“I’m sorry I don’t have anything here to drink,” I said.
“Don’t worry about that.”
“Would you like to eat something? My aunt made a cake.”
“I had a good breakfast,” Vivian said.
“What about some coffee?”
“Don’t bother.”
“It’s already made.”
“Okay.”
We went through my aunt’s room, which was even more rustic than mine, then into the kitchen. In the kitchen was a black four-lid wood stove, a five-foot-tall white icebox, a handmade table with four wood-bottom chairs around it, a safe with screen doors for the dishes, a broom that had seen better days, an ax in the corner, and several black pots and aluminum pans, hanging from nails on the wall. Very, very rustic.
Vivian stood at the back door, looking across the yard toward the field, where some of the cane had been cut. The cane had not been hauled to the derrick yet, and it was lying across the rows. A little farther over, where another patch of cane was standing, tall and blue-green, you could see the leaves swaying softly from a breeze.
After warming the coffee, I poured each of us a cupful. I cut two slices from the chocolate cake my aunt had in the safe, then we sat down at the table, facing the yard and the field.
“It’s really peaceful,” Vivian said.
“Sunday is the saddest day of the week.”
“Not for those who have to work in the field.”
“It has always been for me.”
“You ought to find something to do on Sunday. Like going to church.”
I didn’t answer her.
“I know you believe,” she said. “You don’t want to, but I know you do.”
“The only thing I believe in is loving you.”
We finished our cake and coffee, and I put the cups and saucers in the pan of soap water on the window shelf.
“We ought to wash them,” Vivian said.
“They’re okay.”
“No,” she said. “It’s not fair to her. You wash, I’ll dry.”
“It’s going to be like that, huh?”
“Un-hunh,” she said.
There was hot water in the kettle on the stove, and I poured some into the dishpan. Vivian had already taken down another pan from the wall, and I poured the rest of the hot water into it; she added cold water from the faucet by the icebox. I washed and rinsed the dishes, and she dried them and put them into the safe. It felt good doing this with her.
“Is that enough?” I asked when we had finished. “Or do you want me to sweep out the kitchen and mop, too?”
She looked down at the floor.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “It looks pretty clean.”
We had been playing. Now I became serious.
“How long can you stay?”
“I have some time.”
“Would you like to go for a walk down the quarter?”
She nodded. “But first I must go back to your little girl’s house.”
I nodded toward the toilet, which was set on the ditch near the cane field.
She left the kitchen, and I went to my room and put on a warmer shirt. I also got my knife, in case we wanted a piece of sugarcane. I was standing on the porch when she came in from the back.
“Rustic enough out there for you?”
“I’ve been in worse. I’m a country girl, remember?”
We left the house. Up at the church, Reverend Ambrose had just started his ’Termination song, “Amazing Grace.” We went down the quarter.
Most of the people who had not gone to church were indoors. Seldom was someone sitting out on the porch, and no one worked in the gardens or chopped wood in the yard. Horses and mules were grazing in the pastures beside and behind the houses, but that was about as much movement as you saw. Above, a low ashen sky loomed over the plantation, if not over the entire state of Louisiana. A swarm of black birds flew across the road and alighted in a pecan tree in one of the backyards to our left. The entire plantation was deadly quiet, except for the singing coming from the church up the quarter behind us.
We crossed the railroad tracks and turned right. In front of us were three or four boxcars of sugarcane, waiting to be picked up by a train and taken to the mill. We could also see the weighing scales left of the full boxcars, and the derrick that lifted the cane from wagons and trailers and swung it onto the boxcars. Left of the weighing scales and the derrick was the plantation cemetery, where my ancestors had been buried for the past century. The cemetery had lots of trees in it, pecans and oaks, and it was weedy too, and since there were so few gravestones, it was pretty hard to see many graves from the road. Just before we came up to the cemetery, we turned left on a road that would take us farther into the field. This was Vivian’s first time back here, and I told her that my people had worked these fields ever since slavery, and many of them were buried in the cemetery behind us. I asked her if she wanted a piece of cane, and she said yes. I jumped over the ditch and crossed a couple of rows until I found a good stalk, then I came back to where she was waiting for me. I cut off the first two joints and threw them away; they didn’t look sweet enough. Then I peeled the third joint and tasted it. It was good. I cut off a round and gave it to Vivian. She chewed it and let some of the juice run down her chin, the way a small child would do. The small child would not have been able to help it, but she could. I cut off a round for myself and chewed it. It was very soft, very sweet.
We chewed cane and walked the road for at least three quarters of a mile. Just before coming up to the gate that would lead into the swamp, I noticed a pecan tree to our right. I had picked pecans under that tree many times, and I suggested we go over there and see if we could find some. The tree stood at the headland of the cane field. We searched for pecans in the grass on the headland and down between the rows of cane. We found a couple of dozen big ones, big and soft-shelled, and I cracked them by squeezing two together. I gave Vivian one half, and I kept the other. We sat under the tree, and I cracked pecans for both of us. Suddenly, we were too quiet.
