What the River Washed Away

by Muriel Mharie Macleod

  ‘I know ya need to be doing something, Mambo, but I ain’t leaving.’

  I’m thinking about Quince working down on the wharf and wondering if he knows that Pawnee woman. Could be she got her eye on him. Lord knows the ladies take a shine to him, though for the life of me I can’t figure out why. I’m wondering how that stuff ended up on our rafters and Quince needing to be right here and he ain’t. Mambo is quiet. I hear her breathing for a long time before she speaks again.

  ‘Get y’self on over to see Safi, Arletta. I’m gonna do what I need to be doing and tomorrow I’m gonna make cayenne pepper chicken just how ya like it and put a fire in the grate, just like Pappy did at Christmas. We gonna spend time together. Today starting to get real chilly now, so y’all get on over to see Safi or take a walk down by Sugarsookie Creek before the weather closes in thick on the bayou. Ya ain’t been down Sugarsookie Creek for a long time. Then ya can stay right here on ya old cot and we’s gonna talk again.’

  I get on over to see Safi and tell her Quince is off someplace and Mambo just about dropping that child. I need to be staying till her time comes if Quince don’t come back, so I ain’t gonna be back on packing at that mill till then.

  ‘Well, I gonna stay too. I ain’t sleeping in that big old room on my own.’

  ‘Don’t be crazy, Safi. Ya don’t need to be losing no wages on account of me staying with Mambo.’

  And I’m thinking that if I have the King of England with me when we get on the bus back to Marksville, she’s gonna be asking me stuff I ain’t keen on answering at all. I tell her she can have our boarding room all to herself.

  ‘I got it all to myself enough when ya down in that back parlour reading. I’m staying home till ya get done and I’m gonna have me some more of my folks. I got my own folks here, but down in Marksville you’s my folks, Arletta.’

  Safi’s gonna get her pa to send word to Quince about Mambo being so near her time and to tell him he needs to be getting his ass on back here.

  ‘That sure is a good idea. But never tell Mambo we have to do that.’

  ‘Course not. Pa knows all about Quince.’

  ‘What does he know?’

  ‘Well, ya just get on back to Mambo now and I’m gonna tell ya what I hear Pa say after the baby comes.’

  ‘I ain’t waiting that long, Safi.’

  ‘He reckons Quince been fooling ’round, but Pa says I ain’t ever got to say nothing about it ’cause once my ma hears she’s gonna be straight over to Mambo and he don’t want no trouble. He don’t think Mambo needs trouble, neither. He’s looking out for her good.’

  I knew it. Mambo ain’t needing no more trouble, so I’m gonna keep that to myself right now. Down at Sugarsookie Creek I get to thinking about the stuff Mambo’s been telling me. First time I ever think about it. Turns out Mambo’s head is full of learning after all; ain’t no wonder she never had time for schooling.

  ‘Nellie?’ I whisper. Dusk is coming down quick and the only sound I hear is creek water flowing hard. Rains up north have it near busting its bank, and there ain’t a leaf on a tree with winter.

  ‘Nellie?’

  There’s no sound from her at all, so I start making my way home, singing her song. Trouble is, she can get the sound of that voice of hers to start right down in her boots and I ain’t got no kinda singing in me at all.

  I never laid down my load, Lord

  I never gave Jesus my yoke

  And on both sides of the river

  Blood fed the roots of oak.

  Deliver, deliver, deliver my soul

  Rest my head on your pillow

  Lord, I never grew old.

  Hmmm, hmmm, hmmmmmmm …

  I speak to her anyways.

  ‘Ya probably out there Nellie, singing ya song and bringing comfort to some child just like me someplace else. I just wanna say I’m doing fine now. Ya hear, Nellie? I’m doing fine, like ya said.’

  I toss and turn on my old cot all night wondering what Mambo’s doing. She made me swear to stay put inside, but I get to thinking about how I oughta be out there helping her fight off the woman from Pawnee. That’s what she’d have done for her ma. That’s her world, and it’s my right place.

  Seems I abandoned my Mambo the same way she abandoned me when she was no more than a child herself.

