Apron Strings

by Mary Morony

  “Com’on Ethel, les git on home,” she huffed. She was gettin’ spittin’ mad by now. “I gots better thangs to do than lookin’ fo’ mo work ta do.”

  “Oh no, Miss, I’s gon’ pay ya,” Early said, lookin’ confused. “I’s gon’ pay ya’ll real good!”

  Alberta’s chin shot up an’ it looked like she was mullin’ it over. She scratched her head and opened her mouth like she was gon’ say somethin’. Then I guess she thought about what a fool she’d looked like pattin’ that red cushion next to her. She stood straight up, turned on her heel, an’ hollered, “Ethel, you comin’?”

  “I ain’t,” I said. “You go on.”

  “Suit yer self,” she muttered. She stomped down the hall and out the door, slammin’ it so hard the windows on the house might near jumped out of their frames. You woulda thought a train was roarin’ down the tracks just outside.

  “Well, I never,” Early said, an’ he chuckled that tender warm chuckle. “Did I say somethin’ wrong? If’n I did, I sho’ is sorry. I didn’ mean no harm.” He looked down at his chocolate-brown hands, then out in the hall. He took off his gold-rimmed glasses, pulled his hankie outta his trousers, and slowly wiped each lens. He put his hankie back in his pocket and carefully wrapped them glasses back ‘round his ears then smiled at me. He had a way of smilin’ like it was with his whole body.

  “Don’ pay her no mind,” I said. “She’s what they call ‘high strung.’”

  “As a kite,” he said. We both laughed. That laugh of his was like butter on warm bread. I just couldn’ get enough. I kept laughin’ just to hear him laugh, too.

  The work Early had in mind ordinarily would have turned my stomach since I didn’ cotton to dead bodies. But I didn’ think twice when he said he wanted me to help him lay the bodies out—dress, do the hair, shave—make ‘em look like they was alive and jus’ sleepin’. “I only gits an afternoon off every other week,” I said. “That won’ be much help.”

  “You don’ work nights, do ya?”

  “I’m free after supper is cleaned up. ‘Round ‘bout nine-thirty. That won’ do ya no good, will it?” I hoped and prayed it would.

  “Yea, I jest drop by and lets ya know when I needs ya. Time don’ matter none. Dead folk don’ cares a lick ‘bout time.” He chuckled again. I thought if my heart melted any mo’ I’d have to scrape it up off the flo’ and carry it home in my hand.

  Fact was I never studied much ‘bout men folk. The ones that visited Mama, colored or white, I steered clear of. I seen enough o’ her beat black and blue to know trustin’ a snake was a safer bet than trustin’ a man. And all that foolishness in the bedroom was just that—foolishness. I wasn’ interested in havin’ no babies, and didn’ see any reason to spin the wheel. Funny thing ‘bout Mama, she didn’ have men comin’ ‘round ‘cept if money got real tight an’ she couldn’t stretch the little bit she got from one pay day to the next. Then men started knockin’ at the do’. See, Mama never got married; didn’ see any sense in saddlin’ herself like that. She always said, “When you needs you a man, one gen’ally turn up.”

  Most time she didn’ have no need for one. She kept herself loose, even if she wasn’ what you call “fancy free.” Mama kept her a cow and some chickens, and she had a good green thumb. She was good at makin’ cheese; best you ever put in yo’ mouth. There was even a time that she had her a sow. We didn’ go wantin’ for food. If there was a party or somethin’ at the Stuart’s, she’d bring home some leftovers. Between workin’ up at the Stuart’s, cookin’, and pocketin’ the money them men brought when they come a courtin’, Mama took good care of us. Course, she had to sell the sow off to pay for the hospital bill when the horse kicked Huberta in the head. That doctor made house calls for a good long while after Huberta come home, and there was a whole lot more than just doctorin’ goin’ on.

  When I told Mama ‘bout working for Early, she said, “You better watch yo’ self with dat man. He be old enough to be yo’ daddy.”

  I was thunderstruck. “He ain’t that old, is he?” I prayed with my toes and fingers; crossed them for the answer to be no.

  “Well, he ain’t much younger than me,” she said. “You mighty young to be takin’ up with a man his age.”

