by Betty Smith
"No. But what makes you get a baby often starts with a kiss." She added, "Remember Joanna."
Now, Katie didn't know about the street scene. Joanna happened to pop into her mind. But Francie thought she had wonderful powers of insight. She looked at Mama with new respect.
Remember Joanna. Remember Joanna. Francie could never forget her. From that time on, remembering the stoning women, she hated women. She feared them for their devious ways, she mistrusted their instincts. She began to hate them for this disloyalty and their cruelty to each other. Of all the stone-throwers, not one had dared to speak a word for the girl for fear that she would be tarred with Joanna's brush. The passing man had been the only one who spoke with kindness in his voice.
Most women had the one thing in common: they had great pain when they gave birth to their children. This should make a bond that held them all together; it should make them love and protect each other against the man-world. But it was not so. It seemed like their great birth pains shrank their hearts and their souls. They stuck together for only one thing: to trample on some other woman...whether it was by throwing stones or by mean gossip. It was the only kind of loyalty they seemed to have.
Men were different. They might hate each other but they stuck together against the world and against any woman who would ensnare one of them.
Francie opened the copybook which she used for a diary. She skipped a line under the paragraph that she had written about intolerance and wrote:
"As long as I live, I will never have a woman for a friend. I will never trust any woman again, except maybe Mama and sometimes Aunt Evy and Aunt Sissy."
31
TWO VERY IMPORTANT THINGS HAPPENED IN THE YEAR THAT FRANCIE was thirteen. War broke out in Europe and a horse fell in love with Aunt Evy.
Evy's husband and his horse, Drummer, had been bitter enemies for eight years. He was mean to the horse; he kicked him and punched him and cursed at him and pulled too hard on the bit. The horse was mean to Uncle Willie Flittman. The horse knew the route and stopped automatically at each delivery. It had been his habit to start up again as soon as Flittman mounted the wagon. Lately, he had taken to starting up the instant Flittman got off to deliver milk. He'd break into a trot and often Flittman had to run more than half a block to catch up with him.
Flittman was through delivering at noon. He'd go home to eat dinner, then bring the horse and wagon back to the stable where he was supposed to wash Drummer and the wagon. The horse had a mean trick. Often when Flittman was washing under his belly, he'd wet on him. The other fellows would stand around waiting for this to happen so that they could have a good laugh. Flittman couldn't stand it so he got in the habit of washing the horse in front of his house. That was all right in the summer but it was a little hard on the horse in the winter. Often, on a bitterly cold day, Evy would go down and tell Willie that it was a mean thing to wash Drummer in the cold and with cold water, too. The horse seemed to know that Evy was taking his part. As she argued with her husband, Drummer would whinny pitifully and lay his head on her shoulder.
One cold day, Drummer took matters into his own hands--or as Aunt Evy said it, into his own feet. Francie listened enchanted while Aunt Evy told the story to the Nolans. No one could tell a story like Evy. She acted out all the parts--even the horse and, in a funny way, she'd put in what she thought each one was secretly thinking at the time. It happened like this, according to Evy:
Willie was down on the street washing the shivering horse with cold water and hard yellow soap. Evy was standing at the window watching. He leaned under to wash the horse's belly and the horse tensed. Flittman thought Drummer was going to wet on him again and it was more than the harassed and futile little man could stand. He hauled off and punched the horse in the belly. The horse lifted a leg and kicked him decisively in the head. Flittman rolled under the horse and lay unconscious.
Evy ran down. The horse whinnied happily when he saw her but she paid no attention to him. When he looked over his shoulder and saw that Evy was trying to drag Flittman out from under, he started to walk. Maybe he wanted to help Evy by pulling the wagon clear of the unconscious man or maybe he wanted to finish the job by rolling the wagon over him. Evy hollered out, "Whoa there, boy," and Drummer stopped just in time.
A little boy had gone for a policeman who had gone for the ambulance. The ambulance doctor couldn't make out whether Flittman had a fracture or a concussion. He took him to a Greenpoint Hospital.
