Good Negress

by Verdelle, A. J.

Luke edward is thin, lanky, and on the red side of brown. His nubby hair, close cut and rubbed to shining, has much of the same red as his skin. On the street he looks different than us in his family. More akin to clay. Luke grins quickly, shows teeth standing square, as ordered and short as wash cloths hung on a line to dry. Our two mouths are the same. Luke’s eyes—I notice them again as we lean back in a V; we hug, we laugh, we inspect each other—his eyes are as full of good humor as they are light brown. He lets me go suddenly, then catches me as I get off balance. He laughs at it all.

  He is the kind that makes women want to follow. To talk among themselves about his long legs, fine fingers, good teeth, speaking eyes. They said Girl, hush to each other about him. I have heard women talk among themselves about Lucky Luke, even when he was much too young for the things they said. (Lucky Luke edward got the eyes he got; they beautiful, and talkative, but they also obviously sly. Anybody look at him close can see how jokin is the pigment in his stare.) Luke can get what he want from most any woman. Mostly because they will give it to him. But ain’t hardly a woman can attach to him don’t know from his eyes how quick he might change. Any woman says she doesn’t know how Luke edward is, is either telling a tale, or she totally backwoods, or she blind.

  When they were young boys, David’s thing was color, and Luke edward’s, runnin round. David used to study all the red and orange, blond, and light brown things that were different than the dirt brown and grass green of the country. Many times he would come into the house with a fat caterpillar, tomato worm, or other wrigglin creature that had had no chance to hide, the head of it squeezed between his stubby fingers. Granma’am, he could say, look at this. He would find out what Granma’am knew about the critters, and he tried to let them go before they died.

  Luke edward ran from fence to post, from the tracks to town, and anywhere else he could get to. His runnin amok like he did made him late a lot. This did not please Granma’am. He made a lot of discoveries of his own, though. Not havin to do with worms, but more with who’s arrivin or leavin or who looks like they in trouble. Luke edward could balance on his feet on top of a fence in a minute; he would stand up there and look at everybody travel. When grown folks wanted to make Luke edward mad, they would say he gossiped like a woman. Luke edward knew more, and different, than most gossipy women, who only looked from their front and back doors. He was a citadel; he looked all around the town. Lantene was in love with him and so was I.

  MARGARETE’S NEW HUSBAND, Big Jim, is sitting in the one big chair in the living room. Some dining room or kitchen chairs have been brought in. I forgot while I was coming up the stairs that to me he would be the stranger in the house. We looked at each other then as strangers to each other, not just me to him. Now I check into my store of getting ready, to see what I carried up for him from down home. Granma’am and I had talked about Margarete’s new husband, although he is not a very new husband anymore. Granma’am has told me he’ll be glad that I have come to help, and that all I need to do is be nice to him and make sure I don’t walk around the house half-naked. She told me to give him the jar of peach preserves.

  Big Jim watches my two brothers greet me, and he has seen how glad I am to see them. Margarete and I have said hello in the landing under the light bulb, and so he can’t observe how that was done. I am happy and involved with my brothers and at the same time I look at him out the side of my eye; he sits way down in the big chair, staring on. Harold Grayson comes back in with my grip and my pocketbook. I had forgotten to remember it too. Both Big Jim and I are distracted by Harold, mostly because you cain’t help but think that isn’t he neat as a pin. It is after eleven o’clock at night, and he still wears a tie and white shirt. Big Jim watches the same things I watch, because as I think about how store-bought and clean Harold looks, Big Jim says out loud, “Well, Harold, you are a meticulous young man.” He says me-ti!-culous, like so. A big word, maybe something he learned from Reader’s Digest and has just now seen in Harold Grayson. Harold takes it as a compliment. He smiles, puts my things down, adjusts his tie.

  Big Jim’s hand is enormous as he leans in the chair to take the jar of preserves I teeter trying to offer.

  My mother Margarete has brought herself over and perches on the side a Big Jim’s chair. To watch him accept his gift, I guess. The chair is beautiful—brown brocade and sturdy—holding them both. Margarete’s back is straight, and she smiles at what her husband says about neat, meticulous Harold Grayson. They look like a family, the three of them there: Big Jim, Margarete, and her baby in the belly.