  “I ain’t takin’ up. I’s jest goin’ to be helpin’ him out a little, is all.” I was hopin’ I would be takin’ up with him.

  “Um-humm,” was all she said.

  At first Early only come by the boardin’ house to fetch me when there was a death. I helped him puttin’ on makeup an’ fixin’ the hair of the ladies or shavin’ the men just like he said he wanted. First one I had to fix up was ol’ Beulah Washington. She wore her hair like mine, up in knots, so it wasn’ so bad. I had to laugh to myself, thinkin’ as little as I know ‘bout fixin’ hair and makeup, it’d kill some of them ladies—if they wasn’ already dead—to know who was workin’ on ‘em. But I did a passable job. Kinfolks wasn’ all that picky ‘bout how the bodies looked, just as long as they didn’ look dead. I got better at it after I stopped thinkin’ ‘bout ‘em as dead, but more like they was just “resting.” I made a point not to touch their skin ‘cause no live body is ever that cold. I can tell you, touchin’ that cold skin made mine crawl.

  One night after we’d finished up, Early pulled out a bottle of gin and asked me if I wanted some. He said, “I noticed that you and yo’ sister don’ be settin’ on de porch no mo’ havin’a sip from times to times. Just wondered if you wouldn’ mind havin’ a few with me.” I remembered what Alberta had said about Early getting’ drunk an’ beatin’ his first wife. But he was cleaned up now. I eyed the gin suspiciously. Then, since I was a new convert to the bottle myself, I thought, Who am I to judge if the man wants to enjoy his self after a long day’s work? He was lookin’ at me with all the kindness in the world, waitin’ for my answer, and I just knew Alberta and all them people was wrong ‘bout him.

  Me and Early had us a big time that night in the funeral parlor. We laughed ‘til our sides ached at what Alberta had had in mind for Early on the red sofa. His soft eyes glittered with gold as he shuddered and shook like a man with palsy ev’ry time he mimicked Alberta sittin’ there, pattin’ the seat next to her, and sayin’ in a voice with as much appeal as a hog call, “Come on now, honey, set yo’self right here aside me.” I almost wet myself laughin’.

  Early said, “If she ain’ta got mad at my askin’ her ‘bout dat job, I swear I don’ know what I woulda done.” I laughed so hard I couldn’ catch my breath, while tears streamed down his face. When I woke up the next morning, I had to hightail it to work with a head as big as all outdoors.

  After that, me and Early didn’ need nobody to die to see each other. He come by and fetched me ‘most ev’ry night. We went to the juke joint and danced ‘til I thought my feet would fall off, and all the while we drank and drank. There was always somebody there with some whiskey and we’d drink ‘til there wadn’t a drop left. I’d go to work sometime after bein’ up all night, draggin’ my tail ‘round like a beat dog. We did have some fun, though. Alberta was dead wrong. Wasn’t a thing ladyish ‘bout Early. He was a man, and he was mine.

  I moved into his house in no time at all. We didn’ keep up with the dancin’ like we did when we was courtin’. We just couldn’t. “Lord, honey, I’s an old man. I can’t keep up with the likes a you,” Early said one night when we had finished the chores. “You gonna have to give this ol’ guy a rest.” But the drinkin’ didn’t stop, and I did my best to keep up with him. Early said he didn’ see no sense in keepin’ on workin’ for that shiftless undertaker since his time was more than filled up with me. I don’ know where the man got the energy to do what he done afore I come along. He’d been workin’ all day as a janitor then at the funeral parlor on weekends and nights when somebody died, and that was on top of keepin’ four cows, some chickens, and three hogs; makin’ hay in the summertime and keepin’ a garden. I did my best to help out, but it seemed like the time I saved him got devoted to drinkin�
��. Most ev’ry night we drank ourselves to sleep; ‘til I got pregnant.

  Chapter 14

  Sallee

  As late winter pressed on, the divorce started affecting our lives more and more. When I stood up for Show and Tell and told my class that my mother and daddy were getting a divorce, Miss Bradley, my teacher, took me to the cloakroom. “You don’t tell stories like that to your friends.” She patted my shoulder with the tips of her fingers like, if she touched too much of me, she might catch something. “The other little children don’t need to be frightened. So you just keep your private life to yourself.” She looked at me like I had done something terrible. “Do you hear me?” I nodded that I did. “Then say so young lady.” I didn’t bother to tell anyone at home what happened at school. Things were crazy enough without that.

