by Paula Guran
“I know,” Ruby says softly.
“It’s like in the story, isn’t it?”
“Just like.”
“And like in the story, if I give it to you, Kitty can’t hurt me ever again?”
“Just like.”
Mary Louise opens her fist again and looks at the scrap of blue flannel for a long time. “Okay,” she says finally, and gives it to Ruby.
“It’ll be all right, Miss Mouse. I b’lieve everything will turn out just fine. Now I gotta finish this laundry and do me some housework. I’ll meet you in the kitchen round one-thirty. We’ll eat and I’ll fix up your hand right after my story.”
At two o’clock the last credits of As the World Turns disappear from the TV. Ruby and Mary Louise go down to the basement. They lay out all the ingredients on the padded gray surface of the ironing board. Ruby assembles the hand, muttering under her breath from time to time. Mary Louise can’t hear the words. Ruby wraps everything in the blue flannel and snares the neck of the walnut-sized bundle with three twists of white string.
“Now all we gotta do is give it a little drink, then you can put it on,” she tells Mary Louise.
“Drink of what?”
Ruby frowns. “I been thinkin on that. My Aunt Nancy said best thing is to get me some Peaceful Oil. But I don’t know no root doctors up here. Ain’t been round Detroit long enough.”
“We could look in the phone book.”
“Ain’t the kind of doctor you finds in the Yellow Pages. Got to know someone who knows someone. And I don’t. I told Aunt Nancy that, and she says in that case, reg’lar whiskey’ll do just fine. That’s what I been givin my money hand. Little bit of my husband’s whiskey every mornin for six days now. I don’t drink, myself, ’cept maybe a cold beer on a hot summer night. But whiskey’s strong magic, comes to conjurin. Problem is, I can’t take your hand home with me to give it a drink, ’long with mine.”
“Why not?”
“ ’Cause once it goes round your neck, nobody else can touch it, not even me, else the conjure magic leak right out.” Ruby looks at Mary Louise thoughtfully. “What’s the most powerful drink you ever had, Miss Mouse?”
Mary Louise hesitates for a second, then says, “Vernor’s ginger ale. The bubbles are very strong. They go up my nose and make me sneeze.”
Ruby laughs. “I think that just might do. Ain’t as powerful as whiskey, but it fits, you bein just a child and all. And there’s one last bottle up in the Frigidaire. You go on up now and fetch it.”
Mary Louise brings down the yellow and green bottle. Ruby holds her thumb over the opening and sprinkles a little bit on the flannel bag, mumbling some more words that end with “father son and holy ghost amen.” Then she ties the white yarn around Mary Louise’s neck so that the bag lies under her left armpit, and the string doesn’t show.
“This bag’s gotta be a secret,” she says. “Don’t talk about it, and don’t let nobody else see it. Can you do that?”
Mary Louise nods. “I dress myself in the morning, and I change into my jammies in the bathroom.”
“That’s good. Now the next three mornings, before you get dressed, you give your bag a little drink of this Vernor’s, and say, ‘Lord, bring an end to the evil in this house, amen.’ Can you remember that?”
Mary Louise says she can. She hides the bottle of Vernor’s behind the leg of her bed. Tuesday morning she sprinkles the bag with Vernor’s before putting on her T-shirt. The bag is a little sticky.
But Mary Louise thinks the magic might be working. Kitty has bought a blond wig, a golden honey color. Mary Louise thinks it looks like a helmet, but doesn’t say so. Kitty smiles in the mirror at herself and is in a better mood. She leaves Mary Louise alone.
Wednesday morning the bag is even stickier. It pulls at Mary Louise’s armpit when she reaches for the box of Kix in the cupboard. Ruby says this is okay.
By Thursday, the Vernor’s has been open for too long. It has gone flat and there are no bubbles at all. Mary Louise sprinkles her bag, but worries that it will lose its power. She is afraid the charm will not work, and that Kitty will come and get her. Her thumbs ache in anticipation.
When she goes downstairs Kitty is in her new wig and a green dress. She is going out to a luncheon. She tells Mary Louise that Ruby will not be there until noon, but she will stay to cook dinner. Mary Louise will eat in the dining room tonight, and until then she should be good and not to make a mess. After she is gone, Mary Louise eats some Kix and worries about her thumbs.
