told Terminius to stay away from ‘em. Now I reckon he will.”
“And I’m sorry about what I said about Williams,” Nancy said. “It really set your daughter off.”
Betty hesitated, looked back at the house, then sidelong at the two of them. “Yeah, well, Tabby got a thang for Coach Williams. Has since high school. She was there when the po-lice carried him away.”
“She’s wrong, you know,” Sarah said, hoping that what she was saying — was about to say — wouldn’t set Betty off, too. “I’m not part of any system. And that’s why I’m here.”
“You runnin’ for office,” Betty said. It wasn’t a question. Nancy raised her eyebrows, reflecting the surprise that Sarah felt.
“How did you know?”
Betty smiled and chuckled a little. Pointed at the Aerostar.
“Says so on yo’ van. I ain’t stupid. Or blind.”
Now both Sarah and Nancy laughed a little — albeit uncomfortably.
“Yeah, I’m runnin’ for office,” Sarah said. “For city council to be exact. And you’d be one of my constituents if I won.”
Betty was silent. The nattering squirrel nearby still bellowed at them enough to fill the silence.
“Do you want to hear any of my platform?” Sarah asked.
Betty stared off in the direction of the squirrel — or maybe the tree it was in. Or maybe the sky above the tree.
“Betty?”
The woman turned back to them, her wary smile back in place. “Ain’t no need, Mrs. Dobson. You ain’t gotta ‘splain anythang to me. I know what all’s wrong, and I guess I know how you ‘tend to fix ‘em.”
The wariness on Betty’s face, the unease and distrust in her eyes, belied the earnestness that Sarah thought she heard in her voice.
“You know I’ll do a good job, don’t you?”
“I don’t doubt it,” Betty Green said, but she was already backing away. Sarah watched her go, and couldn’t think of a way to keep the conversation going. Betty opened the screen door, backed inside. As she retreated, she never took her eyes off Sarah and Nancy.
“Well, bye, Betty,” Sarah said as the woman’s face faded away into the shadows of the closing back door. Sarah caught a glance of a slim brown hand adorned with Lee Press-ons pulling Betty deep into the darkness of the porch, into the lushness of the countless plants inside.
“That was abrupt,” Nancy said behind Sarah, who jumped at the sound of her voice.
“Yeah,” Sarah said, recovering. “Let’s go. It’s dinner time.”
They climbed back into the Aerostar. They were finished campaigning for the day.
The Cast
- Sarah Dobson - Jennie
- Betty Green - Candace Cain
- Nancy Walker - Paula Towry
- Tabitha Green - Stephanie Thornton
- Narrator - Will Kenyon
Novel Podcast: A War Between States, Part 14
An unprecedented amount of time went between podcasts this time. Sorry about that. I have been busy, mind you - I haven’t been slacking - and while maintaining this podcast is high on my list of priorities, there are other things higher. You’ll be glad to know that I was taking care of that stuff - and not just playing games and drinking beer.
It’s been a while since you’ve visited Sarah Dobson on her quest to become a city councilwoman. So here she is, having adventures in campaigning. Enjoy.
A War Between States Part 14:
Chapter 8, Part One: Campaign: Sarah
September 5, 2003
Sarah Dobson and Nancy Walker puttered along Washington Street in Nancy’s silver Aerostar, which was shiny and sleek on the outside and absolutely filthy on the inside. On either side of it, white magnetic signs advertised: Vote Dobson for City Council — A Better Future For Marionville in big, blocky red and blue letters. Inside, the two women puffed hungrily on cigarettes, while Nancy drove and read mailbox numbers aloud and Sarah shuffled through handbills and fliers.
“Four-forty. That’s Mrs. Mobley. Wanna stop?” Nancy asked.
Sarah considered, then nodded with enthusiasm. “Don’t know if Mrs. Mobley has voted for the past 20 years, but maybe this year I can convince her to get out from in front of Montel and punch my ticket.”
Nancy pulled over to the curb. “Can she drive to the polls? She’s almost blind.”
“She drives out to the lodge every Sunday for the buffet.”
“Jesus.”
Both women tumbled out of the Aerostar, followed by clouds of mentholated smoke. Sarah reached back and pulled out a yard sign.
“Do you think she’ll let you put one of those up?” Nancy asked.
“Never hurts to try.”
Together the two trudged up Mrs. Mobley’s cobblestone walkway, surrounded on either side by a patch of unkempt yard which didn’t look like it had been mowed all summer and still had leaves in it from the fall before. Sarah mounted the single brick step that led up to the screened-in veranda and rapped on the rickety frame door.
“Mrs. Mobley?” she shouted into the dim interior. “Are you home?”
“Of course she’s home,” Nancy whispered behind her.
“Hush. I gotta check. She could be dead.”
A shuffle on the inside of the house told them something there was alive.
“Who’s there?” a thin, reedy voice asked. Sarah saw the brief glint of sunlight on a pair of glasses as the owner of the voice moved out of the deepness of the house and onto the veranda.
“It’s Sarah Dobson and Dr. Walker,” Sarah replied. “Do you remember us?”