  My mother, or maybe it was Uncle Gordon, had the big idea that Mr. Myers, her lawyer, should talk to us kids about being in court. I don’t know what made them think that a person none of us had ever seen before could cast a calming light on the trauma that awaited us; but somehow they decided that the small, peevish man was just the person to make us understand how we should tell the judge we wanted to live with our mother, because that’s where children belonged—with their mothers. I guess they also thought that going down to a lawyer’s office would make us feel better about the whole thing, like checking in with Santa Claus at the department store before Christmas.

  Uncle Gordon came over to our house and drove us downtown to Mr. Myers’s office. The whole way there he kept saying, “You’re really going to like Mr. Myers. He’s a fine man.”

  We sat in the backseat and rolled our eyes—as if it was going to make a difference whether we liked the man or not. Gordy stuck out his tongue and made a face. Helen and I giggled.

  His office smelled just like the public library. And no wonder—there wasn’t a wall in the room that didn’t have cases stuffed with books. He wore half glasses that he peered over when he looked at you. His hooded gray eyes moved the whole time you talked, like his ears might miss something important. I got the impression that he expected me to lie. None of us did. Not that we got the chance. He’d fire a dumb question at us like, “Do you like living with your mommy?” then sit back and watch us like we were going to answer it. How do you answer a question like that when she’s sitting right there? I got the feeling he didn’t really care about our answers anyway because he was one of those people who didn’t like children. You can tell them a mile away. When they talk to a kid they get all cutesy with a voice that’s supposed to sound sweet but just sounds fake because nobody ever talks like that unless they’re trying to get a kid to do something. You’d think they’d know.

  He sat behind his enormous desk and peered over at us. “You are going to go to the courthouse,” he said. “The judge is going to ask you where you want to live.”

  On the surface, I thought that seemed like a fine thing. It even made me feel a little important, as if I really did have a say in what happened in my life. Except for the fact that I was a kid; how was I supposed to know?

  The trial was the only topic of conversation when the lights went out at night. Helen asked me almost every night, “How do you decide where you want to live? Do you know how? Where do you want to live?”

  “I don’t know!” I wailed into my pillow as I rocked my head up and down. “I can’t even think about it,” I declared. “I want to die before they do because I can’t imagine how I would live without them.” What I didn’t say, because I didn’t know how to articulate it, was that having to choose was the next worse thing. We finally decided we’d choose our Daddy because he played with us and was more fun. The decision had a hollow feel to it. Like many decisions where the stakes are high and the choices onerous, it nestled itself into the recesses of my mind and began to assume a sense of permanence as if it had already gone into effect. Our talks trailed off to solitary musings. I’m sure we both cried ourselves to sleep more than once contemplating our future and the decision we were being forced to make. I know I did. The question loomed over us worse than a trip to the dentist when you just knew he was going to find a cavity because you hadn’t brushed since the last time you saw him.

  Ethel was no help. For the last couple of weeks she had come to work short-tempered and snappy, and she was gone a lot more than usual. She didn’t look much like herself. Her hair was fuzzy and you could tell she hadn’t washed it in some time. Plus that splatterware cup of her’s was always full by the kitchen sink. She wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. I didn’t much like being around her, but I asked her anyway what she thought I should say. She just grumbled and shook her head. “I jest don’ know.”

  The day we went to the courthouse was all jumbled up, mostly because Ethel didn’t come to work. I resented that she hadn’t come. I grumbled to Helen, “When we need her the most we get this crummy treatment. You’d think we were the ones making them get divorced.” She was the closest thing we had to an advocate, and she had left us high and dry. “I can’t believe she didn’t come today. She knows how we don’t wanta go to the dumb ol’ court. She promised she’d be there with us and she didn’t even show up.” I kicked at my pajamas lying in a heap on the floor.

  Helen said, “You’d be mad if she was here, too. You’re just mad. You like to blame people.” She could amaze me sometimes. As I whirled around in a fit of pique over this or that, Helen just went about her life adopting wise insights into the mysterious logic of our elders. It had a remarkably calming effect on me. Whereas I’d argue with Gordy about almost anything, when Helen spoke up, I generally listened.