When her bowl is empty, she goes into the den, and stands on the desk chair so she can reach the tall books on the bookshelf. They are still over her head, and she cannot see, but her fingers reach. The dust on the tops makes her sneeze; she finds the key on a large black book called Who’s Who in Manufacturing 1960. The key is brass and old-looking.
Mary Louise unlocks the liquor cabinet and looks at the bottles. Some are brown, some are green. One of the green ones has Toto dogs on it, a black one and a white one, and says SCOTCH WHISKEY. The bottle is half-full and heavy. She spills some on the floor, and her little bag is soaked more than sprinkled, but she thinks this will probably make up for the flat ginger ale.
She puts the green bottle back and carefully turns it so the Toto dogs face out, the way she found it. She climbs back up on the chair and puts the key back up on top of Manufacturing, then climbs down.
The little ball is cold and damp under her arm, and smells like medicine. She changes her shirt and feels safer. But she does not want to eat dinner alone with Kitty. That is not safe at all. She thinks for a minute, then smiles. Ruby has shown her how to make a room safe.
There are only five nails left in the jar in the garage. But she doesn’t want to keep Kitty out of the dining room, just make it safe to eat dinner there. Five is probably fine. She takes the nails into the kitchen and opens the cupboard under the sink. She looks at the Drano. She is not allowed to touch it, not by Kitty’s rules, not by babysitter rules, not by Ruby’s rules. She looks at the pirate flag man on the side of the can. The poison man. He is bad, bad, bad, and she is scared. But she is more scared of Kitty.
She carries the can over to the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room and kneels down. When she looks close she sees dirt and salt and seeds and bits of things in the thin space between the linoleum and the carpet.
The can is very heavy, and she doesn’t think she can pour any Drano into the cap. Not without spilling it. So she tips the can upside down three times, then opens it. There is milky Drano on the inside of the cap. She carefully dips in each nail and pushes them, one by one, under the edge of the dining room carpet. It is hard to push them all the way in, and the two in the middle go crooked and cross over each other a little.
“This is a protectin hand,” she says out loud to the nails. Now she needs a prayer, but not a bedtime prayer. A dining room prayer. She thinks hard for a minute, then says, “For what we are about to receive may we be truly thankful amen.” Then she puts the Drano back under the sink and washes her hands three times with soap, just to make sure.
Ruby gets there at noon. She gives Mary Louise a quick hug and a smile, and then tells her to scoot until dinnertime, because she has to vacuum and do the kitchen floor and polish the silver. Mary Louise wants to ask Ruby about magic things, but she scoots.
Ruby is mashing potatoes in the kitchen when Kitty comes home. Mary Louise sits in the comer of the breakfast nook, looking at the comics in the paper, still waiting for Ruby to be less busy and come and talk to her. Kitty puts her purse down and goes into the den. Mary Louise hears the rattle of ice cubes. A minute later, Kitty comes into the kitchen. Her glass has an inch of brown liquid in it. Her eyes have an angry look.
“Mary Louise, go to your room. I need to speak to Ruby in private.”
Mary Louise gets up without a word and goes into the hall. But she does not go upstairs. She opens the basement door silently and pulls it almost shut behind her. She stands on the top step
and listens.
“Ruby, I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go,” says Kitty.
Mary Louise feels her armpits grow icy cold and her eyes begin to sting.
“Ma’am?”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“No, ma’am. I ain’t—”
“Don’t try to deny it. I know you coloreds have a weakness for it. That’s why Mr. Whittaker and I keep the cabinet in the den locked. For your own good. But when I went in there, just now, I found the cabinet door open. I cannot have servants in my house that I do not trust. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mary Louise waits for Ruby to say something else, but there is silence. “I will pay you through the end of the week, but I think it’s best if you leave after dinner tonight.” There is a rustling and the snap of Kitty’s handbag opening. “There,” she says. “I think I’ve been more than generous, but of course I cannot give you references.”
“No, ma’am,” says Ruby.
“Very well. Dinner at six. Set two places. Mary Louise will eat with me.” Mary Louise hears the sound of Kitty’s heels marching off, then the creak of the stairs going up. There is a moment of silence, and the basement door opens.
