‘’E worth ees weight een gold. Le garçon d’or.’
Before she comes flouncing down our track again, two young fellows help Tout de suite lay wood planks down so Madame and her satin slippers don’t get friendly with dirt. Mambo says it’s just on account of her being from Paris, and I guess they probably ain’t got no dirt tracks over that way at all.
I ask Safi to come on over ’cause she could do with the learning too, and we set to translating the Paris newspapers Madame brings. She and Mambo just get tipsy on her fine French wine, ain’t no kinda real teaching going on at all. Madame rocks to and fro in Pappy’s rocking chair with Mambo sitting on our front step listening to her talk about what happened to her before she came to Louisiana. She ain’t never known no family of her own on account of her being passed through a hole in the wall as soon as she come into this world, with nothing more than a piece of cloth they said was worked by her ma, so she was going to know her when she came back. She ain’t never come back, though. Madame’s still got that piece of linen and says she carries it with her all the time.
‘Look, I show you. Ees ’ere.’
That got Mambo all choke up.
Safi and me get out there to take a look at that piece of old linen, gone turned yellow with all the time of Madame’s life. We feel right sorry for her ’cause she ain’t got nobody, she just got a piece of cloth. It’s worked up fine with coloured threads and all, but it ain’t family and it ain’t real folks. I guess there’s some on this earth got it worse than me.
Like I always say, one thing I know about is good teaching and Madame ain’t got that at all. She got patience and she’s real kind, what with all our asking, but truth to tell, the most we learn is how they talk in Paris and we start wondering if folks down in New Orleans gonna be caring anything about that. I s’pose I got myself a nice French accent and I know more than anybody else about the Great War and all the trouble going on in Europe. Knowing all that goes down well in school, though, so I guess that’s something.
When Madame finds out I like cocoa and ain’t never hardly had it, she brings a tin of it done up in shiny paper I can see my face in. Tout de suite ain’t used to ever saying much, but when I bring him hot frothy cocoa, like Mambo’s real good at, he’s right pleased.
‘That’s very nice of you, Miss Arletta. Merci beaucoup.’
‘Ya ain’t go calling me no Miss.’
‘Well I surely must, on account of you ees working with Madame Bonnet.’
‘She’s teaching me French is all. Well, she s’posed to be teaching me French, but her and Mambo just getting on all the time. It’s going okay I guess though.’
Tout de suite takes to whittling sticks when he’s waiting for Madame and the kids hereabouts are all right tickled with it. I get outta there as soon as them kids show up for fear they start calling me Po’bean and he starts calling me Miss.
Then Safi stops coming for French lessons ’cause of her grandma saying Madame needs to come to Jesus, and I gotta ask her what that means.
‘Well, I don’t rightly know, Arletta, but that’s what she says, and he’d be right forgiving of her too.’
Her grandma and my Pappy, them’s the same kinda folks, all for Jesus, and that ain’t ever go down well with my Mambo. It’s about that, I guess. I see Mambo’s always mixing and pounding up before Madame gets here, so something’s going on all right. She fixes up some kinda gri-gri and Madame takes a bag of it away with her every time she’s over here. Safi’s grandma is big with the church and all, like Pappy was, so maybe she just don’t like Safi round Mambo’s stuff no more.
So I just carry on by myself. Madame reckons she’s teaching me French and Mambo gets a taste for fine French wine. I keep up with all my studies though, so I do well at school. Mr Parker was teaching me for a couple of years before Mrs Lee Hem took over ’cause he ain’t able. He says he’s just getting old and wanting to see more sunsets ’fore he ain’t able to see no more of them at all.
English gets to be my best subject but I love geography too, and start daydreaming about going travelling to the new Republic of China Mrs Lee Hem is fond of talking about. She’s from north China someplace, says it took her two weeks to get all the way over here, and a firm down in New Orleans has published a diary she wrote about the Chinese Boxer Uprising. I borrow it, on account of it being something to read, and she seems pleased ’cause nobody else ever asks her anything about it. Then she takes to standing up on an old soapbox over in Brouillette shouting about a revolution in Russia. I find out what a Communist is and Mrs Lee Hem gets minded on being one. Mr Lee Hem takes himself right on off to Georgia and she’s left shouting about all us black folks taking up as Commies. I ain’t rightly see much wrong with it, but Mambo goes mad about that.