  I considered what she had said. “Yeah, I guess I do.” And then I thought, It’s a good thing there are a lot of people to blame. I rolled it around in my mind like hard candy, savoring the sweetness of its simplicity. Mr. Myers’s talk did nothing to allay our fears. Stuart had her day in court before us, just a few days after our visit to the lawyer’s. She filled us in on all the gruesome details. She had a way of making you feel worse under the guise of soothing you.

  “It’s no big deal. This guy comes in all dressed in black. He’s the judge.”

  “Anybody knows that,” Gordy said with a sneer.

  “OK smarty pants. If you know so much I won’t tell you anymore.” She was already gathering her stuff off the bed to leave.

  “Go on. I wanta know,” I said to her. Helen and I, slack jawed with interest, scowled at Gordy and hissed, “Shut up.”

  She continued her grisly blow-by-blow description of her trip to see the judge. Gordy was listening mighty carefully, too. “Mother’s lawyer told you to tell the judge that you wanted to live with her, but you don’t have to. You can say you want to live with me and Daddy. He wants you to. I know he does.”

  “But what about Ethel? What’s gonna happen to Ethel if we go live with Daddy?” Helen asked, and I wondered too.

  “I heard Daddy talking to his lawyer the other night. He said that he had talked to Ethel and that she would come work for him and take care of ya’ll just like now, except not here.” She said all of this like she was describing a trip out in the country—all breathless and breezy. “Don’t worry. Ethel is going to testify for Daddy, so the judge will be sure to give you guys to him. So, whatever you say probably doesn’t make any difference anyway. It’s all going to be fine.”

  The three of us looked at each other. What was it going to be like in a new house without our mother? What would happen to her?

  My mother, never very good at overseeing how we dressed—although detail was everything when it came time to criticize the result—was busy dressing herself for court. The best she could do to help us get ready was to yell; and that she did at full volume. The task of picking out what to wear became ours for the first time. Up until that very instant, Ethel always laid out what we were going to wear. On our own, we wore our pajamas.

  “How are you supposed to know what to wear to court if you haven’t ever been before?” I wanted to
know.

  Helen said, “I’m going to wear my Sunday school clothes.”

  “Well, I’m not. I hate that old dress. ‘Sides, I don’t want to look like some goody-goody.” So declaring, I decided on a red corduroy jumper and white blouse.

  As I stripped off my nightclothes, Helen said, “You probably outta…”

  “Oh shut up,” I snapped, fighting my way into my blouse. “I’ve about had it with people telling me what I should do.” I decided against socks until Helen impressed upon me the need.

  “Remember the last time you didn’t wear socks? You got one of those big blisters on your heel and it hurt.”

  Mostly dressed, my mother blew around the house like a plastic bag in a parking lot. She was in our room one minute, and then I heard her up in Gordy’s room yelling at him the next. She flew in again and scowled at my choice of attire. Uncle Gordon’s car was crunching up the drive. “Hurry up. It’s time to go. Give me that brush. Sallee, when are you going to learn how to brush your hair?” She raked my head with the brush. Tears welled up.

  “Stop, it hurts.”

  “Then learn how to do it yourself.” She pulled my hair into a ponytail, yanking at it like it was an old hose stuck around a rock. “Stop,” I screamed, pulling away as my face streaked with tears. “It hurts.”

  Uncle Gordon, the busiest man that ever lived, bustled into the room, his usual jowly red face almost purple. He started to shout, but checked himself in the middle of his question. “What’s going on in here? Why is she crying?” he pointed at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe. “For God sakes, Ginny, today is not the day to lose your temper with the children. We’re supposed to be in court in twenty minutes. Are you trying to lose custody?”

  He, who never had a moment to speak to me in the past, put his big, old, bad-breathed face right up to mine and said, “Honey, everything is going to be just fine. Your mommy didn’t mean to hurt you. She’s just a little upset today. You know how it is. We all are.” He glared every so often over my head at my mother who looked like she might cry at any minute. “You,” he said, pointing to Helen like he didn’t know her name, “go on and find Gordy—we gotta be going.”