The Greatest Mistake (A Raisin in the Sun Epilogue)

The day was sunny, but foreboding. He could hear birds chirping in the distance as he drove past. They sang a sweet song, but it sounded cautionary to him. Don't try, don't try, they chanted. He finally pulled up to his driveway in his Cadillac, and tiredly turned off the ignition. He sat in the car for a bit, thinking, contemplating. Finally he decided the thing he had planned to do today needed to be done, and he couldn't put it off any further.

He climbed out of the car, dragging his briefcase out behind him. As he slowly retreated to his front door, he stopped for a bit and turned. Such big houses, he thought. I wish their only cost was the money.

He pulled the key out of his back pocket. It was gold plated, carved intricately. He shoved it into the door without a second thought.
As he walked in, he slipped out of his leather shoes, hung up his expensive jacket. Why had I done it? he thought to himself again. He set his briefcase down onto the floor on the threshold and made his way into the kitchen.

He sat down on his chair. It was the only chair in the kitchen. He was the only one who ate there, anyway. On the rare, very rare occasion he had company, he set them up into the dining room. His cook served them.

He got up, and paced for a bit. He knew he would have to do it. It was his son's day. It was his birthday. He needed to at least try and get Ruth to let him talk to his son. He turned and paced in the other direction. Beneatha, he thought. I should call her first, see if Ruth's in a good mood, won't be too angry if I'm callin'.

He grabbed the phone book off of the kitchen table and flipped to Younger. There were three entries: His own, Beneatha's, and Ruth's, whom Travis lived with. He traced Beneatha's number, and picked up the phone to dial. It rang. He abruptly realized he hadn't planned what to say. He should've. He always said the wrong thing to his family. His family. They didn't like to be called that anymore.

The phone rang three times before she picked up.

"Hello?"

He fumbled the phone for a second, and then brought it up to his ear.

"Uh, hi, uh, Beneatha?"

"Yes, this is she… Who's speaking?"

"It's Walter."

On the other line, Beneatha slightly gasped. Walter? He hadn't called for months… years… When was the last time they spoke? The last time she heard his voice? She was his brother. She felt awful. Even if Mama refused to let her speak to Walter, she still had the obligation. She knew that now. God, she thought, I'm actin' like I did six years ago!

"Hi Walter. It's… it's good to hear from you."

"It's nice to hear you too. So… How's the doctoring business going?"

"Oh, it's excellent! I've got a second doctor working for me now, the sweetest man. He helps especially with those infants, so I can focus on all the other kids, you know? In fact today, we had one kid come in today, pretty little thing, she—"

Beneatha stopped suddenly. She was about to say that the child had reminded her of herself when she was younger. But that was too personal now. She couldn't say that to Walter. Besides, it would remind them both of the times they didn't want to think of, when he'd gone and done what he knew he shouldn't.

After waiting for a little pause on the other end, Walter answered, "That's nice, that's really nice."

Walter thought for a bit more. What else could he make of this conversation before he asked what he really needed to?

"What about Asagai? You still seeing him?"

"Asagai?! God, no! Boy, I stopped seeing him right about after you—"

She almost did it again. If she said what she was about to, it would've ruined everything. She needed to stop thinking about it. Walter had obviously called to make nice. She didn't need to bring up what happened to tear the family apart again four years ago.

"Oh, that's a shame. So, Beneatha…. Today… It's Travis's birthday, ain't it? It's also… Mama… It's the day she passed, today."

"Yeah, it is."

"So, are you and Ruth gonna head on down to her— her place today? Her grave?"

"Yeah, we are. But I don't know if you should."

"But—"

"Walter, I don't think Ruth's in a good enough mood today for you."

"…Oh. Okay."

"But you should call her anyway. Just in case. She might let you see Travis. But you shouldn't go to the cemetery. That'd be too much. Mama— Mama wouldn't want you there—."

Beneatha sobbed. She had been crying since she said Walter shouldn't come with them to Mama's grave. But now, she was outright yelping with pain. Tears streamed down her face, pooling onto her work outfit.