Well, there was the horse and wagon full of empty milk bottles to be gotten back to the stables. Evy had never driven a horse but that was no reason why she couldn't. She put on one of her husband's old overcoats, wrapped a shawl around her head, climbed up into the seat, picked up the reins and called out, "Git for home, Drummer." The horse swung his head back to give her a loving look, then set off at a cheerful trot.
It was lucky he knew the way. Evy hadn't the slightest idea where the stables were. He was a smart horse. He stopped at each intersection and waited while Evy looked up and down the cross street. If all was clear, she'd say, "Giddy-yap, boy." If another vehicle was coming she'd say, "Just a minute, boy." In this way they reached the stables without mishap and the horse cantered in proudly to his usual place in the row. Other drivers, washing their wagons, were surprised to see a lady driver. They made such a commotion that the stable boss came running and Evy told him what had happened.
"I saw it coming," the boss said. "Flittman never did like that horse and the horse never liked him. Well, we'll have to take on another man."
Evy, fearful lest her husband lose his job, asked whether she couldn't take his route while he was in the hospital. She argued that the milk was delivered in the dark and no one would ever know. The boss laughed at her. She told him how much they needed that twenty-two-fifty a week. She pleaded so hard, and looked so little and pretty and spunky, that he gave in at last. He gave her the list of customers and told her the boys would load the wagon for her. The horse knew the route, he said, and it wouldn't be too hard. One of the drivers suggested that she take the stable dog along for company and protection against milk thieves. The boss agreed to that. He told her to report to the stables at 2 A.M. Evy was the first milkwoman on the route.
She got along fine. The fellows at the stable liked her and said that she was a better worker than Flittman. In spite of her practicalness, she was soft and feminine and the men loved the low and breathless way she had of talking. And the horse was very happy and co-operated as much as he could. He stopped automatically before each house where milk was to be left and never started up again until she was safely in the seat.
Like Flittman, she brought him to her house while she ate her dinner. Because the weather was so cold, she took an old quilt from her bed and threw it over him so he wouldn't catch cold while he waited for her. She took his oats upstairs and heated them for a few minutes in the oven before she fed him. She didn't think ice-cold oats were appetizing. The horse enjoyed the warmed oats. After he finished munching, she treated him to half an apple or a lump of sugar.
She thought it was too cold to wash him on the street. She took him back to the stable for that. She thought the yellow soap was too biting, so she brought along a cake of Sweetheart Soap and a big old bath towel to dry him with. The men at the stable offered to wash the horse and wagon for her but she insisted on washing the horse herself. Two men got into a fight over who should wash the wagon. Evy settled it by saying one could wash it one day and the other, the next day.
She heated Drummer's wash water on a gas plate in the boss's office. She'd never think of washing him in cold water. She washed him with the warm water and the sweet-scented soap and dried him carefully bit by bit with the towel. He never committed an indignity on her while she washed him. He snorted and whinnied happily throughout the washing. His skin rippled in voluptuous delight when Evy rubbed him dry. When she worked around his chest, he rested his tremendous head on her small shoulder. There was no doubt about it. The horse was m
adly in love with Evy.
When Flittman recovered and reported back for work, the horse refused to leave the stable with him on the wagon seat. They had to give Flittman another route and another horse. But Drummer wouldn't get out with any other driver either. The boss had just about made up his mind to have him sold, when he got an idea. Among the drivers, there was an effeminate young man who talked with a lisp. They put him on Flittman's wagon. Drummer seemed satisfied and consented to go out with the ladylike driver on the seat.
So Drummer took up his regular duties again. But every day at noon, he turned into the street where Evy lived and stood in front of her door. He wouldn't go back to the stables until Evy had come down, given him a bit of apple or some sugar, stroked his nose and called him a good boy.
"He was a funny horse," said Francie after she heard the story.
"He may have been funny," said Aunt Evy, "but he sure knew what he wanted."
32
FRANCIE HAD STARTED A DIARY ON HER THIRTEENTH BIRTHDAY WITH the entry:
Dec. 15. Today I enter my teens. What will the year bring forth? I wonder.
