by Mary Monroe
Ruby’s happiness was short-lived. She had married a philanderer who often left her for days at a time.
Othella had married a traveling salesman and this added to Ruby’s depression, as Othella had little time to spend with her anymore.
One afternoon while babysitting for a white family in their home, Ruby, who was pregnant, saw her husband driving down the street with his arm around a woman. Ruby left the children and took out after Roy. She caught up with him in a honky-tonk at the end of the street and shot him dead. She was acquitted of murdering Roy but was sentenced to a month and a day in the county jail for leaving the white kids in the house alone.
Later that year Ruby gave birth to Virgil. Othella was now without her man, as he had gone on a selling trip one week and never returned. She gave birth to her first son shortly after Ruby had had Virgil.
“Just imagine us havin babies this close to one another,” Othella smiled proudly.
“It’s the Lord’s doin,” Ruby replied.
“Ain’t it so.”
“Just one little thing . . .”
“What’s that, Ruby Jean?”
“I kind of wanted me a little girl.”
“Well, maybe your next one will be a girl.”
“I sho nuff hope so.”
“Remember how you use to go up side my head when we was kids and take my girl dolls?” Othella said.
“I remember.”
“And I would always break down and give em to you.”
“Yeah . . . every time.”
“It seemed like I always had somethin you wanted, huh, Ruby Jean?”
“Sho did . . .” Ruby agreed, looking deep into Othella’s eyes.
4
The years passed quickly. Before Ruby and Othella knew it, they were thirty.
“And I still ain’t got me no daughter,” Ruby lamented.
“Well it sho ain’t because you ain’t been tryin,” Othella reminded her, adding, “Shoot, you just barely feedin you and Virgil. Your little social security check can’t stand another mouth to feed.”
“I don’t care . . . I still want me one,” Ruby said.
The women lived beggardly lives. Othella worked in the fields most of the time and did domestic work when it was available. Ruby collected a social security check.
Because of her poor eating habits, Ruby developed a gum disease and lost all her teeth within a month. The cost of a pair of false teeth sickened her.
“Satan sho like to pile a load on me,” Ruby complained after receiving a threatening letter from a lawyer regarding nonpayment of her dental bill. “I need a man to live good!”
“Or a million dollars,” Othella added.
There had been many men in Othella’s life over the last fourteen years. She now had eight children, all with different fathers. Ruby had delivered the last six babies. Now, experiencing her most difficult pregnancy, Othella depended on Ruby more than ever.
They had been sitting on Othella’s front porch drinking beer that afternoon in July when Othella’s labor started.
“Mama Ruby, you reckon I’ll make it through the night? My labor usually don’t get real bad until after my tenth hour.”
“You’ll be lucky to make it through the dinner hour. We got a mess on our hands this time. You been sick every other day since you got pregnant. When the pains start to comin every ten minutes, send one of the kids to get me,” Ruby said as she was about to leave.
“Don’t go yet, Mama Ruby. Stay and set with me a while. I need somebody to talk to. I’m feelin right de’pressed.”
“Othella, you ain’t got no reason in the world to be de’pressed. You got you all these fine children. This lovely house. Men comin from every direction. And talk about pretty—girl, you sharp as a tack!”
“You know how heavy my load is? What good is a big bunch of kids to me when I work from sun up to sun down five days a week just to feed em? You think I like workin in that cane field? And them beans—woo! Stringin beans is something they can’t get the chain gang to do no more! And my men friends? Where is they when I need em? Like now? Where is the one what rolled off top me and left me with this baby what now kickin my tail right and left? You tell me I ain’t got nothin to be de’pressed about?”
“Well, it could be a whole lot worse. You could be struck by lightnin and paralyzed from the neck down from now on. You could get raped by a Jew, foreigner, or gypsy. You could accidental walk out in front of a bus and get both legs squashed. You could lose your religion.”
“I declare,” Othella said, looking Ruby over carefully. “I hadn’t thought about all that. I guess you right. I ought to be on my knees right this minute praisin God.”