Ruby looks at Mary Louise and takes her hand. At the bottom of the stairs she sits, and gently pulls Mary Louise down beside her. “Miss Mouse? You got somethin you want to tell me?”
Mary Louise hangs her head.
“You been in your daddy’s liquor?”
A tiny nod. “I didn’t drink any. I just gave my bag a little. The Vernor’s was flat and I was afraid the magic wouldn’t work. I put the key back. I guess I forgot to lock the door.”
“I guess you did.”
“I’ll tell Kitty it was me,” Mary Louise says, her voice on the edge of panic. “You don’t have to be fired. I’ll tell her.”
“Tell her what, Miss Mouse? Tell her you was puttin your daddy’s whiskey on a conjure hand?” Ruby shakes her head. “Sugar, you listen to me. Miz Kitty thinks I been drinkin, she just fire me. But she find out I been teachin you black juju magic, she gonna call the po-lice. Better you keep quiet, hear?”
“But it’s not fair!”
“Maybe it is, maybe it ain’t.” Ruby strokes Mary Louise’s hair and smiles a sad smile, her eyes as gentle as her hands. “But, see, after she talk to me that way, ain’t no way I’m gonna keep workin for Miz Kitty nohow. It be okay, though. My money hand gonna come through. I can feel it. Already startin to, maybe. The Ford plant’s hirin again, and my husband’s down there today, signin up. Maybe when I gets home, he’s gonna tell me good news. May just be.”
“You can’t leave me!” Mary Louise cries.
“I got to. I got my own life.”
“Take me with you.”
“I can’t, sugar.” Ruby puts her arms around Mary Louise. “Poor Miss Mouse. You livin in this big old house with nice things all ’round you, ’cept nobody nice to you. But angels watchin out for you. I b’lieve that. Keep you safe till you big enough to make your own way, find your real kin.”
“What’s kin?”
“Fam’ly. Folks you belong to.”
“Are you my kin?”
“Not by blood, sugar. Not hardly. But we’re heart kin, maybe. ’Cause I love you in my heart, and I ain’t never gonna forget you. That’s a promise.” Ruby kisses Mary Louise on the forehead and pulls her into a long hug. “Now since Miz Kitty already give me my pay, I ’spect I oughta go up, give her her dinner. I reckon you don’t want to eat with her?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. I’ll tell her you ain’t feelin well, went on up to bed. But I’ll come downstairs, say good-bye, ’fore I leave.” Ruby stands up and looks fondly down at Mary Louise. “It’ll be okay, Miss Mouse. There’s miracles every day. Why, last Friday, they put a fella up in space. Imagine that? A man up in space? So ain’t nothin impossible, not if you wish just hard as you can. Not if you believe.” She rests her hand on Mary Louise’s head for a moment, then walks slowly up the stairs and back into the kitchen.
Mary Louise sits on the steps and feels like the world is crumbling around her. This is not how the story is supposed to end. This is not happily ever after. She cups her tiny hand around the damp, sticky bag under her arm and closes her eyes and thinks about everything that Ruby has told her. She wishes for the magic to be real.
And it is. There are no sparkles, no gold. This is basement magic, deep and cool. Power that has seeped and puddled, gathered slowly, beneath the notice of queens, like the dreams of small awkward girls. Mary Louise believes with all her heart, and finds the way to her mouse self.
Mouse sits on the bottom step for a minute, a tiny creature with a round pink tail and fur the color of new rust. She blinks her blue eyes, then scampers off the step and across the basement floor. She is quick and clever, scurrying along the baseboards, seeking familiar smells, a small ball of blue flannel trailing behind her.
When she comes to the burnt-orange coat hanging inches from the floor, she leaps. Her tiny claws find purchase in the nubby fabric, and she climbs up to the pocket, wriggles over and in. Mouse burrows into a pale cotton hankie that smells of girl tears and wraps herself tight around the flannel ball that holds her future. She puts her pink nose down on her small pink paws and waits for her true love to come.
