The trash can was put in front of me anyhow and a warm hand rubbed my back. It made me feel nice. When was the last time I’d been touched so nicely?
I began crying and pushed the trash can away, finding Delilah’s chest to lean on. She shushed me like a mother and held me with the kind of care I didn’t know what to do with. Was she my friend now? Because she’d seen me like this? This was when I realized that I was naked and why Delilah had made such careful tucks around my body.
I didn’t know how long I cried. I had so many tears to get out. I was full of tears and sadness and guilt.
“You need something to eat.” Delilah lifted me up when I seemed to be done. “Some water and something to comfort that soul of yours.”
Her words were a comfort. But I had to brace myself against her tone. I knew she knew about pain. We had different pain, but sometimes pain spoke the same language. I was glad ours seemed to.
She cleaned me up and made me comfortable. And the idea that I needed help to clean up my own vomit disgusted me. It was humiliating. She helped me into my nightgown that was rolled and crumpled on the floor.
“Thank you for helping me.”
Even in Delilah’s careful helping, she couldn’t let her gaze land on mine. She didn’t want to see my shame. Her kindness moved me. But I stiffened when she released a deep exhale with a smile that looked forced. I knew all about forced smiles.
“I ain’t done yet, Ms. Emma, so hold on to your thank-you. You might not like me so much in a few hours.”
She made me get up and she and Sparrow helped me downstairs. They helped me into the outhouse, but I couldn’t go. Then she wanted to make me some food. I watched her work in my kitchen and while she did, Sparrow cleaned it up. John and Johnny had left a mess and I wondered what my husband had told my son about my absence from our morning routine.
Sparrow and Delilah worked together in the kitchen like a real mother and daughter. Without many words they knew what the other needed or wanted done.
I just sat at the table wondering how this had become my life. And how with all the community of people I was surrounded by, none of them knew me the way these two did. In part because I had hidden my truth but also because I knew that the ugly parts of my life were unacceptable to talk about unless I was ready to be put in the ban. This would fall on both John and me. I knew that. I had my own hand in everything.
Delilah put a plate in front of me. Just one scrambled egg, sliced tomatoes, and some coffee. “Eat.” She didn’t give me any room to refuse. So I ate. The coffee tasted good and hot and filled another hollow space in myself. The egg made my stomach turn in circles after a few bites. I didn’t eat the tomato.
Delilah was sweeping the floor when she took a step closer to me and focused right on my eyes. “Don’t you retch on me, Emma. Take yourself a few breaths and tell yourself you ain’t going to do that.”
I listened to her and it worked. I kept my food down.
Next, with a little direction she made Sparrow get a bath ready for me. She asked me if she could help me with my nightgown. I said I could handle it. That simple act gave me back a small slice of dignity. Delilah took down my hair and washed it and let me wash my body. Sparrow was told to go out and start the laundry. She knew how.
“You fixin’ to tell me what happened now, Ms. Emma?” Her hands worked over the soap in my hair.
I wasn’t sure I’d felt anything so good before, but I was conflicted over whether it was her strong fingers massaging my scalp or the tenderness it took to wash another person’s hair.
“Emma. Please, call me Emma.”
“All right, you gonna tell me what happened, Emma?”
“Why is Sparrow the way she is?” My hands fisted, holding on to the truth about the lies I lived.
I heard a heavy sigh behind me.
“It’s a long story,” she said, but it was a sad voice and I understood.
No one liked to talk about why we wanted to walk away from our lives. No one wanted to talk about why we drew invisible lines around our hearts and expected everyone to stay far away.
She rinsed my hair and in a few minutes I was out of the bath and she helped me pin myself into a clean dress. My hands were weak and shaky.
“This is some kind of dress,” she said with a lifted eyebrow. “Don’t know how you don’t draw blood every time.”
“But you just did it—and there’s no blood.” And I offered a smile.