The year brought forth little according to the entries which became sparser as the year wore on. She had been prompted to start a diary because fictional heroines kept them and filled them with lush sighing thoughts. Francie thought her diary would be like that, but excepting for some romantic observations on Harold Clarence, actor, the entries were prosaic. Towards the end of the year she riffled through the pages reading an item here and there.
Jan. 8. Granma Mary Rommely has a pretty carved box that her great-grandfather made in Austria over a hundred years ago. She has a black dress and white petticoat and shoes and stockings in it. They are her burying clothes as she doesn't want to be buried in a shroud. Uncle Willie Flittman said he wants to be cremated and his ashes scattered from the Statue of Liberty. He thinks he'll be a bird in the next life and he wants a good start. Aunt Evy said he's a bird already, a cuckoo. Mama scolded me for laughing. Is cremation better than burying? I wonder.
Jan. 10. Papa sick today.
March 21. Neeley stole pussy willows from McCarren's Park and gave them to Gretchen Hahn. Mama said he's too young to be thinking about girls. There's time enough, she said.
April 2. Papa hasn't worked for three weeks. There's something wrong with his hands. They shake so much he can't hold anything.
April 20. Aunt Sissy says she's going to have a baby. I don't believe it because she's flat in front. I heard her tell Mama she's carrying it in the back. I wonder.
May 8. Papa sick today.
May 9. Papa went to work tonight but had to come home. Said the people didn't need him.
May 10. Papa sick. Had bad nightmares in the daytime and screamed. I had to get Aunt Sissy.
May 12. Papa hasn't worked for over a month. Neeley wants to get his working papers and leave school. Mama said no.
May 15. Papa worked tonight. He said he's going to take charge of things from now on. He scolded Neeley about the working papers.
May 17. Papa came home sick. Some kids were following him on the street and making fun of him. I hate kids.
May 20. Neeley has a paper route now. He won't let me help sell papers.
May 28. Carney did not pinch my cheek today. He pinched something else. I guess I'm getting too big to sell junk.
May 30. Miss Garnder said they are going to publish my winter time composition in the magazine.
June 2. Papa came home sick today. Neeley and I had to help Mama get him upstairs. Papa cried.
June 4. I got A on my composition today. We had to write on My Ambition. I only made one mistake. I wrote play-writer and Miss Garnder said the right word was playwright.
June 7. Two men brought Papa home today. He was sick. Mama was away. I put Papa to bed and gave him black coffee. When Mama came home she said that was the right thing to do.
June 12. Miss Tynmore gave me Schubert's Serenade today. Mama's ahead of me. She got Tannhauser's Evening Star. Neeley says he's ahead of both of us. He can play Alexander's Ragtime Band without notes.
June 20. Went to show. Saw The Girl of the Golden West. It was the best show I ever saw, the way the blood dripped through the ceiling.
June 21. Papa was away for two nights. We didn't know where he was. He came home sick.
June 22. Mama turned my mattress today and found my diary and read it. Everywhere I had the word drunk, she made me cross it out and write sick. It's lucky I didn't have anything against Mama written down. If ever I have children I will not read their diaries as I believe that even a child is entitled to some privacy. If Mama finds this again and reads it, I hope she will take the hint.
June 23. Neeley says he has a girl. Mama says he's too young. I wonder.
June 25. Uncle Willie, Aunt Evy, Sissy and her John over tonight. Uncle Willie drank a lot of beer and cried. He said the new horse he's got, Bessie, did worse than wet on him. Mama scolded me for laughing.
June 27. We finished the Bible today. Now we got to start all over. We've gone through Shakespeare four times already.
July 1. Intolerance....
Francie put her hand over the entry to hide the words. For a moment, she thought the waves would pass over her again. But the feeling went away. She turned the page and read another entry.
July 4. Sergeant McShane brought Papa home today. Papa wasn't arrested as we thought at first. He was sick. Mr. McShane gave Neeley and me a quarter. Mama made us give it back.
July 5. Papa still sick. Will he ever work again? I wonder.
July 6. We started playing the North Pole game today.
July 7. North Pole.
July 8. North Pole.
July 9. North Pole. Expected rescue did not come.
