Tumbling

by Diane McKinney-Whetstone

  Fannie and Liz’s house was in the middle of a short block. The house on one side had been completely gutted; now it was a shell. The other still had occupants, renters; the owner was selling, though, so they would have to find somewhere else to live.

  Herbie walked up the five concrete steps and noticed the familiar glisten. The sand in the concrete sparkled like diamond pins, the results of a good Saturday morning scrub. Noon did all right by those girls, he thought. He knocked on the middle of the door that was beveled into three big squares. No answer. He shook against the wind and knocked again. Then he heard the window on the second floor open. He saw the crop of red hair through the mirror push into the air.

  “Hey”—Liz waved—“hold on, I’ll drop the key down. Come on in; I’ll be down in just a few minutes.”

  “Shit,” he muttered. He was hoping Fannie had beat him here. He had to be in a certain mood to tolerate Liz; today wasn’t it. He picked up the jagged key, fitted it into the door, and went on in.

  “Wow,” he yelled upstairs to Liz as he walked from the small hallway into the living room. “Y’all done more in here since the last time I was by, what, a week? And new curtains, this coffee table new too, isn’t it? Look like the furniture department at that store where you work. What you doing, sneaking shit out in a Mack truck at night?” He laughed and then sat on the deep navy velvet couch that sported brightly printed pillows. No crocheted doilies sat along the arm of the couch the way they did where he lived. The coffee table had at its center an oversized vase and a copy of Life magazine. Lacy curtains, open weaves, hung in billows from the tall windows and almost scraped the freshly shellacked, almond-colored hardwood floors.

  Liz laughed too. “Be down in a sec,” she said.

  “Take your time,” Herbie said as he nestled back into the lushness of the velvet. “I’ll just sit still and enjoy the quiet.” He thought he heard whispers, movement from two sets of feet upstairs, and that revived his hope that maybe Fannie was indeed home.

  But then Liz was right in his ear. “You! Sit still,” she said as she emerged into the room and leaned over from behind him and pecked his cheek.

  Herbie sat up, startled. “Don’t be sneaking up on me like that. Damn trolley bell almost busted my eardrum, so I’m a little on edge, you know.”

  “You always on edge, aren’t you?” Liz took a seat across from the couch where Herbie sat.

  “Please, Liz, don’t give me the Noon routine.” He glanced at his watch. “What you do, get off early?” he asked. “Just a little past six. I thought your place didn’t close till six.”

  “I switched a day with someone. They worked today for me, I’m gonna work a Monday for them week after next.”

  “How you gonna work a weekday when you got classes?”

  Liz sucked the air in through her teeth. “They do give us a spring break, you know, a week and a half off when we don’t have class.”

  “Yeah, well, what do I know about college life? I’m just a dumb old country boy.” He laughed to himself, then asked, “Where’s Fannie?”

  Liz pulled the sash of her silky robe tighter and folded her hands in her lap. “Not here.”

  “Not? Thought I heard someone else upstairs.”

  “Yeah, the ghosts. You know this house is haunted, noisy things too.” She laughed hard and slapped her lap.

  “You could have just told me it’s none of my business,” Herbie said as he noticed her silky lounging set for the first time.

  “Well, if you heard voices, it must be ghosts ’cause no one’s here but me, and I wasn’t talking to myself.”

  “You know where Fannie went?” He ignored the sarcastic edge to Liz’s voice. “Pop said he let her go early tonight.”

  “She probably stopped off at the store, or else she’s somewhere giving the winos all her spare nickels.”

  “Why you say that?” he asked, looking at her fancy silver-tone slippers.

  “Oh, you know Fannie,” Liz said, smirking. “She’s knows ’em all by name, wouldn’t drink it if you paid her, but she feels sorry for them, so she’ll get on down in the gutter with them, pal around with them, give them her spare change.”

  “That’s Fannie, though,” Herbie said, sitting up from his comfortable slouch. “Arrogant as she gets with people, she still got a heart. She snaps, and then she forgets about it; she don’t carry no hurt feelings around with her.”

  “I tell you one thing,” Liz said, standing up and walking to the lacedraped window, “all that’s getting ready to come to an end. They getting ready to bulldoze all those buildings to get ready for the expressway, so the winos gonna have to find some other curb to wallow on, unless they wanna volunteer to be the cones that separate the traffic.”

