Descendants of Hagar

by Nik Nicholson

The wind coming in my window, breathing on my skin as she parts my hair, then ‘a warm finger tips rub oil on the skin bared. I try to think of a way to repay ‘a for this moment. I am thankful to God for ‘a being here, since I been so scared some nights I couldn’t sleep.

  “If I looked like you,” she say solemnly speaking to my scalp, parting hair and sweeping it against my neck, forehead and soothing me. “I would have passed the paper bag test. Then I’d be an A. K. A.”

  “What’s a A. K. A.?”

  “It’s this Colored women’s sorority called Alpha Kappa Alpha. I didn’t have a good name, and most of them don’t just have a good name, they are blue blooded too. My family has new money, and our great-grands were freed just before the war because they moved north.

  “My mother’s family continued working for white people in menial positions. My mother’s family had been servants so long, they were given some land. Some of the next generation found different ways to support the family. Some people might say we didn’t earn what we have on that side, but we did build on the gift. You almost can’t tell Mama has that background.

  “Many of the women in the sorority are blue bloods. Their families actually held slaves at some point. They came from old money and land. They have names.”

  “What’s blue blooded?” I hear the question before I realize I’m speaking. I’m so tired, and ‘a hands so soothing.

  “Blue blood means a lot of different things. For white people, it means they have old money, or they’ll have money for every generation that follows. They’re like royalty and everyone recognizes their last names, like Vanderbilt, Carnegie or the Rockefellers.

  “For Negroes, it could mean different things. Blue blood could mean you worked for a family of old money, and they took care of you. Usually that means you’re some relation, but it’s improper to talk about that part. Blue blood is also when a person is so light you can see the veins in their wrist. Or it’s like what you are, Linny, when you’re so light you could pass for white.

  “I can see the veins in your wrists.” She breathes deep and dreamy. “Light as you are, you could do anything you wanted, and you wouldn’t even need a good name. They’d accept you. They’d marry you, and teach you their culture to preserve their skin. Do you know how well you could marry?”

  I don’t say nothing to that, and she silent for a while.

  Then she start again. “The AKA’s don’t accept any brownies, not even with good names, you have to be light skinned, or ‘fair’ they say. I didn’t want to believe it. I worked so hard in college. Not a lot of women even go to college, and I graduated at the top of my class. I did all kinds of community service, got professor recommendations, and recommendations from my field work. They still wouldn’t let me in.” She finishes with a bitter laugh.

  I don’t realize I’m falling asleep, til I feel the emptiness where my words should be, so I mumble, “Well, you better for it.”

  “How you figure?” Her voice louder than my mood can take, and I hear the disbelief. So I clear my throat and wake up so I can talk.

  “Cause who want to be part of a group that pick folks based on things they ain got no control over. You working hard, going to college, and earning people’s respect so they’ll give you recommendations, is something you yoself done. Whether you dark or light, nigga or white, ain’t got nothing to do with nothing. Ain’t no merit in things we cain’t control.”

  “What about people who can sing? Or people raised playing the piano, or dancers?”

  “That’s different. They still got to sing to be heard. Or learn and practice the piano, or the dance steps. Ain’t no way to learn to be a nigga or white, ya just is what chu is.”

  “Such a beautiful girl. Wish you wouldn’t use such an ugly word. Say Colored, or Negro,” she say, then snicker. “That’s not a proper word for a lady, and it’s an insult to the whole race.”

  “Niggas thinking they better than other niggas is an insult to the whole race,” I say firmly. Then my eyes get heavy, I feel chills, I hear the wind singing a lullaby, and when she part my hair, I wait for ‘a warm fingertips. Surrendering to ‘a hands, massaging oil in my scalp, I lean on my knees and drift back off.

  ***

  When I come back in from feeding the animals, I smell something ain never smelt before, burning or cooking coming from the kitchen. Nervous I start to move quick, wondering what Coley could be making. I know she don’t know nothing bout cooking, and it don’t smell like nothing I done ever smelt.

