Ms. Ready sat back in her chair. “For yourself.”
Sidney laughed, softly, “Yeah, but I can’t hug and kiss myself. I can smile at myself, but what do that mean? To me? I can hold my own hand, but what do that mean to me? Don’t get me wrong, Ms. Ready, I’m doin alright, I ain’t cryin. But, just seems to me, with all the love they say is in the world and good as God is sposed to be, why am I the king of nothingness? Why ain’t I got a normal life? But I guess I should be satisfied, cause I got my health and such.”
Ms. Ready started rocking in the squeaking chair, very slowly. “Well, you honest, Turtle—Sidney.”
“I don’t care bout you callin me Turtle, cause everybody does anyway. I’m used to it.” He smiled, “But I like ‘Sidney,’ the most.”
“I need you to do me a favor, Sidney.”
“Why, sure, Ms. Ready, what can I do for you?”
“It’s not for me . . . exactly, just in a way.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I got a lady-friend here who has been . . . Some sucker has done her wrong and left her high and dry here in Memphis with no way to get home. He prob’ly got her cause she was lonely.”
Turtle took his handkerchief out and wiped his face again. “Lord, have mercy.”
“Please, Jesus. But she been here four days now and only paid rent for one. I can’t keep her here on that. We broke, too.”
“You mean . . .”
“I mean, she ain’t no fast woman, I know that. She got a home to go to. But, she got in her mind that she gonna have to get some money from somewhere . . .”
“Lord, have mercy.”
Ms. Ready pursued her goal. “Now, I don’t want her to step out here and run into trouble and all what is out here in these streets.”
“No, Lord, not here.”
“Not anywhere for a nice woman. So . . . I thought if I was to let her see anybody . . . it . . . it be you. Oh, NOT for that . . . but because you got a good, kind heart.”
“Well . . .” out came the handkerchief again, “I don’t have no whole lot of money . . . but . . . how far she live away from here? How much she owe you?”
The rocking chair stopped. “She owe me twenty-two dollars . . . today.”
The handkerchief was busy, “Whew! well . . . four days . . . twenty-two dollars?”
“Well, I been feedin her, too. That woman love to eat.”
Turtle began putting his tools away, slowly, thoughtfully. “Well, let me see if I can get some money together and kinda help her long her way.” He wondered if he was being used by his friend’s wife; did his friend think of him as a fool?
Ms. Ready kinda read his mind, so she leaned forward in the rocking chair, “Well, no . . . I know you got the money, but I know you got a good heart and will prob’ly give her the money and help her. But . . . don’t you see? Her. She need somebody. The man who talked her into comin here wasn’t never really nothin to her and sure didn’t mean her no good! And she hurtin in her heart. She need somebody to talk to . . . and you know this house don’t give me no time to sit round and talk. Ain’t you got a evenin, like this evenin, where you can come talk with her? Friendly like. That way she won’t mine takin loan-money from a stranger like we are?”
“Well . . .” He picked up his toolbox, ready to go. “You say she lonely? You say she a good woman? What a good woman doin bein lonely? I’ll . . .”
Ms. Ready leaned so far over toward Turtle that the rocking chair gave a loud screeching squeak in protest. “I’m tellin you, she IS a nice-lookin woman, sure is . . . but, she think she ugly!”
“Say what?”
Ms. Ready knew she was treading on serious ground, all up in Turtle’s business, messin close to his own personal feelings about himself. “I’m tellin you! She think she ugly and won’t nobody ever love her, or like her neither. You know, like a true friend?”
This was giving Sidney plenty more to think about. His own little heart was getting involved. A woman . . . felt ugly? “Wellll . . .”
Ms. Ready waded right on in and closed the gap. “Oh, thank you, Turtle, Sidney. Now, time is passin. Can I tell her you comin this evenin?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She was up and heading into the house to finish everything up, but she stopped and turned back to him. “And, Turtle, you can go on and try to have a piece if you want one. Prob’ly be doin her a favor.”
Sidney, standing in the yard, holding his toolbox, confused, curious and thrilled all at the same time, said, “Hush your mouth, Ms. Ready!” But . . . all good intentions said and being done, Sidney went home in a glowing, fearful daze.
