Sassafrass, Cypress & Indigo

by Ntozake Shange

  “John Henderson get that nasty mess out my face, get on away from my door with your trash, you hear me!”

  Then she’d slam the door shut, brush her hands on her apron and pat her braids, as if she was making sure that nothing about her was as out of order as everything about Uncle John. Still, one day after she had shouted the daylights out the window for Uncle John to go on where ever it was that he laid his pitiful head, he came creeping up the steps.

  Miranda and Indigo peeked out the window, being careful to stay behind the curtains. Uncle John was a slight man, copper colored. Indigo explained to Miranda that that was the Indian in him. His eyes had a sly look, like the eyes of those boys that came tearing after Cypress after school; giggling eyes, and a mouth fitting a proud man. Mrs. Yancey looked more like Sister Mary Louise to Indigo. Here she was prancing around, twitching, putting her hair this way and that, because Uncle John was at the door. That didn’t make no sense. No sense at all.

  Uncle John had to push the bell three times. Finally, Mrs. Yancey slowly opened the wood door, leaving the screen door quite shut.

  “Well, John Henderson, what are you doing on my front porch, looking how you look?”

  She was right. Uncle John was a mite unkempt: white fuzzies curled from his ear, beneath his chin; his jacket was fraying at the lapels, and his shoes were covered with dirt. Mrs. Yancey hoped it was dirt, anyway. Uncle John, on the other hand, didn’t pay no mind to Mrs. Yancey. He just looked at her with those giggling eyes and said:

  “I been passing by here more frequent than I usedta, M’am. I’m not a young man no more, an’ I been thinking how you collects nice things jus’ like I do, an’ how you still too smart looking to stay off by yourself all the time. I’m fixing to come calling in the nigh future if you don’t mind?”

  “John Henderson, you don’t even have a place to live. You don’t take baths, or shave. And you think you gonna grace my house with your I-don’t-care-’bout-nothing-self. You don’t even have a place to live.”

  “I’ll just pass by round dinner time, awright.” That’s all he said, though he was grinning even as he patted his horse, Yoki. He must have been saying sweet things, because Yoki neighed, seemed to blush, and then they were gone.

  Miranda had not said much about Mrs. Yancey and Uncle John, but Indigo figured that the way Mrs. Yancey carried on after he left that she set more store by him than she let on. That’s why Indigo stole out of her mother’s house quickly after their dinner of okra, rice and ham hocks, to see if Uncle John really came back, like he said he would. She carried Marie-Hélène with her, along with Miranda, because Marie-Hélène was so frail that she didn’t get out much.

  Indigo was really glad both her doll-friends were with her. Otherwise she would never have believed what she saw. Uncle John was there all right. Going up Mrs. Yancey’s walk like he would have to, but he was in a tuxedo and top hat. The spats on his shoes gleamed in the lavender sky. He kept his pace up and his back straight with the help of an ebony cane with a gold handle. Plus, when Mrs. Yancey came to the door, her hair wasn’t in braids. It was all over the place like those women in the pictures over bars, the mermaids covering their privates, with their hair flowing like seaweed everywhere. She wasn’t wearing her slippers, either. She had on high heels and a pale blue dress chiseled onto her form like white on rice. Mrs. Yancey took Uncle John’s arm; they virtually floated off the porch, down the walk to the corner.

  Indigo kept hearing Mrs. Yancey say, “Uncle John you don’t even have a place to live.” Everybody knew Uncle John lived in his wagon, but nobody had ever seen what Indigo saw. Uncle John went over to his wagon, pulled out a fine easy chair and set it by the curb, then motioned for Mrs. Yancey to have a seat. Next thing Indigo knew, he had spread a Persian rug in the middle of the street, set a formal table, pulled out a wine bucket, and started dinner on the stove at the back of his wagon. Yoki was all dressed up with flowers woven through her mane and violet feathers tied on her hooves. Uncle John put candles on the table, and pinned a corsage to Mrs. Yancey’s dress. She kept looking around like she thought being in the middle of the street in Uncle John’s living room was not really safe, when out of nowhere the guys from the Geechee Capitans, a motorcycle gang of disrepute led by Pretty Man, came speeding down the street. Mrs. Yancey ’most jumped to her roof. Uncle John didn’t exhibit much concern about these young ruffians on their huffing, humming bikes. He looked up, waved his hand, and the Geechee Capitans, who had never done a good turn by anybody in the city of Charleston, South Carolina, made road blocks on either side of Uncle John’s parlor-in-the-middle-of-the-street.