  I find Coley standing in the kitchen wearing a long white nightgown, looking like an angel with ‘a brown skin, and dark hair. Me and my sisters slept in old clean clothes we couldn’t wear out the house no more. Iain never seen a woman wear a real gown, and it’s beautiful. She almost too pretty to be just waking up, and the gown too beautiful to be slept in. I don’t realize it, til she turn around that I’m staring.

  “What chu doing?” I take off my work gloves looking at Coley, and looking around as the thick smoke fills the kitchen. There are two iron combs in the fire on the stove. Her hair up in pins all over the place. She done braided ‘a hair into thick black ropes of cotton hanging down, to between ‘a shoulders.

  Coley stand stiff, looking away from me pulling ‘a hair out with something, like she cain’t talk and do what she doing. Then I see ‘a hair smoking, so I get closer to look at what she doing. Iain never seen nothing like this. She turn around frowning at me, looking all serious. Maybe that’s why I start frowning too, when I ask again, “What chu doing?”

  “Hot combing my hair,” she answer, like I’m on ‘a nerves, and like I should know.

  “Do it hurt?” I’m studying her, watching as she put grease round a section of hair, then rake the hot iron comb through it. Her hair sizzle like water boiling over on a fire, or the last of the water burning into a forgotten pot on the stove. She rakes the black cotton tilit’s quiet, flat, straight and shiny like black silk. It’s other things I should be doing but I cain’t move.

  “Madelyn, you mean to tell me, you’ve never seen anyone else press their hair?” Before I can answer she say, “I guess not. And no, it doesn’t hurt, cause I combed it out and braided it after I washed it last night. All your sisters must have good hair like you.” She parts out more hair to burn, and that last statement seem like she trying to be funny acting.

  “I don’t know if they hair good or bad, but they ain never ‘pressing’ it neither.” I say it just like her, tasting the word. Once I sit down, I’m going over hot combs and pressing hair. Then I lean to the right, watching how she lean with that comb, then the steam come up from ‘a hair sizzling like bacon on a hot skillet. “You ain’t scared you gone burn yo self?”

  “No, I’m not. And being burned isn’t the worst thing in the world. I’ve been burned a lot of times. Mama always said ‘beauty hurts.’ And I sure don’t want to be nappy headed.

  “Shoot, my mama use to light me and my sisters up when we were coming up. I was so glad when we got old enough to go to the beauty shop. Ms. Lena didn’t get it bone straight like Mama, but then again, maybe she did, and she just didn’t put all that grease in our heads.

  “Hair will turn back sooner if you don’t put enough grease. Mama use to put so much grease in our hair, even the rain couldn’t get through.” She laugh to ‘aself at the last part then continue, “Here lately, I’ve been doing it myself. I couldn’t get it done when I was at school. Some of the girls would take turns pressing each other’s hair. Then sometimes I’d pull it out, and let one of them do the edges. It’s hard to get those naps in your kitchen without burning yourself.”

  “Kitchen?”

  “Yeah, the naps on the back of your neck.” Then she look over at me, and I can tell she thinking about it til she finally say, “I guess you don’t know anything about that either.”

  “I know about nappy hair, but we usually just comb and braid it down with a little grease and it be all good. Iain never seen nobody do what you doing.”
/>   “What do your sisters do about their nappy hair?”

  “Comb it and braid it up. Seem like it be too hot round here to be doing that all the time. Specially when the summer come. It take bout all a woman got to come in here and cook a little something, or warm some food up. I’m sure they ain gone be getting they self all hot and sweaty for the sake of having hair like white folks.”

  “It’s not hair like white folks. Lots of Colored women have straight hair, too. Haven’t you ever heard of Madame CJ Walker?”

  “No, I cain’t say I have. Maybe my sisters have. She be with Du Bois?”

  “Ha ha ha. She’s a millionaire, who made all of her money making women beautiful.” She smiles impressed. “Whenever I go home I like to go to her salon. I read somewhere Madam Walker has found a way to get our hair straight without pressing it. I can’t wait to find out how when I get back home. I am so tired of doing all this to be pretty.”

  “Iain never heard of Madame. In fact, I don’t know any ladies who go around calling themselves Madame at all.” I tease ‘a, and she grunt like a pig. “That ain lady like either,” I tease leaning back watching ‘a press ‘a hair.

