Reverend Earl grinned and ran fingers through graying hair. “Been knowing Rosabell since we was children together. Raised down at Tuskegee—till I was called to preach up at Crossroads.”
Maudie had heard the whole story from Miss Rosabell when she first came to the polio clinic as a nurse’s aide. She would stand by Maudie’s bed, rubbing her aching legs with peanut oil and talking about her church’s work with the voter-registration drives. Although Maudie pretended interest, she had not cared about the church or voter registration. It was the part about those who were involved in the program getting to go new places that intrigued her. She had imagined herself in Atlanta or Birmingham.
Now Reverend Earl was going on and on about his childhood in Tuskegee. She smiled at him, and she knew that she looked for all the world like she was listening to him. Her eyes stared, as if she was hanging on every word, and she wasn’t hearing a thing. Down in Tuskegee, she had developed this into an art form, pretending to be in the here and now while she was really miles away—in this instance, years away—lying on the sweat-soaked stretcher in the railroad station in Birmingham, her legs aching, refusing to respond to any commands she might give them, her hands gripping the side poles of the stretcher, making certain she was still right side up in the world, her eyes closed to what she might find in the thick smell of tobacco smoke and diesel fuel that was in every breath. Now as she looked at Reverend Earl, she could feel the breeze on her face each time her mother waved the paper fan in front of her.
She and her mother and two little brothers had arrived in the Birmingham station in the early afternoon. Then they had waited for hours before they could get a train going south to Tuskegee, the only place Negroes with polio could go for rehabilitation. An hour would pass, with Maudie counting each tick of the station clock. It was well past midnight when their train finally pulled in. She hadn’t remembered being loaded.
When they had come into the Tuskegee station, there had been another train arriving right behind them with polio children from an epidemic over in Mississippi. The second train arrived with clanging and hissing, but no passenger cars, only cattle cars. Her mother had told her not to look when the big doors of the cattle cars had been rolled back and iron lungs—each with a person inside—were eased off the ramps by their attendants and onto the waiting wagons and old pickups, their portable generators hissing and groaning.
By the time she had been carried into the clinic, it was deep dark. The orderlies stood holding her stretcher at the front desk, waiting for assigned space. All she could see was the ceiling and, when she turned her head, a lamp at the reception desk that was shedding dim light on hands studying the papers her mother had given up. Outside the triangle of lamplight, she was uncertain of anything. The hands, brown, with short, sensible nails and no rings, began to flip through the papers. “I think you need to put this one on the first floor.” The woman paused and turned to Maudie. “How old are you, child?”
“Old enough to know I ain’t studying staying here no long period of time.” She turned back to look at her mother, who grimaced but said nothing. The lamplit hands were still for a moment before they placed the papers down on the desk.
“I’ve changed my mind. Put her on the second floor, in that empty bed next to the windows.”
Her mother kissed her good-bye and told her she would be back to visit when she had rented a house and gotten settled. From the doorway, the brothers lifted their hands. The orderlies carried her to the second floor and then to a bed in the corner of the room. On one side was a bank of windows, ratcheted out to let in a breeze. On the other side, the thing next to her wasn’t another bed at all, but a round metal tube like the ones she had seen being unloaded at the train station. She glanced at it, at the head sticking out of the end, and then looked away, feeling she might have looked at something she wasn’t supposed to. She hadn’t really seen the head—rather, a reflection of it in the mirror attached to the iron lung just above the head. She decided to pretend sleep, but the head didn’t care to see that.
“Where’d you—come from?”
Maudie kept her eyes closed.
The head persisted. “Where ’bouts?” She appeared to be six or seven years old, although it was hard to tell, having to judge from a head alone. Maudie thought she had seen buckteeth and curly black hair.
The orderlies were tucking in sheets and fluffing up her pillow. Maudie opened one eye and looked directly at the face in the mirror. “From here, up round the river.”
“Been here—two years.”