“And another thing, as long as you got me, you got a friend. True-blue. I ain’t goin to let nothin happen to you or them children of yours. Now, like I said, I’ll help you with this baby when the time come,” Ruby assured her.
“I know you will . . . but . . . just for a little while . . . lay your healin hands on my wretched bosom and soothe my broke heart. My man runnin off is somethin I ain’t never got over.”
Ruby sighed and placed her hands across Othella’s chest.
“Lord, let this woman forget that scoundrel what run off and left her for dead. He’s a low-down, funky black dog what ain’t fit to tetch the devil’s hem.”
Othella closed her eyes and moaned as Ruby continued.
“Lord, I went up to Satan last Sunday and slapped him down where he stood with my powerful prayer. Now I ax you, will you let this woman here be in peace? Will you help us birth her baby when the time come? In Jesus’ name I pray. . . . Amen.”
When Ruby left Othella’s house, she did so with tears in her eyes. For she felt she had delivered Othella from evil, as she left Othella with a broad smile on her face and not feeling the pain of her labor half as much.
Then, as promised, Ruby returned to assist Othella to deliver her latest child.
5
“Come on here, Othella . . . it’s almost here . . . that’s it . . . that’s it. I can see the head. Woo wee!” Ruby exclaimed. She stood back from the bed where Othella lay, writhing in agony.
“Mama Ruby, lay your healin hands on me—help me!” Othella begged.
“You leave my healin hands out of this. This nature, what you goin through. My healin hands is for special occasions. And didn’t I just lay hands on you this afternoon?” Ruby waved her hands high above her head. “You just better come on and birth this baby so I can get on back home. I got a cabbage and some pork on the stove. I leave that simple boy of mine by hisself too long, he subject to set my house afire.”
“Oh, Mama Ruby, I can’t stand this misery!”
“Shet up, Othella,” Ruby grunted, gently slapping the side of Othella’s head with her palm.
Othella gasped and trembled violently. Her legs were splayed and she clawed at the insides of her thighs.
“Oh, Mama Ruby—please do somethin! Get me a shot of gin! Call a roots woman! Do somethin!”
“Didn’t I tell you to shet up!” Ruby placed her hands on her hips and glared down at the desperate woman. “Oh, Collette, bring me another beer, sweetie!” Ruby called over her shoulder. Within seconds a slender, dark brown girl of eight with numerous braids came to the door of the bedroom and handed Ruby a can of beer. Ruby snatched it and drank hungrily. The girl disappeared as quietly and quickly as she had come.
“Aaaarrrggghhh!” Othella screamed, arching herself off the bed, almost folding her back in half.
“Damn!” Ruby said. “Collette, bring me a spittoon.” Again, the dark young girl came to the door. She handed Ruby a spittoon and disappeared. Ruby cleared her throat into the spittoon, then set it on the floor and continued drinking her beer. As soon as she finished, she set the can on the floor next to the spittoon and five other empty beer cans. She wiped her lips with the tail of her duster and sighed, looking at Othella with pity. Ruby removed a limp blue towel she had draped across her shoulder and leaned over the
bed to wipe the perspiration from Othella’s face. She then wiped her own face with the towel.
Suddenly, Othella’s children entered the room and began to move about.
“Is Mama goin to die this time?” asked Babette, age nine. She was the image of Othella, with the same tan skin and silky black hair.
“Naw,” Ruby growled.
“Mama Ruby, where you get that duster?” asked Job, age six. He was a child with deep brown skin and catlike eyes.
“I got it at a sidewalk sale in Tampa. Why?”
“I ain’t never seen nothin like it,” the boy replied shyly. The other children giggled.
“Mama Ruby, what happened to your feet?” Collette asked. “How come they so big and flat?”
“Yall quit axin so many silly questions. You, Clyde, get me a bowl of water,” Ruby barked. Clyde was the oldest.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied and darted from the room. He returned shortly and handed Ruby a mixing bowl almost filled to the rim with fresh spring water. She grabbed the container and dipped the tail of the towel in it. The children formed a line, all staring at Ruby as she wiped her face, her neck, and her hands with the towel. Then she quickly drank all the water from the bowl. The children giggled.
