Good Negress

by Verdelle, A. J.

  Margarete has calmly taken it from my hand, and looking up at me with my consternation, she says, “It’s your Check, Neesey, you can Cash it Friday at The Store.”

  “What?” I say, alarmed. I pull a chair from the table, sit down in it. The paper, removed from the paper envelope, is between the three of us on the flecked kitchen table that I wipe off every day.

  “Everybody gets paid with a Check, Neesey,” Big Jim is explaining. “And you just take the Check to the bank, and they’ll cash it for you.”

  “What bank?”

  “To the bank you use, or to the store on certain days, or you can take it to the people who wrote it to you and they’ll cash it for you too.”

  My hands are covering my face. I feel Margarete and Big Jim looking between each other, but Big Jim seems more sympathetic. I hate this way they have of not telling me the things they all so calmly know.

  I feel like I been tricked. Duped. Why have they not given me cash money? They never said they wouldn’t be giving me cash money. They never said: on the day we bring pay envelopes around, you will get an envelope with your name typed on it, and inside will be a paper with your name typed on it, and also typed on it will be the amount of money that the paper is good for which will be the amount of money we owe you, and if you bring the paper back to us, or to the bank or to the store on certain days, somebody will give you the money.

  I have given them everything they asked me to. I have given them clean toilets twice a day and bags of pins for Christmas and the winter and the spring. I have not been studying, and what I get is paper. The paper I make from studying is more important.

  “You just didn’t know, Neesey,” they both say in different words and different tones of voice, “but it’s fine, it’s fine.”

  I bake four dozen peanut butter cookies and barbecue two chickens, and it calms me down. I take the paper to a window in the basement on Friday, which is four days from Tuesday, and I get four ten dollars and a five. This is more money than I’ve had of my own, and I am happy about it, but my forehead still is creased because I don’t feel satisfied by the paper they bring me and then the wait I have. It doesn’t seem to me to be the correct exchange for my cleaning of the toilets and counting of the pins. I finish my job because I started it, and when Christmas is finished, I go back to Gloria Pearson’s classroom and lessons. I don’t bring her anything from the department store because, after thinking about it, I know she won’t want whatever it is I can bring.

  Two days after I’m back to her classroom, I am trying to hand her the paragraphs I have written about the four major United States religions. Missus Pearson says, “Night school starts at the high school at the beginning of February. We need to find a way for you to begin there.”

  She has not been as friendly since I came back from the store. I kept thinking I would win her favor again by speaking well and working hard. But she is dismissing me.

  “No, I’m not dismissing you, Denise. You have dismissed yourself. You need more difficult classes, and you need to be around a more serious group of students. Working with me one to one has been fine, but now that you have competition for your time, you should go and study like an adult.”

  It is because of the toilets. I ignored what I had been trying to reach for, to stop and do something that only made my back hurt, and that chided every minute that I was a dark and colored girl. I AM SUPPOSED TO REACH BEYOND MY STATION! Missus Pearson had tried to interest me in Greek letters, and levels of government, and inventors. I had cowered and not worked hard enough and this is what I got.

  I buried my hurt right at the top of the place where Gloria Pearson had found the core in me that could learn. Cooked, pressed, strained, and dark purple, it eventually gelled inside the Ball jar that I filled. Now the season of the grapes was past.

  CANNING TOOK DAYS and days. We pickled hills of everything. Washed and peeled, cut off tops, and scrubbed the skin if it was being left on—like the carrots. Some things we cooked, and some we did not. We cooked the carrots and the turnips and the turnip greens. We cooked the corn. We pickled cucumbers, onions, and chow-chow. How many onions did I peel?

  Mr. Watkins delivered new jars and rings. I counted out the lids we had and washed all the jars from last year.

