“And Lestra, as long as she has her piano, you can give her dry bread and water and she’d still be fed of the spirit wine and wafer.”
Neil stopped his walking and leaned against the wall. His face was young and full of faith.
“Few men see their dreams come true and mine was a very vast vision. Monday I’ve a million things to do. I think I can get hold of a thousand dollars. The few I have are tried up in that bank.”
“Neil, there’s twenty-five hundred dollars in that bag.”
“What ----? Lavinia! Have you won again? And you’d give it to me? In god’s name, who are you?”
“I’m the lowliest of the flock. I’m a servant too. Only my humans are called humanity.”
The little clock struck the hour tunefully. Neil lagged about.
“This is my last night to be a proper husband. I’ll go and be a gracious host, and let you dress. Shan’t I send Lestra to help you?”
Viney, left alone, sighed and wriggled her feet. She had been all day in street shoes, and she yearned for her kitchen comforts. And how she must put on her high Cuban heels and go sit in a corner of Dell’s drawing room with silly young men saying silly things in affected voices.
She was tired, because there is no hardship to be compared to riding nine hours in a bus. There was also a little gnawing in her stomach. The Jewish lady had eaten largely of her lunch. But even if she hadn’t, cold sandwiches at twelve and two are not a hot dinner at six.
Some one knocked at her door.
“Come,” she called.
It was Annie.
“Miss Lestra says please can you come up to her studio if it isn’t any trouble?”
Viney got up. “Any company come yet, Annie? I don’t want to run into anybody.
“Lordy, no! They’re s’pose to come at nine, so the bell’ll start ringing good at ten. Guess you’ll never get used to New York folks, Miss Williams. I ain’t used to ‘em myself. T’aint much like down home.”
Viney went upstairs to the big attic room that had been converted into a studio for Lestra and the grand piano that she had given her.
She knocked and entered.
“Lestra?”
She sat at her piano in the far end of the attic. A floor lamp made a circle of light around her. The rest of the room was in shadow.
Lestra was now in slender and shimmering white. Her hair that had been carefully combed and brushed was beginning to curl again. It was Neil’s magnificent head. She was utterly like him, except that, being darker, she was lovelier.
She struck a chord for the express purpose of startling Viney, then wheeled about and faced her.
“Father says I’ve got to get out. What’s this about a hospital?”
She was severe and aggrieved.
Viney sat down in an uncertain chair.
“Lestra! You know your father never told you to get out like that. I reckon he’ll get you all a nice little flat on Sugar Hill!”
“And will it have an attic room like this, please tell me? Don’t you know, dear aunt that this is two houses?”
She was not afraid of Lestra. “It’ll make a nice big hospital.”
Lestra was suddenly as young as she was. “Don’t I matter? Is it because father’s proved his genius? But I have potentialities. My hands can work wonders, too. My fingers can perform miracles.”
She turned back to her piano, because she was ever too proud to show tears.
“Play something sweet,” said Viney complacently. “Lands! I don’t hear nothing but jazz, jazz, jazz! Black and his old radio.”
But she was yet too troubled. “But Aunt Viney, suppose they won’t let me play after ten? They’d call it ‘no noise’! And suppose I feel like playing at one? Oh, God, Oh, God!’
“I declare,” said Viney nervously, “You all in this house are forever calling ‘Lord, Lord1’ and not one of you ever goes inside a church.”
“Oh, church! I am God. You are God. Father’s God. Only mother is mortal.”
“Lestra!” She was wholly aghast.
Lestra swung up, quickly crossed the floor, and knelt at Vine’s feet with her fine white frock a silver spray around her.
“Forgive me, darling! I, too live by faith. But I believe in beauty and fire and truth. And I will be these things. And I will sing them in songs of my self. There is a maestro in Italy. Would God he knew I was on earth.”
It was funny. It was solemn and beautiful.
“What is a maestro, lamb?’
“A master.”
“Way yonder in Italy? There’s a sight of sea between you. That’s sure enough one more river to cross.”
“Aunt Viney, people go to Europe everyday.”
“Your pa and ma wouldn’t hear of it, with you still in college.”
“Father’s forgotten I’m on earth, what with his old hospital. And mother would love to tell all the ‘dicties she had a daughter studying aboard.”
“Lestra, lamb,” said Viney helplessly, “all that’d take a heap of money.”
“Father says you’ve got some for him. Can’t you spare me enough for my passage? He won’t mind. Third class is less than a hundred. And if you’ll give me a hundred more to carry me awhile, why if my master believes in my ability, he’ll find a way to keep me.”
“If your master believes in your ability, my Master will find a way.”
There was a burst of blatant music from below.
“Lord,” said Viney, scrambling up, “lemme go see ‘bout that money.”
Lestra got up too. She was very excited. “I’ll go and get drunk to celebrate.”
But she was only teasing Viney.
Viney hurried downstairs ahead of her and scuttled past Dell’s open door before any of the luxurious ladies could spy her. She possibly knew a few of them by sight and small talk was ever-pure agony to her.
She reached her room, locked the door, and drew a long breath of relief. There lay the bag. She fetched her purse from the bureau, got out her key and opened it.