“Yall get out of here!” Ruby ordered. “Get out on the porch!”
“But the mosquitoes is out! And it’s fixin to rain!” one of the children wailed.
“I said get out of this house!” Ruby shouted. She threw the bowl into the crowd and the giggling youngsters scattered, fleeing into the night. The slamming of the front door was drowned out by the screams of childbirth. The pain had become so intense that Othella passed out. Ruby shook her head, cursed under her breath, and then left the room.
“Don’t tell me ain’t no more beer,” Ruby sighed. She was now in Othella’s kitchen, frantically searching the ice box. She had drunk every can in the house. Realizing this, Ruby became alarmed. She slammed the ice box shut and ran out to the front porch. The children were catching lightning bugs in the front yard.
“Clyde, you and Collette run down the road a piece to old Mr. Hamilton and tell him I said to send me a few beers,” Ruby hollered.
The children giggled again and all took off running down the dark road to the nearest bootlegger. Ruby shaded her eyes with her hand and watched until they were out of her sight; then she smiled, returned to the bedroom and sat down at the foot of Othella’s bed.
It was two hours and six beers later before Othella regained consciousness. Ruby set her last empty can down next to the others. Othella looked up at Ruby, who had a scowl on her face and her arms folded.
A coal-oil lamp, burning softly, sat on a melon crate next to the lumpy bed. Under the lamp was a dog-eared confession magazine with a provocative cover. Under the magazine was a shabby Bible.
Ten minutes later the baby came; a beautiful, dimple-cheeked, brown baby girl with thick black hair, just like Ruby wanted.
“She was beautiful,” Ruby informed Othella, biting her bottom lip to hold back her tears. “She was a girl.”
“Was,” Othella said, sitting up. “What’s wrong? Where she at? How come she didn’t cry none when she popped out?”
“Othella, you still got all them other kids—”
“Ruby Jean, where is my baby I just birthed?” Othella wailed, attempting to get up from the bed.
“Be still before you brain damage!” Ruby warned, gently forcing Othella back down by pushing her shoulder.
“Where my baby?”
“Othella, you just had a dead baby,” Ruby announced.
The women looked at one another, each recognizing the disappointment in the other’s eyes.
“Dead, huh? My baby come here dead, sho nuff?”
“Dead as a Jew’s tittie.”
“Mama Ruby, what you reckon happened this time? You reckon I been hexed?”
Ruby shook her head.
“This ain’t nobody but the devil. That bastard been pickin on us for months. Ever since we got saved.”
Othella looked at Ruby’s face and frowned.
“But we get saved at least once a year. With all the backslidin we do and all. You reckon the devil got it in for us cause we been cursin him for so long?”
“Probably so. I guess I got too much glory and it’s crossin Satan’s wires. Like lightnin. Yeah, that’s it. Satan wonderin how come he can’t lay me out. He workin at me through you.”
“Lord have mercy! What we goin to do?”
“Like I always do. I’m goin to beat the shit out of him. Tonight I plan to get on my knees and pray like I ain’t never prayed before. When I get through, Satan’ll be yellin uncle in a foreign language. Sendin us this here dead baby.”
“Where is she? Where is my dead baby girl, Mama Ruby?”
“In the kitchen on the counter next to the ice box. She was a itty bitty thing. Couldn’t have weighed no more than a pound or two.”
“Sho nuff?”
“Sho nuff.”
“Well I declare.” Othella paused and closed her eyes. She rubbed her face, then looked up at Ruby again. “Mama Ruby . . . is it true what they say about you?”
“What?” Ruby asked, alarmed. She rose from her seat and moved a few feet from the bed.
“Folks say you can raise everything but hell with your healin hands. I seen you myself rub the croup out of my boy Joe,” Othella whispered. “You straightened out Brother Hamilton’s crooked leg what got crooked up in the war. You delivered my soul. You growed a rose bush on a bed of rocks. I seen you do it.”