Kitty sits alone at the wide mahogany table. The ice in her drink has melted. The kitchen is only a few feet away, but she does not get up. She presses the buzzer beneath her feet, to summon Ruby. The buzzer sounds in the kitchen. Kitty waits. Nothing happens. Impatient, she presses on the buzzer with all her weight. It shifts, just a fraction of an inch, and its wire presses against the two lye-tipped nails that have crossed it. The buzzer shorts out with a hiss. The current, diverted from its path to the kitchen, returns to Kitty. She begins to twitch, as if she were covered in stinging ants, and her eyes roll back in her head. In a gesture that is both urgent and awkward, she clutches at the tablecloth, pulling it and the dishes down around her. Kitty Whittaker, a former Miss Bloomfield Hills, falls to her knees and begins to howl wordlessly at the Moon.
Downstairs, Ruby hears the buzzer, then a crash of dishes. She starts to go upstairs, then shrugs. She takes off her white uniform for the last time. She puts on her green skirt and her cotton blouse, leaves the white Keds under the sink, puts on her flat black shoes. She looks in the clothes chute, behind the furnace, calls Mary Louise’s name, but there is no answer. She calls again, then, with a sigh, puts on her nubby orange outdoor coat and pulls the light string. The basement is dark behind her as she opens the door and walks out into the soft spring evening.
In Tanith Lee’s story, Taisia-Tua is a mysterious witch who comes to the exotic and opulent city of Qon Oshen. The enchantress wears a variety of masks. Masks, although they have a particular meaning in this tale, have more general magical uses as well. Wearing a mask “transforms” the wearer in some way. Rituals and performances by magic-makers wearing masks tapped the power or spirits of animals, ancestors, gods, and “other selves.” In many African cultures masks were used to protect against witchcraft and sorcery. Fictional superheroes (or non-super heroes like Zorro and the Scarlet Pimpernel) don masks—supposedly to disguise themselves, but putting on a mask is also part of their transformation from mundane to extraordinary.
Mirage and Magia
Tanith Lee
During the Ninth Dynasty of the Jat Calendar, Taisia-Tua lived at the town of Qon Oshen, in a mansion of masks and mirrors.
At that time, being far inland, and unlinked by road or bridge to any of the great seaports of the Western Peninsula, Qon Oshen was an obscure and fulminating area. Its riches, born of itself and turned back like radiations upon itself, had made it both exotic and psychologically impenetrable to most of those foreigners who very occasionally entered it. Generally, it was come on by air, almost by accident, by riders of galvanic silver and crimson balloon-ships. Held in a clasp of pointed, platinum-color
ed hills, in which one break only poured to the shore of an iridium lake, Qon Oshen presented latticed towers, phantasmal soaring bridgeways, a game board of square plazas and circular trafficuli. Sometimes, gauzelike clouds, attracted to the chemical and auric emanations of the town, would hang low over it, foaming the tower tops. In a similar manner, the reputation of Taisia-Tua hung over the streets, insubstantial, dreamlike, menacing.
She had come from the north, riding in a high white grasshopper carriage, which strode on fragile legs seven feet in the air. The date of her coming varied depending on who recounted it. Seventeen years ago, ten, the year when Saturo, the demon-god, sent fire, and the cinnamon harvest was lost. Her purpose for arrival was equally elusive. She chose for her dwelling a mansion of rose-red tilework, spiraled about with thin stone balustrades on which squatted antimony toads and jade cats, and enclosed by gates of wrought iron, five yards high. Dark green deciduous, and pale-gray fan-shaped pines spread around the mansion, as if to shield it. After sunset, its windows of stained glass turned slotted eyes of purple, magenta, blue, emerald, and gold upon the town. Within the masking trees and behind the masking windows, the Magia—for everyone had known at once she was an enchantress—paced out the dance moves of her strange and insular life.
One thing was always remembered. On the morning or noon or evening or midnight of her arrival, someone had snatched a glimpse inside the grasshopper carriage. This someone, (a fool, for who but a fool would risk such a glimpse?) had told how there were no windows but that, opposite the seat of lush plum silk, the wall above the driver’s keys was all one polished mirror. The only view Taisia-Tua had apparently had, all the way from the north to Qon Oshen, was that of her own self.
“Is she beautiful, then?”
“Most beautiful.”
“Not at all beautiful.”
“Ugly.”
“Gorgeous.”
“One cannot be sure. Whenever she passes through the town she is always partly masked or veiled. Nor has anyone ever seen her in the same gown twice, or the same wig (she is always wigged). Even her slippers and her jewelry are ephemeral.”