Her nightgown lay on top. It twinkled up at her. She was not surprised to hear it say, ‘Put me on.’
Well, if she could just loosened her stays and lay across the bed for a minute. Right now they were probably dancing downstairs. She would be in the way, or what was worse, some young man might ask her to dance. When the buffet was served, she’d go down. For Dell might’nt like it if she didn’t. Or Neil Mightn’t like it. Or maybe Lestra mightn’t.
But she knew she was not really on their minds in this moment. Not that they loved her less, but there were larger problems of introducing people, and passing drinks, and matching partners.
She took off her glasses and slipped off her dress to loosen her stays. And what with thinking on this and that, she was undressed and in her gown before she knew it.
Well, she might as well brush her teeth and in general freshen up. She went into the bathroom. Above the running of the bath water her voice soared in unmusical lament.
She came back sparkling and sweet, and turned down the bed, and puffed up the pillow. It was past her usual bedtime. At the white folks’ she would have been asleep an hour. But this was holiday. She would snatch forty winks and rise and shine.
She got her insurance papers and carefully placed them under her pillow, giving them a loving little pat. She left the money in the unlocked bag. There was wisdom in this. She would rather lead a thief to an obvious cache than have him strangle her life out for a packet of greenbacks under her head.
She snapped out the light and slipped in the cool clean bed.
The harvest moon put patches on the wall. Music and laughter drifted up. Viney smiled and wriggled her toes. She wondered if Dell would mind very much having to give up the house. She herself lived with white folks so long she had no feeling about front doors. Having had so little all her life, she had got used to having nothing. She knew without resentment that what the Lord gave, He could take away. And she blessed the name of the Lord.
Lestra
was going to Europe. Lestra was setting sail on an unknown sea. God, guide her craft. Bring her safe to some shore. For Lestra is my life. I began to live when Lestra was born. I was a slave unmindful of my chains. But with Lestra’s birth I began to be. Lestra was born of Dell’s body, but of my desires that were buried in me with all my bright youth when mama died.
I’m an ignorant old woman. I will leave no monument. There is only my blood in Lestra’s young body. Maybe I too, might have something wonderful. Education is everything.
She wanted to pray. She wanted to pray that Lestra might live long, and continue well, and grow into greatness, and not forget God.
She got up and knelt by the side of the bed. Her thin plaits hung over her breasts. Her face was infinitely pure.
After a long time she got back in bed, and knew rather guiltily that she would not get up again. So she found the most comfortable spot, settled herself, slept, and after a little, snored.
The Five Dollar Bill
By Mary Christopher
(A West pseudonym in Challenge June 1936)
Judy could read before she was seven. Mother said that when she was four she could read the weather reports to her father. The only one she fell down on was the variable wind one. Only she didn’t really fall down, for when she came to that difficult word and got it out somehow, the father caught her up in his arms and hugged and kissed her hard.
Judy loved the father. She did not know very much about him. She guessed he was her relative because they had the same name. She would have liked to know if this kinship were closer than an uncle; or was it like a grandfather, for the father was much older than mother, with the top of his head broken and wrinkles around his kind eyes.
But Judy was a shy child who did not like to ask questions, for either the grownup people said, run and play, or gave you ridiculous answers with superior smiles.
Judy could answer the little questions herself. It was the big questions about babies and God, and telling a lie for your mother that grown-up people were never truthful about.
The stork did not bring babies. It was not true about a stork flying over clouds and dropping babies down chimneys. Santa Claus could come down a chimney because he was a man and wouldn’t get hurt. But would God let a stork drop a dear little baby down a dirty chimney?
No, a woman prayed God very hard for a baby. Then it began to grow in her stomach. When it was quite grown a doctor cut a hole in her side and the baby came out. After that the woman stayed in bed until the hole healed up. In that moment of the baby’s birth the woman became a mother. But how a man became a father Judy did not know.
And about God: did He really punish people in a fire with a pitchfork? Did He stick them with the pitchfork Himself?
Why Judy could not have hurt a fly. She could kill a mosquito all right because it was teenier. Sometimes though when you killed a mosquito a lot of blood squished out. That made your stomach feel queer for a minute. But then mother said, ‘Got him good, didn’t you darling,’ and everything was all right.
Mother could kill anything with out feeling queer. She killed flies and ants and even big roaches, and put down traps for mice. She said anything that belonged outdoors should stay outdoors if it didn’t want her to kill it. And she would grab up a wad of paper and go banging at a fly, which was fun to watch if you did not think too hard about the fly’s family.
God was supposed to be better than mother. God was not supposed to have mother’s temper. She would say God damn to the father. Then she would have a temper when the father reproached her for saying such words before Judy.
They would begin the queer thing called quarreling. The words would fly between them and it would seem to Judy that her mother’s words hit hardest. Yet at such times, as fond as she was of the father, she would want to run to her mother, saying protectively, ‘there, there, my darling.’
Judy often wondered if the father lived with them. She always went to bed while he was still sitting up and he was never there in the morning like her mother. There were only two bedrooms, hers and her mother’s. And once she had heard her mother say to the college man, Jim and I have not lived together as man and wife for months.