  “Damn, Liz!” Herbie said, hitting his thighs. “You never used to be this cold. You move around the corner and now you wanna kill all the winos. What you do, meet some new cat that’s swooning you with his politics?”

  “I just want it to hurry up and be over with,” Liz said, lightly tracing the looping curtain threads and then slipping her hands under the curtain to open the window. “It’s been dragging on forever; now that it’s close, I just want it to happen, level the blocks, so we can get on with life.”

  “Noon disown you if she hear you talking like that. You know how strong Noon feels about this expressway thing.”

  “I know they making final offers,” Liz said. “Just might take them up on it.” She turned to look at Herbie, to get his reaction. She stopped short when she saw the top of his light forehead turning red.

  “Liz, you can’t even be thinking that!” Herbie said, jumping to his feet. “You can’t even be thinking about selling this house; you can’t turn on Noon like that, not after all she’s done for you.”

  “I didn’t say that I was selling it. I didn’t say I was absolute about this.” She walked around Herbie into the dining room, not daring to look in his face, and then, half mumbling, said, “I just know it was the money Ethel sent every month that we used to pay for this house.”

  The window fell down with a bang, egged on by the angry March wind. The window caught the lacy curtain just as it was flapping in, trapping it.

  Herbie caught up with Liz, grabbed her shoulders from behind, and turned her briskly to face him. “Listen good,” he said, “Noon didn’t have to save that money. She could have rightly spent it on your food and clothes, taking you to the doctor, and getting your teeth fixed, you know how many little colored girls ever had the chance to wear braces on their teeth. You know where all that came from, from me.”

  “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate everything Noon ever did for me. I’m not saying that at all. But I surely never asked you for anything.” Liz’s head was cocked to the side, her hands on her hips, picking up steam.

  “I knew this was gonna happen one day,” Herbie said loudly as he balled his fists. “I told Noon to use the money on you, that’s what Ethel was sending it for, even when we had to go and pay a lawyer just so the state wouldn’t take you, I told Noon then to use that money, I begged her to, argued with her about it, but Noon wanted to do right by you. I see now she should have listened, you a ungrateful—”

  Liz shook her shoulders hard. Herbie moved his hands back, held them straight up in the air. “Hands off,” he said. “Never let it be said I put my hands to you. But I feel like just shaking some sense into you. You know that would break Noon’s heart if you turned on her like that.”

  “I didn’t say I was,” Liz said, rolling her eyes hard. “I just said I had the thought. Of course I’d talk about it with Fannie.”

  “Oh, no! No! No! Don’t go bringing Fannie in this.” Herbie shook his head, and wagged his finger, and almost jumped up and down. “Fannie would never agree to signing this property over; she got a bit more family allegiance.”

  “Maybe Fannie was treated more like family than me.” Liz’s eyes narrowed to just slits.

  “Noon never showed no distinction between the t
wo of you.”

  “Talking about you, though.” Liz sneered. “You always favored Fannie over me.”

  “That ain’t nothing but your insecurity talking.” Herbie stomped his foot hard.

  “Truth talking,” Liz retorted. “You never liked me.”

  “Poor little Liz,” Herbie said in his most sarcastic, mocking voice. “Nobody likes me, so I’m gonna break the heart of the woman that raised me and sell the house that she saved the money for.”

  “Why don’t you just go? Just get on out. Fannie’s not home; that’s who you came to see.” Liz was shouting. Her voice was clouded with angry tears.

  “Not until you admit that it’s a big mistake to sell this house. That would just crumble Noon; it would just kill her.” Herbie was at Liz’s back as she walked into the kitchen.

  “Leave me alone, Herbie.” Liz’s voice had gotten quieter, threatening.

  “Yeah, what you gonna do, huh, you gonna grab a butcher knife and stab the life outta me, huh? Why don’t you just do that to Noon? Just kill her quick.”

  Liz turned to look at Herbie all at once, her eyes as red as her hair. Her face was pointed, her lips, her nose, her forehead, even her chin was jutting out, poised for a fight. She looked right at Herbie. Her voice was so low and chilly when she started to speak that Herbie drew back, caught off guard.

  “You know why you never liked me, why you never smiled when I came around like you did with Fannie, why you never laughed if I said something funny, or hugged me first. You know why, Herbie? ’Cause you know I know the truth.”

  “What you talking ’bout, girl?” Herbie could hardly look in Liz’s eyes.

  She pushed her finger into his chest; she punctuated her words with hard finger stabs in his chest. “You know I know the truth about you and Ethel.”