‘Keep ya big mouth shut on it Arletta,’ she screams, like she hit the roof and it gone and blow right off. ‘One time girl! Do as I says and keep outta it.’
‘Well, I’m just saying I think it’s all right to be sharing out among folks …’
‘Goddammit, Arletta! I swear I gonna take to thwacking ya outta them big ideas! This Commie shit is just the next big trouble and ya gonna leave them white folks to sort it out among themselves. Ain’t gonna let ya even think on it. Ya hear Mambo girl?’
‘Okay Mambo, I was only saying …’
‘One more word and I’ll be thrashing it outta ya. Them whites gonna chew that poor Chiney woman up and spit her out into a penitentiary one way or the other, and that’s if she gets lucky. They’s all gonna get worked up about Commies now, same way they was about black folks. And what the hell ya know about sharing? Ain’t no white folk ever share nothing with any of us.’
I ain’t saying nothing.
Course, Mrs Lee Hem loses her job at the mission and her diary on the Boxer Uprising goes too. She’s kind enough to search me out first and make sure I ain’t been seen with her diary. Everybody is talking about them taking her away on account of her being a Commie, but the truth is I feel sorry about losing her from school.
Crinkly ‘old Guffy’ takes over our class after she’s gone. His real name is Mr Guthbertson and we learn nothing more than that before Mademoiselle Ledoux waltzes into our school and every man and boy in the place falls right in love with her.
I say ‘waltz’ because Mademoiselle puts me in mind of Mambo, except she’s got a proper education, and even though she wears tight little dresses, her chest is covered up to the neck and her wiggling is kinda decent, like what they call a waltz. She asks if we have boyfriends and we blush up. She wants to know what songs we like singing and then we learn a couple of old-time tunes because that’s what she calls poetry, though Mrs Hampton sure don’t agree with that at all. Then she starts telling us about helping poor folks in Africa so we can learn how to come like ‘citizens of the world’. She’s Cajun, only white face we got in our school now Mrs Lee Hem’s off someplace, so she’s right impressed that I’m learning French by myself. I learn more French with her in a month than I did in nearly two years with Madame Bonnet, though I’m right fond of Madame and Tout de suite, and of them coming out our way.
My cot gets moved.
‘Arletta, I moved ya cot. Now ya’s a woman it ain’t right we still sharing a bedroom.’
Ain’t never been right; Mambo’s got a new beau, that’s all. He’s called Quince and she’s going for him big time. I ain’t never seen anybody fluttering round somebody the way she fusses round him. Bosoms all pushed up, wiggling and pawing one another like I ain’t even there. He’s tall, dark, handsome, they say, and stupid. Quince is out here all the time now and I guess he don’t wanna be showing off when he’s doing to Mambo. That suits me fine, because he’s the biggest grunter she’s ever had.
‘Fine by me Mambo, long as I can use the bedroom for homework, ’cause I got a whole lot of that coming up and they say I’m gonna be doing real well at my exams.’
Mambo says that’s fine but I need to be thinking about getting work someplace, start hel
ping out round the place, says she’s been putting food in my mouth long enough.
‘No. I’m staying at school Mambo.’
‘Don’t go getting all worked up and full of y’self now Arletta. I work hard cleaning that bank, and I tell ya it sure ain’t easy putting up with that creepy McIntyre breathing down the back of my neck like he own it. And I’m telling ya, he’s getting worse than he ever was. And all ya’s thinking about is books, books, books. Stupidness. My hands cut sore with bleaching and cold water. I’m all worn out looking after ya.’
Mambo ain’t never looked after me right in her life. I been looking after myself most of the time since Pappy passed away, with her stepping out all over the place. And well she knows it too. I tell her just that.
‘Ain’t taking ya talking back at me Arletta. All that blasted learning got ya thinking ya something ya ain’t girl. Sure is.’
‘Well, I just wanna stick with school.’
‘Ya just about right for getting a job, so think on it now, Arletta. More money coming in ain’t gonna go wrong, and ya got an education so ya’s able to earn good. Ya worth something with all that learning.’
