by Han Nolan
"And I meant all that." Mother returned to the refrigerator. "I don't cotton to people who judge others by the color of their skin or where they came from or how much money they have, and I don't expect you to, either, Esther."
Whenever we talked about the South, Mother's southern accent got stronger and deeper, and she used words like cotton to, and fixin' to, and terectly. I always liked her best when she let go of herself enough to let her Alabama roots show.
Mother continued, "There are lots of people in the South who feel the way I do. Unfortunately, we're the minority down there."
I turned from the sink, where I had begun chopping the carrots, and saw my mother coming toward me. I felt so proud of her for being so unprejudiced and letting King-Roy come stay that I just turned and grabbed her in a big bear hug, not realizing until it was too late that she had a blueberry pie in her hands.
"Esther! Let go of me," Mother said, her voice muffled by my shoulder.
I let go and stepped back. I knew I had upset her, but I didn't yet know why.
"Now look at this! Just look!"
I did look and I saw that Mother's chest, the bib of the apron, and parts of her dress were covered in blueberry pie, and Mother's face looked furious.
"Oh, Mother, I didn't see. I didn't mean to—I—"
"No, of course not!" Mother said. "Esther, sometimes I wonder where your head is. I found this pie in the vegetable bin."
"I was hiding it from Auntie Pie. I'm sorry, Mother, really. I was just wanting to give you a hug and I didn't see."
Mother set the remainder of the pie down on the counter, then moved to the sink and dabbed at her chest with a sponge. "Esther, at your age and height you can't afford to be clumsy and thoughtless. You've ruined my dress, do you see that?" She glanced at me a second and I nodded.
"I'm so sorry, Mother. I am."
Mother calmed down a little and shook her head. "You're a big girl, Esther. You're not Sophia. You can't just grab me like that, you understand?"
I didn't need anyone to remind me that I wasn't Sophia, but I didn't have time to dwell on that thought or on the stains on Mother's dress; Auntie Pie was coming. I saw her through the window, marching straight for the kitchen, looking like she had something to say, and I knew just what it was.
SEVEN
I left Mother in mid-sentence, still dabbing at her dress, and ran out the kitchen door to catch up with Auntie Pie. I heard Mother calling after me.
"Esther, what in the world! You come on back in here."
I ignored Mother and ran down the driveway toward Auntie Pie. I caught up to her and said, "You didn't put the car back. Beatrice saw it."
Auntie Pie held her chin forward and her thin lips pressed hard together. She kept walking toward the kitchen door.
"Did you hear me? We've got to go move the car and I've got to talk to you."
"And I've got to talk to your mother," she said.
I stood in front of Auntie Pie, walking backward, trying to keep her from seeing Mother at the kitchen window. "What about?"
Auntie Pie tried to brush me aside. "Get out of my way, little girl. I am on a mission of mercy. If we're not careful we'll all be shot dead in our sleep. He must think we're as stupid as pudding."
"Auntie Pie, he's not like that."
"What do you know?"
"I know there weren't any bullets in that gun. I saw with my own eyes." I kept walking backward and Auntie Pie kept aiming for the kitchen door. I felt desperate. We were almost at the door. "Auntie Pie, stop!" I said, holding up my hand and stopping in front of her.
Auntie Pie stopped and put her hands on her hips. "Let me by."
"I know what's really going on here," I said, standing firm. "You're prejudiced. You're afraid of colored people." I said this not really believing it, but when I saw Auntie Pie's expression I changed my mind.
Her face had turned almost purple.
I pointed at her. "It's true. You are! Why, Auntie Pie, you're prejudiced."
She swatted at my hand. "Don't you point your finger at me. I like our Daisy just fine. I have no problem with her or any other Negro person, but this man is a stranger and he's been accused of murder and he has a gun in his suitcase. I have a right to be concerned about the safety of this family."
"But he's not a murderer. That was just some white men putting the blame on him. He didn't do it. You know he didn't. You're acting just like the KKK blaming him. You might as well just put a sheet over your head and carry a flaming cross."
"That's enough. I'm not listening to you. Get out of the way, now."
"No, I won't let you. You can't tell."
