by Janna Hill
The lavatory was small with mainly personal hygiene products. A sullied hair pick and a toothbrush lay side by side near the sink. The shower stall had a single bar of soap, a rusty disposable razor and a bottle of shampoo with built in conditioner. Behind the door a robe hung on a plastic hook, Ms. Latrull felt of the red fabric before putting it on and pulling the collar up to her nose. Before she stepped back out to the bedroom she took the toothbrush and pick and placed them in the large pocket of the robe.
Linda’s bed had been left unmade. If I could have a bed I’ll make it everyday I promise. Please Mama. The memory of the childish plea and the image of her little girl caused the madam’s heart to sink. There was no place to put a bed in the one room apartment of the store where they lived and Ms. Latrull could never seem to save enough money to keep the store going and afford a larger place for Mucalinda to have her own bed much less a room of her own. She could feel Mucalinda was happy in this space though the chamber walls were bare and the only decorative item was the colorful photograph of her and her best friend displayed on the simple furniture, she finally had a bed. Her mother knew the bed would have been made if something, someone hadn’t interrupted her.
After anointing her own head with oil from the vial in her pocket Ms Latrull took a long thin rope from her bag and tied it to her wrist, the other end she tied to the headboard of the bed. Then laying the heavy purse on the floor beside her shoes Ms. Latrull climbed beneath the downy comforter and nestled her head into the space where Linda had last laid hers.
“I am coming Mucalinda.” She whispered just before fading into oblivion.
“Mucalinda can you hear me?” the desperate mother called from inside the darkness. There was no answer but she inched forward ever so slowly anyway and repeated the question, “Mucalinda can you hear me?”
She held her hands out to feel but there was no substance, nothing solid to touch, nothing to hold to but her determination.
“It is me child, do not be afraid.” Her mother called as she crept through the lightless void.
The air grew heavy with a dank smell of mold and Ms. Latrull snorted with force to clear her nostrils calling again, “Mucalinda?”
She could feel the space shift and a light breeze blow across her feet before the stench of rotting meat and sulfur gushed before her face.
“Mucalinda answer me!” She demanded with urgency. “Call out so I may hear you. Hurry Mucalinda hurry!”
“She wants you to leave.” The masculine voice hissed as it approached. Though she could not see the entity that spoke the madam knew it to be a liar and a destroyer of souls.
“Leave.” It said again with its rancid breath in her face. Without arguing she reached for the oil on her brow after she rubbed it on her fingers she plunged her hand into the thing and announced, “It is da power of HE dat commands you. You have no more a‘tority here.”
The odor abruptly vanished along with the unclean spirit and Linda’s mother propelled herself forward.
“Mucalinda can you hear me? Please answer me.”
“Mama?” The distant voice sounded like her Mucalinda but she couldn’t be sure.
Deceitful creatures dwelled here and one must be careful not to unknowingly give them passage.
“Call to me again.” She encouraged.
Ms. Latrull could hear a sobbing and let the mournful sounds guide her until they sounded within her reach.
“Speak to me. Tell me your name.” she pressed.
There was no answer, only the sounds of weeping.
The breeze blew again across her bare feet and she waited on the stench to alert her to another fiend but it didn’t happen. She stood silently in the nothingness surrounded by the sobs of what she hoped was her daughter and asked, “Wat is your name? Da name dat you call your self? ”
“Linda.” The voice cried, “My name is just Linda.”
She felt her knees buckle and wanted to leap toward the sound of her baby girl but she thought better and controlled herself for to act too rash could mean no way out for either of them.
She rubbed vigorously at the rope attached to her wrist until it burned beneath her palms and a glimmer of light sprung forth. She could see the silhouette of her daughter crouched inside the nightmare. “Linda.” She called softly, “take my hand.”
The terrified girl looked up at her, confused by her words.
“You never liked da name I give to you. I see dat. I have made you unhappy an for dat I am sorry. Now take my hand.”
Linda remained crouched shaking her head, “You may be lying.”
“I did not ever lie to you.”
“She may have sent you. I can’t trust you.” Linda bellowed.
“I know da lady who done dis ting to you. I know da secrets dat you have kept so long. Da lady Clara helped me to know. You do not have to be afraid no more.” Her mother reassured her.
“Why didn’t you come for me before?” Linda asked.
“Come back an we will talk about it. We can’t stay here. I have come for you now, will you take my hand?”
“I’m scared… I’m ashamed… I don’t know how to do this.” Linda confessed.
“So am I but dis is no place to be. Nutting can be made right in here. It is time to wake up Mucalinda- come back.”
Linda reached across the dim space and grasped her mother’s hand, when she did a brilliant blast lit up the emptiness. “I will see you soon in da udder realm.” Madam Latrull told her and blowing a cool wisp of air into Linda’s face she commanded her,
“Wake up!” as she disappeared with the glowing strand of rope.
