LOUIS
Born poor in a major city to a single mother on relief who was trapped in a ceaseless struggle with inner demons which was only exacerbated by the series of abusive relationships in which she found herself, each of which seemingly inevitably bringing with it the arrival of yet another child. The natural urge to escape such a situation was, in Louis, buried beneath a massive boulder of despair so huge that Louis imagined that it could never be budged. But one day someone came along and gave that boulder a push, and it started rolling and rolling and it seemed as though it would never stop. And so this boulder became the symbol of Louis's character-- in a word: Inertia. When he is at rest he is very hard to start moving, but once he is in motion he is very hard to stop.The person who gave that boulder its first and hardest push was the last of his mother's boyfriends that he was ever to know. His name was Thomas and he worked as a Pullman car porter. A man not entirely bereft of conscience, his heart went out to Louis, who reminded him of himself at that age. Knowing that he was leaving Louis's mother for the last time, never to return, Thomas arranged for a job for Louis in a restaurant car, and without telling him why, took Louis in the middle of the night down to the station, introduced him to the man in charge, and said his good-byes. Louis entered a state of shock from which he only gradually emerged into a state of elation as he became enraptured by the speed and freedom of life on the rails; always on the go, a different town every hour, a different city every day and every night. So carried away by this experience, Louis rarely ever left the world of the rails: going only so far as to explore the confines of the different stations, spending all waking hours working, and sleeping as little as possible and always on the train itself, never wanting to be deprived of one instant of motion.
Aware now of the power of inertia, of how an object at rest remains at rest and how an object in motion remains in motion, the merest thought of a return home filled him with abject terror at the prospect of his boulder rolling to a stop, never to be started again. And so the days rolled on into weeks, and the weeks into months, and the months into years, and still Louis kept on moving, never looking back.
All boulders, no matter how large, and moving no matter how fast, must come to a rest eventually, even if it is only for a moment before rolling back the other way; and Louis's boulder was no exception. Seven years after it first started rolling Louis's boulder came to rest in Fairvale, held there by the arms of what would turn out to be Louis's one true love, Fern.
Daughter of a couple who emigrated to Fairvale from South Carolina during the latter part of World War II, when the mills there started hiring blacks in large numbers for the first time, Fern was a woman any man would be happy to bring home to meet mother, and after Louis finally came to rest in her arms, he realized that this is exactly what he should, and now at last could, do.
The years spent in non-stop travel on the rails had transformed Louis into quite a loquacious character. His agility was such that he could quickly convert even the most minute impulse provided by a stray comment or greeting into a full-blown conversation. This skill he exploited to the fullest at his first meeting with Fern during one of his route's regularly scheduled fifteen minute layovers. At the time, Fern was employed as a counter-woman at the station's minuscule coffee-shop. On the day of their first meeting, she happened to be taking her fifteen minute break at precisely the same time as Louis's train was in the station. The fact that this coincidence reoccurred on the occasions of Louis's several subsequent holdovers was a fact that they both at first found simply remarkable but soon grew to appreciate as something more duly ascribable to destiny. These happenstance encounters did not take long to evolve into highly anticipated meetings the missing of which was cause for no little anxiety, even despair. Later, looking back, they both marveled at how much managed to pass between them during these fifteen minute meetings, and how these meetings came to form the gravitational nexus point about which both their existences would revolve.
It was, however, only when the railway line that was Louis's employer decided to eliminate the layover in Fairvale, replacing it with the standard one or two minutes that it takes for loading and unloading of baggage and the exchange of arriving for departing passengers, that the pair fully realized how much they meant to each other. From the moment he received news of the schedule change Louis's head was in a whirl of confused and conflicting thoughts and emotions. Given that the thought of quitting his job never even crossed his mind, Louis did the only thing that made sense: in the space allotted him during his next stop in Fairvale, he both explained the situation to Fern and asked her to marry him. The brevity of the interlude leaving no time for a reply, Fern had until the next meeting to decide. She accepted his proposal.
As Louis had done little but work for the past seven years, he had managed to build up a respectable savings. In addition, his devotion to his duties had earned him the largest degree of goodwill that his employers were capable of displaying: Louis was granted a week's leave in which to get married, take Fern home to meet his mother, and use whatever time was remaining to take a honeymoon.