  We in silence for a long time, while the smell of ‘a hair burning, the comb on the stove, the morning’s bacon and syrup mingle. It’s amazing to watch what she doing. I cain’t believe she doing this all the time. Then she jump, and say, “Oooh this hair is so hot.”

  I worry, looking at how she lean to keep the hot hair from touching ‘a neck. “So you could burn yourself, but you ain scared, cause you got to be pretty?”

  “I just put too much grease that time. Unless I put too much grease in my hair, or on my scalp I should be fine.”

  “How does the grease burn you?”

  “The comb heats the grease up and moves it around. It can roll down to my scalp or get on my neck or shoulders. Still those burns aren’t as bad as when the comb touches your ear or scalp. Umph, now that’s real painful.”

  “Why you do this again if it burns you?”

  “To get my hair straight.”

  “I guess I just don’t understand why you would go through all this trouble, especially when it hurts.” I’m thinking out loud.

  “I’ve got to get my hair straight so I look presentable. I’m a lady, and no man wants a nappy-headed woman for his wife.”

  “One’s round Zion ain found that out then, cause they love our nappy-headed selves. Iain never knew to be a lady you got to burn yourself.”

  “I’m not burning myself, I don’t burn myself on purpose. It’s what you have to do to get your hair straight and presentable if you don’t have good hair.”

  I see she getting defensive, and Iain trying to fight with ‘a, so I just watch quietly. She got three combs, one on the fire, the other on a wash rag look like it done seen better days and one in ‘a hand. She turn the comb over on the rag, and wait to see how it scorch the towel. When it don’t burn no new spot, she grab the comb, and put it in ‘a hair, then pull ‘a hair between the comb and the rag. Coley hair start off a dark dusty brown. Then she put some grease and rake it with the comb tilit’s shiny, black and straight.

  I get up and open the windows, let the smoke out the house. I want to cook, but I don’t feel comfortable cooking in the kitchen with ‘a hair everywhere. I think I better get our dinner on soon so we have something to eat when we get back from the fields.

  So I say, “How long you gone be?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t usually do it all by myself without a mirror. One of the girls would help,” she say calmer, putting the comb on the fire. “No men are coming today are they?”

  “No, not that I know of.” I open my legs, put my elbows on my knees and lean on my hand.

  “Good, so I can get this done.”

  We in silence for a long while again, and I cain’t stop watching ‘a doing ‘a hair. Til I realize I’m letting the coolness of the morning get away from me. I got a lot of work to do. She need to get out of the kitchen so I can put this food on fore it get too hot. It’s miserable cooking when it’s hot outside, that’s why I usually do all the cooking early in the morning, before the heat pick up.

  ***

  “You tired?” I ask, when I find Coley in the bed laying down in the middle of the day. I’m a little disappointed to come back from the fields and ain’t nothing cooked. Plus I was waiting to talk to ‘a, or show ‘a what chores she gone have going forward. She don’t even think to try and do nothing round here. She the one walk around like she some kind of queen.

  “Doing my hair usually takes all day, especially if I do it all by myself. So I plan to take it easy for the rest of the day.” She got ‘a arms wrapped round a pillow laying on ‘a stomach. Her head wrapped tight in a scarf, and I feel bad saying what I came to say, but it’s got to be done and I need ‘a help.

  “Well, you asked me what I wanted you to pay for staying here.”

  “Let me get you some money.” She start moving and moaning like she exhausted.

  “I don’t need your money. I need your help round here, doing the wife duties I been thinking. And I’ll have to show you how to do them today, and then we gone go over them a few times over the next few days til you get ’em.”

  “It’s Saturday,” she whine breathing hard. Then when she see it don’t move me, “What are the wife duties?” She sit up like a stick in mud staring at me like I’m working ‘a nerves again.

  “Well, you would be doing all the house work except the cooking since you don’t know how.”

  “I already work. I have to prepare lesson plans for each of my students. I teach school remember?” Folding ‘a arms, “When will I be doing all these wife duties? When will I have time?”