“That right,” keeping it short to discourage conversation.
“Name Yolanda—from Indianola.—That’s in Mississippi.—You can—know me—by the ribbons—in my hair—always wear—ribbons.”
I know you from that big fat barrel you got round you, no mind them ribbons, she was thinking, but she said, “What you look like underneath there? You fat, you skinny, what?”
“I used to be—fat—but now—I think—I’m skinny,” Yolanda said in the faltering way the in-and-out rhythm of the iron lung allowed her to speak.
She said she had come from the Delta, from a family of eleven children. “But I don’t know—maybe—I’m still fat—good—food here.”
“That right?”
A nurse had come along after the orderlies left, and she told them to stop talking and go to sleep. The head said nothing else, but the iron lungs—there seemed to be others in the room—made constant hissing sounds and wouldn’t let Maudie drift off. That first night, she felt it would drive her crazy, the incessant noise.
The next morning when she woke up, the face was lying there looking at her through the reflection in the mirror.
“Thought you—gonna sleep—all day.—Miss Betty—be here soon.”
“She up yet?”
“Yeah, she up—just barely.”
Maudie raised her head to find the new voice conversing with Yolanda.
It came from the bed in the other corner, directly across from hers. The girl, dark black, probably eight or nine, was up on her elbows, looking at Maudie. “How old are you, girl? Don’t you know no better?”
“Thirteen. Older than you I ’spect.” Maudie dropped back down on to her pillow and closed her eyes. “And I ain’t finished sleeping yet.”
There was a sound like giggling from the iron lung and from the girl across the way. Yolanda turned her head. “Macy, she say—she believe she gonna—sleep more.” Macy, who was in the iron lung next to Yolanda, was passing it along to whoever was next to her.
Doreen was up on her elbows, looking at Maudie. “You better get awake, girl. When Miss Betty say eat, you gotta eat.”
Maudie kept her eyes closed. “We see who gotta do what.”
“You hear that?—Say she gonna—” Yolanda passed it on again.
A thin woman in a starched white uniform, a white nurse’s hat pinned to her graying hair, arrived with breakfast trays and two assistants. Maudie could hear plates rattling and silverware clanging. Those who could eat on their own were propped up and given trays. Assistants fed the others.
Nurse Betty held the tray of food over her bed. Maudie recognized the hands that had shuffled papers under the lamplight in the lobby. Wire-rimmed glasses gazed down at her. “Breakfast is served from seven to seven-thirty. You may eat or you may sleep, but you can’t do both.”
Maudie kept her eyes closed and breathed deeply, pretending to snore. She could hear someone giggling.
Nurse Betty sighed. “We have to be a little sassy at first, don’t we?” She set the tray down on Maudie’s stomach and turned to feed Yolanda.
The smell of bacon and eggs drifted to her. She hadn’t realized she was starving, had had nothing to eat since the Coke in the train station the day before.
The bacon and eggs went cold perched on her stomach. Nurse Betty took the food away at precisely seven-thirty.
An hour later, a nurse walked in, pushing something heavy. It looked like an old washing machine with
a ringer on the outside. She rolled it to the other end of the room. Maudie could hear the wheels creaking under the weight of it. There was steam rising off the thing. With its coming, the whole room went silent.
“What you suppose is that?”
“It’s for—hot packs.—Ain’t you never—had—no hot packs—help—the healing?”
Maudie put her hands behind her head. “Ain’t never had no hot packs and I ain’t gonna have none now.”
Yolanda laughed out loud at this new entertainment. It was not a laugh exactly, but a stuttered hoot. Maudie could see her little head with the red bows in the hair jerking from side to side, too tickled. “Say she ain’t—gonna have—no hot packs. —She do—beat all.”
