by Cynthia Bond
Ephram just stared ahead at the water. He didn’t want to talk about his mama, and he surely didn’t want to talk about her to this rusty butt girl.
“Say all them church ladies near wet theyselves. Samella was there for the free food and said they was trippin’ over theyselves to throw some clothes on her back and she just took off running, titties flappin’ ’til the Rev, your daddy, catch up with her and knocked her cold. Next day she up at Dearing. You was there, huh? When it happen?”
Ruby parted her lips and there was a scream at the edge of her words, “Mag, stop!”
“Hush now, s’all right. I’m just sayin’ what happened is all. Just tryin’ to find out why the boy’s mama done that. Seem like if anybody know it be him.”
Ephram was standing now. Some flood of courage nearly drowned him, and he found his hands pushing up his sleeves and knotting into two tight fists. “Don’t talk about my mama no more.”
Maggie started laughing. “Boy, don’t make me hurt you. Sit your scrawny butt down. I ain’t mean no harm.” Just then a fish tugged at the line. Small at first, and then harder. Maggie stood up and just when it seemed it was about to escape she jerked hard and fast on the line. The fish came up wriggling with the black pin sticking through its nose. “Y’all ’bout to make me lose my supper.”
Maggie swung the wriggling fish to the earth and popped its head on a smooth stone. Of all the fish in that lake, luck brought Maggie a catfish. She flicked out her jackknife and split him down the center and ripped out his insides.
Ruby turned away, “Maggie … what you do that for?”
“You say you want catfish. So I catch you some catfish.” Then she turned to Ephram. “You, go get us some twigs so we can make us a fire.”
“It’s gonna rain,” said Ruby.
“Not before I cook me some fish. Go on.” Maggie scaled the small fish and chopped off its head and tail as Ruby started to cry. Maggie stood up and looked into her eyes. “There, there, gal. I ain’t did it to hurt him. That fish know what he gettin’ into, swimmin’ in that lake. He ain’t the first fish been caught and fried, and won’t be the last. That’s how he live. That be his life. Swimming and knowin’ that any day, whoosh, he gone be on somebody plate.” Ruby cried harder and Maggie wrapped her in her arms. “All right now. See up there? See that wind moving at the top a’ those trees?” Ruby looked up. “That fish be swimming up there now. He ain’t got to stay stuck in some ole lake size of a dime. See? That’s how it be. He come to us. He wants us to make a nice fire and eat him so all his memories of that lake be inside us. See Ruby? You see that fish up there?”
Ruby looked back at Maggie. “You just saying that.”
“I am not. I swear to it. And your Mag-pie don’t lie. Not ’bout catfish anyway.” Maggie winked and grinned.
Ruby smiled back and showed perfect white teeth. Ephram had never thought of the life of a fish like that. He picked up the bits of wood just around them, then gathered a few more behind a wall of thick trunks. He brought them back and Maggie made a fire with her great match sticks. She took out a jackknife and whittled a sharp point on a stick and pierced it through the fish. Then she roasted it, turning it this way and that until its fat sizzled into the fire. When it was done they all sat around that small fire and munched on that fatty, crunchy fish, careful to avoid the bones.
“See what I tell you? It’s good, huh?” Ruby nodded and winked at Maggie. Ephram chewed. He wished he had something to offer up as grand and soulful as that catfish. His heart sank when he thought about that slice of cake he’d gobbled in the woods. Celia’s cake stood up to Maggie’s fish any day. He guessed Celia was right about that gluttony sin after all. When they were done eating, just as Maggie had promised, the wind picked up and it started to sprinkle.
Ruby stood to go but Maggie said, “We got to do one thing first.” Then she took the fish head and dug a small hole beside the water. She placed the head so that it was straight up and she covered it over. The rain was misting the tops of their heads, their noses and shoulders.
“Now we got to make a wish on this good fish we just ate. But you got to make it quick so it’ll come fast.” So they all closed their eyes and wished. Ephram opened his and watched Ruby’s lips say very softly, “Tanny.” Ephram couldn’t imagine what that Maggie would be wishing for, but he cast his for his mama.