  Most of the cooking of vegetables Granma’am did, and I did most of the getting them ready to be cooked. I think we did the pole-bean crop for the whole town. The fat green beans with the seeds you could feel sat around the kitchen and back in crates. I got up in the morning, and me and Granma’am ate, and then I sat through the day feeling the fat seeds. Shucking loose the white caps. Stringing the bean. Snapping the bean in two. I made the snap as small as possible, so that none of the bean crop would be wasted. With either the first or second snap, I would try to catch the string that stitched the bean down the middle. If I caught it right, it would come all the way off in one swipe. Next to me on the table, I piled the snapped-off heads and the green pole bean switches. I wrapped all that up in the garbage.

  It was also my job to hit the jars with a spoon after the heat had, finally, sealed in the fruit and vegetables we had spent our days preparing. Granma’am would sit the jars on tables round the kitchen using plenty towels and telling me to stay way. The glass of the jars was hot, hot. After things cooled, in batches, I went round and hit the flat tops and the glass sides with a spoon. You have to hit it right—with not too little but not too much force—to hear anything like a ring. Most jars rang, but some spit back a thud. I would move those to the kitchen table where Granma’am could see about them since the thud meant the seal wasn’t right.

  CHRISTMAS I MADE a turkey. Turkey is my favorite, and it worked out fine. Big Jim and David and Luke edward like dark meat, and me and Margarete like the breast. The meat was moist and everybody ate without wanting for anything. My gravy turned out smooth, and the giblets fell apart and floated nicely. Something told me to go on ahead and cut the meat off the bone after dinner. I did that between the time I washed the dishes and when we opened our presents. Good thing. Margarete and Big Jim’s friends were over to the house round eight, and they didn’t stop coming till New Year’s. But Christmas night was very pleasant; I got more clothes for school. David kept the underneath the Christmas tree straight, and I stayed on the kitchen. I washed the dishes before the people came, and I remembered to pull out some paper plates so there wasn’t too much more work made for me to do.

  Charlie, Big Jim’s best running buddy, wanted to know the outcome of the wishbone. Luke edward hadn’t gone out yet, and he piped right in. “Yeah, Neesey, where’s the wishbone?”

  “Right there on the platter with the meat.”

  Luke edward went in and got it. Brought it back into the front, holding it in two fingers with his nails he files. “Who wants the other end?”

  Big Jim got up and went right up to him and yanked the thing broke. I don’t think Luke edward was ready. I think he expected that Big Jim would say, “Ready? Now.” But Big Jim didn’t say a word. Margarete winced and so did I; Charlie laughed; Charlie slapped Luke edward on the back. Luke edward didn’t act evil, but his eyes shaded over.

  I wish Big Jim could let Luke edward win some time. Stupid old wishbone, and he couldn’t let Luke edward win. Luke edward’s being left, in front of the company, holding the small piece of the wishbone—well, it kept me thinking on the wishbone for days after. I slid right in to thinking that that wishbone, it was like the life we lived. A wishbone life, with one stem and two legs. People yanking, trying to break a leg off. See who got the biggest piece. And this after being left laying on the platter with all the cut-up meat.

  WELL, BIG JIM did not let up on Margarete. He wanted all us to be ready for the baby to sleep in Luke edward’s room, with me. I heard him tell Margarete that we wasn’t poor enough that I had to sleep on a cot in the front room. (Well, none of that was said before it was time to make space for his child.) And how long did she plan to let me just sleep on that cot? he wanted to know.
Margarete told him I was all right. I couldn’t even side with Big Jim cause he was being mean about my Luke edward, even though I did happen to be tired of that cot they bought.

  Big Jim told Margarete to tell Luke edward to get out.

  Margarete had a talk with Luke edward. She told him that since it was already spring, wouldn’t he move to the sunporch and let me get the bedroom ready for the new baby. It needs painting, she said. And Neesy needs to get settled, she said. And he would be warm all spring and summer. By fall, she would figure out something. Maybe we could move, she said.

  Luke edward listed his mouth to one side, handsome and embarrassed, and said he knew he wasn’t gone have that nice room to himself long.

  He moved a bunch of his things in crates and drawers to the sunporch, which was still much too cold for sleeping. He stayed out late like always, and when he came in early in the mornings, he would just take off his shoes and socks and fall asleep on the couch. In the morning in the bathroom, you might see his shirt and sweater draped over the towel rack. His shoes and socks would be in front of the couch. His coat might be thrown over the chair. He would be long and snoring, and I would be sleep in the bed he had had.