The wedding was a simple affair, attended by the members of Fern's immediate family and her best friend and presided over by the Reverend Rudy. The visit home, however, turned out to be not so simple. While Louis had continued to send home a portion of his pay home, in cash, at the end of every month, he only infrequently received any reply, and even then never from his mother herself, as she was illiterate, but from one of his siblings, usually his eldest sister, Ivie. This fact, combined with the dread that had kept him from ever returning home since his initial departure meant that he had not heard from his mother in any form (she, of course, did not have the resources to own a telephone) since he left home seven years earlier. Upon arrival at his home with Fern, Louis was greeted with the news that his mother had disappeared nearly five years before and that no one in the family nor anyone they knew had heard from her since.
Ivie explained that their reason for not informing him was, at first, the feeling that she was sure to return. When, with the passage of time, that feeling slowly faded, it was replaced with an all-pervading fear, which, gradually seeping into and filling all the empty spaces in their lives, began to count among its various manifestations the fear of losing Louis's monthly contribution to their earthly well-being. The burden of responsibility for the maintenance of the family falling in the main on then nineteen-year-old Ivie, she made the decision that it was best not to take any action that could invoke even the slightest risk of interrupting the flow of Louis's beneficence, instead resolving to intercede only in the event of its cessation.
The state of shock which Louis had entered into immediately upon receiving this news quickly gave way to feelings of panic as he sensed that his boulder of inertia that had up til that moment still been rolling along at full speed was at risk of crashing to a halt. The feelings of incumbent obligation rushing in at him from all sides filled him with terror; terror at the prospect of a return to the immobility of his youth. Slowly but surely, however, as the conversations between himself and Fern and Ivie and the other members of his family that had gathered to greet him continued, expanded, multiplied and evolved, and food was prepared and then consumed, Louis's terror in turn gave way to new found understanding. An understanding that the die had been cast and the pattern set, that the only thing to do was to continue on as before, that the money he had been sending home all these years had been a lifeline to his family and would continue to be so, that there was no sense in his sacrificing his new found prospects of happiness and continuity with Fern. Yes, certainly he would as of now initiate regularly scheduled visits home to check up on everybody and to offer whatever guidance and help he could, but his primary obligation would continue as before.
Louis, however, was not the only one to experience feelings of incumbent obligation. Fern, too, was deeply moved by the situation, and in private conversations with Ivie discovered that Ivie, feeling that Louis had done so much for them already that she could not rightly ask for more help, had not fully revealed to Louis the difficulties they were experiencing. Most pointedly, Ivie related the fact that the youngest member of the family, Lucille, who had just had her first birthday when their mother disappeared, was a sullen and withdrawn child. Ivie revealed all the problems she has had in caring for Lucille, how she had been unable to find any regular caretaker for her and how as a result Lucille has been shuffled from one house to another, from one new face to another, even accompanying Ivie to work for a period when, desperate, Ivie took the only job she could find that would allow her to bring Lucille with her-- at a large commercial laundry, where the roars of the machines drowned out the baby's cries. Then and there Fern resolved to make a place for Lucille in the new home she would be making with Louis in Fairvale. When she relayed this resolution to Ivie, Ivie at first protested, averring that it had not been her intention at all to solicit any additional support from Fern, that she had simply been blowing off steam and venting her frustrations. After Fern consulted with Louis and convinced him that taking in Lucille was the right thing to do, and not only that but that she herself was ready, willing and able to do so, and Louis assured Ivie that this was indeed the case, Ivie relented and agreed amid profuse thanks. And so, the next morning, after many tearful farewells, Lucille boarded the train with Louis and Fern and accompanied them back to Fairvale. While it seemed to Louis that his boulder might have stopped rolling there for an instant, if it did, it did so only to pause in order to set a new course before heading on.
While the railway at first resisted Louis's decision to locate in Fairvale, proclaiming that it would wreak havoc with their scheduling, Louis persisted and they eventually relented, although not without making Louis pay a price for what they saw as his ÒobstinacyÓ. Knowing full well that he would be away from home for the bulk of each week, and despite knowing that he could convince Fern to move if he really put his mind to it, Louis realized that it would be unfair to ask her to pull up roots and transplant herself given how much time she would be forced to spend without him. The result of the new schedule Louis worked out with his employers allowed him roughly thirty-six hours a week in Fairvale and these quickly became the hours that Louis lived for. There were, of course, still those regularly scheduled two-minute stops at the Fairvale station, and although she couldn't always make it, Fern always felt it was worth the effort whenever she did, just to see Louis light up at the sight of her.