  Marie-Hélène told Indigo she thought she would faint. Miranda was speechless. Indigo tried to accept the Geechee Capitans, clad in leather jackets with crossed switchblades painted on their backs, pork-pie hats and black boots, guarding her friend Mrs. Yancey, who was having dinner with Uncle John the junk man in the street. Indigo stayed behind the bushes by the Johnsons’ house as long as she could, looking. When Uncle John pulled out a Victrola, played a Fletcher Henderson 78, and asked Mrs. Yancey to dance, Indigo knew it was time to go home. There was too much magic out in the night. Indigo felt the moon in her mouth, singing. The South in her.

  SUITORS WITH THE MOON’S BLESSING

  Fill a glass that sparkles in sunlight with pure spring water. Place one sprig of fresh mint in the water, and a mouthful of honey. Take your middle finger gently round the curve of your lips as you imagine your beloved might. Kiss the edges of the finger. Take a breath so deep your groin senses it. Hold your breath while envisioning your beloved’s face. Release the breath still picturing your beloved. Then with the kissed finger, make a circle round the rim of the glass 12 times, each time repeating your beloved’s name. Each time seeing your beloved filled with joy. Close your eyes. Let your beloved fill your heart. Bring the glass to your lips. Drink the gladness that shall be yours.

  IF YOUR BELOVED HAS EYES FOR ANOTHER

  Sleep on your left side with 6 white roses by your head. Fill your pillow with 2 handfuls of damiana leaves. Do this 3 days in a row. On the fourth day, use one handful of the damiana leaves to make tea. Drink 2 cups; one at dawn, the other at dusk. The other handful of damiana leaves should be mixed with cubeb berries, wrapped in a red or blue piece of cotton (use red if you have passions for your beloved. Use blue if you merely desire fidelity). With the damiana-cubeb berry-filled pouch anywhere on your person in the presence of your beloved, your way shall be had.

  SEEKING NOTHING/GIVING THANKS FOR LUNAR GIFTS

  (Full moon required)

  Bathe casually in a bath scented with cinnamon and vanilla. Wash hair with raspberry tea. Rinse thoroughly, being sure your hands have touched every part of your body as your beloved might. Without adornment of any kind, jewelry or clothing, go to the outside. Lie fully open to the sky, widely, naked. Think of your beloved. Smell your beloved. Allow the Moon to share with you the pleasures your beloved brings you. Hold back nothing. Your thanks are mightily received. (May be executed in the company of your beloved, if he or she stands open over you, or if he or she lies as you lie at least 6 inches from you.) Before rising, you must have surrendered all you know of your beloved to the Moon, or your beloved shall have no more to offer you. (Very advanced. Wait if not sure.)

  “. . . ‘And your sons will become shepherds in the wilderness.’ Numbers 14:33. I think that’s enough for you to meditate on tonight, Indigo.”

  “But that doesn’t have anything to do with me, Sister Mary Louise!” Indigo squirmed in her seat where she was helping Sister Mary Louise select the flowers for the Little Shepherd of Judea, C.M.E. Church’s Young People’s Meeting.

  “Don’t blaspheme, Indigo. The Lord don’t take kindly to senseless babblin’.”

  “I’m not babbling, Sister, really. I’m a girl, that’s all. I want to know what I’m supposed to do.” Indigo pushed the roses from this side to that, nimbly avoiding the thorns, handling buds with caring alacrity. This one
will do. This one will not. Bruised flowers had no place on the altar in Christ’s House. Sister Mary Louise was heartened when Indigo came round. Those other two, the one who went off to the North and the other one shaking her ass all the time, they had never learned how to touch flowers or the ways of the Lord. Sister Mary Louise with no children in her house invited Indigo, but not Indigo’s doll friends, to be among her flowers, to join in singing the praises of the Lord Almighty whose blessings are so bountiful we can never give thanks enough, and to bake breads.