  Is Margarete going to say anything? Is she going to tell me This is Big Jim who you know so much about? Is she going to say to him This is Baby Sister, this is Neesey, who we brought back just now to help with our baby in the belly? From the drive, and from the talks with Granma’am, and from the time since she wrote that I should come back now—these are some of the things I am ready for her to say. At least: Neesey, this is my new husband Jim. And Jim, this is my other child, Neesey. Big Jim continues to observe the outsiders, not himself. He moves his eyes deliberately from slight Harold to new me and says in a voice proportioned to his size, “And where did you get that pocket bag, Miss Deneese?”

  Everybody thinks his question is funny. Luke’s laugh jumps stallionlike out of his throat, and Margarete’s giggle strides on top like a jockey. David chuckles, humbly—or distracted one. Harold Grayson even joins in with his titter. I reach inside to display the trinkets I have carried, before I give myself a chance to think that I don’t have to answer when people make jokes on me. I open the flappin bag in a rush, and the first thing my hand grabs I pull out. “Luke edward, Granma’am said to give you this,” I say. I hold up the small New Testament big as day. I am sorry at once. Luke’s history with Bibles does not deserve to be waved like a flag in this room, but at least the money in it shows.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll get it later,” he says. “Harold, let’s go see your car,” he says.

  I determine to remember about Big Jim’s piercing eyes.

  Chatter. Big Jim: So, Harold, the drive was fine? Harold: We didn’t have any problems. Mother Dambridge made a fine lunch, we ate most everything. Margarete: Well, let’s have the dinner we got now. Luke edward: Hey, Neesey, how much taller you plannin to get? You think tall as me? David: We glad you back, Pooda. We ain’t had no lil sister to mess with. Margarete: Don’t she look good? Me: Turn me loose, Luke edward! David: Aw, you love it, Baby Sis. Luke: Harold, what’s the horsepower in y’new engine? Luke edward: Let’s go see the car. Big Jim: Those the pants your mama sent? Me: Yes, these the pants Mar—Mama sent. Big Jim: Neesey, you a young woman, these folks here had me expectin a little girl. Margarete: Ji-im, she is my little girl, even if she grown. Luke: She ain’t grown. Margarete: You want roast beef, Neesey?

  In this way, the subject is changed and changed.

  Harold replays conversations we had on the long drive up, when it was my job to make sure he stayed awake. He said once he told me what my job was I performed it well. He told them about the rivers we talked about. In that way he gets to talk again about rivers he has crossed. My mother gleams about Harold’s travels and my responsibility. Big Jim reaches up to the edge of the couch where I have perched across the arm of the sofa, me in my new pants. He shakes my shoulder without much effort and in this way he tells me something, like maybe he approves of me being responsible, or maybe they need me to be responsible, or maybe he is glad that Harold Grayson approves of me, or maybe he approves of me. Or maybe he is happy that my mama Margarete gleams and is happy and maybe he is looking forward to me carin for this baby that will come out of her, or maybe he’s relieved I have arrived. I guess about what Big Jim may be thinkin because I don’t know him (either), and so I don’t know what his hearty shake of my one shoulder means. My mother Margarete gets up and goes to the front window; Harold and his authorities continue to run on high. Margarete comments on all the many activities, and she breaks into her own conversation to ask me a
gain if I’m ready to eat. At near midnight on any night, I am not hungry, and tonight I am only dazed. I tell her that I would like to drink something, in order to be polite in someone else’s house.

  Margarete has bent over to plant a kiss on Big Jim’s forehead, and I try not to look. She asks whether he is hungry. He says he is always hungry. I wonder who he is talkin to, since if he is always hungry, Margarete must know that. He gets up and leaves the room. “Excuse me, folks,” he says. Then his voice booms from the kitchen, “Margie, you want me to mix you a taste?”

  Must be tough for him, I think. Never seen me at all, and here I am comin back into the family. I am surprised at how big he is.

