“—excuse me, Ailey. Have you ever been a slave?”
My stomach lurched at the laughter of my classmates. They were relieved he’d found another target.
“No, sir, Dr. Whitcomb.”
“Well, then, it isn’t ‘we.’ It is African American, Black, etc. Please retain your professionalism.”
“Yes, sir, I’m sorry.”
“Continue, please.”
“Okay, um, um, well, as an African American, Du Bois takes that mistreatment very personally. Though his writing style is dry and data-based, his points are cumulative. For example, when he presents that large section on Toussaint L’Ouverture leading the Haitian Revolution, Du Bois seems to be commenting about our potential progress . . .”
Dr. Whitcomb raised his eyebrows.
“。 . . I mean, the progress of Africans around the globe—even though L’Ouverture was eventually tricked by Napoleon and imprisoned until his death. After all, Du Bois was a Pan-Africanist, and at the end of his life, he left the United States and moved to Ghana at the invitation of President Kwame Nkrumah.”
“I see that you’re actually familiar with Du Bois’s biography.”
His expression was stern, but it seemed like a tiny bit of praise. Silently, I sent gratitude to the old man for his stories.
*
The day I received my first book review grade I decided I needed to call up Uncle Root personally to thank him for those reading tips he’d given me; I’d received an A+.
After class, Rebecca lingered. “What’d you get, Ailey?”
I pulled my glasses down until her face was cut in half between clear and blurry. “And why would you need to know that?”
“Gosh, you don’t have to be so rude.” She moved her chair away from me and huddled with Emma.
I wasn’t able to even enjoy my grade, because the next morning at Shug’s, Scooter wanted to talk about his wife.
“What did you say to Rebecca? She came home crying.”
I took a sip of coffee. “I didn’t say anything, Scooter. I mean, we got our papers back and she wanted to see my grade.”
“And did you show her?”
“No, Scooter, I didn’t. First of all, my grade is none of her damned business. And second of all, she doesn’t even talk to me. She barely looks at me in class. And this was going on way before . . . you know.”
He and I never spoke about it during the daytime: what had happened between us. What was continuing to happen, at least once a week.
“Ailey, she doesn’t talk to you because you frighten her. And not just her. Everybody in the history department says you’re very angry and dangerous. Like you might attack someone.”
I raised my voice. “You cannot be serious!”
“Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m only saying, make more of an effort to be friendly. And smile more. You have a beautiful smile, Ailey.” He squeezed my hand. “Another piece of advice? Stop always whining about being Black. It’s not attractive.”
I pulled my hand away. “Is that how you fit in, Scooter, by being pretty and pretending you just have a super-dark tan?”
“Why are you projecting, when I’m trying to help you?”
“I don’t need a shrink, Scooter. I need a friend. That’s supposed to be your purpose in my life.”
“Then, as a friend, let me ask you this. Has it occurred to you that when people in your department don’t like you, it’s about you and nothing else? No, it hasn’t, because you use that race shit as a crutch.”
“So that’s what you told yourself last year, when you were crying at my apartment about those white boys at the B-school?”
“Now, see, this is the attitude I’m talking about,” he said. “This is why you’re so isolated. Look within, Ailey.”
He collected his things and left early, saying he had things to do. But that evening, he rang my bell. When I answered, I stood in the doorway, asking, what did he want?
“I’m sorry, Ailey. Can I come in?”
He sat down on the couch, but I kept standing. I didn’t want to sit close to him, to smell his aftershave. The scent he left on my sheets, every time we slept together, but he reached for me, saying, sit down. Please let him explain: after a year, Rebecca wasn’t suspicious. It had never occurred to her that he would cheat on her, but she had accused him of always taking my side. That’s why Scooter had promised Rebecca that he’d talk to me. And that’s all he’d meant to do at Shug’s, but I was so bossy. He’d never met a woman like me before, and though he knew I was older—