  Big Jim said to Margarete, “We don’t have room here for that boy.”

  Margarete cried.

  “I’m putting him out, Margarete,” Big Jim said.

  “You gone leave my son alone is what you gone do,” Margarete answered him, weary, teary, tired of his pushing, but firm.

  “Who you married to, Margarete?” he rattled, like a stick that had been stuck in the gate of the fan. Big Jim let the blades run over and over it. Tat-a-rat-a-rat-a-tat. Br-rat-a-tat, br-rat-a-rat.

  “What you mean,” she rattled back.

  “You married to that boy, or me?!”

  Margarete sucked her teeth and turned and left the room, the house.

  They had words and more about it. They fussed and fumed and rumbled, and looked surprised and evil if I walked up on them. Big Jim finally got exhausted from having to argue with his wife, and he left out then, his turn. He stayed away a whole few weeks.

  Margarete didn’t remark on anything except that the bills kept coming. At every night’s mail, Margarete sucked her teeth. She counted and recounted in her wallet. She never sent me out to pay anything—maybe because of the light company. Some mornings she’d say, “Going to the gas company, going to the phone company.” Then at night, she rubbed her head and was quiet.

  MAMA LOST A lot of weight the year my daddy died, and one Saturday, I caught Miss Lena trying to spoon-feed her grits. And then the lights went out. Mama was a mess, and she forgot.

  I woke Luke edward up to take me to the bathroom, and he fussed, saying I had walked to the bathroom a million times, and I knew the way. “But it’s dark, Luke edward,” I said.

  Mama sent me and Luke edward to the light company with money. She gave the money to me. We stood in line for a little while, I remember, and when we were just about up to the desk and to the man, Luke edward asked me to see the envelope. I gave it to him, and he took half the money out and told me he would be back in a few minutes. “Where you goin with Mama’s money, Luke edward?” I tried to sound stern, seven years old.

  “Stay in line,” he called back to me, and he was out the door.

  I went up to the desk. I handed the man the envelope with the address marked on it, and whatever money Luke edward had left inside it. The man at the desk asked me who was here with me, me with my head hardly a foot above his desk. His mouth was moving, open, but the words came out scrambled. What I heard was: we’re going to box your brother’s ears, your mother will never be all right again, and furthermore, you don’t have money, you don’t get lights. I jerked my ears back in line.

  Luke edward was gone, the lights were off, my mother was skinny as a found chicken. I had no explanation, my daddy was dead, and David had gotten silent too. The man behind me in the line started talking to the man at the desk, talking about the young ruffian who had run off with the money. Who was this man? Why was he talking and why that tone of voice? I turned to look up at him and kicked him hard where I reached. At least this way, me and Luke edward were the same in everybody’s mind.

  Now I heard that tone about me from the man I had kicked. A curious look from the light company man. Then Luke edward came back, in the midst of this, and he told some lie about money for two bills and asked wasn’t that enough to turn the lights back on. The desk man hesitated, and then Luke went on: our daddy, he said, he died. The desk man wrote a note about the Next Payment Due, and Luke had something inside his coat. He was back, though, protecting me; I felt much safer. That nosy man in line behind us shook his head.

  First, Mama smacked me, and then she smacked Luke edward. She said I need to learn to hold onto my money. Mama was recently widowed was how she called it, and she needed help. David said he understood, and Luke followed so did he. Well, why did you take and, smack, go play with my money, smack smack, Mama wanted to know from Luke. David stood by, a witness, while Luke took his licks. Before long, Mama was heaving dry and choking, back deep inside the ruins Buddy left. David, in sympathy, started to hold Mama’s hands while she cried.

  Luke got the big box of light-money candy he had bought that afternoon and offered to share it with Mama and David. Mama pulled Luke edward and David toward her, rubbing on their nubby heads. “Promise Mama you’ll be good,” she asked Luke edward. And Luke edward promised, stuffing candy in his mouth.