  Herbie stood in the kitchen under the light. He wished he had stayed in the dark dining room. He wanted to turn and walk from under the light, but his feet were frozen. After fourteen years the other goddamn shoe had finally fallen. After wondering if she recognized him, even making up little games called “guess where you seen me before,” to see if she knew. After bracing himself each night before he went in, wondering if tonight was going to be the night that Noon met him with balled fists. After Liz pretending all these years that she didn’t remember anything, it came down to this game of tit for tat. You can’t tell on me or I’ll tell on you. Evil little bitch, he thought.

  “What you say, girl? You talking crazy,” he said when he could talk again.

  Liz walked away from Herbie. Suddenly her stomach felt as if it were on fire. She filled her shiny copper teakettle with water from the tap. She turned the water on full blast. She let the water run loud, long after the kettle was full. She watched the dense white sprays bounce off the mouth of the kettle.

  Herbie moved toward the living room, maybe on out of the front door. He wasn’t sure; he just couldn’t stand the sight of Liz’s back.

  The front door exhaled as it separated from the frame, and Fannie was back home. “Fannie!” Herbie said, dragging the name out, almost sighing it out, relieved to be able to say something to get rid of his pen-tup breaths.

  “Hey now,” she said, smiling broadly, putting her bag down on the living room floor, and then opening her arms wide. She ran to hug him. “What’s up, what’s the matter? You stiff as an ironing board,” she said as she drew back to look in Herbie’s face.

  “Just got in a conversation with Liz about the highway thing and got riled up, is all,” Herbie said as he looked over the top of Fannie’s tall, bushy hair.

  “Well, have a sit down. I’ll make you some tea.” Fannie picked up her bag and walked into the kitchen.

  “So what’s up with you and Herbie?” she whispered to Liz.

  “Nothing, just nothing,” Liz said, her back to Fannie as she pushed a match under the kettle, and then jumped back when the flame whooshed around the circle of the pilot and out around the kettle’s side.

  Liz stared at the flame, she wondered if that was what the inside of her stomach looked like at the moment: orange and blue fire fanning out in circles, each breath feeding the flame with new heat, insides burned, blackened as the fire grows.

  “Turn it down!” Fannie yelled. “You want to burn us out of here?”

  “Oh, shucks,” Liz said, snapping to attention as she quickly turned the knob on the stove. “My brand-new kettle almost got scorched. I paid five dollars for that kettle.”

  “Why you walking around in all your good shit?” Fannie asked as she looked at Liz in her silky lounging ensemble and silver-toned slippers.

  “I was just in my room when Herbie knocked, studying. I was studying, and I just threw this on when Herbie knocked on the door.” Liz avoided Fannie’s eyes.

  “Studying, huh?” Fannie said.

  “Fannie,” Herbie called into the kitchen, “I got to go, I was just making a pit stop. I’m just gonna run past the club and grab a brew. I’ll see you tomorrow, you be by in the morning to have coffee with Noon, right?” He fidgeted with the zipper on his windbreaker.

  Fannie knew it was no sense trying to talk Herbie into staying. “See ya later, alligator,” she said, running into the living room to let him out.

  “After while, crocodile,” he said, slipping out into the wind.

  Fannie walked over to the living room window and retrieved the curtain that had gotten caught in the fallen window. She watched Herbie step fast down the steps.

  “So what you say you was doing when Herbie knocked?” Fannie asked as she opened the copper flour canister and poured in flour from the sack she had just brought in. Liz poured steaming water into her blue-flowered china cup. She lifted the delicate string on the Tetley tea bag and bounced it around in the cup. She didn’t answer Fannie. She wrapped the tea bag around a spoon and squeezed it against the side of the cup. The pressure of the spoon tipped the dainty cup. Tea spread out over the stove top, down into the grooves that separated the pilots. It made a hissing sound as it touched upon the pilot that had just boiled the water.

  Quiet on top of quiet was building between Fannie and Liz. And then the sound of the water hissing against the hot stove made Fannie jump.

  “Oh, shucks,” Liz whispered. She quickly sopped up the spilled tea, put her china cup in the empty sink, and said, “Look, Fannie, I don’t feel that well, my stomach is bothering me. I’m going to my room; maybe I’ll be down later, depending on how I feel. I’ll tell you about the chat me and Herbie had. Maybe later. Okay?”