The big machine rolled slowly from bed to bed. Steam twisted up out of the tub. The nurse fished down in the water with a stick to retrieve a towel and push it through the ringer before placing it on various body parts. The stench of scorching wet wool hung in the air. Maudie pretended to be looking out the window as she watched the steam rising off the scalding towels that were placed on Doreen’s legs. She heard Doreen’s muffled cry when they touched her skin.
The iron pot rolled up to her bedside. She tried to strike a casual pose; hands behind her head, wavering smile, eyes examining the view from the windows. “Don’t believe I’ll have me none of them hot towels today. Still tired out from my traveling.” She could hear one of the other girls crying.
“Now honey, everybody has hot packs. It helps with the healing,” the nurse said. She looked much younger than Nurse Betty.
“Well now, you see, ma’am, the truth is, my doctor, where I come from, he say I shouldn’t have none of them hot packs. Be bad for me. It’s right there in my report I brung with me last night. Right down there at the desk lobby. Yes’m, everybody but me had them hot packs where I come from.”
“Really?” The young nurse looked like she might believe her. “I never heard of it before, but I’ll go get Miss Betty and ask her.”
“You don’t have to do that. Just pass on by me today, that’s all.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that. I’ll be right back.” She walked out of the room.
“Now you—done it.” Yolanda turned to pass it on. “Now she done it—done called—Miss Betty.—And she—don’t like—no—calling.”
The anguish of hot packs on legs and arms and thighs was forgotten while the room listened for the footfalls of Nurse Betty. A minute or two later, they could be heard clicking on the tiles in the hall and then turning into their ward. Miss Betty stood over her, expressionless. “I see we are awake now.”
“Yes, ma’am. Now what I been thinking is . . .” She was saying it loudly, for the others.
“Never mind what you were thinking. You will have hot packs every day, for as long as we deem it necessary. If you are able to get better, this is the only thing that will help. Do you understand?”
“Well, I do, but . . .”
“Everyone gets hot packs twice a day.”
“Twice a day?” She looked at Yolanda. “You didn’t tell me nothing ’bout no twice a day.”
“And don’t go giving my nurses any more trouble about it. Do you understand?” Nurse Betty dipped down into the hot water with a wooden ruler and put a towel through the wringer. She turned Maudie on her stomach and draped the steaming wool cloth across her calf muscles. When the cloth touched her leg, “Hey! Hell. What’s you doing? Take it off.” She couldn’t move away from the searing pain.
“And another thing—we do not use profanity.” Betty slapped another blistering, water-soaked wool towel on her other leg.
Maudie bit down on her lip until she felt the salty taste of blood.
“Miss Charlotte will continue,” she said, and left.
The younger nurse placed towels up and down her legs and then proceeded to the far end of the room to start the process over again.
Maudie looked up and saw the head staring at her, waiting for some explanation. She sighed. “Look here, Yolanda, I wasn’t yelling ’cause it hurt. I was pure and simple yelling at old Nurse Betty.”
Yolanda grinned. “Hear that?—She yelling—at Nurse Betty.—She do—beat all.”
Maudie buried her face in the pillow, waiting for the pain to ease. That afternoon, the hot packs came again—as they did every morning and afternoon for weeks after she arrived.
Reverend Earl was gathering up picnic paraphernalia and eating the last fried pie. “Better be getting a move on, Miss Maudie. Wanta get there in time for prayer meeting tonight.”
Maudie nodded and reached for her crutch.
CHAPTER 5
Eugenia
She wore sandals and she was driving the white jeep. Eugenia was thinner than her sister, Helen, and taller, almost as tall as the men. She had a long, angular face—the nose was rather large and the teeth did tend to stand out a bit—not beautiful within the exacting confines of classic American beauty. There was the hint of her travels to India in the dangling brass earrings, the look of California in her long, flowing skirt and tie-dyed blouse. The short, wavy hair had never felt hair spray. The beauty in Eugenia was born of experience.
“Will you look at you.” They were all trying to crowd around her, but she hadn’t finished hugging Tina, who had been the first one there and who had opened the door for her.