“You want me here?” Vivian asked.
I was not looking at her when she said it, and I could tell by her voice that she was not looking directly at me.
“Yes,” I said.
She had been gazing down at the ground. Now she raised her eyes to me.
“That’s what I want too,” she said.
“I love you, Vivian,” I said. “I want you to know that. I love you very much.”
“I hope you love me half as much as I love you.”
I left her for a while, and when I came back I saw that she had moved farther down between the rows, where the cane would hide us better. She had taken off everything except her brassiere and slip. I took off everything except the heavy shirt, which I unbuttoned. Vivian raised her arms up and out to me as I lay down beside her.
I lay on my side and touched her brown nipples with my finger. Then I leaned over and kissed each tenderly, and raised up and looked at her. She was smiling at me. I went back and I passed my tongue over each and I kissed each again and rubbed my chin over them. My beard must have been rough, because I could feel her drawing away some, but when I looked at her she was smiling again. I smiled back at her.
“I think something happened,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I have a strange feeling.”
I looked at her, and I felt happy. But my face must have changed.
“What is the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“But you frowned.”
“I’m happy.”
“But you frowned when I said it.”
“Maybe I was just thinking. I don’t know if I want Paul to grow up here.”
“Don’t spoil it,” she said. “It’s been too good. Don’t spoil it.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“And suppose it’s Molly?”
“No, it’s Paul.”
“It could be
Molly. Molly Wiggins. I don’t know if I like that name. You think it’s a good name—Molly Wiggins?”
“It sounds okay.”
“Sounds kind of whorish to me—Molly Wiggins.”
“Then let her decide. If she likes it, we’ll keep it. If she doesn’t, we’ll call her Paulette.”
“Paul and Paulette—that sounds good. Maybe I’ll have twins.”
“If not, we’ll go till there is a Paulette.”
“She may be first.”
“Then we’ll go till there is Paul,” I said. “You ought to put on something. You might catch cold.”
“Not if you hold me close. Not if you put that shirt round both of us.”
I lay upon her, kissing her hair, her eyes, her nose, her mouth.
15
VIVIAN STOOD with her back to me while I brushed off her blazer and her skirt. A few small blades of yellow grass clung to her hair. I removed them and picked up her purse, and I could see how clean the ground was where we had lain, and I could see where she had dug her heels into the ground. We left the field and started for the main road, to return to the quarter. It had become colder, and we walked faster than we had when we came out into the field.
“We start our Christmas program next week,” Vivian said.
“It’s about that time, huh?”
“You’re having a program, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know.” I hadn’t given it much thought.
“You only have about a month.”
“I guess I’ll mention it to the children tomorrow. I’ll see what they want. That stuff in Bayonne’s been keeping me so busy I’ve just about forgotten everything else.”
“When are you going to see him again?”
“I don’t know. His nannan, my aunt, and their pastor are going up there tomorrow. I’ll probably go Friday. I don’t know.”
“You have any idea?” she said, not looking at me directly.
I thought I knew what she was talking about.
“It’s up to the big boss in Baton Rouge,” I said.
Vivian was quiet.
We crossed the railroad tracks and entered the quarter. People were leaving church and coming out into the road.
“You think your aunt has made it home?” Vivian asked.
“She is usually the last one to leave.”
“You want me to go before she gets home?”
“I want you to stay.”
“You think it’ll be all right?”
“She’ll have to get used to it.”
“I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“There won’t be any trouble,” I said. “We went over all that last Friday.”
“What happened?”
“She wanted to know what had kept me in Bayonne so long. I told her I had been with you. That’s all.”
“That’s all.”
“That’s all.”
“I want her to like me.”
“She will when she gets to know you.”
“I wish I could say the same for them in Free LaCove.”
Vivian had met and married a dark-skinned boy while attending Xavier University in New Orleans. She had not told her people about the wedding, because she knew that they would be opposed to it. After she and the boy were married, she took him back to Free LaCove. Everything turned out just as she had feared. Her family had nothing to say to her husband and hardly anything to say to her. He never went back. When her first child was born, she took the baby to visit. No one held the child or gave it a present or any attention. That was three years ago, and she had not been home since, not even when the second child was born, nor when she separated from her husband. One of her sisters visited her sometimes, and occasionally a male cousin would see her in Bayonne. Her mother and aunts wrote letters; there was no other communication.
Vivian and I stood on the porch and watched my aunt, Miss Emma, Miss Eloise, and Inez come down the quarter. I saw my aunt looking at Vivian’s little blue Chevrolet parked in front of the house, then looking toward the house. The women around her went on talking, but she was much more concerned with Vivian and me than with their conversation.