Fern had quickly found them a nice apartment near her parents and made it homey in no time flat. Before their first year together was out Lucille found herself joined by Asa, the first of two boys, who was himself joined, after an interval of two years, by John Henry. As both Louis and Fern had difficulty in perceiving Lucille as Louis's sister, they agreed to stop trying to do so and simply consider her one of the family. While throughout her childhood Lucille was inexplicably subject to periods of sullen withdrawal from the world around her, she nonetheless managed to emerge from her shell and, at least on occasion, actually enjoy herself in the relatively bucolic environs of Fairvale.
Time passed, the children grew, Louis and Fern were happy. There was a great stability to this period of their lives, and when Louis looks back on his life from the vantage point of the present he sees these days as the happiest of his life. The onset of Lucille's puberty brought this period of serenity to a close. Her adolescence was a turbulent one, as periods of sullen withdrawal lengthened and deepened and her behavior became erratic. Eventually she began to stay out til all hours, refusing to reveal any details about her activities and whereabouts upon her return. Her interest in school evaporated, and it was with great dismay that Fern received the news that her daughter-- for that is how the entire community identified heróhad all but ceased attending classes altogether. Fern became frantic with worry, and Asa and John Henry, while too young at this point to have any appreciation of what was happening were nonetheless quite aware of their mother's, and to a lesser degree their father's, consternation which resulted in a generally sombre tone descending even upon their behavior. Lucille's adolescence was like a terrible storm that shook the household to its very foundations.
Despite Louis's large degree of absence from the domestic front, these days had a harrowing effect upon him as well, as the thirty-six hours of each week which had previously been that time he most cherished and looked forward to became transformed into a dreaded time of tumultuous emotions and angry harsh exchanges. The change was so great that he actually found himself looking forward to going back to work. Worst of all, it seemed as though a wall had been erected between him and Fern, from either side of which each hurled accusations of blame for Lucille's behavior at the other. Fern's insinuations that Louis's lack of presence on the homefront was somehow to blame stung him to the core. While riding the rails he found himself again and again returning to their arguments. How could she say such a thing, he would reply, why, it is only because he is away so much of the time that they are able to live as well as they do, that they have been able to put something away for the children's education, and for their future. What does she think she's saving? But the more he went over it in his head, the more he realized there was more to it than just that, that behind all the logic there lay his hard core dread of rolling to a stop, never to start up again. Finally, fearing that Fern and himself were at an impasse, Louis met with a sense of relief Fern's suggestion that they meet privately with the Reverend Rudy, and readily assented. On Louis's following return from work, while Lucille was out God only knows where doing God only knows what, Louis and Fern poured their hearts out to the Reverend and together they prayed for guidance. As a result, Louis was able to really get a good look at the boulder for the first time and as he did so, as he looked long and hard, scrutinizing its every detail, he realized that the boulder had metamorphosized: where once there had been a boulder subject only to the forces of nature and gravity for control, there was now a train, a train that he could learn to subject to his control that he could accelerate and decelerate. A great anxiety left him. After embracing both Fern and the Reverend, and profusely thanking the latter, Louis and Fern left amid greatly raised spirits, with Louis vowing to approach his employers about restructuring his duties to allow more time at home with his family.
The next day back on the job Louis arranged a meeting with his employers that he entered full of determination but left filled with dejection. Things aren't what they used to be, he was told, ridership is down, it's only because we value your years of service that you have a job at all, we feel that we've been most accommodating as it is, no, I'm afraid that there's nothing we can do, it's a take it or leave it situation. Back on the job his dejection dissolved under the caustic force of his new found resolve. He approached the union for advice, but they too said there was nothing that could be done. They did, however, remind him that the twenty-five years of employment that was necessary to be eligible for a pension was, for Louis, only seven years away.
Fern received this news with a stoicism that evidenced her sharing of Louis's new found resolve. While this was not the news she was hoping to hear, it nonetheless provided them with a horizon of expectation, that while Louis may not be able to be there for Lucille as much as he perhaps should be, at least he will be able to do so, God willing, for Asa and John Henry, and with God's help they will be able to prevail until then.