“I been blessed sho nuff,” Ruby shrugged, faking modesty. “I don’t brag about it. Much.”
“Flawless. You is flawless, Mama Ruby. If anybody was ever able to help folks, it’s you. Why you think I took up with you as my best friend when we was playin in sandboxes and just bein weaned?”
“You was smart, I guess. Shoot. I never denied your white folks’ sense.”
“Then you gotta help me. You got to do what you can about my dead—”
“I already tried it! I laid hands on the dead baby twice already and it didn’t do no good. She sho nuff dead.”
“You mean even you can’t breathe life back in her? You is the Lord’s pet nigger.”
“And the devil’s walkin stick! You forgettin how much stock Satan got in my soul? You know how I been battlin my tail off tryin to shake that low-down, funky black dog. Shoot. Jesus been at a tug-o-war with that baboon since the day I was born. Tryin to set me free.”
“I just thought—”
“I can do anything I set my mind to . . . long as that low-down, funky black dog Satan ain’t on my case. Now like I said, I tried to raise that dead baby with my healin hands but Satan say ‘Hell no.’”
Othella blinked to hold back her tears.
“My poor little ole dead baby girl,” she mumbled.
She closed her eyes and shook her head sadly. Suddenly she looked up again at Ruby. “Was she pretty? Was my dead baby girl pretty like all my other girls?”
“Flawless. She had your hair. She had skin that was brown like a nigger-toe nut.”
“And you couldn’t save her? I kind of thought you could do anything you set your mind to. You havin a hot line to heaven and all . . .”
“Well, the devil sometime disconnects my line.”
“Oh.”
Ruby watched Othella swing her legs across the side of the bed.
“Where you goin, Othella?”
“I’m goin in the kitchen to look at my dead baby.”
“You ain’t goin no place! You want to brain damage? I’ll get that baby so you can look at her!” Ruby rushed from the bedroom and returned a few moments later holding the baby, which had been wrapped in a faded green towel.
“Let me see her,” Othella mumbled, coughing.
“A angel if ever there was one,” Ruby said, unwrapping the towel. She wiped tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her duster while Othella stared at the child’s face.
“Flawless,” Othella said and turned her head. “Take her away.”
“Don’t you want to hold her one time?”
“Naw,” Othella said, returning her attention to the child. Othella was tired and anxious to be left alone. She wanted to cry. Her last child had also been stillborn. “I’d have given my soul for this child to have lived. I declare, I would have. Mama Ruby, please take care of her for me. The buryin and all. Like you done with my other dead child.” Othella fell back onto the bed and breathed hard, thankful that her ordeal was over. “It just don’t add up. Her comin dead. She seemed so healthy in my belly. With all that kickin and flippin and flop-pin and all. I even dreamed about her. A bad dream. I dreamed she was a happy little girl what got took away. Death or somethin.”
“Nothin but the devil lettin you know he was sendin her here dead. I done told you Satan’s a low-down, funky black dog! He the one responsible for me bein big as a Cadillac!” Ruby retorted, lifting one of her heavy legs for Othella to inspect.
Othella examined Ruby’s leg and nodded.
“What about the beer?”
“What about it?” Ruby returned her leg to its place. “I wish I didn’t have to drink so much of it.”
“That the devil too? He the reason you drink so much?”
Ruby sighed and shook her head slowly.
“I’m a alcoholic,” she admitted.
They got silent and looked at the baby again.
“Othella, let’s name this one.”
Othella looked from the baby to Ruby, then back to the baby.
“We didn’t name that last one what come here dead. Why you want to waste up a good name on a dead baby?”
“Well . . . it’s just that . . . this one different. The other one was a boy. You know yourself how bad I been wantin me a little girl. We can make out like this one was mine. You know, play like I gave birth to her.” Ruby smiled crookedly, waiting for Othella’s response.
“Mama Ruby, I can’t do that! It ain’t Christian.”
“Ain’t nobody but me and you got to know.”