She poured us both some coffee and put the mugs on the table. Then she checked on Sparrow and returned to the table.
“Don’t know what you done to that girl, but she’s washing like she know what she doing.”
“She’s a good girl,” I said without realizing how it must sound. “I mean, she wanted to learn, so I taught her.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I caught something from a church friend and it made me sick.” I took a sip of my coffee.
“Is that right? You got the influenza?”
I nodded in agreement.
“That must’ve been a bad one because I ain’t known nobody who can’t even wake up without being about shook to death. Huh?” Delilah pursed her lips at me. I looked away.
Another minute passed. I thought I heard footsteps on the porch and was thinking how wonderful it would be to have Sparrow here. She would relieve this tension.
“So your husband’s a drunk, ain’t he? And you drank yourself silly ’cause you think it’ll take some of the hurt away.” Delilah didn’t say the words sweetly or whisper them but just spoke them out.
I never said anything louder than a whisper; I was afraid of true words. But she didn’t live by my ways.
I shook my head. She had gotten some of it correct, but not all of it. She didn’t know about my herbs that kept me from getting pregnant all these years. Last night he hadn’t forced me to drink. I drank because I couldn’t stand being around myself anymore. I wanted the stupor that my husband had to forget the pain and the guilt.
“Emma, you ain’t gonna lie to me.” Delilah wagged her finger at me. “Don’t your church preach against lying to your friends?”
“Are you my friend, Delilah?” I asked it so fast after she spoke that I knew the shock in her face was real.
She paused for a moment. I knew what I wanted her to say.
“Yes, Emma, I ’spect I am.” Her jaw quivered and I didn’t know why. “So you better call me Deedee. All my friends do.”
“Okay, Deedee.” I paused for a moment, adjusting how I sat, the snake of burden wrapping tighter around me. And it hissed at me as I tried to loosen the burden by talking to Deedee.
“I lost a baby girl over thirteen years ago,” I started and Deedee cleared her throat and blinked quickly. I told her how no one knew I was expecting because no one talked about such things. You just waited until it was obvious. “Then one day, my body just let her go.”
I looked out the window and bit my lip when a warm tear trailed down my face. I didn’t want to talk about this. Deedee wiped her face and sniffed. She was crying too.
“Besides John and my sister, no one knew.” My voice faltered but I continued. “And even though I never knew my daughter, I couldn’t forget her and I couldn’t move past the pain. So I started taking herbs to close my womb—I never wanted to feel this pain again.” I paused and swallowed hard. “And the worst part about all of this is that I’ve been lying to John for all these years. He has no idea why we have no other children.”
I told her about the alcohol too.
I also told her how I aided John when we had company because I didn’t want the church to learn of our sins. She wasn’t shocked. I had just laid out for her all the reasons she shouldn’t be my friend and why I was a terrible person. But she stayed quiet and just sipped her coffee and looked at me like I was her equal. I hadn’t felt that for a long time. I may have never felt that way.
I told her about the night before. How he’d tried to stop drinking for a few d
ays but couldn’t. How he brought three bottles to our bedroom. How he hadn’t drunk much but I had because I hated myself so much. I drank more than I ever had before. So much that I thought I would die. So much that I prayed I would.
SPARROW
I was soaked with water when I went to the house for a towel. But when I heard Mama asking about Ms. Emma’s husband, I decided to just listen instead. Mama’s voice was so loud it carried well. But when Ms. Emma spoke I had to get real close to the closest window so I could hear. It was open and a breeze made the curtain inside press toward the screen.
I wouldn’t be able to catch it all. But I heard things like deacon, drunk, and that she lost a baby. Johnny had been right, then. She didn’t cry, but sometimes she was quiet and I wasn’t sure what was going on. But then I heard Mama again.
“What does your mama say?” Mama questioned.
“My mother?” Emma’s voice was a little louder, like she was shocked. “She died several years ago, but I never would have told her anyway.”
“Why?”
