World Enough and Time Ch. 02

And rather than being frightened away by a request for some nebulous form of commitment, I was instead stirred by it. I knew that I needed someone in my life -- that I had lived far too long on an island of my own design, and the possibility that Ruth might rescue me from that island seemed a far better destiny that I ever thought I deserved.

But I also felt that I, more than Ruth, understood the real world impediments to our relationship. I had felt the stares the previous night, just walking down the sidewalks or through the Commons, being inside the Pru, and, especially at the Top of the Hub. How could I explain to Ruth that it was I, not she that had garnered all the attention? That it was I, not she that was challenging society's standards? That it was I, not she that inspired the palpable anger and resentment that I thought I felt?

After hearing all that she had to say on the subject, I decided it was time to make my own feelings known. "Ruth, I'm not going to lie to you. I feel what you feel. This is something real -- this thing between us. It's not about sex and pent-up frustration. It's about something far more important than that, and I think I feel it as deeply as you do. But we have to think about this really carefully. We can't enter into something with our eyes shut. There are a lot of people who think that what we are doing right now is wrong, morally and culturally wrong."

"Why, Marcus? Why would people think that?"

I took a deep breath, and tried to decide how I wanted to explain this to her. I chose to approach the entire subject from my perspective as an attorney. I knew that that wasn't even close to the way that Ruth was capable of thinking of it, but I felt that she needed to see the issue, not as I understood it, which was not far removed from her own perspective, but from a legal point of view. "When I entered law school, Ruth, one of the things that I had to study in great depth was the rulings of various courts on anti-miscegenation laws."

"What is that, Marcus? I've never heard that word."

"In short, it referred to 'laws that made the mixing of races illegal.' I don't know if you know this, Ruth -- I suspect most people do not, but until only a short time ago, quite a number of states had laws on their books that forbade marriage, cohabitation, sexual relations, or procreation between people of different racial groups." She looked at me with a sort of stunned and hurt look on her pretty face, but she didn't say anything.

"It was not until 1967 in Loving v. Virginia that the Supreme Court reversed that decision, and it was the Loving ruling that made anti-miscegenation laws unconstitutional. It was actually a very dramatic and far-reaching case whose ramifications, I suspect, will be felt for a long time, but, in a nutshell, the Court ruled that a white man named Richard Loving and his black wife Mildred could not be denied the right to marry, and live and have children together." She was listening with rapt attention, so I continued.

"In the late 50s, the Lovings were a couple that got married in Washington, D.C. because the Commonwealth of Virginia, where they lived, did not allow interracial marriage. But after the marriage ceremony, they returned to Virginia to live together, until one night, when their house was raided by the local police, and they were found sleeping in bed together. Virginia kicked them out after they pled guilty to the state's anti-miscegenation law, and literally told them that they could either go to jail for a year for having broken one of the laws of the Commonwealth or move out of the state.

As you might expect, they chose the latter. But then, years later, after they had been forbidden from even entering Virginia to visit their relatives, they decided to challenge their conviction on the anti-miscegenation law all the way to the Supreme Court. Their argument was that after nearly ten years of marriage, they still loved each other, and they didn't see how that love could be prohibited by the State. And guess what, that argument prevailed, and they won in a unanimous decision. In one fell swoop, all of the anti-miscegenation laws throughout the country were declared unconstitutional."

Ruth's wide, expressive eyes stared back at me with amazement at what she had just heard. "Isn't it kind of incredible that their name was Loving? That ultimately sums up all that they were asking the government to allow them to do, wasn't it?"

I smiled. "You're right. I don't think the coincidence of the name was lost on too many people involved. But, Ruth, there's a reason that I told you that story, because the Loving case was an example of interracial marriage between a white man and black woman. There was something suggested by that partnership -- that in the eyes of some, each of the two were equally responsible for the decision that they made to be married -- the court may have been less sensitive to the possibility that the white man could have forced himself on the black woman, potentially forced the marriage down her throat than if the coupling had been the other way around. Attorneys have long speculated whether or not the ruling would have been same if the couple was a black man and a white woman."