  “We both have to work, and somebody got to feed us. Somebody got to tend to the gardens. We ain got no maids round here.”

  “Fine,” she say upset, and I can tell she feel bullied like she ain got no choice. I feel bad bout that, but I got so much to do I cain’t let feeling guilty keep me doing everything. “What are the duties?” she asks, poking ‘a chest out and lifting ‘a head proud.

  Never missing a beat, I start to rattle off the chores I expect ‘a to do. “Feed the hens in the morning, weed the garden once or twice a week when needed. Pick some vegetables and fruit for the table and our meals. I’ll help you do the jarring. I’ll stock the smoke house since I know you cain’t stand seeing nothing kilt. I know I cain’t expect you to butcher no guineas. I need you to sweep out the kitchen since I do the cooking. We can alternate cleaning out the stove, and we both need to be gathering wood.”

  “You said, garden. You said feed the hens, and they look like they bite. Not to mention, that means I’ve got to work outside.”

  “Most of the work you need to do is around the outside of the house. I expect you to help me milk the cows, and feed the livestock in the stables, too. And when the school closed, and it’s harvesting or planting time I expect you to work in the fields with me, and to help the town in the big fields.”

  “I don’t want to be outside more than I have to. I was thinking I would just be out enough to get to and from the school.” When I look at ‘a like she crazy, she whine adding, “I’m not trying to be a tar baby. I just don’t want to get black from the sun.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  DINNER WITH THE HARPERS

  “Ain my grandbaby darling?” Mrs. Harper coo at Esmeralda, showing Coley their newest granddaughter. I feel out of place standing there on the Harper’s porch. “You ain seen this one have you, Linny?”

  “No, ma’am, I ain’t.” Feeling obligated, I get closer and take a look. I don’t know what it is I’m feeling looking down at this child. She beautiful, all babies beautiful, but I’m feeling some kind of way.

  “Way you spoil these babies, and then send them home to us to raise is a shame.” Patrick Jr.’s wife take the impatient baby, and put ‘a head under a small blanket, then start moving to nurse.

  “I use to take ca
re of you, Linny, and spoil you as much as ya mama would let me.” Mrs. Harper smile at me, reminding me of all she done for me, again. “Look, Cynthia, look at this dress Linny wearing. It’s one of the ones I bought ‘a when I was up in Atlanta. Ain’t she beautiful? Wish she would dress like a lady more often. She’s such a beautiful girl.”

  Me and Coley been invited to dinner, they welcoming Coley to town. I’m wearing a dress so fancy Coley had to help me get it on. I’m even wearing a double-skirted slip and stockings. It’s been a while since I been to a formal family dinner. In my family we don’t do formal dinners less somebody getting married. Seem like the Harpers be doing this a few times a week.

  I watch all their sons sit down. Each one looking like they daddy with none of they mother’s color.

  I’m nervous. All the women are so proper acting. Seem like them and Coley cut from a similar cloth. All but three of the pastor’s sons married light-skinned educated women. The other three still married light, like their father, but they married Zion girls. To see all their brown, sharp-dressed children running round, I feel like I’m squeezing into a tight space meant for somebody else.

  When the food comes I try to remember what Mrs. Harper told me. I don’t think I eat like no animal or nothing, still I’m careful, to eat slow, chew my food and not talk with a full mouth. I don’t say much anyhow, Iain never been no big talker and my family ain nothing like this. So I don’t know what to say no how. What my mama taught my sisters bout being wives wouldn’t be enough to serve round here.

  One of the women here in town helps Mrs. Harper for money, and they have folks working in they fields. Iain never seen one nigga hire another one to work in their own kitchen. It’s something folks round here sometimes complain about, that The Reverend living beyond his means. Then again, when you think about all the places they go in a week, visiting the sick, entertaining town guests, and having to see bout town business, may not leave any time for working on they own house and land.

  I’m so use to working, soon as I got here I went straight to the kitchen and put a apron on. I was pleasantly surprised to find everything cooked and laid out ready to be served. It was interesting to see Sadie, this older woman from round here, working in they kitchen like she would any white folk’s house.