When Sidney reached his home, his sister could tell there was something, not wrong with him, but something had happened to him. As you know, they were very close and talked about almost everything together. He told Dora of his conversation with Ms. Ready and that he planned to go back over there to meet this woman, but he didn’t know the woman’s name.
Dora, being the loving sister that she was, called Ms. Ready to see if this was some kind of joke or trick being played on her dear brother; she was even kind of angry. Ms. Ready assured her it was no joke and since women can talk together sometimes, she told her exactly what kind of woman Luella was, as far as she knew and she knew pretty far. Well, anyway, when they finished talking, Dora went and got all her husband’s colognes and shaving creams and all that men use, that her brother, in his simplified life, didn’t have. She pressed his suit, which didn’t quite need it, and ironed a fresh shirt for him. At 7:30 P.M. Sidney was ready to go and go he did.
Luella had bathed and dressed in her red dress. She had forgotten the rip and it was too late to fix it, so she planned to just keep that side turned away from this man. This man! She had put on her red shoes and as long as she didn’t walk in them, too much, they didn’t hurt too much.
Ms. Ready knocked on her door and came in without waiting for an answer, as usual. “He’ll be here in a minute! You look mighty pretty, Luella.” Then her heart turned on her again. “Now, don’t you forget! That money belongs to me! You got to work up on your own fare home!”
Luella was scared and dewy-eyed at the same time. She hesitated, “Did he try to say . . . no?”
Ms. Ready softened again. “No . . . Honey, you a good woman . . . he’s a good man. I feel like I’m doing one of them good deeds. But I think everything will work out alright. Just let it get along on its own.” Her heart hardened again. “Don’t you let nothin change your mind . . . No matter what!” Then she went out and shut the door behind her, muttering to herself as she went down the hall.
Luella was very nervous, but she had sense enough to be thoughtful. “Well . . . I sure hope he ain’t got no gonorosis or sylphilrita or nothin! Lord! If I can just get home one more time.” She got up, holding the rip, for the hundredth time to look in the mirror, fixing a hair here, a wrinkle in her dress there. She was so anxious about the coming evening she couldn’t do anything for too long. So she started talking to the Lord.
“Well . . . Lord, I don’t want to do this, but what else can I do?” She looked up to the heavens. “Drop me a ticket home and the money to pay this woman with and I’ll go right on home right now!” She moved to the opened window, looking out. “No, Lord, I’m lyin. I want to see what life is all about. I’ll never do it again, but just this one time, Lord. You know, this may just be my last chance to know . . . I didn’t make myself, Lord, so . . . I’m a woman, Lord, a human, flesh woman. I ain’t got a lotta hot blood, but . . . it’s pretty warm.” She shook her head as if this was no way to talk to the Lord, then decided to explain to Him.
“Now . . . I done got some money my mama left me. I got a home. But, I ain’t got no love . . .” She got down on her knees by the chair. “That’s what I want, Lord. Now . . . I know this ain’t love . . . real love . . . but if I pretend realllll hard . . . Lord, you know I ain’t never gonna have no house high up on no hill . . . with no bedroom where I steps into paradise and no high romance. I ain’t gonna get to
live on no romantic island with the palm trees wavin at me. Ain’t never gonna have no livin room like no ballroom and no bedroom with all them yards of silk and satin. I ain’t got nothin but myself . . . here in this dusty, cheap little roomin house . . . and a possible man who may change his mind . . . and not come at all . . . Oh, Lord, if he do come, forgive me, but I got to take this chance . . . cause who gonna love me sides my mama and You . . . and my mama’s dead, gone. So, who gonna love me sides You?”
Then . . . there came a knock, soft, but firm, at her door.
She was on her knees as she answered in a voice which sounded all wrong to her. “Co . . . com . . . come in?”
Turtle turns the doorknob slowly, opens the door, sticks his head in first and comes inside the room and tries to hide his back by keeping it close to the wall. “How do?”
Luella did see his hunched back, but tries hard not to let him know as she rises from the floor. “How do?”
“I’m Turtle.”
“I’m . . . Luella.”