"What are you trying to say, Marcus? Do you think this applies to us?"

"Ruth, I want you to understand -- I'm not talking about my feelings, my beliefs here, only what I suspect are those of society at large, but, Ruth, you've got to see the distinction -- the number of cases of black men that went to jail or even worse -- the ones that were lynched or murdered -- because they were either found to have had or in some cases were only suspected of having sex, even consensual sex, with a white woman is a pretty significant part of the story of racism in all sorts of places in this country, and, I would point out, I'm not even talking about the South. Right or wrong, society looks at a black man having sex with a white woman in a different way."

"So you think that could happen to you?"

"No, I'm not saying that, Ruth. I'm not talking about me, and I'm not trying to be overly dramatic or cautionary. All I am saying is that there are other people besides Tommy whose opinions we need to consider. Tommy is a young boy, and, if you can accept a compliment, you have raised him incredibly well. I think he and other kids like Danny represent the future -- at least, I hope they do. Their attitudes and beliefs are still malleable, and you have a great deal to do in shaping them. Tommy is going to grow up, I believe, to think that people of all kinds are ultimately entitled to be treated the same way regardless of their differences, racial and otherwise, and I think his generation is the one that is going to be the first to consent to changes to the social norms that American culture is slowly, but eventually going to accept. But what about our neighbors -- yours and mine, our relatives, all of the people that haven't been raised the way that Tommy was raised? Are they going to be as open-minded?"

"I don't know", she answered. "I honestly don't know."

"I don't either", I responded, "but either way, I still want you, Ruth. I'm starting to have feelings for you, and those feelings don't care about the color of your skin or mine. I just think that we have to be careful, careful about what we reveal to others."

She smiled at me and kissed me. "I was afraid that I was the only one that felt that way, Marcus. I can't tell you how happy it makes me feel to know that you have the same emotions. All right, sweetheart, I understand what you're saying, and I will try to be discrete, especially in certain situations that require it."

I kissed her again. It made me feel a little more confident knowing that we were on the same page, but at the same time, it didn't change the fact that we lived in Boston, and Boston at that moment was roiling. Race was just a really touchy subject.

After we got cleaned up and had breakfast, we decided to go for a drive together. We didn't really have a destination in mind, just wanted to get out of the city and onto the open road, and maybe do some exploring. It was a beautiful summer's day, and I had put the top down on my Corvette convertible. Ruth had a colorful scarf wrapped about her auburn hair to keep the wind from wreaking havoc on it and had donned a pair of sunglasses, and for a few moments, as I diverted my gaze from the ribbon that was Interstate 90, I glimpsed at her and thought she looked like a shorter version of Jackie Onassis, in the pictures of Jackie O on her second husband's yacht, the ones that had been plastered all over magazines like Life and Look throughout the early 70s.

Though I didn't do it often -- probably only about a pack a week -- I had developed the nasty of habit of smoking cigarettes when I was in the Army. I had a few rules, however. I only smoked outside, and not very often. In addition, the only time I really felt a strong desire for a cigarette was when I was driving. Now was one of those times.

I turned to Ruth, "Ruth, would you mind if I smoked a cigarette? I know it's an awful habit, but the one time I really like to do it is when I am driving. Still, if it bothers you, I can wait."

"I don't mind, Marcus. Joseph smoked like a fiend -- at least two packs a day. Maybe that's why he had the heart attack. I never liked it when he did it in the house; I always thought it made everything stink. Still, for some reason, I love the smell of tobacco when someone is smoking outside. I think it has a very exotic and appealing aroma. My father smoke a pipe, but he was like you, he didn't do it very often, and only when he was outside. I still love the smell of pipe smoke, especially in autumn when the leaves are falling. That smell reminds me of my father."

I could see that for a moment she was lost in a brief reverie. Then, she came back to the real world again, and added, "Would you let me light your cigarette for you, Marcus? I've never really been a smoker, but I think just that little taste is kind of nice."

