“’Scuse me . . . b-but can I talk t’ ya?”
I looked up from my writing. A young woman stood before me. I had seen Mitchell talking to her earlier and knew he’d spent time with her. I also knew she wasn’t the only woman he’d spent time with.
“My name’s Maylene. I knows ya Mitchell’s friend.”
I stood and pulled out a box crate for Maylene, and she sat down rather shyly. I didn’t know what to say to her. We’d never spoken before. “My name’s Paul Logan,” I said, sitting again.
“I—I know. Mitchell, he done told me.”
I nodded, waiting for her to go on. She took her time.
“He done said y’all been knowin’ each other since y’all was younguns.”
“That’s a fact.”
“Then . . . I ’spect ya knows him better’n anybody.”
“I suppose better than anybody around here.”
“Th-then I ’spect ya knows what he likes in a woman.”
I readjusted myself on the crate. I didn’t like the turn of this conversation. One thing I wasn’t about to do was get into Mitchell’s love life. He had too much of it for me to keep it straight. “Well, you want to know that, you need to talk to him.”
“Can’t. I mean, ya knows Mitchell. I asks him a question, and he be tellin’ me what I wants t’ hear. He be tellin’ me the truth, I s’pose, but what I wants from him is more’n jus’ pretty words. I wants him t’ be my man. I wants him t’ settle with me.”
I cleared my throat and looked out across the room where Mitchell was talking with two other men beside the bar. “Well, did you tell him that?”
“He knows it, but he jus’ laughs.”
Maylene looked down at her hands, and her face seemed so pitiful, I felt sorry for her. Now, most women who followed the lumber camps knew not to take the men too seriously, for those men who weren’t already married were mostly drifters, ready to move on as soon as the camp moved. “You know,” I said, “Mitchell, like most of the fellas, likely isn’t ready to settle yet.”
“But I needs him.”
Just what I was supposed to say to that I don’t know. I was saved from having to figure that out by a big fellow from the camp who came over and took Maylene by the arm. The man was called by the name of Johnny B. “Girl, whatcha doin’ talkin’ t’ this white nigger?” Johnny B. demanded, but then didn’t give Maylene a chance to answer before he snatched her up. “There’s plenty of other fellas needin’ yo’ company.”
At that Maylene got her backbone up. “But maybe I wantin’ his.”
“You wantin’ a white man, girl, you best be gettin’ yo’self the real thing.”
Maylene jerked from Johnny B.’s hold. “One thing I do know is I ain’t wantin’ you!”
Johnny B. took hold of her again, rougher this time. The last thing I wanted to do was get in a fight with this fellow, but I figured I had to take up for Maylene; after all, she had been sitting with me. I stood. “The lady made it clear she’s not interested in your company right now, so I think it’s best you let go of her arm.”
The big fellow laughed. “Come on from behind that table, boy, and you jus’ make me do that little thing!”
Johnny B.’s challenge was so loud that the music stopped. I came from behind the barrel to stand in front of Johnny B. The room grew quiet, and Mitchell took notice. “ ’Ey, Paul!” he called. “What’s goin’ on over there?”
“This here man been grabbin’ on me!” hollered Maylene.
Mitchell pushed away from the bar. “That a fact?”
“And he won’t let go!”
“Oh, I think he will,” said Mitchell.
“Now, you stay outa this, Mitchell!” warned Johnny B. “This here’s between me and this white nigger!”
“And that there young lady,” Mitchell added, making his way over. “Seem like t’ me, ya got a mighty tight hold on her arm there.”
“Seem like t’ me,” said Johnny B., “ya buttin’ into somethin’ ya got no business.” He motioned slightly toward me with his head. “How comes ya wanna take his part anyways?”
“Well, ya see,” said Mitchell, when he stood directly in front of Johnny B., “we’re brothers. Yeah, that’s right. Not that it’s any of yo’ business, but his daddy and mine was different, anybody can see that. But we’re brothers just the same. He come out white; I come out black. So what ya got t’ say t’ that?”