‘Come in girls. Do.’
Do what? Ain’t rightly sure.
‘Errol, these are our new boarders, Safi Sucree and Arletta Johnson.’
Well, by now we sure ain’t got no clue about what the right thing to do is at all, so we just give a little curtsey, polite-like, and Errol’s eyebrows raise right up at it. He’s the quiet type, that’s plain as day already. Must be the help that does round the place.
That house always smelled like church wax. Safi’s nose takes to wriggling ’cause that gonna make her feel like she’s living in the mission, but I was right fond of being at the mission, and that smell puts me in mind of Pappy’s Bible.
‘This is my front parlour, the one I use myself. I’ll show you the one you can use later on. It’s at the back of the house, so it gets the long afternoon sun. I prefer the shade myself.’
We can use a parlour?
We don’t know what a parlour is; ain’t clear what it’s for, neither. It’s got one big set of shelving holding fine china and fancy dishes on one side of the room, and them chairs of hers got so much stuffing, and cushions and lace hanging all over them, I get to thinking folks must need permission to sit down. Not that we’re thinking on getting that, so we just hug up the wall like we ain’t supposed to be there at all. Ain’t clear why that room needs so many lamps. There’s three of them and all got fancy shades. Like Mrs Archer-Laing is wanting light but then goes halfways changing her mind on getting it. It don’t make no sense why she’s gonna be fixing up a fine lamp just for hiding half the light under a fancy shade, so then she’s gonna go needing another one.
Don’t make no sense.
We follow Mrs Archer-Laing outta her parlour to what she calls the hall. It’s twice the size of our cabin and that set of stairs sure must take some polishing. It’s dark and shiny and looking like we’s the first living folk ever to lay a foot on it.
‘Please always use this bathroom. Mine is the one on the ground floor. I confess, like everybody else, we have problems with the water supply and the pump, so there is a tap in the yard for when that happens. The water truck is hardly reliable, so we just make the best of it.’
We got a bathroom? A tap in the yard? Me and Safi never figured on this kinda style at all, so I check she knows the little we gonna be earning and paying.
‘Yes dear. Now, please take the water up yourself if there’s not sufficient for the pump to operate. I won’t have Errol exhausting himself up and down stairs too much. I won’t have young ladies attending to private business out in the yard, either. Whenever there’s a problem, please take sufficient water up to this bathroom, or to your room, and please do perform your daily ablutions in private, as befitting young ladies.’
We gonna need a dictionary.
‘You do, of course, have a chamber pot. I will see to it that you have two, one each.’
Then we gonna figure out what for.
She’s got three rooms and a ‘landing’ big as her parlour on the top floor, ‘underneath the eaves’, she calls it, and all of them painted white. That keeps them cool and airy, she says. We’re gonna be sharing the bathroom with Agnes Withers, that’s Mrs Archer-Laing’s other boarder in the back room, and we got eyes near popping outta our heads at the sight of that white bowl and ‘flushable chain’. There’s a brass tap straight over the washbasin and clean towels folded up neat, except for the one hanging on a rail, must be for Agnes Withers. The tin tub’s got a big jug for filling up and a plug in the middle for letting water out through a pipe in the floor. Errol calls that plumbing, and I know about that ’cause folks round our way are sick and tired of shouting for it and nobody ever paying no mind.
Mrs Archer-Laing says Agnes Withers has got the big room and we sure are wondering how big it is when she shows us where we’re gonna be boarding.
‘You can decide between you who gets the proper bed for the time being. I’ve put up the small camp bed until the other one arrives; I have ordered it for you. But there are the two wardrobes, and the water basin and jug over there in the corner. I have some dressers in the basement. You can choose which one is suitable; Errol will arrange for them to be brought up, of course. He arranged to have the small sofa brought up for you to make the room cosy. I thought it was a good idea. Don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Safi and me say so at the same time.
‘This is the laundry basket. We change the sheets once a week, I insist on it, and you must take the basket down yourselves every Saturday morning. First thing, please. I like you to have all your washing done on a Saturday. The Sabbath day is our day of rest and worship. You must arrange to do all the cleaning yourselves. I don’t think it gracious that Errol is in and out of young ladies’ private chambers. I’m sure you agree.’