  Fannie was sitting on the kitchen stool; she had finished pouring flour and had moved on to the sugar canister. She knew Liz’s “maybe later” meant that she’d be in her room for the rest of the night with the door closed. “Me and Julep and Pop’s nephew are taking in a movie a little later, Imitation of Life, you wanna come go?”

  “Julep’s home?” She didn’t look at Fannie. She bent down to wipe a spot of water from her slipper.

  “Yeah, for the weekend. Said she went to Wanamaker’s looking for you this afternoon, then came over here and knocked and didn’t get an answer.” Now Fannie filled the salt and pepper shakers. “She said she really wanted to see you before she goes back. She met this new guy at Howard and might go home with him for their spring break; she wanted to tell you about him, get your opinion. We’ll probably go over to Lawnside for barbecue after the movie.”

  “Tell Julep I love her. Tell her I’ve got superbad cramps. If she’s going to church in the morning, I’ll see her there.”

  Fannie shrugged. “If you saying you don’t feel well, I’ll just tell her you don’t feel well. I hate to see you miss a good time, though. Plus Julep said she probably won’t be back home till Penn Relay Weekend.”

  Liz was almost to the kitchen door. “I really don’t feel well,” she snapped. “I’m not just saying that.”

  “It’s only seven o’clock on a Saturday night. You saying you in for the night?” Fannie asked, trying to hold Liz in the kitchen, to ta
lk to her.

  “That’s what I’m saying, Fannie. Okay?” Liz made her voice chilly and rolled her eyes when she said it. She walked quickly out of the kitchen.

  “Well, stay the fuck in then, okay,” Fannie said to Liz’s back.

  Liz let out a long sigh when she walked into her bedroom. She closed the heavy wooden door lightly. Navy blue paisleys decorated the burgundy background of the bedspread. Liz looked hard at the bedspread and thought that it made the room too dark. “Got to get another one,” she said to herself. She curled on her bed and rocked back and forth. She pressed her arm tight into the small of her stomach. Her stomach was spinning, like a scratched record playing the same few notes over and over, stuck in the groove. Liz had gotten used to the notes. She felt that maybe if she could vomit, it would relieve some of the spinning. But she knew she had to lie and rock herself for fifteen minutes, a half hour, for as long as it took for it to pass. Then she’d have to run to the bathroom and let it push on out. And then the relief of flushing the muddy waters down. Tonight was no different. She flushed the toilet, went back into her bedroom, and closed the door tightly behind her. She knew Fannie wouldn’t come in. As close as they were, Fannie always respected the doors between them, whether the closet door at Noon’s or now the thick oak door that separated Liz from the rest of the house. Liz smoothed at her bedspread. The spread matched the curtains and the dresser scarf and the big pillow that adorned the chaise lounge. She pushed the bed from against the wall. The coaster wheels on the bed frame made a squeaky sound against the hardwood floor. The hole was growing, but she reasoned that she had at least another foot high and two feet wide until the headboard would no longer hide the hole. “Months,” she said out loud. “It’ll be months. I know I’ll have stopped by then.”

  Tonight the first snatch at the plaster didn’t take much work. Usually the first snatch at the first chunk excited her the most. Her heart beat faster as she peeled off the pink and green wallpaper, small prints that didn’t clash with the larger bolder ones on her bedspread. The part closest to the wallpaper was chalky white, smooth. But farther in it was grainy, tiny bits even sparkled. That was the best part. Sweat formed along her hairline. Plaster bits pushed up beneath her well-done bright pink nails. She pushed the skinned chunk into her mouth. At first she just held it there. She just let it rest between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. The roughness felt so good inside her mouth. Then she moved it to the side, between her teeth. She crunched down on it, hard. The explosion of tiny grains of plaster going through her mouth, sifting down her throat made her cough. She put her hand to her mouth and spit the biggest portion of the chunk out. It was like a clump of gravy, liquefied at the top, hard at the center. She licked at the soft part; her saliva broke it down more. She put it back in her mouth and just held it there. And then she chewed it again. Sometimes gnashing, sometimes just letting it roll along the length of her tongue, sometimes pushing it to the side of her jaw and holding it there as if it were a sweet cherry candy ball. She finished the first chunk and spit what was left into the center of a soft white hand towel. She snatched at another chunk, and another, breaking each down and then letting go of it. Sometimes she muttered to herself as she peeled back wallpaper or worked a stubborn chunk from against its foundation. Tonight she even let a curseword slip through.