They stopped before the house, and I saw Miss Eloise talking to my aunt. I am sure she was asking her whether they should come in or not. My aunt said yes, because they all proceeded into the yard, walking Indian file, my aunt in front. I introduced her to Vivian as soon as she came up the steps.
“Miss,” my aunt said, and gave a slight nod. She didn’t look at me.
I introduced Vivian to the other women.
“Howdy do,” Miss Eloise said. “How you?” Miss Emma said. “Glad to know you,” Inez said.
But they were not glad to know her. They didn’t feel comfortable at all. They were at my aunt’s house, and they were not about to show much more enthusiasm than she had shown.
They went inside in single file. You could smell their sweet powder all over the place.
“You think I ought to go?” Vivian said.
“No. Come on inside.”
We had to pass through my aunt’s room to go back into the kitchen. Tante Lou and the other women had taken off their hats and coats and laid them, along with their pocketbooks, on the bed. They were in the kitchen, sitting at the table. My aunt had brought them here for coffee and cake.
“I’ll have to make some more coffee,” I said.
“I’ll make my own coffee,” my aunt said.
“I’ll make it,” I said.
“Not here.”
“Vivian and I drank the coffee, and I’ll make more. That’s all there is to it.”
“You go’n walk over me?” she asked.
“No, ma’am, I’m going around you,” I said. “But I’m going to make the coffee.”
I filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. My aunt was watching me. Her friends, sitting at the table, were quiet.
“Grant?” Vivian said. “I think—”
“Just be quiet.”
“You taking over my house?” my aunt said.
“No, ma’am,” I said. “But we drank the coffee. And this is the woman I’m going to marry one day. So you might as well start getting along right now.”
The women at the table did not look at us and were afraid to look at one another. My aunt was like a boulder in the road, unmovable, so I had to go around her. She could see that I was not going to change my mind. And she had three choices. She could stop me physically, she could leave the room, or she could sit down at the table with her friends. She was afraid to approach me physically, because I might leave and not come back. If she left the kitchen, then her friends would leave. If she sat at the table, only her pride would be hurt. She thought that was best.
“How was service today, Miss Eloise?” I asked.
“Oh, fine.”
She said it so fast that it sounded like only one word. I grinned to myself.
“You find anything funny in that, mister?” my aunt asked, looking at me again.
“No, ma’am,” I said. She stared at me long enough to let me know that it was not over between her and me, not yet. She turned to Vivian, not saying anything, just contemplating her. The other women were quiet, looking either down at the table or out the back door, but never at one another.
“I hear you from Free LaCove,” my aunt said to Vivian.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I hear they don’t like dark-skin people back there.”
“Some of them don’t,” Vivian said.
“Not all of them?” my aunt questioned her.
“No, ma’am.”
“How about your own folks?”
“I don’t visit back there,” Vivian said.
“You don’t love your mama? You don’t love your daddy?”
“I love both of them,” Vivian said, and looked at me. “But I have to live my own life.”
“You go to church?”
“I’m Catholic.”
My aunt looked at Vivian and nodded her
head, as if she was thinking, What else could you possibly be?
“You went to church today?”
“I went to nine o’clock mass,” Vivian said.
“You going next Sunday?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Sunday after that?”
“I hope so.”
“This one,” my aunt said, nodding toward me but still looking at Vivian, “he don’t have a church. What y’all go’n do then?”
“We’ll work it out,” Vivian said.
“You go’n leave your church?”
“I hope I don’t have to,” Vivian said. “But if I had to, then I suppose I would.”
“You’ll leave your church and just become—nothing?”
“We’ll work it out,” Vivian said.
My aunt nodded her head. “I hope you know what you doing, young lady.”
“I think that water is hot,” I said.
I poured water over the fresh coffee grounds and watched the container fill up, and when the level went down, I poured in more water. Now the aroma of the coffee had taken over from the ladies’ powder, or maybe it was because I was closer to the coffeepot than I was to the table.
“Get some dishes out of that safe,” I said to Vivian. “Cups and saucers, and four plates for cake.”
“Grant?”
“Just do what I said,” I told her.
She brought the four cups and saucers to the stove on a tray, and I poured hot water into one of the cups. Vivian rinsed out all the other cups and poured the water into the dishpan on the window shelf. She set the tray of cups on the shelf and went back to the safe and began to cut slices of cake and put them on plates. By the time she had finished, enough coffee had dripped and I was pouring it into the cups. Vivian put a fork on each plate and placed cake before the women. They said thanks, but they said it quietly. Vivian came back to the window for the coffee. Everyone said thanks again.
“Thank you, ma’am,” my aunt said politely.
My aunt knew how to make you feel that she was of a lower caste and you were being too kind to her. That was the picture she presented, but not nearly how she felt.
Vivian and I went out onto the porch.
“I’m glad to get out of there,” Vivian said.
“She’s pulled that jazz on others,” I said. “It’s not going to work this time, though.”
Lesson Before Dying Page 10