We nod. Ain’t sure what about.
‘I don’t use what’s in the basement, so you’re welcome to arrange to have anything else taken up.’
She speaks about arranging like she’s thinking we gonna know how to go about doing it. Sounds like she ain’t sure how things get done round here at all. I guess, as long as things get done, folks like her don’t pay it no mind.
‘So that seems to be it for up here. Let me know when the rest of your things are arriving so we can arrange with Errol to let them in. It’s best to be careful about security. Remember that, girls.’
We just nod. All we got in this world is wrapped up in newspaper, tied with string and tucked under our arms.
‘Come along now, girls. Let me show you to the guests’ parlour.’
Safi grabs my newspaper packet and throws it on the bed ’longside her own.
I ain’t never been in a place like that house, with all them rooms and windows and two sofas in what she’s calling our parlour. They’re a little worn out, but there ain’t no horsehair sticking out, and I’m real happy with all them books stuffing up the shelves. First proper thing I says is, ‘I’m gonna read all them books if we’s able to, Miss.’
‘Of course, Arletta. That is why the bookcases are here. I take it you like reading.’
‘Sure do, Miss. I love reading and if y’all don’t mind …’
‘Of course not, Arletta. The books are here to be read.’
Out back is built in a U-shape round what she’s calling her courtyard. Across the ways from our parlour is a kitchen like I’ve never seen, and the first I’ve ever seen inside a house, though I sure ain’t been in any of those, as I recall. She’s got that many plants growing in pots in that courtyard, the place looks just like out back of our cabin.
‘I do breakfast for you myself.’
That’s when Safi’s jaw drops about as far as I ever seen it. Ain’t nobody ever hear of no whites ‘do breakfast’ for us black folks.
‘I don’t do a cooked breakfast, actually. I organize it in the evening before I go to bed and set the table out for the morning. You help yourself from the refrigerator and in the evening Errol prepares dinner. You’ll find he’s an excellent cook. If you want lunch then it’s extra, and you must arrange it in advance with him directly. Of course, you must also pay him directly for it.’
She waves her hand like taking money for lunch is right beneath her.
‘How we pay ya, Miss? I mean, for our board and all?’ I ain’t rightly sure who we gonna be paying and arranging what for.
‘I’d like to see you at the end of each week for a little chat. I’m sure Saturdays will be fine?’
‘We gonna be working right up till twelve o’clock. We got all day Sunday off. Well, except for church …’
‘Meet me in my parlour at one o’clock on Saturday afternoon for a nice chat, then, and you can tell me all about your first week at the mill.’
She smiles and leaves us right there on our own.
‘Ya okay, Arletta?’
‘She sure ain’t like no white folk I ever seen.’
Before we left, Safi’s grandma told us Mrs Archer-Laing was real nice and kind, and gonna be looking out for us. Said she was right godly,
but of course I ain’t really got the hang of that. Pappy was godly, but he ain’t never have nothing.
I reckon we’re lucky she was looking for boarders same time we needing it. And I’m reckoning she’s gotta be big on church and needing to be kind with all this house and stuff. That got me thinking what it must be like to find y’self able to be kind to strangers just walking on in outta nowhere.
‘Don’t see why not,’ says Safi. ‘That’s godly, Arletta, being kind to strangers. And she’s got a refrigerator.’
I ain’t never heard the word.
The mill is just about a mile away from where we’re boarding on Main Street, and they have more folks crammed up inside that barn of a place than I’ve ever seen in my days, and all of them busy working, shouting and moving about like taking it easy gone out of fashion.
The place is full of so much folks and noise, we just stand by the door till somebody comes to tell us we s’posed to be reporting to the foreman, and he’s that man sitting on a high stool halfway down the mill. He hardly looks our way at all, just pulls a face when he sees we can sign up for ourselves. Then he sends us off with somebody else who says he ain’t got no time for telling us twice, so we gotta make sure we listen up good first time about what we getting paid for.
We’re put at what he calls the ‘end of the line’ and told we’re lucky to be packing bales ready for taking down South and shipping overseas.
‘There’s a pile goin’ overseas right now, but they got a mill down South too, so y’all need to be paying attention on what goes where. Ya got that?’