I could almost hear Emma laugh in that way people do when something wasn’t funny. I could hear her say something about how they didn’t talk about that sort of stuff in their church.
“That ain’t your church, it’s your mama,” Mama corrected.
“Same thing to us.”
“Then I’m going to tell you what I think, Emma. And you might not like it.”
There was silence for a few moments.
“You got to either tell him it’s enough or you’re going to tell the church on him and they can do whatever you was talking about. The business with the shunning.” I imagined Mama’s eyes getting big and round and serious. “Will he beat you if you tell the church?”
“I can’t do that, and no, he won’t hurt me.”
I heard a chair scrape. I suspected it was Mama getting up because I knew better. If she dished out some advice and the other person ain’t interested—she wouldn’t waste her time. I ran for it and got back over to the laundry. Then I heard wheels rolling over gravel into the drive. I peeked around the side of the house and saw one of them Amish buggies—that was what Emma called them.
Would it seem like Emma got hired help? In Montgomery a whole bunch of white folks hired coloreds as domestics. But that’s not what we were here. We were friends and we came to help. I didn’t know if I should wave or just keep doing the laundry or run away. Should I call Mama to come real fast?
But instead I just stood there and said nothing. I held on to the wet white sheets that had been on Ms. Emma’s bed just an hour ago all filthy with sick. And I knew I got to wash it clean for her. I wanted to help her because she helped me.
The wet sheet dripped everywhere and added to the puddle on the ground. It dripped between my bare toes ’cause I knew better than to wear my shoes. My toes wiggled on the wet concrete slab and the water splashed the top of my foot.
The water. The water always found me when things went wrong, like now. It wasn’t just because of Ms. Emma being sick—or something like that—but the feeling I got about visitors coming made my stomach hurt.
Two women got out of the buggy. The one woman was large and reminded me of Mama’s mama. But this woman’s face was softer. The other woman’s face looked like she could henpeck you. They both wore the same kind of dresses that Ms. Emma wore. And even in the warmth they had on their large dark bonnets.
They looked over at me and I looked back at the sheet in my hands. They didn’t move from where they stood. They just stared at me. I moved my hands and pushed the white sheet through the wringer and held my hand out the back to hold it carefully. Still they watched. When the sheet was all the way through their eyes were still on me.
I didn’t like the way it felt, and when my gaze found theirs they jumped a little, like I’d said boo. If I wasn’t so nervous I would’ve laughed. I didn’t know what else to do so I said, “Hi.” They smiled and said it back. Okay, now what?
They made the next move and they left me and walked up the porch steps. They was gonna walk into the door and see Mama and Ms. Emma sitting there talking stuff about her husband and what she done to herself. That’s when I decided to do what I done.
When I started screaming it wasn’t because it hurt as bad as what Ms. Emma had said it would. It was because I needed to make it sound like it do so everything that was happening stopped and something else would happen. Besides, there wasn’t much that hurt me no more. Not the stinging nettles or the blisters that came after. Not the broken glass that cut up the back of my leg that had opened up when I started running. And not sticking my fingers in a wringer washer.
My yelling brought them Amish biddies running and then the door flew open and Mama came running. Ms. Emma wasn’t running but she was coming too. Everybody looked at everybody else with this surprised expression on their faces. ’Course, nobody knew what was going on. All at once they was asking what happened and was I all right. Imagine that, white people—strangers—worried about a colored girl like me. But I saw in their eyes that they were.
That’s when I pulled my fingers out real hard and fast. Don’t know how I done that either because they were so tight in there. It hurt a little more than I thought it would then and I see that my left hand was all eaten up from my fingertips to the middle of my hand.
“Sparrow.” Mama yelled it like she used to. I ain’t heard my name in Mama’s mouth much. “What you done, Sparrow? What you done?”
She took my wrist and we was both shaking so bad blood was dripping everywhere. I was afraid she’d shake my hand right off my wrist. She just kept repeating, “What you done?” over and over. She did that when she got nervous—repeated herself.
