by Carolyn Wall
“And who’s gonna pay for the lemons?” she asked.
“Don’t we have some in the refrigerator?”
“We do not, and even if we did, child, you embarkin’ on free enterprise, and you’d owe me for them lemons, you understand?”
“No, ma’am.”
It was just Auntie and me tonight, Uncle Cunny off playing Friday-night poker.
“Cunny taught you to count out money,” she said. “Tomorrow you go on over to the Tiger Market and buy six lemons. I’ll front you the price. But you owe me what they cost, and you’ll give it back.”
I would split the nickels with Claudie, all right, but I was not about to take out the cost of lemons.
“And you do it before you girls share a penny. That way you’ll both be paid equal.”
“But, Auntie—”
“No, ma’am,” she said, her feet planted in front of the stove. “That’s how it will be, or it won’t be at all.”
To save my life, I couldn’t make myself subtract the price of the lemons. Subtraction was unkind. Taking things away hurt something fierce, and I couldn’t think why they’d teach such a thing in school.
I had an idea. I kept seventy-five cents upstairs in a sock, under my bed, and I would take that sock with me to the market tomorrow. Then, when we collected admission, Claudie would just have to give me half the price of the fruit. Everybody knew they lived off food stamps and ate beans every day. Not one of them owned shoes till they went to school, and their clothes came from the donation box behind the Oasis of Love Bingo Hall and Prison Camp Center.
Saturday evening was surprisingly cool. Uncle helped us line up chairs, and near six o’clock he drove down to the Maytubbys’. When he came back, he opened the door and helped Miz Maytubby and Alvadene down. A whole pile of Maytubby kids spilled out of the back. Then Uncle came to where I was standing with a cigar box, sometimes shaking it just to hear the coins rattle, and he counted his guests and dropped in two quarters. “Miz Maytubby,” he said, “it’d please me mightily to help you to a seat on the front row.”
I looked over at Plain Genie, and at Alvadene in her tight shorts and her blouse with the sleeves cut out and her bosoms straining against the buttons, and the baby asleep on her arm.
Miz Maytubby, I heard, took to her bed for weeks after Denver showed up with his white-lady wife, and even now, she looked as if she’d come straight from there, in a faded pink duster and barefoot, her hair slept on. In spite of that, she had a lifted and somewhat delicate chin and swipe of pink lipstick across her mouth. Claudie looked proud.
Mr. and Mrs. Sherrard and Miss Minnie Roosevelt came arm in arm, under a tattered parasol, and the brothers Oaty. At the very last minute, Miz Millicent Poole tottered down the road, her legs black and blue. She swayed into a seat. The Best Reverend Ollie paid her way. Auntie went to speak with Miz Millicent, then sat in the back row, Uncle standing, as all the chairs were taken. I was pleased with this turnout.
When everyone was seated, I flounced up on that porch and announced loudly, “Ladies and gentlemen, come one, come all—to the greatest show in False River! Starring me and Claudie Maytubby, who arranged all the dancing.”
Then I looked over toward Mama’s house, just to be sure, and was grateful to the core there was no sign of her. The last thing I needed was her stumbling over here in her boa and high heels, creating a scene.
“I’m pleased to present us both in our opening number, ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.’ ” With that, we snatched up our make-believe microphones, which made some laugh, and launched into our number.
“ ‘Ain’t no mountain high enough, ain’t no valley low enough … to keep me away from yooooou …’ ”
On that wood porch, we gyrated and jerked our hips and our thumbs like we were looking to hitchhike clear to Jackson. Everyone clapped, except Miz Millicent.
“Now,” I said when we were catching our breath. “We’re gonna dance while Miss Maytubby here sings ‘Johnny Jump.’ ” And with that, we fell into swoops and dives and swan-arm gyrations, the great finale being Claudie bending over and me climbing on her ass. My bare feet wiggled up to her shoulders and she held on to my legs. We’d done this stunt a half-hundred times.