  I suppose Quince been fooling with that Pawnee woman. Maybe she’s just one of them, ’cause from what I ever saw, he’s the kinda man who likes flirting all over. Worst of it is, it sure does looks like she’s been inside of our cabin putting her bad stuff up there herself. Best I can hope for is that she got him doing it, maybe she told that fool it was some kinda charm gonna make him more manly, since that’s all Quince ever got in his head.

  Thick rain down our track turns the night cold, and like it’s got no air in it. Mambo still ain’t back in our cabin. It’s quiet, there’s no sound from her at all. I shift in and outta sleep all night, tossing and turning in my cot.

  Next day Mambo is back and looking like her old self again and I reckon there must have been a curse on her all right. Looks like she’s sorted things out good and proper, though. Outside the rain is coming and going, but inside our cabin is warm and glowing with the fire she’s lit in Pappy’s chimney.

  ‘Come Arletta, we got pepper-floured chicken and this child sure is makin’ me starving.’

  We eat our chicken watching the flames in the fire. She places a wrap on my shoulders before tucking one round her legs. Strikes me leaving home has done wonders for Mambo and me, and there ain’t nothing like the smell of wood burning in my Pappy’s cabin.

  She starts talking.

  ‘If this world ain’t got no bad folks, ain’t got no bad thinking in it, there would never be bad spirits, Arletta. Always gonna be simple as that. My Mambo always say, “It take a dog to meet a dog,” so sometimes when we seem like we’s acting evil, that’s ’cause we dealing with evil. One minute that Bible say turn the other cheek, next it say an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Old ways say an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth all the time. Old ways are fearless ways. We learn from the time we small there ain’t no other way but meeting fear straight head-on. Do what we gotta do to get the upper hand on it and a lot of folks don’t like that way of thinking. Especially all them white folks round these parts. They want all of us full of fear, fear of God, fear of white folk, fear of lynching. Fear of any darned thing. Just as long as we’re all feared up.’

  ‘But Mambo, I was always scared of ya.’

  ‘I knows it, Arletta.’

  ‘Ya always seemed to have too much … I don’t know what to call it, power I guess, over me, over everything. That’s what I reckoned when I lived here.’

  She leans forward to poke the fire embers. Sparks fly against the black soot in the chimney. She stares at the fire and tells me about being fearless. How that makes her powerful and folks are scared of a fearless mambo. That’s the way it’s meant to be, she says. That’s how she was taught.

  ‘I just never knew how to be a ma when I was no more than a child myself. I’m real glad ya turned out fine and all, ’cause I should never have been steppin’ out the way I was.’

  ‘It’s okay, Mambo.’

  We fall quiet and smell that sweet wood burn in the warm hearth. She reaches out for me and I rest my hand in hers. We stay like that, watching the flames and hearing the wind. And breathing deep and easy. She lays down in the early afternoon and Quince finally gets himself home.

  ‘Where ya been?’ I ain’t even looking him eye to eye.

  ‘Ain’t ya business.’

  ‘Smelling of liquor and Mambo just about dropping ya child. Some kinda big man ya sure ain’t.’

  ‘Ya ain’t know nothing about it and I wish ya’d get a civil tongue in ya head, Arletta. Ya sure oughta learn how to mind ya own business. But I been doin’ overtime, if ya wanna know, tryin’ get us what we gonna need. And then I had a Christmas-time drink with my pals till the rain gave up. Anything else ya wanna
be knowin’ madam? ’Cause I’m just as ready for sleepin’ as ya is for bleatin’.’

  I take the long way round to the King of England. I dig it up for the last time and then check back on Mambo. She’s still sleeping, with Quince passed out right next to her, mouth open and catching flies. I borrow a piece of old burlap so I can hide the King of England from Safi and her folks, because there ain’t no way I’m spending any more of my Christmas time listening to Quince snoring and the place smelling of sour mash. I sneak up on Mambo to kiss her goodbye.

  ‘Ya look after y’self Arletta, we’s gonna have a new baby next week, so come and see us both. Okay honey?’

  ‘Okay Mambo, but ya gotta send word if ya need me before then. I told Quince he gotta come if ya need me.’