  I am left with the flap of the bag hangin open and nothin to do but put the Bible back in it. While everyone talks, I secret Luke’s Bible away. Luke edward and David get up, say across the room to Margarete that they are hungry, they hug me again, then tap me—then commence to push me like sport. Like no time had passed or no change had come since the last time they saw me, when my little made me cower to their big. “Quit it!” I giggle. They both laugh. The boys all rush downstairs, Harold Grayson behind, and Margarete’s belly is the only person left to look at.

  Margarete gets up and goes into the kitchen. I do not follow her immediately. Then, thinkin that I would have followed Granma’am, I get up and go behind her.

  THE KITCHEN IS big with appliances soldiered all around. A big electric Frigidaire. A nice white gas stove backed right up to the wall. No griddle. Plenty cabinets up and down, pine, stained brown. Nice, big table, flecked linoleum top, six chairs to go with. Look like Margarete and her new husband doin good; you can tell by the ease a the kitchen.

  Margarete leans not too close to the counter, due to the baby in her belly, I suppose. She cuts pot roast with a knife so dull that she only tears the meat. This reminds me of another time. On the counter near the pot roast is a loaf of sliced white bread in store plastic. To her left is the sink, which is modern; it has two bowls.

  Margarete, it turned out, cooked her food the easiest way possible. The kitchen’s nice setup fooled me into expectin somethin else. Well, somethin skipped a generation, I guess. I had been raised to adopt Granma’am’s attitude toward food. I bent over the food I cooked and would spend all day on a meal in a heartbeat. Would cry easy tears if it didn’t turn out, would retrace my steps in my mind, and would intend to get it right the next time, say, I cooked turkey wings.

  In any case, I wouldn’t put a knife so dull it tears to no meat I had cooked.

  MARGARETE AND BIG Jim and me are left upstairs in the apartment where I now live with them. My grip is beside the long couch. Big Jim goes back to his chair across the room and asks me if I’m tired from the trip.

  “Lord knows I must be,” I answer, but I am wide awake.

  “Yeah?” he says. He is pulling pot roast off the plate onto some white bread, and into his hand, like his hand is a saucer. He has a look of sweet interest on his face; his face is turned toward the pot roast platter that Margarete holds. After Margarete moves away with the tray of cut meat and bread, he gets up saying he’s going to the kitchen to get mayonnaise. (Margarete forgot the mayonnaise.)

  I have a glass of punch in my hand and the ice tinkles so sophisticated against the glass. I don’t put the glass on the coffee table because I am worried about the sweat of the glass wet-etching a permanent circle in Margarete’s thin wood, although any eye can see that plenty circles have already been accidentally made. Margarete sits the tray of meat and bread on the coffee table and asks me if I want to see the rest of the house. I answer, “Uh-huh,” and I take my glass with me.

  There only two bedrooms even though the flat is spacious how it’s laid out. The house is settled, full of everyone’s things. I scour my mind trying to see if I know how long they have lived there. Margarete and Big Jim sleep in one room; they have a large bed, and Margarete has a vanity. They also have a chifforobe, dark brown outside, cedar in. Beautiful piece a work.

  Luke edward and David sleep in the other room. They have small beds. David’s has clear space in the middle only. In case he wants to fall down and sleep, I guess. His bed does not pretend to be made up. Luke edward’s covers are pulled to the top. His bed is clear but not neatly made. Two weeks’ worth a socks make mounds on the floor, and things spill out the closet like somethin is throwin it out from inside. They got one bureau, with six drawers. Not one a the drawers is closed, and on top a the bureau is all kind a pomades, hair brushes, and two, three stockin caps apiece. Course all the stocking caps could be Luke edward’s, since David hasn’t cared about how he looks since he wore short pants. Luke edward, on the other hand, never lost interest in himself.

  David and Harold Grayson have come back into the front room. Big Jim has finished his sandwich, but the last bites still show through his cheeks as he chews. “Neesey, your brother had to go out,” David remarks. Margarete immediately says, “Wha-a-at?”

  David holds the paper bags from the car’s back seat, and Harold Grayson has my grip in his hand again. “Should I put this somewhere?” he asks. It’s clear. He is ready to leave.

  I walk over and take the grip from him, and I thank him kindly for the ride. He tells me he is sure he’ll see me, and he tells me to have fun with all the new things I’m going to learn. We all say goodbye to Harold.