Mambo gets a ride into town with Bobby-Rob that afternoon and I rock out on our porch thinking about that 405 dollar bills I got buried ’longside Pappy’s pipe. Ain’t no matter how much I think about how all that money gonna help us out when we get short, and that’s most of the time, I’m so scared of all the questions it’s gonna raise, soon as anybody knows I got it, that I start shaking like it just happened yesterday. Thinking of it makes me feel like I’m gonna keel right over. I ain’t even sure folks gonna believe what I gotta say about it neither. Most of the time I just get on with my learning because that stops my mind dwelling on what Mr McIntyre and Mr Seymour did to me all them years. I ain’t saying it works all the time, I’m just saying that’s what I do, and it gets me by, most of the time. If I didn’t have me my learning, I sure as hell would be floating face down in Sugarsookie Creek and well on my way to the mighty Mississippi.
I never hear it, but I’m pretty sure Mr Seymour bled to death someplace in the fields round here and my slashing be the cause of it. Ain’t no reason us folks down the end of our track ever gonna hear about any butt-naked white man coming to his sorry end bleeding in some field, back end of no place. Maybe his folks hush it all up. I guess that’s what they need to be doing, anyways. Hell, if they ever get any kinda notion about him being a dirty pig and meddling with kids, they sure as hell gonna be hushing it up. Especially since he was slashed good in his parts and all. I reckon they know all about him and think he got caught red-handed, so some mad-as-hell daddy done for him.
One thing for sure is plenty folk gotta know Mr Seymour weren’t no good. Mr McIntyre knows all about him anyways, and he’s running a bank. Ain’t no decent sort ever gonna look at Mr Seymour with his dirty-smelling self and think him decent. He ain’t ever came back for that roll of dollar bills, I know that much, and it seems to me if he was out there living, somebody sure would have come for them, even if he don’t want to show that nasty face of his in case that gets slashed too. And I sure would think nothing about doing it. I ain’t sorry for nothing.
If he’s still living, I figure somebody would have got themselves on out here, turning our place upside down looking for that money. It never happened, so I reckon he’s done for and I ain’t about to be marched off like Big Marcus and swinging from no tree ’longside Mambo for it. Ain’t worth telling folks nothing.
If Mambo ever finds out what Mr Seymour and Mr McIntyre were doing to her daughter, him being her boss and her thinking she got herself that job for giving him a few of her good times, she’s gonna go outta her mind, for sure. I never thought it wise to go telling her how she really got that job for fear of what might come crashing down on my head, and all of Louisiana cursed to high hell at the next dark moon. Anyways, folks ever hear that Mambo and Mr McIntyre were rolling so he could get from a black Mambo what his wife ain’t up for, they’s maybe gonna believe it, but ain’t nobody ever gonna swear on it.
That’s just the way it is, always been, and jobs for folks round here sure are hard enough to come by. Whites are out all over, marching and hiding their faces like we care a tooting who they are and like we don’t know, anyways. Saying we’re taking white folks’ jobs because we’re trying to get out of service, like we ain’t got no right to be getting on the same as anybody else. Only hanging needed round here is Mambo hanging on to that job of hers, ’cause she might be damn good at cleaning the bank, but there ain’t no way she’s ever gonna be up for reg’lar old-time service. Bowing and scraping to white folks? My Mambo ain’t got no style for that at all.
I’m just leaving Mambo with no clue why I figure she got that job the day after I slashed Mr Seymour. I’m plenty feared on telling her anyways. She’d sure find some way of turning his wife into a widow on account of that. I’ve already got white man’s blood all over my hands, one more time’s gonna take me over the edge and I been just about hanging on already.
I’m scared folks’ll just find some way of making what happened to me my own fault anyways. And I know stuff like that ain’t ever gonna keep itself quiet neither. All them folk I know are gonna find out, sure as day follows night, that Mr McIntyre and Mr Seymour were doing to Po’bean for years. I guess some folks even gonna say I was happy doing it for money and that I was liking some white man taking a shine to me.