Ruby slipped on her shoes, then Maggie took her by the hand and the two walked quickly into the woods. Maggie turned back, “Hope your mama on the mend.”
“Uh-huh.”
Ruby half waved, but Maggie pulled her along and they were gone. Ephram stared after them. He put his dinner pail into the Radio Flyer, thought to leave but got snagged by the rain on the lake instead. By the blue and the gray. It looked like the drops were falling up, catapulted from a thousand tiny explosions. He thought about Ruby Bell. He had heard about her plenty too, but he’d never seen her before today, the Colored girl being raised by White folks up in Neches. Where did she get those eyelashes and that beauty spot on her left cheek? Ephram let himself get bone wet as the rain found the parts on his scalp and trickled down his face. A piece of thunder broke off and rolled about on the forest floor.
Ephram hadn’t heard anyone behind him until he felt her hand on his shoulder. He spun around quickly and there she was. That little girl Ruby. She was completely soaked and she was talking. But he missed it. Only seen the movement of her lips and the smell of Dove soap. That and the scent of Dixie Peach and something else he couldn’t quite place in the rain. There, he had missed it again. He tried to catch her words in midthought—
“—just ain’t called for. See?” She had finished. She was looking up at him and he had no idea where to start or end. Was she chiding or comforting?
She stood for another moment then said, “Well, I gotta go.”
He had to say something before she turned. All he could come up with was, “I was thinking …”
She stayed, her face screwed up a bit. “What?”
“Nothing.” He looked down into the mud to hide the lie. “Just thinking about what you said.”
“What about it?”
Scrambling: “About things not being called for.”
She eyed him a moment then seemed to relax. “Thanks. But it ain’t just me who says it. Papa Bell says it too, all the time.”
He was lost again, but nodded his head anyway.
Margaret called from the rise, fenced by post trees and grass. “Ruby we got to be going!”
Ruby called back, “Said I’d be along!”
“Ain’t leavin’ you in all this rain. ’Sides she gonna be waitin’ on us.”
Ruby screamed and her voice lifted like the wind, “I said go on!”
Maggie stood there quiet against the bark of a long-needle pine. Walls of water between them, her head bent down just a bit. She moved away, like a puppy who’d been scolded, until only the top of her head showed above the rise. It did not budge.
“She get jealous a’ everybody. It ain’t just you.”
“Why she act like that?”
“Why you act like you act? Why do your mama?”
“I didn’t mean no harm.”
“Don’t be talkin’ ’bout her. Or askin’ after her. You ain’t nobody to be questioning her.”
Ephram was silent and he was starting to get cold. He wanted to find some shelter but he didn’t want to leave. Instead, he felt himself leaning into her—this girl—and before the idea could gel, he knew that he wanted to kiss her.
Suddenly Maggie appeared beside them. Her eyes sliced into Ephram as if she could read his thoughts, then she took both of their hands.
“Come on, y’all gone catch your death.” They were walking, then running through the wet forest.
“Where we goin’? I’m cold,” Ruby whined.
Ephram and Maggie began speaking at the same time.
Ephram: “They’s a cave on yonder side—”
Maggie: “Ma Tante expecting us Ruby
.”
Ephram: “—of Marion, by that clearing.”
Ephram watched Ruby savor their attention. The way her head tilted up in something akin to pride. The way she let them wait for just a beat longer, weighing more than their suggestions in the rain. Finally Ruby looked at them and said, “I hate that old clearing. ’Sides, Ma Tante’s just around that bend.”
Ephram stated, “My daddy say he don’t want me goin’ over there.”
Maggie jumped in, “Well, then, you ain’t got to go, do you, Preacher son?”
Ephram said simply, “I’m going.”
They all walked, then ran, to Ma Tante’s door.
A row of dead trees, chopped and dragged from the forest, fenced Ma Tante’s hut. Twigs, moss, mud, cloth and bits of hair had been stirred together and smoothed between each post. The fence door was made of wood and clay. The sky grumbled low as Maggie hauled back her fist and hit the heavy door. It croaked open.