But it was then I lifted my eyes and saw my auntie. She’d grown pale of face, clutching air with her hands, and nearly turned over her chair. I lost my balance some, catching before I toppled, and shot a glance toward Mama’s, but she wasn’t outside. It wasn’t that. Auntie was up now, her hand covering her mouth, backing away, Uncle picking up her chair, taking her by the shoulders.
“Jerusha,” I heard him say. “Jerusha—”
Miss Shookie, who sat with Bitsy beside her, wagged her head and said, “Uh-uh-uh.”
With the flat of her hand, Auntie slapped at Uncle, made for the side of the house, and was gone around the corner. Claudie, however, had taken her microphone and was announcing her own next number.
The lemonade, and some sugar cookies Auntie had made, were on the domino table under the willow. Everybody ate standing and went off home, and things would have been fine, except they weren’t. Miss Shookie never said another word. She and Bitsy just got in their Chevy and drove away. In silence, Uncle took all the Maytubbys home. Claudie had a fine, flushed look to her face. I had taken those nickels and divided them evenly—five for her, five for me. The price of the lemons had come out of my sock.
I went straight to bed. I couldn’t bear to question what had happened to Auntie. Whatever it was, I was sure it was my fault.
8
It was my birthday, and I wanted only to spend time with Claudie, but nothing could pry her loose from her sister, and anyway, her time was limited. Both girls went to first grade half a day. I, however, was turning six late and would not go to school for another year.
I envied the Maytubbys their big family and the way they all stuck up for one another, with the exception, of course, of Denver’s new wife. But I was jealous of more than strength among the siblings—at one time Claudie had known her daddy.
It was with downright stubbornness that I persuaded Claudie to leave Plain Genie long enough to join us for my birthday dinner. No matter that it rained. I took Auntie’s umbrella and went to fetch her, the two of us dancing back, jumping puddles and cowering beneath lightning, then screaming at the great claps of thunder.
In addition to it being a special day, I needed Claudie’s help. I had a plan, and after dinner I would share it with her. It was a great secret and could not involve Plain Genie, who was weak and trembly and prone to tears. I was going to ask Claudie to go down the road with me to spy on the prison. I’d heard terrible tales of the folks who were kept there—crying out for their families, beaten to the bone, starved and wailing to be spared, and I thoroughly needed to see for myself.
Just now, though, dinner was on the table, and from my side, I lorded over the pork chops with boiled potatoes, candied carrots, and dumplings. I was beside myself—surely Claudie had never seen such a spread. I was anxious for my guest to try everything. Our good manners and a loaded table must be a rare delight for her, and I behaved as though I’d cooked every morsel. Auntie had baked a cake for the occasion. Uncle Cunny was there too, having dropped by in time to lick frosting from the bowl. Tonight he held Auntie’s chair for her and touched her shoulder before he seated himself at the head of the table—things I never saw him do on a Sunday. And the rain came down. It beat on the window over the sink and the big parlor panes.
I was thrilled for Claudie. There were so many people in the Maytubbys’ house, they took turns at the table. I was welcome there, but always seeing the short supply of things—a bowl of boiled peas with no snaps, and a long, thin corn bread—I politely helped myself to a spoonful. Waiting at home, I knew, would be thick slices of bread and butter, and Auntie’s homemade apple butter.
Today, our table was set with Auntie’s best blue dishes.
But when we sat, Claudie went on standing behind her chair. My big an
d solid Auntie spoke. “Would you like to sit down, Claudie, sugar?”
“She doesn’t get to, at her house,” I said, by way of explaining. “They don’t have enough chairs to go around.”
Claudie looked at the army of bowls on our table, pinched her lips together, pulled out her chair, and perched on its edge like a bird on a wire. Then Uncle asked a blessing, plain and simple.
“Yes, Lord,” Auntie said softly, when he was done. I said, “Amen.” Claudie’s eyes were big, and she said nothing.
“You ever see so much food?” I asked her, heaving a great sigh.
“I never did,” Claudie said. “You got more folks coming?”
“Nope.”
Because she was our guest, Auntie asked first for Claudie’s plate. “Would you like a little of everything?” Auntie asked.
“Well—” Claudie said.