Helen said, “I would never have thought to travel without a hat and gloves. Genia, you look wonderful, so, so carefree.”
Eugenia laughed and reached out to pull in Tab. “A hat and gloves, in a jeep? I would have burned up. Going through Mississippi earlier today, it was scorching.” Everyone lined up for the obligatory hug. The men walked around to the other side and shook hands with Val, pulled suitcases out of the white jeep, and marveled to one another with raised eyebrows that anyone could drive all the way from California in a jeep—would want to in the first place. The women followed, found Val, and gave him cheek kisses. Admittedly, he was a strange duck, but they would try to make him feel at home. The group of them walked arm in arm, carrying the suitcases up to the front steps. Miss Hattie rushed inside for more ice and fresh mint for the tea.
Eugenia and Val sat themselves down on the wicker porch swing with the blue-and-green-flowered cushions. Eugenia gestured for Tina to come sit between them. Tab stayed on the porch steps. The others scattered out in rocking chairs and gliders. Overhead fans trudged around in slow circles, giving the notion of a breeze, rippling the fronds of the hanging ferns, and stirring up the leaves of the green-and-white caladiums Miss Hattie had planted in the wicker stand next to the porch railing. The GE floor fan that was attached to an extension cord running back through the front window did the real work.
As she looked around, there were tears in Aunt Eugenia’s eyes. There were always tears in her eyes when she first came back. They all thought it was the emotion of the moment, of seeing them again, of wondering if she had done the wrong thing by leaving them. That’s what they thought.
Everyone was staying for dinner, of course. They would all come for meals the first few days of a visit from Eugenia. Miss Hattie insisted. There was strength in numbers. Besides, they could find out what Eugenia had in mind for this stay.
There was an easy quiet as they took their places at the old mahogany dining table half of them had known since childhood. The lace tablecloth had been spread out along the length of the long rectangular top. The floor fan ruffled its hanging edges and spread the smell of fresh roses that composed the centerpiece. So many containers had been set in preparation, there was hardly room for the food: tea glasses and water goblets, dinner plates and bread plates, salad plates, coffee cups, saltcellars. Polished pieces of silverware had been laid out along the sides of the dinner plates. A large linen napkin rested in the center of each plate. Tina had set the table. She had learned the art in home economics, had been tested on it and had gotten an A. It carried the same credit as algebra and chemistry and was more important. She had opened the heavy damask drapes slightly.
She had lit the candles, which were set in cut-glass holders on each side of the American Beauty roses gathered out of Miss Hattie’s garden. All of that had been covered in the chapter entitled: “A Restful, Wholesome Place for Family Dining.” She had helped Ora Lee bring in the roast and potatoes, the green beans and crowder peas. At each place, they had set down salad plates with molded rings of fruit-filled Jell-O topped with dabs of mayonnaise.
Miss Hattie had rung the handbell next to her place at the table before deciding to go into the kitchen to take the rolls directly out of the oven and check to see that the younger children were seated at the kitchen table, watched over by Ora Lee.
The women, who were up in the bedroom eyeing the unpacking of California dresses, followed Eugenia down the stairs into the dining room. The men, entertaining Val with football stories—the better to stay away from politics or religion—came in from the living room. Tab had already seated herself in the chair she knew would be next to Tina, because Tina would sit next to Aunt Eugenia, and Aunt Eugenia would sit where a visitor always sat on the first night—to the left of the grandfather.
“Who asked you?” as Tina sat down beside her.
“I was here first, as you can plainly see. Where you sit, I couldn’t care less.”
The prayer was long and blessed everyone, especially giving thanks for the visitors having arrived safely. It was given by the grandmother, as appointed by the grandfather. Mr. Ben carved the roast and passed plates first to Eugenia, then to the other ladies, and last to the men. Other dishes began a clockwise trip around the table.
The Summer We Got Saved Page 3
