He laughed at her, rusty laughter, bottom laughter; wherever it came from, it was happy to be let out. Happy laughter. His step picked up. “So what?” he almost shouted.
Vilma locked the door that night with the crude wooden bar but she needn’t have bothered, he didn’t come near until the next morning and then he was bringing coffee.
“I know how city people like coffee first thing! Your breakfast is on the table, soon as you get there.” And he was gone, leaving the coffee on the small steps.
She had slept naked between the country-smelling sheets, now she lay there after getting the coffee and looked out the window at the huge tree trunks, listening to the leaves, the birds and insects, sounds they make early in the mornings. She noticed a spider crawl from a crack to see her better. “Don’t worry ole Ms. Spider, I’m not going to bother your home. You leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone.” The spider sat there a minute more, then decided to believe her and went on back to its business in the crack.
Vilma walked around the little house after she packed her little suitcase again. It was lovely. She patted the house and said, “Thank you for a lovely night!” Then she went in to breakfast.
“Hey?” she called from outside the screendoor.
“Come on in!” he answered.
“Say, I don’t know your name,” she said as she looked over the neat house, like a woman still lived here, she thought.
“Jacob … Jacob Harley,” he said softly but proudly.
“Ohhh Weee!” she laughed. “You CAN cook!!!”
“Sure!” he smiled.
“Probably better than me!” She sat down.
“So what? What’s better?” He sat hot biscuits on the table beside the ham, scrambled eggs and grits, syrup, jam and yellow watermelon. “What’s your name?”
“Vilma.”
“Just Vilma?”
“Vilma is all I need.”
“Let’s say the blessing, one-name Vilma, and let’s eat!”
She did and they did, then breakfast was over and she sat there while he did the dishes, telling him what she had seen in her travels.
She told him she had finally seen a mountain and that it was a monument to God, also. She had seen two oceans, the Pacific and the Atlantic. She had seen a mountain made of stone that looked like Cochise might come around it any moment. And how the sky was different in every state. She had seen great trees, which were her favorite, almost, of anything that grew. She had been to museums and seen some of the world’s greatest treasures … they were treasures, but if she had to choose what to take home with her, well, she would take an ocean, or a mountain, or a tree … Then he was through and they walked outside to the backyard and she picked up her suitcase she had left there.
“I cleaned up after myself,” she smiled.
“So what?” He put a foot up on a stump and crossed his arms on his knee.
“I really did appreciate last night. Thank you very much.”
“Well, what you leavin for then?”
“Enough is enough,” she spoke as she contemplated the ground.
“So what? What’s enough?” Though smiling, he looked so serious.
“You didn’t expect me!” she smiled back.
“So what?” He sure could look at a person hard.
“So, I’m taking up your time!” She tried to keep smiling and felt the heat of the sun on her teeth.
“So what?” He wouldn’t let up at all.
“Is that all you know how to say? So what?” She was uncomfortable. She started walking away.
“If you ain’t going nowhere special or don’t know where you going, why don’t you stay in that little house awhile?” He raised his voice.
She stopped and, turning to him, took a deep breath and said, “You don’t know me!”
“So what?”
“So, I’m a stranger to you!”
“So what? I ain’t asking you to move in with me.” The humor returned to his voice. “Just use the cottage!”
Vilma looked at the cottage a moment. “I don’t have much money!”
“Don’t need much!” he smiled.
“I can’t pay you any rent.” Her voice was low.
“So what? Ain’t no rent! I dont owe nothin on it, so neither do you!” He smiled again.
“Welllll.” Vilma took a few steps toward the cottage.
“Now. That’s better!” He reached for her suitcase. She pulled back.
“Now, I’m not going to be no second-hand wife.”
“So what?” he smiled gently.
“I mean it! And I am not cooking!”
“So what?”
“I’m not doing any kind of work!”
“So what?” He reached again for the suitcase.
“And I’m sleeping in the cottage and you are sleeping in that house … every night!” She pointed as she spoke, seriously.
“Alright!” he answered with patience.
“I am not going to make love with you, Jacob.”
“So what? Vilma, I didn’t ask you to.” He took the suitcase and walked her back to the cottage.
And that day she got settled in. They passed each other, now and then, but didn’t talk; he just smiled, she looked concerned, but happy … and she was.
Over one breakfast, which he cooked, he said, “You gonna get tired out here with nothing to do.”
“Oh, no I’m not. I’ve been waiting all my life for nothing to do!”
“You just going to sleep?” he continued.
“No! There’s plenty to do. Besides,” she laughed, “So what?”
She decorated the cottage with flowers and leaves, planting wild flowers in bottles and jars and hanging them around the eaves of the little house. Rocks were made into designs around the yard with novel pieces of wood. Feathers were made into bouquets in odd little containers. She had improvised a bird bath and to her great delight, the birds used it. She visited the fat brown cows and petted their warm skins and shooed flies away from their eyes. She fed the chickens and had a favorite rooster that she felt was so dressed-up in his checkered-looking black and white suit with the sharp red hat, he walked like he owned the chickenyard. She called him Highstepper, and he began to answer her call. A cat from somewhere attached itself to her; it came every morning and she fed it, then they sat together each with their own thoughts till each evening the cat would go away to something somewhere of its own.