Ms. Latrull woke to find Maggie shaking her, “Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
“It was not a nightmare.” Ms. Latrull told her, “I went to bring her back.”
Maggie looked around the room with a perplexed expression,
“Well where is she?”
“She will be waiting when we see her tonight.” The woman groggily informed her.
Maggie considered saying something sarcastic and insulting but she couldn’t think of anything that seemed appropriate- not until she seen Ms. Latrull crawl out from under the covers with Linda’s bathrobe on and noticed the rope securing her to the bed.
Laughing boisterously she asked, “Did that ugly old robe attack you and tie you to the bed? I imagine it had to because no one other than Linda would wear the hideous thing.”
To Maggie’s surprise the madam chuckled, “Aint dat da truth. It is da ugliest ting I ever seen dat called itself a robe.”
After a few minutes of shared laughs Maggie told the guest, “Freshen up then come to kitchen and let me get you something to eat. I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee on brewing right now.”
When Ms. Latrull cautiously entered the kitchen Maggie pulled out a chair and urged, “Have a seat. I’ll fix you right up.” She sat the coffee and condiments before her along with a roast beef po-boy sandwich and asked, “Can I get you anything else?”
Her present hospitality was in sharp contrast to her hostility which the visitor had grown accustomed to and she watched her carefully.
“I know I’ve been an ass” Maggie admitted, “but can you understand why I am a little hardened where parental figures are concerned… where Linda is concerned?”
“I do.” she said, “We have let you and my Linda down. You have every right to be mad.”
Maggie flopped down in the chair across the table and told the weary mother,
“I don’t want to be mad any more. It is stealing all of my energy. It’s exhausting for me to hate the people that hurt me. People I loved and trusted.”
“Dos are da only ones dat can hurt you-de ones you love an trust.” She informed her host as she chewed on the roast beef and chased it with a swill of black coffee, “De udders do not get into da heart, only da head if you let dem.”
“Do you think Linda let my mother into her head and that’s how she managed to hurt her, or make her hurt herself?”
“I should have better protected my Linda… Some tings cannot be understood in an instant so I will not say more.”
“Did you just call her Linda?” Maggie asked, “Not Mucalinda… but Linda?”
“Dat is correct.”
“Why the change? After all these years of knowing she didn’t like to be called that?”
“Her happiness.” The mother replied, “I seen dat she was so saddened an I don’t want dat for her.”
Maggie was touched by Ms. Latrull’s remorse and concern for her daughter, her genuine love and she wanted to make amends not just for Linda’s sake now but for her own. “Wait here.” She told her as she hurried to Linda’s bedroom and took the journal out from under the mattress and ran back to the kitchen tossing it on the table.
“Wat is dis?”
“It is Linda’s journal.” Maggie smiled.
“You want me to read it?” she asked.
“Sure” Maggie said, “I do it all the time.”
“I don’t tink I should do dat.” Ms. Latrull said shaking her head, “Dat is like a diary, udders are not supposed to see it.”
“Oh phooey. We’re not udders. Linda knows I read it. She doesn’t care.”
“You really are sisters.” She smiled, “Den you won’t mind reading it to me. I don’t want her tinking I was snooping.”
“Okay, I’ll read it to you.” Maggie said with excitement pulling her feet up into the chair she braced her elbow on the dining table, “Did you know your daughter was a poet?”
Ms. Latrull lifted her brows and smiling shook her head no.
“Well she jots down a lot of junk too; you just have to sift through it. I know most of the stuff in here already. I mean I knew it before she wrote it down because most of it we talked about. I miss that…having her to talk to. We would set here at this very table and talk the entire day away, or the night depending on when it was we started talking. Did y’all talk a lot Ms. Latrull before Linda ran off with… you know who?”
“Not in a long time.” She replied.
“I can’t remember talking to my mother about anything other than what she wanted me to do next. I can’t really see her as my mother any more. When I try to think of her all I can imagine is Cruella de Vil on steroids….I’m sorry that she hurt Linda. Do you want to hurt her back, I wouldn’t blame you.”
Ms. Latrull sat shaking her head and explained, “Dat is a bad way to live, bad karma day might say. Tings come full circle to you always. She was not born dat evil and if I let myself be bitter wit da magic I will be no different dan she is. Dis is not your doing Maggie, rest your heart and mind. I am waiting to hear you read da journal, ok?”
“Okay.” Maggie smiled, folding back the pages, “Oh this one she wrote one night after a few beers when we were talking about finding ourselves, picking up the pieces and getting our lives back.”
Tissue thin transparent bits and pieces by the millions I gave to you-
To be received, to be tended-
or to be rendered useless as you deemed fit old inhabitants of terra firma.
Slivers of my soul….
What did you do with these pieces of me?
Where are the misplaced microscopic stars of my spirit, where are they laid?
Did they dissolve beneath a soft autumn rain? Or burn in the heat of a cruel summer day?