The old woman hesitated for a moment, then shuffled forward into the dim light which the dirty screens of her porch let in. She wore beige slacks, a nondescript blouse of a color Sarah couldn’t place, and a pair of threadbare house slippers. Her hair was thin, white, and teased into wispy curls which barely covered her liver-spotted head. It seemed to Sarah that over the months since she’s seen Mrs. Mobley, the woman had shrunk. She barely exceeded four feet tall.
“I ‘member ya’ll,” Mrs. Mobley said in a cracked voice. “You the other doctor, and that woman from the church.”
“That’s right,” Sarah said, although it had been two years since she’d sung at the Methodist church’s annual Christmas cantata. In fact, it had been two years since the church had hosted a cantata — the population of Marionville was on the decline, especially the church-going population.
“You got a sweet voice,” Mrs. Mobley said.
“Thank you,” Sarah replied. “Mrs. Mobley, my name’s Sarah Dobson. I’m running for city council.”
“Say-rah Dobson,” Mrs. Mobley repeated. “I ‘member. You sang.”
“Yes, Mrs. Mobley. I sang. And now I’m running for city council. I want you to vote for me.”
Mrs. Mobley hovered for a moment, apparently deep in thought. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes, sightless and filmy, with rips in her irises and broken, bleeding veins, darted around like she was trying to ascertain something, see something that was just out of sight.
“Will you vote for me, Mrs. Mobley?” Sarah asked the old woman point blank. “I promise to work hard to bring business to Marionville, to revitalize the economy. I want to reestablish a high school here, and make provisions for an influx of new business downtown.”
Mrs. Mobley didn’t move. Nothing in her countenance suggested that anything Sarah had said was registering — but it must have been, and Mrs. Mobley must have just been reviewing the little speech word by word, because finally she bobbed her head and said, “Well, sure. That’s fine, honey.”
Sarah quietly sighed in relief — relief which was replaced in an instant with mild dismay when Mrs. Mobley said, “We ain’t seen you up at the church for a while. What have you been up to? We miss you at the church.”
Sarah glanced back at Nancy for help, but Nancy’s eyes and the cast of her mouth said, You’re the one running for office, not me. Sarah turned back to Mrs. Mobley, groping in her mind for an answer.
But Mrs. Mobley was off in another direction already.
“Oh, ya’ll,” she was saying, “It’s been so long since I had company, I done forgot my manners. Ya’ll want somethin’ to drink? I got some tea and some Sanka. Dr. Cox won’t let me have nothin’ but Sanka, on account of my jitters.” She had turned her back on the two of them and had walked from the screened porch into her narrow kitchen, with its faded yellow linoleum floor and dusty lime green cabinetry. Sarah sighed again and followed her to the doorway. She felt Nancy take one step behind her, then stop.
“Ya’ll can sit a spell, cain’t ya?” Mrs. Mobley said as she stood on her tiptoes and rummaged through her cupboard for clean glasses. “Springer’s on, but I seen this episode before, I think. Lawd, some of the folks come on his show.”
“Mrs. Mobley, that’s okay,” Sarah said, motioning for the old woman to stop. “We got a lot of people to visit today, tryin’ to get the word out that I’m runnin’ for city council.”
Mrs. Mobley looked surprised. “Oh, are you runnin’ for council, darlin’?”
Sarah nodded and made to leave. She tried to keep her frustration from showing on her face — though she figured Mrs. Mobley probably couldn’t see two feet in front of her anyway. “Yes, ma’am. And Nancy and I have to be getting on.”
“Are you sure, honey?” Mrs. Mobley asked, standing in the middle of her kitchen holding the one chipped coffee mug she’d found. The mug was shiny and white, with a cartoon of a man on it and the words, FISHERMEN DON’T DIE — THEY JUST SMELL THAT WAY printed on it in a green scrawl.
“I’m sure.” And Sarah all but flew from the house. Nancy was already on the walk by the time Sarah got to the back door. “Bye, Mrs. Mobley,” she shouted behind her.
“Bye, honey! We’ll see you at church!” came the reply.
Nancy was laughing. “Jesus, girl. You said Montel, but you meant Springer.”
Sarah screwed her face into a half-scowl, half-smirk — if that’s possible. Without a word, she crossed Mrs. Mobley’s yard and planted the campaign sign she was carrying right in the center of it so that the sign was in easy sight from the street.
“I was gonna suggest that,” Nancy said. “It’s not like she’s ever gonna see it.”
As they climbed back into the minivan, they both pulled out and lit cigarettes. Then Sarah asked, “Where’s Mr. Mobley?”
To this, Nancy shrugged.
“I don’t know. I don’t recollect him dying recently.”
“Maybe he was in the house somewhere?”
“Maybe. But you know, I haven’t heard about him or seen him in a long time, either.”
Nancy gave her cigarette a long pull and cranked up the Aerostar.
The Cast
-
Sarah Dobson - Jennie
-
Nancy Walker - Paula Towry
-
Mrs. Mobley - Starr Neel
-
Narrator - Will Kenyon