Happiness and peacefulness just grew out and bubbled all over the backyard and down the back road leading to the pond where she fished sometime and brought dinner home. Two months passed in this way and she forgot to leave, to follow the sunset. She had her own private sunset every evening, all evening. Why, even if she lay in bed, right there through her windows, through her trees, she watched it.
Then, one day, Jacob went to town and brought back a bottle of gin, a pack of beer and a box of candy, among other things.
The gin and soda water loaded with ice was good and they laughed as they drank and listened to some old records on the phonograph he brought out in the backyard. Then the gin was gone and the beer was good and cold as they laughed and she tried to show him some dances she had done down through the years. He laughed and laughed and looked and looked. When she said, “I think I’m getting high,” he said, “So what?” and they laughed together. Then she was in the cottage, somehow, and he was trying to make love to her. She wanted him to stop, but didn’t feel like fighting him … he had been good to her. No … she didn’t love him in that way, but he had been good to her, two good months. Yes, she was free to fuck who she wanted to, but she wanted someone to give her love to, someone who made her star twinkle, as in “twinkle, twinkle, little star.” He didn’t make her star twinkle, but he did make it burn brighter, so she let him make love to her. So what?
Vilma had planned to pack and leave the next day, but she didn’t. She just didn’t. Besides, he didn’t come near her at night. Things had gone back to normal. Maybe I can stay a little longe
r, she said, knowing even then she was going to have to go. But she didn’t. The time passed and that night of lovemaking turned into old lovemaking and Vilma was comfortable again. Then the rain came with the thunder and the lightning and the wind. He knocked, but even as she answered, “What do you want?” she knew, and when she said, “We can’t do this, I am not your wife or your woman!” he said, “So what? You are who I love!” as he made love to her. When they were through and he lay upon her, soaking in the warmth and her scent and his sweat, she rubbed his head and back tenderly and said to herself, “So what?”
The next day, she stayed in bed and watched the rain dry from the leaves and the ground. She also stayed in bed the next day and the next, just staring out of the window at the sunrise, the sunlight and the sunset through the trees. He finally came over to see if she was alright, when she said she was, he said, “Why don’t you come on over to the house? Why don’t you cook some food for a change? Let me see how you can cook.” She didn’t say anything, just looked out the window again, then he left. She rose and started packing her suitcase, then looked around the room she had called home for awhile. She saw things she wanted to take with her, but didn’t want to be attached to anything! So she left it. The cat hadn’t been around since the storm so she couldn’t say good-bye to it. She started out of the yard meaning to come back and say, thank you and good-bye, when her car was ready to go. Jacob met her as she walked into the dirt drive and he snatched her bag from her hand and grabbed her blouse and pulled and jerked her back to the cottage. The buttons flew, the seams tore and she was screaming at him, but still he dragged her and threw her into the cottage and shoved her into the wall, then he went out and got the suitcase and threw it against the wall.
“You ain’t leaving me! No one else is gonna leave me!” he said; he was crying, too.
“I’ve got to go, Jacob, I’ve got to go. You knew I was not here to stay forever!” she pleaded. She saw the fist coming and even then, she felt sorry for him. Where was his “So what?” when she needed it? Why had he run out of “So whats?” when she needed only one more? Then she lost consciousness. When she woke up again, he was sitting beside her bed, she was cleaned and dressed in her gown, her head bandaged and there was medicine, doctor’s medicine, on the bedtable.
“Oh God, I’m sorry Vilma, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I got the doctor. I been taking care of you. I love you. I’m sorry!”
Vilma said nothing, her lips were sore anyway. She just looked at him.
“Don’t leave me, Vilma. I need you here with me. You ain’t got nowhere to go, no way. You gonna stay here with me … please.”
Vilma just looked at him. She tried to hate him, but was glad to find in her heart she couldn’t. She felt sorry for him, that’s all. She turned her head to the window and slept. He cared for her and the cat for almost two weeks, then she felt a lot better and moved around. Though she spoke very seldom, he talked all the time, trying to make her comfortable again.
The day she put her bag in the car, he only put his hands in his coveralls and watched her. He saw the cat follow her and jump into the car and as he walked over to the car he heard her tell the cat, “I’m not telling you to come with me, come if you want to, but I won’t own you! I’ll feed you when I eat, that’s all!” The cat sat still on the seat so Vilma got in and shut the door just as the cat began to move, perhaps to get out. He put his hand on her shoulder just as she began to stroke the cat.
“Don’t go, Vilma,” he said, but she started the car.
“Don’t go, Vilma,” he said. She looked in his face as the cat jumped out the window to its freedom. She smiled.
“I love you, Vilma.”
“So what?” she said softly, and drove away to her freedom.
* * *
This story also has two endings. That’s one.