Inside the yard Ruby and Ephram stopped in spite of the torrent. There were mirrors everywhere, glinting and winking, next to open jars collecting wet sky. The entire yard smelled of myrrh. Ephram’s heart tightened as he saw small mounds of earth covered with soaked crimson flags. Smoke churned out of the hut’s stovepipe as what looked like badger and fox skulls clattered on a clothesline. Spades were jammed into the soft earth and the severed dried wing of a red-tailed hawk stretched across the porch awning. Strange herbs crept up twine and sticks, next to tomato plants with their fuzzy, acrid scent. At the edge of the yard a Gall Oak stood tall, its branches ripe with bottles of colored water, swinging like plump figs. Purple. Green. Red. Black. Blue. Yellow. Tapping against one another.
Maggie pointed to the tree and whispered, “That there’s a soul tree. They’s souls in them bottles.”
“Nuh-uh,” Ephram managed.
“Break one and find out.”
Ephram hurried on. They were soaked through when they reached the porch. Maggie knocked. The sound was dull and flat in the rain. She knocked again, waited, and then pushed the door open and slipped into the hut.
Maggie spoke from inside of the dark, “Come in. She ain’t here.”
Ruby shook her head no. “Uh-uh.”
Maggie urged, “She won’t care none. You just being scared.”
“I ain’t going in there.”
From the black Maggie said, “I won’t let nothing happen to you girl.”
Ruby shook her head no.
The rain picked up speed and strength. It whipped against Ruby’s calves and patent leather shoes. Her white lace socks were soaked through. Ephram’s trousers clung to his skin as he slipped his hand over Ruby’s. He held her hand as she looked up at him. Before she could smile, Maggie grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her inside. Ephram followed.
They were swallowed in the inky gloom. Maggie patted her inside pocket and swiftly lit a candle. “I can keep a match dry in a hurricane.”
In the sudden light, Ruby gasped and Ephram’s mouth fell open like a fish. There were knives everywhere, on every surface and wall. A dagger hung over the fireplace. A leather strapped machete hung against the wall. There were bolo knives and jack-knives, hunting and butcher knives, broadswords and tomahawks, and blades they had never seen before or since. Some shining and clean, others orange with rust, all cramming the insides of Ma Tante’s hut.
Ruby spun about to go and almost slipped on the puddle they had made.
Maggie grabbed her arm hard. “Ruby she just keep them blades, she ain’t got much cause to use ’em.”
At that moment a strong breeze pushed open the front door. It swallowed the flame and knocked the dead candle to the floor. Maggie scrambled for the taper as the wind spun about, lifting the black curtains, letting in peeks of gray only to smother them again. Papers were lifting, rustling, flapping like wings. Then the door banged shut and the room settled against itself. Maggie felt the candle in the darkness, struck a match against a dry floorboard and lit the wick.
All three children screamed as they saw Ma Tante standing above them. She was burnt cork black with yellow eyes, rake thin and tall as God. She glared down at them.
She asked in a thick Creole accent, “Ever heah of méchant stew?”
Ephram, Maggie and Ruby remained deathly silent.
“Answer.” Her eyes cut into Maggie.
“N-no Ma’am. Maggie answered.
“It is good. Start with onions and salt pork. Twelve carrot. Some potato … then you slice three naughty children into quarters and throw them in a pot.”
The candle began shaking in Maggie’s hand, causing shadows to wriggle along the wall of knives. All three children held their breath as Ma Tante, all sharp dark angles stared down upon them. Six watery eyes looked back.
Finally, Ma Tante griped, “Too bad you all too skinny. Be a waste of good potatoes.”
“I-I’m sorry Ma Tante—”
“Yes, you one sorry-ass rude child. Gaiwn make that fire so I can have my tea.” Maggie went to the kettle as if she lived there and stoked the wood in the stove. Ruby and Ephram stood, their shoes and clothes drunk with the storm, tributaries widening the pool around them. Ma Tante sneered at Maggie, “Dry up and quick. My plancher not no basin.” Maggie ran and grabbed well-used flannel towels, tossed them to Ruby and Ephram, then sopped up the water on the floor. They all fearfully patted and blotted as best they could.
Ma Tante lit a corncob pipe, lowering her lids as she puffed. Eyes closed she added. “And tell the méchants to sit down. Standing make me nervous.”