  “You can take those loaves out the oven, and behave like a good Christian girl, that’s what you can do.”

  Indigo looked at the roses and then at her friend, Mary Louise Murray, who must have been around roses too long. Her face shone like petals with veins glowing, like the opals she wore in her ears. One big plait lay smack in the middle of her head, wound round and round; serpents in the garden. Pale green eyes rushed from her face whenever the Holy Spirit took her, if her bushes were dewy and the sun just coming up. Indigo had a reluctant soul, to Sister Mary’s mind. Not that Indigo was a bad child, only she’d been exposed to so many heathenish folks, pagans out there on those islands.

  “Christian girls don’t do nothing but bake bread?” Indigo peered into the oven. The heat beat her face till she frowned. “Not ready yet,” she said, and carefully let the oven door fit back in its latch. Sister Mary Louise was tickled.

  “No. Indigo, we don’t just bake bread. We tend after beauty in the world. The flowers and the children.” For all her Godfearing ways, Sister Mary Murray had been known to get the spirit outside of Church. Sometimes, when she was walking to the fish market or delivering breads, she’d be singing “I Ain’t Got Weary Yet,” or “Didn’t My Lord Deliver Daniel,” and she would just get happy in the street. This was not exemplary behavior for a Deaconess. At many a sermon she would be called forth to testify about how the Devil seized her in broad daylight, taking on the movements of the Holy Spirit, tempting the sinner in her. Other folks believed that being without children is what drove Sister Mary to have these fits in public. It only happened when some young boy from the country was within ten feet of her, broad shouldered and raw. Other folks figured that Sister Mary Louise sipped a little bit, and got to feeling so good she couldn’t stand it. Indigo knew that Sister Mary Louise was in fact a Christian woman. Sister didn’t allow any dolls that could talk in her house.

  “No haints coming in my house. What do you imagine the Lord God Jesus Christ would think, if I set my table for haints?” That’s what she’d said to Indigo.

  Now Indigo was angry. The bread wasn’t ready. Sister’s saying little girls make bread and take care of beauty. Indigo thought her stomach was going to jump out of her mouth and knock over all the flowers, stomp the breads, and let hell aloose in Sister Mary’s big white kitchen, where Jesus looked down from every wall. The Last Supper. The Annunciation. From way up on Mt. Calvary, there he was waiting for “his sons to shepherd.” Indigo was so mad she felt lightheaded; hot all over.

  “Sister Mary Louise, when I talked to Miranda she didn’t want to bake nothing.”

  “I told you awready. You too big to be talking to dolls. Good Lord, Indigo, look at yourself.” Indigo tried to focus on Sister Mary’s face. But she only saw a glimmering. She tried to look at herself, and kept blinking her eyes, rubbing her palms over them, to get some focus. She saw something spreading out of her in a large scarlet pool at her feet. Sister Mary jumped up and down.

  “Indigo the Lord’s called you to be a woman. Look on High for His Blessing. Look I say. Look to Jesus, who has ‘blessed you this day.’ ” Indigo fell down on her knees like Sister Mary had. And listened and swayed in her growing scarlet lake to the voice of this green-eyed woman singing for the heavens: “Trouble In Mind,” “Done Made My Vow,” and “Rise and Shine,” so that Indigo would know “among whom was Mary Magdalene.”

  “Speak, child, raise your voice that the Lord May Know You as the Woman You Are.”

  Then Sister Mary Louise rose, her thin body coated with Indigo’s blood. She gently took off Indigo’s clothes, dropped them in a pail of cold water. She bathed Indigo in a hot tub filled with rose petals: white, red, and yellow floating around a new woman. She made Indigo a garland of flowers, and motioned for her to go into the back yard.

  “There in the garden, among God’s other beauties, you should spend these first hours. Eve’s curse threw us out the garden. But like I told you, women tend to beauty and children. Now you can do both. Take your blessing and let your blood flow among the roses. Squat like you will when you give birth. Smile like you will when God chooses to give you a woman’s pleasure. Go now, like I say. Be not afraid of your nakedness.”

