The Colored Car: Gender, Trauma, and Uncanny Films in the Weimar Republic

9. The Summons

9 148 The Summons “It’s a summons,” Douglas announced to May Ford as he entered the summer kitchen. Then he asked, “What you got there?” “Okra, hot peppers. What are you talking about?” May asked. “What is this?” Douglas Ford had been cutting wood at the donkey saw all morning long. Patsy caught the scent of sawdust on his clothes as he strode past her, brushing up against the back of the chair where she sat at the quilt frame working her needle. He walked so quickly that she barely saw him, but she did see out of the corner of her eye that he held a sheet of paper in his hand. “The mailman just delivered it—a registered letter, postmarked August 12. I had to sign for it,” he said. Patsy put down her needle and thimble, got 149 The Colored Car up, and stood in the doorway. Neither one of her parents seemed to notice her standing there. “Well, what is it?” her mother asked. She was filling jars of okra mixed with hot red pepper pods with steamy, boiling water. Her father started reading from the paper, “The Court of the Common Pleas for the City of Detroit in the State of Michigan, Plaintiffs Harold Williams, et al., versus Defendant Douglas Ford Sr. The Defendant is hereby ordered to appear before this court at 9 o’clock in the morning on Monday, the 23rd day of August, in the year of our Lord 1937. The Defendant is hereby ordered to answer the complaint of nuisance to the neighborhood for the noise caused by the same Defendant by the running of his saw during the day and during nighttime hours as well. The Defendant is summoned to appear before this court and to answer the charges of this complaint. Herein ends the complaint.” “So there it is, Williams versus Ford,” her father said, folding the summons and putting it in his back pocket. “Harold’s name is on the complaint. That means he filed it. But I gotta 150 Jean Alicia Elster believe someone put him up to this. He doesn’t have the brains to think of this himself!” “Doesn’t take brains to be mean,” her mother said, shaking her head. “It’s not too much noise when they knock on our door because they need wood in their stoves to stay warm in the middle of winter. Goodness knows, Douglas . . .” “Now May, don’t get yourself all riled up,” her father said. “How can you say that?” she asked. “They call themselves our friends? What kind of friends sign a petition so they can take you to court? Answer me that, Douglas!” She poured boiling water into one more jar of okra and peppers. “You notice not one of the others has come by here since word of that petition got around,” she added. “Eva—God bless her for not getting mixed up in any of this—Eva Yablonski came by yesterday and stayed for a while. She filled some buckets for me. But not one of them who signed that petition . . .” “May, let me help you here.” Douglas Ford bent over and picked up one of the empty buckets from under the worktable. “I’ll fill this for you,” he said. 151 The Colored Car As he stood up, he bumped up against the table. The table shook, knocking over two of the jars. Boiling hot water spilled onto May Ford’s right hand as she tried to steady the table. “Aaagh—good Lord!” May yelled out, pulling her hand away. “Oh, May, I’m sorry!” Douglas said. May quickly wrapped her hand in her apron and held it up to her chest. “Let me look at it,” he said. “No, I’m fine . . .” “Let me see it!” May unwrapped her hand. It was red from the scalding water. “God, this hurts,” she said. “Good thing I’m left-handed . . .” “I’ll get some water in this bucket and put some ice in it. You need to soak that hand in ice water,” he said, moving fast. Patsy had stepped away from the doorway just after the water spilled and was back seated at the quilt frame, needle in hand. “Patsy, go get another bucket and bring it over to the faucet,” her father said, looking over at his daughter on his way over to the faucet. [3.142.174...