It was less than a year later that Louis and Fern learned that Lucille was pregnant. At first they greeted this news with dismay. But they would not allow themselves to despair and together decided to shift their attitude to that of hope; hope that the new life would be able to do for Lucille what they had not. When the baby came it was a girl and Lucille named her Sula. Lucille never revealed the identity of the father and indeed it was unclear to Louis and Fern whether she was aware of it herself. It soon became clear that Louis and Fern's hopes for a change in Lucille were ill founded. Sula was a sickly, colicky and very needy baby at the beginning and the little enthusiasm for its care that Lucille displayed at its birth soon waned to non-existence as gradually all the responsibility for Sula's care devolved to Fern. This, for Louis, was simply too much to bear. He had a showdown with Lucille in which he ranted and raved and she just became ever more sullen and withdrawn, deigning not even to reply, until finally Louis, exhausted and defeated, called his sister Ivie and, explaining that he felt there was nothing more they could do for Lucille, asked her to take her in. Ivie agreed on the condition that she would not be responsible for the baby, that they would have to find a home for it on their own. Fern stated that she was willing to care for and held out the hope that Lucille might later come to her senses and decide to raise the baby herself.
Lucille gone, the storm ended, although not without leaving some permanent marks of its passage through their lives, most obviously, of course, Sula, but in addition to the wear and tear on their bodies and nerves, there was the lingering feeling that they had somehow failed Lucille.
The family fell back into its groove and the years again passed. Sula grew out of her sickliness. While neither sullen nor withdrawn as had been her mother, Sula was nonetheless a quiet child who was not prone to outward displays; on those moments when it revealed itself, however, her smile was piercingly beautiful. The twenty-five year-mark came, and true to his word to Fern, Louis tendered his resignation. What once would have seemed to Louis to be an impossibly drastic change, was now something Louis had been psychologically preparing for for seven years and he handled it better even than he imagined he would. His joy at being able to so fully embrace his boy's transition to manhood made his form of employment, especially after twenty-five solid years he could feel proud of behind him, insignificant by comparison.
Louis took a job with the main street grocer: stocking shelves, delivering groceries, making sandwiches. Mr. Wilson, who owned it, was elderly and retiring, and, impressed by Louis's performance, left more and more of the management to him. This was fine with Louis as he enjoyed the freedom that came with the added responsibility.
One after the other Asa and John Henry went off to college. It was hard to believe; with the boys gone, Louis and, especially, Fern became quite grateful for Sula's presence in house.
Times were changing. When, after Louis had finished his sixth year at the grocer, its owner, Mr. Wilson died and his wife, who had never been involved directly in the business, proclaimed her desire to sell it and move in with her daughter in another state, Louis stepped forth and offered to buy the business. Mrs. Wilson, impressed by her husband's high praise and sharing her husband's beliefs, readily gave her assent, provided, of course, that he could obtain the necessary financing. When Louis approached the bank there was at first much hemming and hawing. Other potential buyers were sought out. Collateral was scrutinized. Mrs. Wilson, however, insisted on interviewing these potential buyers and, having done so, continued to maintain her preference for a sale to Louis; even going so far as to refuse to sell to one of the buyer's the bank had procured, finding him particularly distasteful. She asserted that, had her husband still been alive, he would most certainly want Louis to carry on the business, and furthermore that Louis would bring the most to the community. Finally, the bank, pushed to do so by Angie, who was impressed by both Mrs. Wilson's stick-to-it-ness and Louis's calm perseverance, relented and provided the financing.
This victory was all too shortly followed by a terrible defeat, when Fern discovered she had cancer. At first she vowed to keep the news from the rest of her family, but as her condition deteriorated, Louis sensed she was holding back and demanded to know the truth. The entire family was devastated, perhaps none more so than Sula, who spent every waking moment not at school by her side. Upon receiving the news both Asa, who not only graduated into the workforce but was engaged as well, and John Henry rallied to her side. Both, after much soul-searching and a tearful farewell, had to return to their lives. Louis kept the grocery up and running with few complaints. Beyond the circle of the family, however, no one was informed. Doctors were consulted and the course of treatment decided upon. Many prayers were made. Most important of all, love was shared, and grew stronger than ever in this most difficult of times. The time came when it was clear that, barring a miracle, Fern was not going to survive. Time and again the doctors insisted that Fern enter a hospital, but each time she refused, stating that if she was going to die she wanted to do so in her own home.
Louis expected to feel an emptiness and despair following the funeral, but he did not. He felt as though Fern were still with him, and, indeed, he continues to feel so to this day. Sula says she feels the same way, although Louis is not so sure that she is not just saying this for his sake. Louis is very grateful for Sula's presence, as she is for his. He is also grateful to have his business which keeps him occupied and part of the community. Louis is proud of his shop, and, with the help of Sula, and, occasionally, some of her school-friends who work odd jobs for date money and the like, he runs it well. He is happy.