Auntie Pie tried to push me aside and I pushed back. "I want him to stay. Auntie Pie, I need him. Please!" I didn't know why I felt so desperate. I couldn't explain it if I had to, but I did feel desperate. I needed him. I needed him for so many reasons.
Again Auntie Pie pushed me and I pushed back, but this time she fell. She fell down onto the gravel.
"Oh, Auntie Pie." I stooped down to help her up. "I'm so sorry. I didn't—"
Auntie Pie caught hold of the front of my shirt and pulled me forward. I didn't know if she was trying to get up or trying to fight me. I landed on top of her and she yelled and pounded on my arms and back. "Get off of me, you—you ... gorilla!"
"What in heaven's name is going on here? Esther, get up off of your great-aunt this instant. What has gotten into you? I am appalled!"
Mother stood on the stoop behind us with a chopping knife in her hand. I made a move to get up, stirring the gravel with my hands as I did, hoping to make enough noise so that Mother wouldn't hear what I was about to say. I whispered into Auntie Pie's ear, "If you tell, I'll tell Mother how you left me there with him and the gun when you thought it was loaded. She'll be furious with King-Roy, and then King-Roy will be after you."
"Esther Josephine! Did you hear what I said? Get off of your aunt this instant. I am ashamed of you!"
I rolled off of my aunt and stood up. Then I leaned forward, offering my hand for her to take so I could help her up.
Auntie Pie didn't take it. She rolled away from me and eased herself up onto her knees and then stood up, using a hand on one knee to brace herself. Her hair, usually in an old-lady bun, had come undone. I was surprised at how long her hair really was. It ran all the way down her back.
"I do not know what to think," Mother said. "Esther, you go to your room and you don't come out until you can explain yourself."
I looked at Auntie Pie, then over at my mother. I couldn't tell by Auntie Pie's expression whether she would tell or not, but I knew just what my mother was thinking. She looked ready to spit in my eye.
"I don't need to go to my room, Mother. I'm ready to explain right now." I pinched my lips together and squinted mean-eyed at my aunt for a good long second. Then I turned around and said, "I need to tell you what happened this afternoon."
Auntie Pie came up behind me and shoved her shoulder into my arm and said, "No, I'll tell her what happened."
I looked down at my aunt, standing beside me, and tried to guess what she would say. Was she going to tell about the gun? She was hard to read. I couldn't take a chance.
I began, "You see, this morning we were out collecting dead squirrels and—"
Auntie Pie shoved me so hard, I fell to the ground. "I said, I'd tell it!" she shouted.
Mother held her hand with the knife in it up in the air and said, "Stop it, both of you." She looked at me sitting on the ground wiping the gravel out of my palms and said, "Esther, go to your room and stay there until I tell you to come out. And Auntie Pie—well, I can't send you to your room, but I'd like to. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd see you sink to her level."
Auntie Pie wagged her finger at Mother and said, "Don't you talk to me like I'm one of your children, Nora."
I stood up and waited to hear what else Auntie Pie would tell Mother, but Mother saw me just standing there and she waved her knife at me. "Go on, now, Est
her. I won't tell you again."
I marched off toward the front of the house, and the last thing I heard was Mother saying to Auntie Pie, "Now, what was so important that you had to tell me?"
EIGHT
Mother didn't come get me for dinner, so all through the dinner hour I wondered and worried about King-Roy Johnson. Had Mother asked him to leave? Did Auntie Pie tell on him? I tried to be patient while I waited for everyone to come up to bed. I read Dr. Norman Vincent Peale's book, A Guide to Confident Living, and his chapter on how to avoid getting upset, and I listened to my transistor radio, waiting for Surfin USA to come on. I wasn't allowed to own any Beach Boys records because Mother said she would not have music in our house by a group of teenaged boys who promoted hedonism as a lifestyle. I tried to explain to Mother how she was costing me my friendships with Laura and Kathy because they didn't want to come over to our house anymore.
The last time I had tried inviting my girlfriends over, Laura had said, "It's just not fun at your house. You don't have any cool record albums, and I've kind of grown out of the secret rooms and Nancy Drew stuff."
Kathy had agreed. "Yeah, Esther. Your house was fun when we were kids, but what's there to do there anymore? And your house is too far away, anyway."