  ALL LINED UP AND SMILING

  MARGARETE AND BIG Jim have friends come over on Saturday nights. Some a their friends is also friends with Luke edward, especially this lady name Miss Tip.

  Miss Tip got legs like in magazines, and she wears high heels like Margarete did before this baby. Miss Tip thinks Luke edward is handsome and that he don’t need to answer the door when it rings. Miss Tip is one a them ladies with too young ways. She chases after men—like my brother—who are the same age as her ways.

  One Saturday, shortly after I arrive, Margarete decides she should invite some kids over and have a little comin back to-do for me. She ask Luke edward what he think of that idea, and Luke edward say he think I should have kids over, so I can be popular in school. While they talk back and forth to each other, I wonder will Margarete ask me.

  Margarete looks at my face and says, “Neesey, you look disappointed.”

  “I ain’t,” I answered.

  “Well, good,” she said. “I bet a little party will erase your long face.”

  Margarete invited kids my age, and they all come to the house at three. This was maybe my third or fourth Saturday back. Margarete and I had got up early and straightened up, and Big Jim went out and got the things on the list. While Big Jim was gone, Margarete and I tussled bout what I should wear. I won. I wore my white dress I had had my picture taken in. Margarete insisted it was out a season. I said it was party style. And it was. My best dress. Margarete wanted me to wear a sweater a hers with the pants she had sent, but when I tried that outfit on and looked in the mirror, I looked like the legend—the Margarete who run off. I could still hear the country folk comment on my mama, so I adopted some stubbornness and wore my white dress.

  By four o’clock Margarete and Big Jim’s friends started to come too. Margarete told them she was givin me a party, and so they came by early cause they want to see the kids.

  Was six kids among all the grown folks. Margarete was the first one to comment on how many grown folks was there. She said she got good friends, they so nice to come over and help her give me a party.

  Margarete introduced me to her friends one by one. She met her friends when they came to the door, and then she called my name. I would get up and walk over and then she would say, “This is my daughter Neesey. Ain’t she grown?” Every one a Margarete’s friends agreed that I was grown. All a them except Miss Tip bent down and looked me in my face to discuss with Margarete that I did look like her. I don’t really look like Margarete, though. I don’t think any a those people seen my daddy. How old was I, they asked her. She told them I was almost thirteen; “Right, Denise?” she said. I nodd
ed. Right.

  Miss Tip tugged one a my plaits in the back since she already met me before. She walked away from the cluster a the grown people to fix herself a fresh taste. She said somethin to Margarete and them about my legs. They all laughed, somethin bout me being lanky. I perked up my ears to try to hear more a what they said. Miss Tip was still doin all the talkin, and they weren’t talkin bout me anymore. Her words hit the wall over top a my head.

  During the party, Margarete stayed mostly in one spot, like me. She stayed in the kitchen with the grownups and they tastes. All us kids stayed in the front with Luke edward and the records. I try to pay attention to what songs Luke edward likes, thinkin I will learn his favorites later, while I am straightenin and when I can play the records by myself.

  Far as I could tell, I was dressed nice as the other kids. I could tell they clothes had probably been new when they got them, but I was clean and my dress was long as any of theirs. The skirts I had brought to wear to school was the right length too so I didn’t know what Margarete was talkin bout, my clothes too short.

  I sat on the arm a Margarete’s couch in the front room, not too far from the hi-fi. It was two or three girls sittin down on the couch and the boys was on the other side, on the chair and on the floor. Luke was in charge a the records and the dancin. He would put on songs he liked and say, “Dance, y’all,” and then go talk to the grown folks till he heard the needle lean against the paper label in the center. Then he’d come back out and change the record again.

  Everybody seem to like different music. Luke edward played mostly Jackie Wilson, and Margarete’s friends like Ray Charles and Sam. Miss Tip’s favorite is Sam. Luke edward also played some groups, and that’s what I like the best. All the nice boys, lined up, smilin. Dressed up in suits and ties. Little Anthony and the Imperials and Nolan Strong and the Diablos.

  Big Jim like King Pleasure.

  “NEESEY, WHAT GRADE you gonna be in?” The girl talkin to me is named Dana, and I had already seen she would say somethin when nobody else would.