Ephram and Ruby quickly sat at the table, facing Ma Tante, cold and damp. Maggie lit candles and fed the stove until the room was aglow. As the dark woman smoked, Ephram snuck looks at her. She was so black she was almost blue. He’d heard his father say that she was the Devil’s midwife and stitched evil into night’s coattails. The Reverend had preached for his congregation to stay away. Still, everyone in Liberty knew about Ma Tante. Her late night visits into the piney woods to forage for animal bones and secret plants. Her trips to the graveyard. Her penchant for pulled baby teeth.
Ephram had heard she was born in a place called Jamaica, but that she had moved with her people to Louisiana when she was five, into a community where every tongue was thick with French Creole. She had left there at twelve to begin her “ministry.” No one in Liberty admitted to following her, but Christian or not, folks lived their lives according to a set of rules nobody spoke out loud but everybody understood. Never hanging panties on a clothesline, lest someone steal them for hexing. Be ever watchful for red powder in your shoes or crossing your path. Never borrow or lend salt. Good church women with straying husbands knocked at her gate after prayer circle. Sisters and missionaries came with dollar bills folded in their bra straps. Came with clippings of their fathers’ hair, their husbands’ fingernails, a placenta from a stillbirth folded in newspaper. Came with awe, trepidation and hope. And once there, Ephram had been told, Ma Tante would glare at them with her yellow eyes and smoke her mustard pipe. Those who came without money would be sent away. Still others with money were turned away if they had a bad, what she called, “odeur spirituelle.” The rest she kept, inspecting their palms, the soles of their feet and ears. She would look at their tongues and the whites of their eyes. Then she would give them a colored powder, potion or gris-gris. For stirring into coffee, for boiling up with tea leaves, for folding into egg whites with a touch of sugar and molasses, for leaving out at suppertime sprinkled onto a full plate, for hiding under the bottom porch step, for sleeping under a pillow. For dusting the house only to sweep it out again.
Ephram had heard how she had told a man, “If you go home now you be dead in three hours.” Sure enough the foolish man got hungry for supper and walked the fifteen minutes it took him to get home. Upon arriving, his wife shot him in the thigh for cheating. It took him exactly two hours and forty-five minutes to bleed to death while his wife mended and pressed his good suit for his upcoming funeral. There were many such stor
ies told throughout the piney woods. Ephram wondered if they were all true. Especially about Ma Tante and the story Gubber had told him about the black bird, and the horrible thing the conjure woman was said to have done.
Ma Tante suddenly opened her eyes. “Don’t stahr at me boy. I bite.” Then, “Come heah.” Her eyes caught him, like a hook through a fish’s gills. He wobbled over.
“Your name.”
“E-Ephram Jennings.”
Ma Tante’s eyes gentled. “Ah. Otha’s boy.”
“Yes’m.”
“You got her eyes.”
Ephram let his head drop, so Ma Tante picked it back up again, his chin resting in the crook of her hand.
“Hope you ain’t got her luck.” Ephram wanted to run out of the room, but something in the midnight face held him. She touched the back of his head, her fingernails scraping softly along his neck.
“You ain’t nothing but a wishbone. See there?” She touched the base of his skull—tapped at a small bump. “That say you lives on wishes.”
She pressed into the nape. “Thing ’bout wishbones? They got to snap in two to give up they wish. And somebody always lose. But still …”
Ephram felt his heart quicken as she stared hard into him. Little dots of perspiration bloomed along his forehead and temple as she twisted her face into his. Then Ma Tante turned away, shook her head, sucked at her teeth and said, “Girl, where my tea?”
Maggie clanged and fussed by the stove. “Almost, Ma’am.”
Ephram remained beside Ma Tante.
She suddenly turned upon him almost snarling, “Why you standing there?”
He cleared his throat. “I—thought you wasn’t through talkin’ Ma’am.”
“You got money?” she snapped.
“No’m.”
“Well come back when you do. I done give you what you git for free. You pay if you want more.”
Ephram stood still. His ears hot with shame.
“You want tea?” Ma Tante asked him.
Ephram shook his head no.
“What you say?”
“No’m.”
“Margaret, fix him some. And the girl too.”