When I told Mother this, she had said, "If all those girls want to do is ruin their minds with loud hedonistic music, then you're better off without them," which showed how much she knew about my life. Without Kathy and Laura, all I had was Pip, and Pip was just one more reason why they didn't want to come over anymore. "Why's Pip-squeak always over there? He's so immature," Laura had said.
"Yeah, Esther, he's so immature," Kathy had agreed.
So I listened for Surfin' USA on the transistor and listened for footsteps in the hallway. It seemed like no one was ever going to come up to bed. At one point I heard Sophia and Stewart singing "Dites Moi" from the play, South Pacific, and that at least gave me hope that King-Roy was still there. Mother always had my brother and sister entertain new guests.
At last I heard footsteps, and I jumped off my bed and ran to my doorway to listen. First came Sophia and Mother, and soon after I heard the footsteps of Beatrice and the Beast and a few minutes later, Stewart's and Auntie Pie's footsteps, and then that was all and I thought King-Roy must have left. Mother would never have left a new guest downstairs in our house alone. Despite Dr. Norman Vincent Peale's advice, I was upset. I couldn't stand not knowing what had happened, so I scooted on down to Auntie Pie's room and knocked on her door.
"Auntie Pie, it's me."
"Go away."
"Auntie Pie."
There was silence and then finally, with a sigh, "Come in."
I opened the door. Auntie Pie was sitting up in bed, with a tray on her lap, eating a piece of rum-nut cake and reading one of her Gothic romances.
She looked up at me and said, her voice cross, "What do you want? I'm right in the middle of the denouement."
"What did you tell Mother?" I came over and sat down on the edge of Auntie Pie's bed, sending her plate sliding to the far side of her tray.
"Hey there, you! Get up off my bed. You're making me spill."
I stood up. "Well? What did you say?"
Auntie Pie took a large bite of her cake and mumbled, "About what?"
"About King-Roy. About King-Roy, Auntie Pie. What did you tell Mother? Come on, you know what I mean."
Auntie Pie smiled and a piece of walnut showed, stuck between her front teeth.
"I told her about the gun, just like I said I would. What did you think? You think you could blackmail me into not telling her? Are you a blackmailer now?"
"Oh, Auntie Pie, you didn't. How could you?" I flopped back down on the bed, forgetting about the cake.
"Hey, watch it! Now look what you've done."
The cake and all its many crumbs had slid off the tray and onto Auntie Pie's bedspread. She held her hands up in the air and looked down at the mess with dismay.
"I'm sorry, Auntie Pie." I felt tears stinging my eyes, and I tried to blink them away while I helped her clean up the mess.
"I hate this day. I hate everything about it," I said, giving up and letting the tears fall. "I thought—I had hoped—well, it doesn't matter. King-Roy's gone and that's that."
"He's not gone. Did I say that he was gone?" Auntie Pie had gotten out of the bed and was helping me brush the crumbs off the bed and onto the floor.
I looked across the bed at her and said, "But you said—"
"I said I told your mother, but he's still here."
"But..." I looked toward the hallway.
"But nothing. As it turns out, our Mr. Johnson had already told your mother everything. He said he didn't want the gun in the house, and your mother took it and threw it in the trash. The end." Auntie Pie stood looking at me with her finger in her mouth, trying to dislodge more nuts from her teeth.
I reached across the bed and grabbed her and gave her a peck on the cheek. "I knew he was a good guy. Thanks, Auntie Pie."
"Would you let go of me and get out now?" she said, exasperated.
I let go and she fell forward, reaching her hands out to catch herself before she landed face-first on the bed. Her right palm landed in her plate of cake and smashed it flat. "Now look," she said. "Honestly, you're just like a white tornado. Get out before you bring the ceiling down on me."
I hurried out of the room and ran to the top of the staircase to listen for King-Roy. I wanted to see him one more time before I went to bed. I just had to see with my own eyes that he was still there.
I leaned over the banister and stretched my neck and listened for him. I heard voices. Monsieur Vichy and Dad were home. I heard King-Roy say, "Yes sir, same to you, good night, now."