While Auntie and Uncle heaped up spoonfuls for Claudie, I grinned like a fool. Claudie fingered her spoon and looked at it and set it back down, her mouth twisting, and when Uncle laid her plate in front of her, I thought she might bolt.
I wondered why she didn’t take her fork and dig in.
Auntie’s voice was soothing. She asked after Miz Maytubby—was she taking her medicine regular—and how was that handsome Denver Lee doing now that he was back at school?
“Right well,” said Claudie.
“Child,” said Auntie, screwing the lid off a jar. “Would you like to try my homemade chow-chow?”
Claudie said nothing.
“Goes real fine with the chops,” Auntie said.
“Claudie don’t know what chow-chow is,” I said.
“That’s all right,” said Auntie, giving me a look. “Not everybody’s got a taste for it.”
“She don’t know pork chops either. Or candied carrots.”
Uncle murmured into his paper napkin, “The word is doesn’t, Miss Clea. Not don’t.”
“But Claudie says don’t.” I was trying like all molly hell to make her feel welcome.
Silence fell on our table while Claudie stared at her carrots, then took one up in her fingers and closed her big teeth around it.
“Not like that,” I said, laughing. “With your fork.”
“Clea June,” Auntie said. “The Lord made fingers before he made forks,” and with that she plucked up a new potato and popped it into her mouth. She smiled at Claudie. This was certainly not the first time we’d sopped up cream gravy with biscuits, or cleaned bones with our teeth. But it was the only night that we ate a whole meal with our hands.
Claudie couldn’t seem to get enough. Uncle passed her the chop plate and more potatoes. I marveled that she could put away so much food, and she bent to the work like she was shoveling dirt, digging deeper and deeper into the heap. I could not clean my own plate for watching.
By the time Claudie was gnawing on her third chop bone, her face was shiny with grease and the kitchen heat. She mopped up pickled chow-chow with a fourth buttered biscuit, and when Auntie offered, she slid the last three tomato slices into her mouth. At one point she rose from the table and walked around the kitchen. I couldn’t think what she was doing, or looking for.
“Miss Claudie, I’m glad you came to sup with us,” Uncle Cunny said. “I believe there’s dessert, if you’d like a slice.”
From the sideboard, Auntie brought the pink cake and, with her hair frizzing from the heat and all the labor of preparing a fine dinner, struck a match and lit six candles. Claudie’s eyes bugged out.
I closed my own while I made a wish.
“What you doin’?” Claudie said.
“Haven’t you seen a birthday cake before?”
Ever so slow, she shook her head.
“You make a wish and blow out the candles.” And I did.
Auntie cut slices and set them on our plates.
Claudie lifted the whole triangle to her mouth. Auntie asked, would she like a second piece? Yes, ma’am. And the same to honey drizzled on the last biscuit, too.
While I licked icing from my fork, Auntie told Claudie that she had a few small things for Miz Maytubby, if she would be so kind as to carry them home, and Claudie said Yes, ma’am again. I knew what those things were because we’d often loaded baskets and grocery boxes with cartons of eggs and great bunches of greens from our garden, bread Auntie had baked herself. I helped tote them. But while she went to each door and knocked, I had to wait in the road. When I once asked why, Auntie told me I could visit when I learned to properly hold my tongue. I didn’t know what that meant.
Just now I’d grown weary of the silence, so I took my own turn with Maytubby inquiries, like I didn’t see Claudie every day of my life.
Having passed into my sixth year, I felt like a grown-up. I squared my shoulders and asked, “How’s your daddy doin’, Claudie? He still gone off?” And, “Lord, I ain’t ever seen anybody eat so much!”
Claudie looked stunned. Her eyes slid to her near-empty glass of milk. “You know my daddy run off,” she murmured. “He ain’t been back since.”
“He just up and walk away?” I said because this was a subject I was curious about. Especially since no one could even recount my own daddy’s name. “After your little brothers were born?”
Claudie nodded.
“Clea June,” Auntie warned. “Claudie, let me pour you more milk.”