"Sure! In fact, I'd appreciate it. It might even help to keep me from going off the road," I joked, handing her a new pack as I did. She found the cigarette lighter and pushed it in, unwrapping the cellophane and foil and removing a fresh smoke while she waited, and in a few seconds, she slipped a Marlboro, stained with lipstick around the filter into my mouth. I decided in that moment that I liked that routine -- there was something sensual about it, the taste of her lipstick and the sexy red ring around the butt end -- and from that moment forward, whenever I was in the car with Ruth that was always how I smoked.

But after we'd been driving west for an hour or so, I got an idea. "Would you like to head into the mountains, Ruth? Have you been to the Berkshires? Maybe we could get that hotel that you were talking about, and spend the night there. What do you say?"

"Oh, Marcus. I haven't been there in ages, but I love it. It is so beautiful in the mountains. How far are we away now? Will it take very long to get there?"

"Only a couple more hours at the most", I said as we passed one of the exits to Worcester. We can be there before one."

"Then let's go", she said smiling with excitement.

We continued west and made good time, entering Berkshire County by early afternoon. And then, rather than finding some place closer to the highway, I decided to get off on Highway 7 at Stockbridge and head a little farther north to Lenox. I hadn't been there in a long time, but I remembered that Lenox was a pretty quaint and quiet town, even though it was just outside of Pittsfield, the biggest city in the region. I seemed to recall a really beautiful state park that was just a short distance out of town. I thought we could spend some time walking around and then find a nice hotel or bed and breakfast where we could get a room and some dinner.

Just as we pulled into the Lenox town center, Ruth spotted a small pharmacy, and asked if I wouldn't mind if she ran in to pick something up. She didn't say what she needed, but I had to stop anyway to get directions to the state park. So, as Ruth gathered up her purse and was just getting out of the car to go inside to the pharmacy, I spotted an antique store next door. I decided it was as good a place as any to ask how to find the one of the trailheads in October Mountain State Forest, so I told her to come back and find me in there when she was done.

I entered a flimsy storm door with a bell attached to signal a visitor's arrival. The salesperson emerged from the back -- an odd, sallow, little fellow in his 50s, I guessed. He looked me up and down when I walked in, and asked me in a rather rude manner, what I wanted. I tried to be as pleasant as possible, and mentioned that I only needed some directions to the state forest. When I said that, he responded caustically, "That's what they make maps for."

I replied that I didn't have a map, and then, he shook his head, turned and, without saying anything, walked into the back room again, where I could still see him standing and glaring at me with palpable anger and distrust, making me wonder if it might not be a really good idea to leave immediately.

I didn't think I was asking too much of him, but that didn't seem to matter. Still, I decided to wait, knowing that that was where Ruth would come looking for me when she was done in the pharmacy. So, I just started browsing through some of the knick-knacks -- old bottles, and glass and ceramic items that occupied several tables in the front of the store, careful not to touch anything.

A minute or two later, Ruth entered the front door, carrying a small package in her hands along with her purse and jingling the bell as she did. The strange man came back out into the store front, and Ruth made eye contact with him, then turned to me and asked cheerfully, "Did you find out where we need to go?"

I didn't say anything, just took a few steps toward her. I thought I would get her out of there as soon as possible, and then explain the unpleasantness afterward. But before I could, the man blurted out, "You people from New York have some pretty strange ideas. I just want you to know they're not welcome here."

Ruth's face flashed a look of shocked disbelief that was quickly transformed into anger. "We're not from New York", she replied with bitter defiance.

I remembered the one time that Ruth had stood up for herself in my presence, stood up to me actually. It was the first time I met her, the time when she scolded me that she was "not a child", and I instinctively knew that she was going to do the same or much worse to that strange, grayish man.

If I had let her, I knew she wouldn't back down. But I also knew better than to turn something unpleasant into something much, much worse, so I gently grasped her by the arm, and led her to the door, turning politely to the man and saying, "Thank you for your time. Have a good day."