  Then Sister Mary shut the back door. Indigo sat bleeding among the roses, fragrant and filled with grace.

  MARVELOUS MENSTRUATING MOMENTS

  (As Told by Indigo to Her Dolls as She Made Each and Every One of Them a Personal Menstruation Pad of Velvet)

  A. Flowing:

  When you first realize your blood has come, smile; an honest smile, for you are about to have an intense union with your magic. This is a private time, a special time, for thinking and dreaming. Change your bedsheet to the ones that are your favorite. Sleep with a laurel leaf under your head. Take baths in wild hyssop, white water lilies. Listen for the voices of your visions; they are nearby. Let annoying people, draining worries, fall away as your body lets what she doesn’t need go from her. Remember that you are a river; your banks are red honey where the Moon wanders.

  B. For Disturbance of the Flow:

  Don’t be angry with your body if she is not letting go of her blood. Eat strawberries, make strawberry tea with the leaves to facilitate the flow. To increase the flow, drink squaw weed tea. For soothing before your blood flows, drink some black snakeroot or valerian tea. For cramps, chew wild ginger.

  “Indigo, I don’t want to hear another word about it, do you understand me. I’m not setting the table with my Sunday china for fifteen dolls who got their period today!”

  “But, Mama, I promised everybody we’d have a party because we were growing up and could be more like women. That’s what Sister Mary Louise said. She said that we should feast and celebrate with our very best dresses and our very favorite foods.”

  “Sister Mary Louise needs to get herself married ’fore she’s lost what little of her mind she’s got left. I don’t want you going round that simple woman’s house. You take my good velvet from ’tween those dolls’ legs. Go to the store and buy yourself some Kotex. Then you come back here and pack those creatures up. Put them in the attic. Bring yourself back here and I’m going to tell you the truth of what you should be worrying about now you sucha grown woman.”

  “Mama, I can’t do that. I can’t put them away. I’ll have nobody to talk to. Nobody at all.”

  “Indigo, you’re too big for this nonsense. Do like I say, now.”

  “Mama. What if I stopped carrying Miranda in the street with me, and left my other friends upstairs all the time, could I leave ’em out then, could I? Please Mama, I know they’re dollies. I really do. Sassafrass and Cypress kept all the things they made when they were little, didn’t they?”

  “That’s a lie. Don’t you have all their dolls? I can’t believe a girl as big as you, wearing a training bra and stockings to school, can’t think of nothing but make-believe. But if you promise me that you going to leave them in your room and stop asking me to sing to ’em, feed ’em, and talk with ’em, you can leave them out. Now go on to the store.”

  Indigo left her lesson book on the kitchen table, went to her mother tearing collards by the sink, and gave her a big hug. Her mother’s apron always smelled like cinnamon and garlic no matter how many times it was washed. It smelled of times like this when her mother felt a surge in her bosom like her nipples were exploding with milk again, leaving her damp and sweet, but now it was Indigo’s tears that softened her spirit.

  “Indigo, you’re
my littlest baby, but you make it hard for me sometimes, you know that.”

  “Mama, I can make it easier today ’cause I awready know what it is you were gonna tell me when I came back from the store.”

  “You do, do you?”

  “Yeah, you were going to tell me that since I became a woman, boys were gonna come round more often, ’cause they could follow the trail of stars that fall from between my legs after dark.”

  “What?”

  “The stars that fall from ’tween my legs can only be seen by boys who are pure of mind and strong of body.”

  “Indigo, listen to me very seriously. This is Charleston, South Carolina. Stars don’t fall from little colored girls’ legs. Little boys don’t come chasing after you for nothing good. White men roam these parts with evil in their blood, and every single thought they have about a colored woman is dangerous. You have gotta stop living this make-believe. Please, do that for your mother.”

  “Every time I tell you something, you tell me about white folks. ‘White folks say you can’t go here—white folks say you can’t do this—you can’t do that.’ I didn’t make up white folks, what they got to do with me? I ain’t white. My dolls ain’t white. I don’t go round bothering white folks!”

  “That’s right, they come round bothering us, that’s what I’m trying to tell you . . .”