We nod, but truth is, we ain’t making no sense of it.
‘Then what don’t go down South goes over the state line for Dockery, but that don’t go through the cotton gin, that go straight off. Packing that ain’t easy; y’all come up lucky and get one of the best jobs. Ain’t messy like far end, neither. Them’s got machines creakin’ and turnin’ and makin’ noise, and we already get one boy catch himself in the axle shaft. He lose half his arm and half his wage for soilin’ the cotton with his own bleeding, but ya gonna be fine here. Ya both gotta wear these, and this is ya station. Station M: y’all remember ya station. Station M, right?’
‘Right.’
He hands us thick cotton aprons and I ain’t sure I’m gonna bear all that heat from head to toe, and with all that noise going on. He shouts like a horn over it, telling us where we gotta start and what we gotta do. Then he’s off and we’re left trying to work it out for ourselves. It don’t go too well with us fumbling about with them needles big as spoons and bales piling up for stitching. We ain’t getting the hang of it at all, so them bales start piling up till there ain’t no room left for more. Then a boy, looking like he ain’t more than ten years old, comes to sort us out.
‘Ain’t go lettin’ thems pile up nah. Dey’s gotta be outta here right off. Gimme dat needle an’ I gonna get dem movin’ on, and den ya’s on ya own.’
‘We ain’t sure about nothing, we just get started.’
‘Well, I start same way an’ ya gotta get shaped up nah, or ya goin’ get dragged on over to Li’l Skivvy on account dem bales ain’t outta here.’
‘Who’s Li’l Skivvy? He that foreman?’
‘Nah, de foreman okay. He ain’t say much, and what he say, he says wi’ that cane a his.’
‘Ya saying he gonna cane us?’
‘Jus’ a pokin’, ain’t hurt nothin’. Nah, Li’l Skivvy de badass round here, an’ ya goin’ know when y’all come up ’gin him. I’s called Chester, an’ I start on darnin’ ’em bales too. I’m on loadin’ now an’ we jus’ ’bout got none left fo’ loadin’ on de wagon, an’ y’all don’t want Li’l Skivvy findin’ out we’s idle ’cause a y’all ain’t darnin’ and stampin’. Nah. Us neither.’
‘We just ain’t sure what we s’posed to do.’
‘And we ain’t hear half of what he said in all this noise.’
‘Look, I show y’all one time an’ it gotta be quick. Grab a bale like dis, okay? An’ roll ’em edges round like dis, tuck ’em edges in. See? Den get a hold on it an’ stitch up tight. Y’all gotta be quick ’bout it. Ain’t always busy, but when it like dis, ya need a keep ’em movin’ fo’ us loadin’.’
Chester sure can chatter, but we listen up good.
‘Some dem bales goin’ to a mill down South. Wi’ a waterwheel an’ cotton press, I seen it, an’ folks waitin’ on us a keep ’em busy wi’ sendin’. Ain’t worth forgettin’ dat, we gotta keep ’em all busy. We load a wagon, wagon load a train an’ off South wi’ it. Rest get shipped out. See? Roll ’em edges and get darnin’.’
Chester slips back outside before Li’l Skivvy catches him, and we’re left struggling with the big curved needles and the hairy string tough enough to cut through flesh. We start rolling the burlap edges over, but it ain’t as easy as Chester made it look. Then we get the stitching in place so the cotton don’t fall out before it reaches where it’s going. Sure is tricky, with keeping the cotton in as well. We gotta work fast, ’cause them bales keep coming and we need to be watching out in case folks see them piling up. Then they all get stamped with black paint saying ‘Export’ or ‘Homeland’, and we hope we get that right too, ’cause we gone forgetting what line is what. Every fingernail I got is broken on the rolling and I don’t know how many times them needles stab into my flesh with all the rushing. But the bales start moving out and we’re glad about that.
I’m just about feeling my back is gonna break when a hooter goes off and I near jump outta my own skin. Everbody files out, ain’t no orderly fashion to it. The foreman gets down off his high stool and walks about pointing his cane like anything he can reach is deserving of a poke. He don’t come our way and that’s fine ’cause he’s walking about with a skinny weasel we hear folks say is Li’l Skivvy, and he don’t look wholesome. He’s asking questions and taking notes and we just know, like Chester says, he ain’t somebody we gonna be getting on the wrong side of neither.