I clapped silently and bounced on the balls of my feet and listened for King-Roy to climb the stairs.
There it was, the tap-tap of his footsteps. I heard him approaching, and I stood back at the top of the staircase to wait for him. Then, just before he rounded the corner, just before I saw him again, I looked down at myself and realized all I had on was a T-shirt and my underpants, which is all I ever wore when I went to bed. I squealed and ran down the hall.
I heard Auntie Pie call out, "Get to bed, Esther," as I passed her room, and Sophia called out, "You okay?" as I passed hers. I didn't answer either of them. I ran into my room and jumped back into my Bermuda shorts, then I ran back into the hallway and crashed right into King-Roy on his way down to his room. He held a can of paint in each hand, and these were what I hit up against when we crashed. Both cans knocked into my hips and I knew I'd get some ugly bruises from them but I didn't care. King-Roy was there. I could feel my heart pounding. After we both said, "Omph," from the crash, King-Roy clutched the paint cans to his own hips and said, "Well, hey, there you are. I missed you at dinner."
"You did?" I looked into King-Roy's face to see if he was being sincere. He looked sincere, there in the yellow glow of the night-light Mother always turned on before bed. His face, ocher from the night-light, held that quiet expression he had worn when I first met him.
He held up the paint cans. "Your momma gave me work to do. I'm to paint the laundry room. Imagine that, a whole room just for laundry." He shook his head.
I nodded. "You could park four limousines in that laundry room and still have room to skate around in it. It's that big," I said.
"Well, I'm not complaining, I need the work. I need to make me some money. Does she pay well?"
"If you do a good job she does, but Mother's a perfectionist, so don't take any shortcuts."
"Thanks for the tip. I'll do her a good job, all right. Well, good night, then."
He started to leave and I grabbed hold of his shirt. "Wait. Uh—this afternoon you were going to tell me about the day that changed your life. Remember?" I didn't want him to leave yet. I wanted something from him, but I didn't know what. I just wanted him to come into my room, sit down, have a talk. I wanted to get to know him, figure him out. Mother alw
ays said I made people uncomfortable, the way I looked at them, the way I sort of attacked them like I wanted to crawl inside them and get up in their heads. She said I unnerved people. Maybe she was right. I could see King-Roy pulling away.
"Tomorrow sometime," he said, withdrawing his arm from my grasp.
I let go, tried another tack. "So, how was dinner?"
King-Roy wrinkled up his nose. "You want the truth? Your momma's been up north too long. She cooked New York food. Tasted like cardboard with baking-soda sauce." He shook his head. "First time in my life I ever sat down to supper with white folks."
"Really?" I said.
King-Roy lifted his hand and, with the paint can hanging from his palm, scratched his nose. "Where am I gon' eat with whites in the South? I can't even look out the same window as them down there." King-Roy lifted his chin. "So where were you, anyway? Why weren't you at dinner?"
I shrugged. "Auntie Pie and I got into an argument, and I lost. Mother sent me to my room."
"Too bad. You must be hungry. I would have been happy to save you off some of my supper."
"I'm starving, but that doesn't matter, as long as you can stay here. You can stay, can't you? Mother didn't tell you to leave or anything—because of the gun?"
King-Roy shook his head. "No, it's all right."
I grinned from ear to ear. I know I did. "I'm so glad," I said.
King-Roy said, "Yeah, it's all right," but he didn't look so happy about it. He said, "Now you go on and get a good night's sleep. We all wore ourselves out today, sure 'nuff."
"Oh, I'm not tired. I never sleep much. My father says I have the Young curse. Everyone on his side of the family tends to burn the candle at both ends." I knew I was just talking, trying to keep him with me just a little longer.
King-Roy nodded. "Well, good night, now. Be seeing you in the morning."
I touched King-Roy's sleeve. "Good night, King-Roy. See you tomorrow."
I watched King-Roy walk down the hall, and I noticed he was walking funny, like he had a leg ache or something. He reached the end of our wing and was just about to turn left to go to his rooms when I heard a thud and saw something fall out of the leg of his pants. I couldn't tell what it was because his pant leg was still covering most of it, and even with the night-light, the hallway was too dim to see well.