About a year or maybe six months later, Vilma turned around and started looking after the sunrise again. That made her come back toward that little cottage, you know? When she got there, the place looked a little run down, not much, but a little like someone maybe didn’t care so much. So what? But he came out to the driveway, the dirt one, and just stood there looking at her. She smiled and the angels did sing. She leaned on her car.
“You got a woman living in there yet?” she pointed to his house.
“No.” He shook his head “no,” too.
She reached into the car and pulled her suitcase out.
“Where can I put my suitcase?” she held it in both arms.
“Anywhere!” with a glimmer of a smile.
“I’ll start out in that little cottage of mine, I believe.” She started walking slowly up the drive to the back.
He didn’t say anything, just took the bag from her when she reached where he was and turned to walk beside her until they reached the cottage then he handed it to her, showing her he was not going to come in where he wasn’t wanted, I guess. The cottage was all clean, everywhere!
“How come this house is all cleaned up? You expecting somebody?” She got kind of nervous.
“Expecting, and hoping, it was for you,” he was serious again.
“You thought I’d come back?” She sat the suitcase down and turned to look at him.
“I prayed … you’d come back.” You could see he had.
“So … that’s who was bothering me every day!” She sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh, like she wasn’t sure she had done the right thing. “I’ve changed my name, you know!” She smiled up at him. “It’s Vilma Twinkle now.”
“You got married?” You could feel his tension.
“No … just a little private joke of mine.” She looked at him hard. He didn’t crack a smile either. Finally she looked away.
“Well, I’m back.” After all, she had to say something.
“And, I am tired, I’ve driven all day and all night!”
“Go to bed, get some rest, I’ll get you something to eat,” he was beginning to smile now.
“No, I brought something with me, it’s in the car. You might want some.” She lay back on the bed and when she looked up again, he was gone and the door was closed.
The next morning, he didn’t wake her, just looked in on her … she hadn’t locked the door. When she did wake up and look outside, the yard was clean again and she could smell food cooking and somehow things looked like they had the first time she had seen them. He was coming around the corner of the house with some tool, humming and smiling to himself.
“Hey!” she spoke to him. “What you doing?”
“Hey,” he answered, smiling. “Just cleaning things up a bit.”
She leaned against the doorjamb with one arm and put the other hand on her hip.
“Listen,” she said, “No gin and no beer, I just want you to come here,” and she stood there twinkling.
He dropped the tools but still stood there, smiling or grinning, whichever. “But you ain’t my wife … yet,” he said.
“So What?” she answered. And their laughter filled the yard and the cottage and the trees and their hearts.
Liberated
ONCE upon a time, not too long ago, but long enough, there lived Middy and James who had just celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary. They had married when James was 23 and Middy was 16 years of age. Middy was a smart young girl raised by solid parents til her daddy died and her mamma, being a strong woman, never missed a step. She kept right on working and taking care of her family with an extra job or two … tired, toiling but determined! I always say Middy took after her, except I knew Middy had big dreams for herself, I didn’t know about her mama.
Yes, Middy dreamed she would go a long way in life but when she was 16, James came along, back from some war, even way back then. He had looked good, was strong and had deep healthy laughter. He had been raised by hard working parents and he was a solid hard-working man. He continued that way all his life. His mind had one direction … work, money and buying property. He was like a lotta people … a little work
here, a little love there, these things was his excitement and his living and never changed. Several women were after him and that’s probably what prompted Middy to get him first. She was one of them look-back-again girls, so she got him. She had always said she would be a virgin when she married, so when she lost her virginity, her mind and body followed. Some people said she was being foolish, but people can’t tell you nothing for sure … Only time can! Anyway she tucked them dreams of hers back in third or fourth place.
Middy told the white woman she worked for after school that she was gonna get married and was leavin for good. The woman told her she would never be happy married to a poor black man, being used as a baby carrier and slave-worker woman. Ain’t that somethin! Middy thought a moment about that and knew that she wasn’t really liberated anyway, the only difference between James and the white woman was makin love! Other than the makin babies, everything else was the same. And making babies could be fun! Besides, she loved James. She left!
You know, life proved out that white woman never did find a man to marry her, least not around here. She had a child out of wedlock and left town!
Anyway, Middy married James and closed that part of her life that was her dreams. They had two children, a boy, now 38 years old, and a girl, now 35 years old. Several hundred times over the years she would be standin over a washtub, early in the morning as the sun comes up, stars still out, birds singing and flying through the air, flowers and weeds just opening up to drink the dew, and she would look way off into her own mind and them dreams just stole out, but she push em back. They come out again when she be hanging them clothes up, she push em back. She be standin over a hot stove, sweat running down her face, clothes sticking to her back and sides from the sweat of her body … them dreams come out, but she squeeze them back. Because she was lucky! James was a good man, working hard to take care of her and the children.
Work got lighter as the children grew up and moved away to college, but it never did stop. Forty years of washing clothes, cooking, making love, grocery shopping, cleaning, ironing, making love, sewing, mending, making love, looking at TV, making sex and readin books. The first two years were exciting, the next four were good, the next 34 were O.K.! Thank God, it was O.K.
A Piece of Mine Page 10