She was torn. Simply torn. She didn't want Walter to come to Mama's grave. She had been with Mama when she died. She was so angry, still so angry with Walter. Her parting words were about Walter. She wanted none of her family to ever talk to him again. Beneatha thought that maybe he had been Mama's greatest disappointed in life.

She contemplated further. Walter loved Mama, and she loved him. Beneatha wanted to see him there, to make nice finally, after all these years since Ruth divorced him and the court deemed him unfit to directly care for Travis, a rare feat of its own. She didn't know what to think about it.

"I see," said Walter finally, as calmly as he could muster. "Well it was nice talking to you, Beneatha. It really was. We should meet up for a lunch sometime. Somewhere."

"I don't think I'd be able to afford eating anywhere you could, Walter."

"I'd pay for you—"

"It was really nice hearing you again, Walter." She hung up, still sobbing.

Walter listened as the phone went dead. He doubted himself for a slight moment, but then dialed Ruth's number.

This time, the phone rang only once.

"Hello?" said Ruth's musical voice.

"Ruth? Is that you? Ruth, baby, it's me. It's Walter."

She yelped and let go of the phone, fumbling to catch it again.

"What do you think you're doing, calling here, today of all days! How dare you! You know what you did, Walter, you know! I'm— I'm not supposed to talk to you. Lena said I shouldn't ever talk to you ever again, after what you done, and especially since I divorced you! And today, it bein' the anniversary of her death, and you CALLIN' here! Don't you have work to do now? You up in your fancy new mansion, with your new car, your new friends, your new business partners," she spat at him. "Go figure your numbers. Go make more money for your liquor store. Has it gone wrong yet? I hope it does!"

So she wasn't in a forgiving mood
, thought Walter.

"Ruth, listen to me. I know I made a big mistake, four years ago. I know it. Everything was so good at Clybourne, and we was making friends, and nobody was doing anything about us. I know it was good. And I know I made a mistake, investing again, in a liquor store of all places! But Ruth, baby, it worked out this time, it did. Please. I've been making up for this mistake since the day I did it. I know Mama said she never wanted any of you to talk to me again. I know that. I know a lot of things now. But Ruth, I need you and Travis. I been going insane, up here alone, in the huge damn house, with no one to share it with!"

Ruth had been listening to his speech for once. She knew he wanted to talk to Travis again. He hadn't seen Travis in four whole years, ever since he made the deal and invested that little bit of money he had saved. He and his partner, a white man, had made a whole liquor store business, and it boomed. There were three stores now. It was a chain. He was rich. No more small, cramped apartments. Now, there was not even a good-sized house with a garden in the back in a white neighborhood for him. As soon as he told everyone what he had done, Lena made him leave the house. "You're no son of mine anymore," she said. Ruth still remembered her face when she had said it, blotched and angry. Ruth then divorced him. She stayed with Travis and Lena, and when Lena died two years ago, it turned into just Ruth and Travis, still living in Clybourne Park. Mama's last words were that she never wanted Ruth to talk to Walter again, after what he had done. She just told Ruth to hold on tight to Travis, and raise him right, raise him into a good man.

She had done that. Today was his sixteenth birthday, and the two-year anniversary of Lena's death. But she couldn't. She couldn't talk to Walter. No, she had lost him, and she mourned losing him, but she accepted it.

"Now, listen to me, Walter. I still don't want to see you. You know what you've done, I don't have to repeat it. But… I realize I been punishing Travis by not letting him see you. You come to the cemetery today. I don't want to see you around Mama, you can do that on your own time. But you… you can pick up Travis. Take him with you. It's summer. He ain't got school. He can stay with your for a while. Maybe a weekend. Something like that. I know he misses you. But Walter, I still can't forgive you yet. I can't. And you know Mama died without forgiving you. I know she would've if she had more time, but she didn't. So there, Walter, I've made you a deal. You can see your son. But I don't want to see you."

As the other line went dead, Walter placed the phone back on the receiver. He breathed slowly. Travis, he thought.