July 10. We opened the tin-can bank today. There was eight dollars and twenty cents in it. My golden pennies had turned black.
July 20. All the money from the tin-can bank is gone. Mama took some washing to do for Mrs. McGarrity. I helped iron but burnt a hole on Mrs. McGarrity's drawers. Mama won't let me iron anymore.
July 23. I got a job at Hendler's Restaurant just for the summer. I wash dishes during the dinner and supper rush. I use gobs of soft soap out of a barrel. On Monday a man comes and collects three barrels of scraps of fat and brings back one barrel of soft soap on Wednesday. Nothing is wasted in this world. I get two dollars a week and my meals. It isn't hard work but I don't like that soap.
July 24. Mama said I'd be a woman before I knew it. I wonder.
July 28. Floss Gaddis and Frank are going to be married as soon as he gets a raise. Frank says that the way President Wilson is running things we'll be in the war before you know it. He says he's marrying because he wants a wife and kids so that when war comes he doesn't have to fight. Flossie says that's not true; it's a case of true love. I wonder. I remember how Flossie used to chase him years ago when he was washing the horse.
July 29. Papa wasn't sick today. He's going to get a job. He said Mama has to stop washing for Mrs. McGarrity and I have to give up my job. He says we'll be rich and all go to live in the country. I wonder.
Aug. 10. Sissy says she's going to have a baby soon. I wonder. She's as flat as a pancake.
Aug. 17. Papa has been working for three weeks now. We have wonderful suppers.
Aug. 18. Papa's sick.
Aug. 19. Papa's sick because he lost his job. Mr. Hendler won't take me back in the restaurant. He says I'm not reliable.
Sept. 1. Aunt Evy, Uncle Willie over tonight. Willie sang Frankie and Johnny and put dirty words in it. Aunt Evy stood on a chair and punched him in the nose. Mama scolded me for laughing.
Sept. 10. I started my last year of school. Miss Garnder said if I keep on getting A's on my composition, she might let me write a play for graduation. I have a very beautiful idea. There will be a girl in a white dress and her hair hanging down her back and she will be Fate. Other girls will come out on the stage and tell what they want from Life and Fate will tell them what they
'll get. At the end a girl in a blue dress will spread out her arms and say, "Is life worth living then?" And there will be a chorus that says "yes." Only it will all be in rhyme. I told Papa about it but he was too sick to understand. Poor Papa.
Sept. 18. I asked Mama could I get a Castle Clip and she said no that hair was a woman's crowning beauty. Does that mean she expects me to be a woman soon? I hope so because I want to be my own boss and get my hair cut off if I feel like it.
Sept. 24. Tonight when I took a bath, I discovered that I was changing into a woman. It's about time.
Oct. 25. I will be glad when this book is filled up as I am getting tired of keeping a diary. Nothing important ever happens.
Francie came to the last entry. Only one more blank page left. Well, the sooner she got it filled, the sooner the diary-keeping would be over and she wouldn't have to bother with it anymore. She wet her pencil.
Nov. 2. Sex is something that invariably comes into everyone's life. People write pieces against it. The priests preach against it. They even make laws against it. But it keeps going on just the same. All the girls in school have but the one topic of conversation: sex and boys. They are very curious about it. Am I curious about sex?
She studied the last sentence. The line on the inner edge of her right eyebrow deepened. She crossed out the sentence and rewrote it to read: "I am curious about sex."
33
YES, THERE WAS A GREAT CURIOSITY ABOUT SEX AMONG THE adolescent children of Williamsburg. There was a lot of talk about it. Among the younger children there was some exhibitionism (you show me and I'll show you). A few hypocrites devised such evasive games as "playing house" or "doctor." A few uninhibited ones did what they called "play dirty."
There was a great hush-hush about sex in that neighborhood. When children asked questions, the parents didn't know how to answer them for the reason that these people did not know the correct words to use. Each married couple had its own secret words for things which were whispered in bed in the quiet of night. But there were few mothers brave enough to bring these words out into the daylight and present them to the child. When the children grew up, they in turn invented words which they couldn't tell their children.