  ‘If I needs ya. Go on now.’

  ‘And Safi’s ma and pa just over the track. Same as always.’

  I leave, glad to be hearing the strength back in Mambo’s voice and wondering if Quince got any kinda clue what’s gonna hit him when he wakes up if he’s been messing. I’m sure he don’t and that brings a smile all over my face crossing the muddy fields in my bare feet to Safi’s folks’ cabin on Christmas Day. I’m just smiling all over thinking on it.

  I get the King of England safely into Marksville; Safi didn’t ask about him at all.

  She tells me her pa used to see Quince out all the time. Flitting and flirting he calls it. Quince been flirting round all kinds of other women since Mambo got with child and her pa knows the trouble that can cause. When he told Safi’s ma about Quince’s carry-on, she marched straight on over, when she knew Mambo had gone off cleaning, and she gave him a piece of her mind. Safi says he took a right offence, claiming none of it was true. She got mad and just went at him.

  ‘So now ya calling my good man a liar? Like he just making up a conversation? Like we ain’t got nothing else to be doin’ but talking about y’all?’

  ‘Hell, woman, y’all got so many kids, ain’t no time for no talking.’

  ‘Just be minded, real minded, what ya dealing with, Quince. She’s my good friend, and ya know she’s more than that. If I tell her what I’m thinkin’, ya gonna be history round these parts. Gonna be like ya ain’t never happen, child or no child. ’Cause in case ya ain’t noticed, Mambo already done rearing a child fine on her own. Last thing she’s needing round here is somebody messin’ about.’

  Safi say Quince just laughed.

  ‘I ain’t telling her nothing this time. Just this one time, ya hear me, Quince? Next time I’m telling her all about it.’

  ‘Ain’t my fault if all them women want a piece of what I got. And it’s qualiteee. Man, I’m thinking ya just over here wanting some of that qualiteee for y’self. Ya old man ain’t doing nothing for ya no more, so ya just in need of some fine loving y’self.’

  Safi says her ma slapped his face right then.

  ‘Ya kidding!’

  I’m feeling real pleased somebody is standing up for my Mambo.

  Quince was mad as hell getting a busted lip from Safi’s ma, and from a woman too. She marched right off feeling fine about it.

  ‘How did he explain that busted lip to Mambo, I wonder?’

  ‘Well, Mambo told Mom Quince bust his lip fixing out back of ya cabin.’

  Couple of days later Quince turned up apologizing for talking to Safi’s ma that way and promising he ain’t messing at all.

  Following week Rochelle is born, just like Mambo said.

  Six

  Working at the mill sure is hard work but boarding with Mrs Archer-Laing feels easy, and Errol is one fine cook too, so we’re eating like we never did before. Matter of fact, I never knew folks ate so well; we ain’t ever hungry at all. Course, we attend church every Sunday like we’re supposed to, unless we get on back to see our folks, and we’re making fine progress at evening class. Safi’s happy studying office work, but I change to studying for English, even though I gotta do that on my own. I ain’t able to take much more of all that clacking and typing, that just don’t seem to keep my attention for more than two minutes.

  The young man who sold us our canvas slip-ons for the mill social last year is called Ainsley; we see him from time to time when we’re down that part of town. Then one Saturday when we’re passing his shoe store, he runs out after us, asking Safi if she wants go on a date.

  ‘No!’

  It’s like she was taken with some kind of shock that he could be so bold as to ask. He winks at me, like meaning to say, ‘she would wouldn’t she?’ and I nod because I know my friend Safi and it seems to me that under all that fussing she’s right happy he’s asking.

  He’s a handsome slip-on seller, we know that already, and he seems like a fine young man too. Nice-looking, that’s a good start I’d say, and he’s got a job that ain’t building levees or shining shoes. Safi takes a fit of giggling every time he opens his mouth though, and that sure does have a way of clouding things, but I reckon he’s worth a date for her. Seems that’s just what she’s been pining for. Every Sunday he’s in church handing out prayerbooks and showing folks to their seats, that’s how we know he’s called Ainsley. Being church-going is gonna keep her grandma happy anyways, I reckon. I don’t see much wrong with Ainsley at all, so I says she oughta be thinking about it.