Then both of them, shy and embarrassed, start speaking at the same time. Turtle points to the chair, asking, “Can I sit down?” Luella points to the bed, saying, “Sit down, why doncha please?” They laugh nervously, too long, as, still facing her, he set in the chair. Then the laughter stopped and a silence falls between them until Turtle asks, “How old are you, Ms. Luella?”
Luella tried to smile as she answered him, “That ain’t no good question to ask no lady. Why do you ask me that?”
Turtle did smile, “Cause I know you been havin company long enough to say more’n ‘have a seat’!” They laugh together again, grateful for something to fill the void.
Luella, in the middle of her laughter, said, “You can talk, too, you know.”
Turtle’s laughter dwindled as he looked at her, this woman, his date. “Yes, I can talk, but I thought maybe you might want to say . . . somethin special.”
Luella frowned slightly, “Special?”
Now, Turtle frowned, “Well, yes . . . like . . .” He is truly embarrassed and nervous. “If you want me to leave . . . Ms. Ready, the landlady, say she didn’t tell you ALL about me . . . So, if you wants me to go . . .” He got up from the chair and started to the door to leave.
Luella held out her arms as she got up from her seat on the bed. “No . . . I don’t want you to leave. You just got here. Why do you want to leave?” Then she thought it might be because he didn’t like the way she looked.
But, Turtle was already moving back to his chair, smiling as he did so. “I don’t want to leave, but you know . . . sometime . . . people, they look at me and . . . then they just . . .” His voice trailed off.
“They just what?”
Turtle looked directly into her eyes, “They, some people, just want me to hurry up and get away.”
“No, no! You sit down. I don’t want you to leave. Why would somebody want you to leave?”
Turtle took a deep breath, “Don’t you know what ever-body say? A humpback is bad luck?”
Luella set back down on her bed and, with a wave of her hand, said, “I ain’t never heard that in my life and, anyway, if I had, I wouldn’ta believed it!”
As Turtle slowly set back down, he asked, “You wouldn’t? Why?”
Luella shook her head as she laughed softly, “Cause bad luck don’t come in humps . . . It comes in people’s ways.”
Turtle relaxed and set back in the chair. “That’s right! I know that! I seen people have plenty bad luck and I ain’t been nowhere near em!”
Luella relaxed a little more herself and smiled her lovely smile again. “Me, too! Why, there’s a lady, ole Ms. Johnson, she live in Boville, where I come from. She married to a handsome deacon in the church . . . Every time a new baby born there, she scared to look it in the face. Scared that baby is gonna look like Deacon Johnson . . . and most times it do!”
They laughed, together. Then Luella said, “But that ain’t really funny . . . it’s sad.”
Turtle added, “And it ain’t bad luck . . . just a bad deacon!”
They laughed, together, again.
As Luella nodded her head “yes,” saying, “There’s all kinds of bad luck. It mostly comes from bad thinkin. Humps ain’t got nothin to do with it. I ain’t never seen one before and I’m having plenty BAD luck!”
Turtle didn’t laugh, he became serious. “I done seen too much of one.”
Luella sobered at his seriousness. “What’s it look like? What’s it feel like?”
“It don’t feel like nothin, til somebody else see it.”
Softly, Luella asked, “Can I see it?”
Turtle is hurt, embarrassed and ready to run, wishing he had not come after all. But he wanted to stay where he was, too. “Wellll . . . if you want to . . .”
Slowly, Luella got up, held her hand out as she walked over to him and touches it, tenderly. His face showed his pained feelings. This was his! He didn’t want her to see it, much less touch it, and make it more real.
Luella’s voice was very gentle and soft. “It’s warmmm.”
“I’m alive!”
Then, to add misery to his soul, Luella lifted his shirt collar away from his neck and put her hand inside and down his back, still gentle. “Why, that ain’t nothin. Just you got more back than somebody else.”
Turtle looked up at Luella, gratefully. She said, “Now, you’re gonna have all good luck! I have took all the bad luck away. I have so much already, a little more ain’t gonna make it nothin.”
Turtle smiled, still looking up at Luella. “It feels better. Ain’t nobody ever touched me but my mama and my pa and Dora.” Lest Luella think he had a woman, he hastened to add, “Dora my sister. But, it seem like you done had enough bad luck of your own. Why you want some of mine?”