I remembered what she said that day with Carver. “I know you got a breath. I know you got a breath in there, baby.” He didn’t. There wasn’t no blood that time though.
Ms. Emma was just now at the bottom of the stairs and then it was like them old ladies knew it was up to them. The big fat one came running at me. On the way she grabbed a white towel I hadn’t washed yet.
I couldn’t understand what they said but the two ladies pushed Mama back and started wrapping my hand. Tight. It was so tight I just about thought I would lose my breath. They kept saying words in their language and were gentle even though they worked fast. The fat one did most of the wrapping and the pointy one held my hand still at the wrist and put her other hand on my shoulder. She even patted me a few times. The washing machine motor turned off and I think it was Emma who done that. Everything seemed so quiet after that.
“Emma,” the big one said and added a bunch of other words I didn’t know.
Emma looked at me. She looked a little stronger than before but reminded me of a branch of a willow tree. She might just fly away if the wind picked up and bent and turned like she just a little bit more than nothing.
“Bring her inside,” Emma said in English. “I have a Sam’s salve that will help.”
Then everyone spoke English after that.
We all walked inside and the Amish ladies walked on either side of me. One held my hand up and the other had her hand on my arm on the other side. I wasn’t hurting all that bad but they were so nice and meant well—I didn’t want to turn down their friendliness. Mama was somewhere behind me. I imagined her face in my mind—pursed lips and raised eyebrows like she got a mouthful to tell me.
When we got inside I saw that Mama hadn’t poured out the water from the tub yet. A wet towel hung near a window to dry but otherwise the kitchen looked nice and tidy. Maybe those old ladies wouldn’t think so much about it. Either way I’d given Ms. Emma and Mama some warning. I knew it wasn’t every day Emma got two colored folks at her house when she was supposed to be doing laundry.
Emma went to a cabinet and pulled out the salve. It was close to empty and I knew why. It was the same salve that Johnny had given me for my blisters.
“I thought I had more,” she said and came over to me, “but I think there’s eno
ugh.”
While they unwrapped the cloth and put salve on my wounds, Mama just stood there. When I winced for real she even touched my arm. I wondered if I lopped my whole hand off next if Mama might hug me. Maybe she had a little left for me inside of herself. What would she think about the cut I gave myself on my leg? It wasn’t bleeding just now but I could feel it as I sat on that wooden chair. I didn’t want her care over me to go away, so I winced again even when it wasn’t so real.
Her hand squeezed my shoulder, like she was giving me her courage.
Did I have my mama back?
DELILAH
Those Amish ladies with their big black bonnets were something else. I watched them care for Sparrow and just let it happen. I didn’t know why. I should have cut in and taken care of my girl myself. It wasn’t like I didn’t know how. But I just trying to get used to the idea that I cared about what happened. When she screamed like that it didn’t make me think about Carver or nothing like that. It just made me think about what was happening to my daughter. But it had been a long time since I cared for her like that and watching them ladies bandage her up was enough for me just then.
I’ve seen worse wounds, but I think the way it happened scared the girl more than anything. She’d never been a real tough girl even when she was young. When I touched her shoulder I thought about how it was the first time I touched her in a nice way in a real long time. I done a lot of slapping in the weeks after Carver. I squeezed her shoulder when his name come to my mind again. Like my hand winced.
Made me think about the pain that my baby was in when he died. How afraid he would’ve been. It was a whole lot worse than scraped fingers. I gave her a pat on her shoulder one last time, kind of like saying you okay now, and took my hand off her shoulder and crossed my arms in front of my chest. I gave what I could.
“Now, how does that feel?” the fat lady asked Sparrow as she and the other lady untied their black bonnets and set them down. Shame on me for calling her fat. I knew I might be bigger than that someday if I don’t stop eating like I was a month into grieving.
The Solace of Water Page 20