Were they consumed by the dust mites of fate?
Giving me away was easy….getting me back seems nearly impossible.
I saw a fleck of glitter this morning caught in an abandoned web of time.
I retrieved it ever so carefully pulling away the tiny choking strands; polishing it in the palm of my hand till it shone bright like a minuscule star… exploding… and I recognized it as the twinkle I once saw in a smiling photo of me.
“That’s pretty deep huh? Makes you wonder why her final writing was so short, from a girl who liked to write so elaborate …” Maggie glanced over to see Ms. Latrull was crying. She didn’t try to hide it, just swept the tears from her neck as they trickled down.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, no.” Ms. Latrull told her, “It is beautiful…an to see her tender heart wide open. But she is finding da pieces… isn’t she?”
“Yes ma’am she was.” Maggie told her.
“She will find da pieces, she will continue.” Ms Latrull said, “An you should too. I would like to hear more.”
Maggie flipped through the pages hoping to find something more cheerful, something to lift a smidgeon of anguish and worry from the woman’s dreary face. Smoothing the edges of the ruffled notes,
“I think you’ll like this one, it looks like it was for you.” Maggie said as she recited the writing.
I stroll through my mind to a place that I’ve been
My senses all longing to go there again
Lovers on the lawn at green Jackson Square
Melt into the music that flows through the air
Café and beignets made fresh to order
The sights and the sounds of the old French Quarter
Buildings that seem to harbor old souls
They sing and they cry, come they cajole
Entranced by the thought, the wind makes me shiver
As the boats roll along down that deep muddy river
Still on my tongue the taste of pralines
Take me back, take me back to New Orleans
I love you Mama,
Your Mucalinda
She had hoped to make the woman smile but it seemed she had opened a flood gate of grief for Ms. Latrull was now shuddering with sobs as she reached for the journal which Maggie relinquished without debate. She hugged the paper to her breast and bawled without shame. Maggie sat up and put her feet back on the floor taking a napkin from the caddy she offered it to her and placed her hands on Ms. Latrull’s knees,
“Cry it out honey. You just go on and cry it all out.” She offered the same words that not long ago this woman’s daughter had recommend to her and thought to herself,
She looks a lot like Linda sitting there in that ugly robe.
Maggie left the lady alone while she donned her scrub suit and combed her hair.
When she returned to the kitchen to pack her duffel bag with the left overs from lunch and a fresh pack of Pall Mall’s she found the exhausted soul slumped over the table sleeping.
She considered leaving her to rest but decided against it. “Ms. Latrull.” Maggie said,
“I’m getting ready to leave for the hospital do you want to ride with me?”
The lady jumped from the chair, grabbed her bag and was waiting in the car before Maggie could tell her that she had a half hour to get ready. Maggie walked to the car laughing at the site of the woman fastened in the passenger seat with the red robe on.
“I guess you’re ready to go.” She giggled.
“Dat I am.” She replied cheerfully, “Tonight we gun ta see her bright eyed and bushy tailed.”
Maggie feigned a smile and truly hoped that the woman was right, but she wouldn’t have bet on it.
When they pulled into the lot she instructed Ms. Latrull to stay in the waiting room until she came for her. “I’ll be back as soon as the other nurses have gone. Do not move until then.” The woman nodded her head in agreement bouncing her knees and fiddling with her bag and still wearing the robe.
Chapter 22
Things Not Spoken Of
Clara hadn’t gone home when she left the hospital she couldn’t have slept anyway, she was too charged up. The images and events that she had witnessed earlier busied her mind, each one fighting for a place in her active thoughts and crowding out her own. So she done what she h
ad always done and that was to run to her mother for advice and comfort.
Mr. O’Bromley was sitting at the register when she entered the café. “Hey Daddy.” She announced as she hopped up onto the counter like she had in her younger days.
“”Well aren’t we in a chipper mood.” He smiled.
“Yes we are.” Clara agreed gleefully.
“Your mama is in the kitchen.” He told her as he reached for the morning paper.
“I thought maybe you and me could talk.”
Mr. O’Bromley cocked his head trying to conceal the excitement that his beloved Clara Bell would want to talk to him first. He had no doubt that the child adored him but it was usually her mother she wanted. Laying the paper down he told her, “Of course we can.”
“I did it Daddy!” Clara exclaimed with exuberance, “I really did it!”
“And what is it you have done now?” he asked seeing before him the seven year old girl that had made the same proclamation after accomplishing her first cartwheel.
“I read someone’s thoughts, I seen everything in their mind- back to when they were a baby even. And a lady helped me to see it without feeling it. It was awesome daddy, it really was!”
Mr. O’Bromley found himself at a loss for words as he studied his daughter for a moment.
“Let me get your mother.”
Before Clara could stop him he yelled, “Mary you better get out here. Your baby girl is snooping around in people’s heads.”