I’m done feeling dirty enough already and as soon as it’s dark I take myself off to the King of England and cry myself blind thinking on it. Ain’t no matter which way I think about how we could make good use of that roll of dollar bills, I know there’s gonna be a mighty scene over it, one way or the other, and I’m gonna end up coming off worse, same as always. I been keeping stuff to myself a long time now and the way I see it, that’s still the best way. She don’t ever say it but I know my Mambo, and I reckon she feels guilty about leaving me in our cabin when she took to having herself a good time all over the place. I think she’s gonna go stark raving crazy if she ever finds out what was going on, and that just means more trouble. Worst part of it is, if marching white folks ever find out, then me and Mambo ain’t even gonna make it as far as the branch of no tree. We gonna wake up one morning with the flaming cross of Jesus stuck right up in our front yard and a bunch of white sheets feeling righteous about roasting us alive inside Pappy’s cabin.
I walk all the way to Sugarsookie Creek in the dark and don’t even know how I get there. I find myself sitting on the bank staring at silver moon-ripples flowing to the ocean, makes me feel kinda peaceful. I think hard about the day I let Mr Seymour have what he got coming and I shiver through to my bones thinking on all the times he was doing to me to be deserving of it.
‘Nellie?’
It would be real nice if Nellie had a mind to tell me everything is gonna be all right and I’m able to stay learning. Pappy got me good and ready for learning so I can get on in this life, and that’s what I wanna do. But I don’t hear Nellie now like I used to. Sugarsookie Creek is still hearing me the same old way though. Seems I been crying tears into Sugarsookie Creek as long as I can recall.
‘I’m done with it Nellie. Even when I feel I ain’t able to be thinking on it no more, it stays right here, holding on to me like it ain’t never gonna let me go.’
I wish I could still hear that voice of hers, deep and sweet, and singing through the wind in the trees. But the night is just cold and dark, and my mind is just full of remembering Mr Seymour’s smell and filthy fingernails all over a frightened little girl like me with nobody looking out for her. The churning in my gut reaches right up in my throat when I get to remembering Mr McIntyre and how he always placed his hand over my mouth till I learnt I ain’t s’posed to make a sound. I throw up right there till it aches so much I fall over and just lie down shivering. There ain’t nothing I can do about what I got inside of that tin. I got a hold of all Mr Seymour’s dirty dollars and they ain’t worth nothi
ng. I’m just gonna leave the King of England buried there in the ground till I can figure things out.
‘I don’t know what’s gonna happen if I leave school Nellie. I ain’t even sure about Mambo’s new beau. He’s gonna get rid of me and that’s for sure. Ain’t no way he’s taking on some little pichouette Mambo had with some other man we ain’t even know about, because she ain’t ever say nothing.’
It would be right fine if Nellie was there listening like she used to, but she ain’t. There’s just the sliver of a moon, with a wind coming up. I wash my mouth out in the creek. The water is real cold but it tastes sweet, like all that blood of old sure did give it something special for making me feel clean and wholesome.
Back inside our cabin I curl up in Pappy’s chair and think I’m just about as scared of that roll of dollar bills as I’ve ever been of anything. Don’t seem wise or right throwing a mighty roll of bucks in shit for other folks to find. Don’t seem right floating them down Sugarsookie Creek neither, so I ask Pappy if he’s able to take care of it all, ’cause I sure as hell don’t know which way is best on turning. That was one long night.
Quince moves in with Mambo the day after my cot is set up, and I reckon he’s nothing but a lazy layabout. Ain’t ever hold onto no job for any time at all, ain’t got no education neither, ’cause he ain’t ever get no schooling. Lord, he’s some kinda sight, tweaking his hair like he’s somebody, and checking out how he looks in Mambo’s mirror. It sets me off laughing, seeing him wondering what folks see if they look sideways at him. Ain’t never seen a three-way mirror in his life.
He’s right on top of Mambo every chance he gets, and one time when he throws a wink my way, I swear I get scared as hell in case he starts thinking on doing to both of us. He’s got a habit of staying out all night with his drinking buddies too, and Mambo don’t take kindly to that at all. One time she walks the floor of our cabin all night till he comes back, just as I’m getting myself off to catch the school bus.
What the River Washed Away Page 8