  Miss Lena came by as usual that night. I don’t know what she saw.

  I USED ALL the leftovers and salvage from the icebox. I hadn’t seen the shelf metal so bare since I’d been back. It was sad, so I washed the box out with hot water and soap powder. Might as well clean it while it was empty.

  Most of the stored food we had I used too. I told Margarete when we got low on milk, but other than that I didn’t say nothing. If we had creamed corn for dinner, then we had creamed corn. We had canned spinach with oleo one night and peanut butter and jelly one night too.

  Margarete put three dollars on the table. “Go get some neckbones and make sauerkraut,” she said, “or beans.” I bought two pounds of neckbones and two pounds of limas. I drank the bean liquor in a cup. I fed the bean liquor to Clara with a spoon. Lima shell casings floated in her bowl; I avoided them, afraid they might choke her.

  On Thursday, Margarete’s late day, J rang the bell. I thought it was David or Luke edward finally, and I was gone give them what for about the veins throbbing in they mama’s head. “Hey, J,” I said, and he patted Clara, who was sitting on my arm where she always sat. “What you doin comin by?”

  “Anybody home but you and Clara?” he asked me.

  “Naw,” I said, “you want to come in? Margarete still at the shop,” I told him. “You want some lima beans? Ain’t no cornbread.”

  “No thanks, how you?” he said.

  I told him how we ain’t seen Big Jim. Or Luke edward either, for that matter. I told him Luke edward was supposed to be sleeping on the sunporch, but since then, it’s like he only comes here when he ends up in this neighborhood. I told him Margarete is a mess, and I showed him the gray metal shelves in the icebox that I had cooked clean and then washed clean. They were still clean empty.

  He said he came by to bring us some money.

  “What you say, J?”

  He said he came by to bring us some money. He counted two hundred dollars in twenty dollar bills out on the table. I couldn’t touch it. What you talking about, J? I wanted to know. Where you get all this money, J? I wanted to know. What you mean you brought it for us?

  I didn’t let him out till he explained that Big Jim had brought the money to him and told him to bring it by today while Margarete is late at the shop. What should I do? I asked J. Just give it to Margarete, he said. It’s the first of the month, he said. I was so tempted to take twenty dollars and go buy a lot of food. But J said he was happy to give me five dollars of his own, so I bought food
with that.

  Margarete came home and I reported all the things that happened. She asked me did I see Jim, and I told her no. I asked her about the money and she said she had to sleep on it, and she did. In the morning, when I’m best, I asked Margarete was she scared.

  “Scared a what,” she said, not looking at me.

  “Well, scared Big Jim won’t come back?”

  “Neesey, you sad as a funeral, I swear. You always want to talk about the ugliest things in life.” She got up from the table, and leaned on her hands and looked at me. Her bitterness hung like a veil. “This is how it is, Neesey. Get used to it. This is how it gets. Who do you know my age got a man?”

  BIG JIM DID come back. He had a new baby, after all. And plus, Luke edward had come and taken all his things over to Christine’s. After a time, they unplugged the electricity between them, and it got easier to walk around the house.

  For extra, Missus Pearson tells me to write a paragraph, in good English, about a current problem. I turn this in.

  March 19

  Our flat has a tremble like the machines that pass the road. Big Jim has left on a count of Luke edward. So Margarete is alone again. I made her and the baby a big pot of chicken and dumplings. She has eaten them all. I said to Margarete in the kitchen the other day. Margarete, is you feeling alone? She says back to me, this is what happens, Neesey. Who you know my age got a man?

  The next time I saw her, Missus Pearson gave me a lecture. First, though, she asked me a question. “I have a question to ask you,” she begins. How am I going to explain how Margarete acted without lying? “Once you said that somebody told you everybody wanted to leave Virginia where you lived. Remember?” she asks me, and I turn a corner in my mind. “It is time for you to think about why all the people want to leave. Now, why do they?”

  I parrot Luke edward, “They want to get someplace better.”