Li’l Skivvy is making sure folks ain’t smoking their baccy near the mill and bales of cotton. Women smoking it same as men. Even with them dirty aprons and hair wrapped up in old cotton rags ya can see they’s all thinking high on themselves and making eyes at menfolk. Later on, back in our boarding room, we gonna be copying how they get on, how they take in smoke and hold them long, long breaths. They’re passing round a pot of bright-red lip colouring that makes their teeth look whiter than Mambo’s.
‘Ever hear of outer space, Safi?’
‘Course I has.’
‘Well, them’s all like they come from outer space.’
‘Might be, ’cause ain’t nothing in they heads but smoke.’
The way them womenfolk talk seems they mean that whole yard need to be hearing about the weekend just past. Next one coming gets spoke about like they don’t have no care at all and don’t know nothing about having private business and keeping stuff to themselves. They don’t notice us at all; we’re feeling lost anyways. Then the hooter goes off again and we’re back at our M Station finishing bales bulging out with cotton.
First thing I do with my rushing is drive that needle deep into my own flesh. Safi runs off for Chester.
‘One ting dem go crazy ’bout is ya gettin’ blood all over de cotton, so ya ain’t never let that happen nah. Get on stampin’ ’fore y’all get Li’l Skivvy dockin’ wages. I seen him dock a man dat much he ain’t got nothin’ a feed his kids fo’ a week an’ we’s all feedin’ ’em fo’ him. Ain’t right nah.’
The new sacking already has dark stains where it soaked up my blood, so Chester heaves it over, stamps ‘Export’ to cover it up and tumbles it onto the trolley for moving out. He winks and takes off with it for loading.
I leave Safi on sewing bales and get on stamping for the rest of the day. Every bale we finish needs to be hauled onto a trolley for wheeling out to loading. That’s man’s work for sure, but we gotta do it. We jam the trolley up in the waiting pile of bales and Safi holds it steady. I push with all the m
ight I got till each bale topples onto the tray and then we roll the trolley out for Chester and his pals loading the wagon.
That day feels like it’s gonna just last for ever. One bale is done, then another, and another. Ain’t no let-up. Safi lets tears go and even though I’m feeling the same way, I hold back. Ain’t no point two of us bawling like babies.
At the end of our first day of working, Errol hands Safi a cloth for drying her eyes.
‘Have yersel’ a good nose-blow now. Day gone, sun down on it. Ain’t never gonna be bad as that again.’
He serves up stuffed crab and boiled shrimp with rice and turnip greens just like Pappy’s. Then we fall asleep, tired out like drains. Been one hard day, but we got full bellies.
We try signing up for shorthand and typing evening class. We get told they have a waiting list but we’re thinking that ain’t right, ’cause all the girls we see in there are white. We’re just on our way out, I’m feeling kinda mad, when one of them girls’ ma comes straight over and spits on the side of my face.
‘Niggers need to be staying behind whites and oughta know that’s their place.’
We walk back to our boarding room, ain’t no word spoke.
When we tell Mrs Archer-Laing on Saturday, sitting right there in one of them fancy chairs, she takes off her hat and gloves. She says she’s gonna see somebody at the Presbyterian church, and then the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People – that’s something else we ain’t never hear of.
A couple of weeks later they find us space to learn office work inside a crowded church hall where girls are able to go twice a week in the evening with no charge at all for it. Seems that crazy old bat of a white ma did us ‘niggers’ a favour, because now it ain’t costing us a dime, and Mrs Archer-Laing is right proud about it.
Safi goes for all that learning shorthand, she takes ready to it, but it ain’t holding me at all. I start thinking about what else they might be teaching down at those college evening classes and how I’m gonna go about getting in there. I start my daydreaming again, about getting a certificate in English, and what it would be like teaching it, like Pappy did. That’s the best teaching I ever got. It’s just a dream, I guess, and, like Mambo says, I ain’t got no business dreaming.
What the River Washed Away Page 10