“Y’all got so many mouths to feed,” I went on, repeating what I’d heard Miss Shookie say. “You think he’d go before there was thirteen of you.”
Auntie and Uncle sat frozen in their seats.
“We only twelve now,” Claudie whispered, setting her biscuit down. “One died.”
Thinking I could lift this gloom with a joke, I said, “Too bad it wasn’t more.”
But I knew it was wrong. The room fell away. I felt darkness run up past my neck to my cheeks, and was shattered at the cruelty of my own tongue. My mouth was my surest trip to hell. Here among the remains of dinner, around the crumbs and frosting and globs of honey on the table, God would surely strike me dead.
Uncle cleared his throat and said what a fine meal Auntie had prepared.
“I only meant,” I said, “everyone saying times are hard, and with y’all livin’ on welfare checks—”
“I believe dinner is over,” Auntie said, and was on the edge of rising when a knock came on the screen and through its mesh I saw tall, skinny Alvadene, soaked in the rain. She had her little girl on her hip and a sweater over their heads. “I’m sorry to bother y’all, but Claudie got to come home.”
I shot out of my chair. “No! It’s my birthday, and she ain’t done with her cake!”
“Eulogenie havin’ a ringtail fit ’cause she gone.”
My mouth turned so far down it hurt my chin. “Eulogenie doesn’t get her every minute.”
Alvadene said, “She got to come on. Eulogenie won’t stop crying.”
“I’ll be goin’ now,” Claudie said in a whispery voice.
Auntie was on her feet. “I’ll just wrap up some chops for your mama,” she said, and she dumped the last two onto a square of waxed paper.
So softly I could barely hear, Claudie thanked Auntie for having her.
Only I could make a bad thing worse. When Claudie banged out the door and went off with her sister, I mumbled, “Y’all know her mama won’t ever see those chops. Not with those nasty little boys on the place.”
Auntie said in a tight voice, “Clea June, go outside and fetch me a green willow switch.”
I wandered around beneath the dripping tree and stared at the bent and broken twigs. It was a pure wonder I didn’t come out regularly, gather them all up, and chuck them in the river. But I knew, by now, that Auntie was just as likely to snatch up a fly-swatter, and that was worse.
I waited for her upstairs on my bed. From my attic window in the back of the house, I could see the top of the willow, the row of tall oaks, and the slow-running river with its green inlets. Something rustled in a mossy oak, and I imagined it was bird
s, flying off to huddle on their nests, in their own high attics. I bet they wouldn’t spend their birthday night tossing with their legs on fire.
When Auntie came heaving and grunting up two flights of stairs, I sat in misery and already-pain where I knew welts would soon rise on my calves. The springs groaned when she sat down beside me. I hunched over, the switch drooping between my knees.
“Clea,” Auntie said, “I can’t think what you’ve gone and done to that girl, made her feel like she’s got nothin’. Saying her family’d be better off dead. What possessed you?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. “Every day, you are no more than her. When you act like that, it makes you less.”
She was expecting me to agree, but I couldn’t. For a while tonight I’d been happy. So—when we were most joyful, we ought not to speak? Why, then, had God given me a voice? When I grew up and had kids of my own, I would put corks in their mouths, or at least teach them to suck on their thumbs.
“Well,” said Auntie. “I’m disappointed through and through. You go on over there and apologize, understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” This was far worse than switching—I had Auntie’s hurt to mix in with my own.
She went off down the stairs, and I sat and thought on how this could not possibly be all my fault. Claudie eating with her fingers had started it. I went to the window, lifted the sash, and threw the stick out as far as I could.
The crickets came out and began to chirrup. I went down the wet drainpipe and on over to the Maytubbys’. I asked if I could talk to Claudie. “I want to say sorry and ask her if she’s still my friend.”
“Best you go on home,” Alvadene said, turning away. “She don’t want no part of you.”
9
After what seemed like a hundred years, it was August.
I’d questioned the effectiveness of school from the start. When word came down that Miss Izzie Thorne from Birmingham, Alabama, would teach Years One and Two, Uncle Cunny and Auntie exchanged a look I couldn’t read.