Mother was careless with money. She was always losing it. Judy never saw her lose it really, but she would tell Judy about it and after a while Judy would remember exactly how it happened. When the father sat down to dinner, mother would tell him about it, too, adding, Judy remembers. Judy would say proudly, yes, mother.
Mother always lost the money on the day the college man came. Mother said he was poor and came to sell things to help him through college. She said Judy had better not tell the father because he was not a college man and got mad if anybody mentioned college men to him.
Judy did not know what the college man sold and she would not ask her mother. It always cost just what the father had left for the gas bill or the milk bill, and once even what the father had left for a birthday frock for Judy.
When the college man came, mother would let Judy take her dolly out in its carriage. But it would not be the same as on other days. She would dress her doll hurriedly, and it would not seem to be a real baby, but just an old doll. She would feel silly, and would just want to get away from the college man and his teasing voice.
Then one night the father and mother had a terrible quarrel about mother losing money. You could hear their voices all over the house, only this time it was the father’s words hitting hardest. Neither Judy nor her mother had ever mentioned the college man to him, but he knew all about him just the same, and called himself a fool and the college man a rat and said he was going to divorce mother and take Judy away from her.
Judy did not know what divorce meant, but when the father said he would take her away from her mother, she knew that as mad as he was he would take her for keeps, and never let them see each other.
She got out of bed and ran into the kitchen, and threw herself into her mother’s arms. She was sobbing wildly and saying hysterical things. Her mother held her close and began to cry, too, saying ‘there there, my precious,’ just like Judy had always wanted to say to her.
After a long time she felt the father’s hand on her head. She heard him say something about the child’s sake, and knew he meant he would let her stay. All in a moment she fell asleep, with her hand sliding down her mother’s soft cheek.
After that the father didn’t leave any more money for bills. The college man came once and said where was the money for his books. He looked very scornful while he said it, and he kept his hat in his hand.
Mother forgot about Judy and cried and clung to the college man. He pushed her away and said she knew where to reach him when she had the money for his books. The outer door slammed after him.
Then Judy knew that the college man sold books and was mad because mother would not pay him. Still it was strange. She had never seen her mother so heart-broken. Even with the father it had not been like that. For she had never heard her proud mother plead. She had never seen her stalwart mother cling to anyone.
Judy had to say it. Give him back his old books.
Her mother stopped in the midst of a sob. You go and play, she said coldly.
After a while Judy almost forgot about the college man and the money her mother owed him. It was only when her mother walked up and down and around the room looking burningly beautiful, that Judy felt sick and afraid and saw the college man’s image.
Then it was that Judy, who could read almost anything at seven, read in the Sunday supplement about the moving picture machine. You sent away for some reproductions of famous paintings. When you had sold them all you sent the money to Mr. Fisher in Chicago, and he sent you a moving picture machine. If you put up a sheet and charged a penny to all the children in the neighborhood once a week, pretty soon you’d have enough money to give your mother to pay the old college man for his old books.
Judy talked it over with the father, except the part about the college man. He said he was proud of his
little businesswoman and helped her write the letter to Mr. Fisher. He took her out and lifted her up to the mailbox so she could post it herself.
In less than a week the pictures came. The father said they were beautiful and made the first purchase himself. There were twenty to dispose of at a quarter apiece.
Judy sold one to her teacher, one to the barber who cut her hair, one to the corner grocer, at whose store they had an account, one to kind Mr. McCarthy who ran the pool room, one to an uncle, one to an aunt, and two to company ladies. The father said she had done simply wonders and took the rest of the pictures to the office building, where he was superintendent, and sold them.
He brought her the money in silver. Judy was very excited. She counted out her money and wanted to have (it) all changed to a five dollar bill.
Mother got up and said she would take Judy to the corner grocer’s right now. And tomorrow they would go to the Post Office where Judy was to send the money order herself.
Mother held out her hand and was radiant. Judy slipped her small palm into her. They smiled at each other. In this moment Judy was saying, ‘it is for your sake, my darling.’ Her mother’s mounting excitement answered, ‘I know it, my sweet, my precious.’
They went to the corner grocer’s, still holding hands. Judy skipped along. It was seven o’clock of a winter’s evening. The stars were shining. The snow crunched under her feet. Everything was dear and familiar, the car line, the icicles on the cables, the signboards with their bright illustrations luminous under the electric lights, the vacant lot with the snowmen silent and stout, the fire alarm, the post box. All things (were) good, and best of all her mother’s bright and beautiful face, her mother’s parted red-lipped mouth, with breath on the winter night.
The corner grocer rang up No Sale and gave Judy a five-dollar bill. Judy said, ‘You take it for me, mommy’, with the same indulgence that mothers used in saying to small children,’you carry the package, dear.’
Mother opened her purse and fished around in it. After a while she looked amused and surprised and gave Mr. Brady a lovely, humble smile full of sweet pleading. She took Mr. Brady into her confidence and said she must make an urgent call. Would Mr. Brady give her a nickel and put it on the bill.
The Last Leaf of Harlem Page 11