Luella went back to the bed and sat down, dejectedly. “Why not? I got so much of my own, that little bit of yours ain’t gon matter one bit. Beside, I like to see you feel . . . better.”
Turtle, feeling lighter and brighter and happier than he had in years and years, asked, “What kinda bad luck you got? A good-lookin woman like you? You got everything you need to take you anywhere you want to go.”
Luella began to fidget, nervously. “Well . . . I ain’t never been one to talk much . . . But, people? They seem to all be playin some kinda game all the time . . .” She searches for words to explain her thoughts, “A game . . . you . . . can’t get into it, if you don’t . . . fit . . . the things . . . they are. Their . . . rules . . . or somethin.”
Reflectively, Turtle nods his head. “I know those games.”
Luella, caught up in her thoughts, continued, “When I think . . . of all them days I spent . . . alone, cause even if I was with my mama, I still was lonely. Sundays, holidays, night-times, meant for . . . people . . .” She laughed at herself a little as she fidgeted with her fingers. “Well . . . it gave me plenty time to think of all the things I wanted.” She almost whispered, “That I would never have.”
She raised her voice a little and continued, “All the things I wanted. All the things I needed.” Then, in an almost angry tone, Luella finished her thought, “and all the things I had to settle for.” She sighed and the anger seemed to leave her voice as she looked at Turtle. “I had dreams . . . I have dreams . . . but most of them have done gone on away now.” She laughed, lightly, at herself. “See . . . in them books and magazines? They always showed me what I was missin. So I had real big dreams. Them dreams was my only happiness. But . . . it really wasn’t happiness.” She sighed, then smiled, sad, in spite of her trying not to be. “I never liked to look in mirrors after them books.”
Turtle was leaning toward her, listening with all his attention and all his heart.
Luella paused for a moment, then decided to continue expressing her feelings. “You know, I wanted to blive there was someone in this world who wouldn’t think of nobody but me. Wouldn’t make love . . . to nobody else on the side . . . and I wouldn’t either.” She laughed in embarr
assment. “Well, I was young then.” She corrected herself, “Younger!”
As if Luella just thought of it, she said, “Some girls get married four or five times! . . . I never even got a Valentine card!”
Turtle’s body jumped as though startled. “But you so pretty . . . them boys in your town musta been blind!”
It was Luella’s turn to be startled, “What you sayin? Are you crazy or something? I am ugly.” She spells it out for him. “UGLY. Ugly.”
Turtle, his voice strong, disagrees with her. “No you ain’t! No you sure ain’t. I done seen plenty women in this city . . . and you ain’t no ugly woman! No sir! You damn nigh beautiful!” Then he lowered his voice, as though ashamed of what he was taking a breath to say. “I don’t like that red dress though.”
Luella was shocked. “You don’t like my red dress? I mean . . . I know it’s torn a little bit, but . . .”
In a stronger voice, Turtle added, “I don’t like them shoes either! Red ain’t your color.”
“It ain’t?”
Turtle softened his voice because he could see her feelings were hurt and he knew she was trying to look nice. “No . . . it ain’t. Maybe a . . . a light rose color . . . or a pale, pale green. Even a light, light blue. Or cream.” Then his voice became serious again. “But, no . . . not red. And I bet you don’t need to wear no wig either.”
Luella’s hand flew up to the bedraggled wig that seemed to set askew atop her head. “It ain’t? I don’t?” She loved the color red. “Not reeeddd?” She challenged him. “How do you know so much bout what’s good bout colors?”
Turtle took a moment to answer, then said, “I done watched the sun rise a lot . . . and I watch it set most every day it’s out. I’m up deep into the night, and I get to see the sky in all the dark, beautiful colors. The clouds are different colors at night, too. I love the black clouds shot through with gray, floating across the sky. In the daytime, I see the grass and the trees . . . changin . . . all the time changin, all year round. I keeps a garden of flowers. Sometime I work it at night, if the moon is bright, and I can still see the colors. I don’t sleep too good, you see.”
The Future Has a Past Page 10