We went out the door, and when that jingling bell rang again, I think I secretly wanted to rip it from the hydraulic hinge that held it. But I didn't, and once Ruth and I were outside and were just about to climb back into the car, she asked, "What was that all about, Marcus? What was that man trying to say?"

"That man was trying to say that I shouldn't be here, and that you shouldn't be with me."

"This is what you were talking this morning, isn't it?"

"Yes. Look, Ruth, I've learned over the years that I'm not likely to change that man's mind by arguing with him. Maybe he'll change it on his own eventually, if he comes to see me differently. That's why I wanted to get us out of there. I knew you were going to lay into him, and I almost wanted you to, just so I could derive some tawdry pleasure from watching you cut him down to an even smaller size," I smiled at her. "But that doesn't help, Ruth. It only makes them dig their heels in even further."

"You're right. I was going to give him a piece of my mind, if only because it made me so mad that he thought he knew who we were without knowing anything about either one of us."

"Oh he knew something about us, all right. He knew that I was black and you were white, and that we were together, and that was about all he thought he needed to know."

"I don't know how you do it, Marcus. I don't know how you can keep your cool when people are so ugly."

"It's a defense mechanism, Ruth. I wasn't always like this, and there were a few fights and near fights that very nearly got me and some other people seriously hurt, and so over time I learned. But's that behind me now, and I'd like to keep it that way. Come on let's go find a place to stay for the night, and maybe somebody there can give us directions to the state forest. We just have to be careful about picking the right place."

We pulled out of the parking spot, and drove just a little ways through the town center, before we spotted a quaint, bed and breakfast that consisted of a large home and several smaller bungalows. Most of these places were built in the late 18^th and early 19^th centuries as retreats for fabulously rich New York bankers and Gilded Age industrialists and barons that summered in the area, and many consisted of a larger home -- the wealthy called them "cottages" though they were so impressive that they certainly didn't fit that description -- along with a handful of smaller homes that probably did fit the description, and that had more than likely originally been built to house the servants and other staff that attended the rich.

This particular one -- the Birchwood Inn, a three-story colonial with an impressive front porch -- had an invitingly look to it, festooned as it was with hanging baskets of flowers and beautifully manicured gardens strewn about its several acres of property. We parked and went inside the front entrance of the huge mansion that appeared to house the office, as well as lodging quarters. In the front lobby, a pretty woman about our age greeted us with effusive cordiality, and I sensed immediately that after the disagreeableness in the antique store, we had selected the right place.

"Good afternoon, folks. Welcome to the Birchwood! How may I help you two?"

"Yes, we were wondering if you have a room for the evening and if you also have a restaurant that serves dinner," I asked courteously.

"As a matter of fact, we have both -- quite a few choices for lodging, and a full restaurant and lounge. The main hotel that we are now standing in consists of 12 rooms, and I believe four of those are still available for tonight. This particular building was built in 1766 and has served as working hotel almost the entire time since then. Each room has its own distinctive features, and I can explain all of them to you in detail, and in addition to those choices, we also have cottages available for patrons that would like a little more privacy. Two of those are available tonight as well. The restaurant serves full dinners from 5:00 until 10:00, and sandwiches, salads, and picnic lunches are available before 5:00. Of course, we are a bed and breakfast, so complimentary breakfasts are served in our dining room until 11:00 each morning. What do you folks think you might be interested in in the way of lodging?"

I paused for a moment. I thought it might be good to let Ruth decide what she preferred, and she didn't hesitate to offer an opinion. "One of the cottage might be really nice, Marcus", she said to me, and then turning to the woman continued, "We saw them on the way in and they look quite lovely. You said you have two available."

"Yes, the Yankee is the one on the left as you entered this building. It features a master bedroom with a King-sized bed, two sitting areas, two baths, and a small kitchenette. It also has a huge spa and Jacuzzi right in the master bedroom that can easily accommodate both of you. And the cottage comes with a complimentary bottle of champagne with each stay." I could see Ruth's face light up even brighter with each detail that the woman ticked off, but the bottle of champagne seemed to have had a particularly endorsing effect.