  ‘Ya think so, Arletta? I ain’t never been on no date. Ya ain’t neither.’

  ‘No! But who gonna want me? Most boys smaller than me anyways. I want somebody taller than me. I wanna be looking up to my beau.’

  That rules out most of the population, so I’m thinking I just find my first excuse for turning down menfolk.

  ‘Y’all gonna find some nice beau too,’ she says, coming over all dreamy. Safi’s already in love I reckon.

  And that’s the way things go. I stick to reading and Safi starts sticking with Ainsley. I hear all about them, and how they’re getting along fine. I hear how he moves from a peck on her cheek to kissing her full on the mouth.

  ‘My lips all puckered up like I’m kissing Grandma! Arletta, I ain’t never hear how kissing gets done. It’s sooo nice.’

  Safi sure is taken with it all, so I just let her mouth go on running.

  ‘It goes on for ages. We must be the longest kissers in Louisiana, and the world!’

  I hear every little detail and we giggle till Agnes Withers knocks on our door to tell us we need to hush up.

  I get on back to see Mambo and little Rochelle as much as I can now Safi’s taken up with Ainsley, and I must say Quince looks like he’s taken to being a father. Course, I feel sure Mambo’s got something to do with that, but Rochelle is just so beautiful it ain’t hard to take to her at all. Feels fine having myself a little sister in this world, even if Quince is her pa, though watching him humming and fussing over her gets me thinking maybe he ain’t so bad.

  We get pretty desperate about finding work to take us outta that mill. It’s been hard grafting on account of good harvests and shipping that much cotton for the war in Europe, so we’re kept busy all the time. In between harvests they get us fixing and cleaning and sewing up bale sacks cut from heavy rolls of rough burlap ready for filling. Then the field carts start coming back in and we end up choking on all the cotton floating about in the air of that mill. That floating cotton makes plenty folk sick; it’s killing off old men for sure, though Li’l Skivvy says that’s just a load of rubbish and the mill ain’t forking out for nobody.

  I don’t ever get to not stabbing my flesh with rushing them needles. Even Safi gets cut up, and she’s pretty neat with a needle, but it looks like my hands are scarred for life. One time when I start coughing on all that cotton, the needle sinks right into my thigh, feels like it’s scraping bone. Chester pulls it out, but Li’l Skivvy is over in a second to send me home with a nasty earful because of the bleeding. Errol fixes it up tight with a warm poultice of ointment and cayenne pepper, but ever since, soon as it gets cold, I feel that hole hurt bad.

  Every girl inside that mill is thinking they’re gonna g
et themselves outta there as soon as they ‘bag a fella’. They’re just throwing themselves at fellas, far as I can see, and some don’t even pay no mind whether he’s already spoken for or not. They’re like bees round a honey pot, lookin’ fine and foolish a lot of times too. They get hell bent on telling me I ain’t dressing right for a fella and that’s gonna be the cause of me staying in this ‘dump mill’ for ever.

  They parade themselves all over town, smoking cigarettes and touching up lipstick in little mirrors from the five ’n’ dime. Looks like they’re all taking their style from Mambo and there ain’t no way I’m gonna go for that. Then comes a craze for loosening up hair with Madame Walker’s hair straightener. That takes the Negro right out of it and I reckon Madame Walker is making herself a heap of bucks, ’cause black folks want hair looking like white folks.

  I ain’t got any interest in it, straightening my hair or bagging a fella. I don’t want no boyfriend. I’ve had enough of men already, but I’m glad Safi and Ainsley always get along fine. They’re what folks call stepping out, and that makes all them sirens treat Safi like she’s one of them.

  I see that cheeky-face with the big smile up from New Orleans playing his trumpet at the socials, always making big eyes at me. He even set his trumpet down one time and asked me for a dance. He laughs like his teeth are winking.

  ‘Ya’s one big mamma, but ya sure is pretty as a summer day,’ he says.

  My belly is tickled pink with that, and we jive so hard Mambo would have been right proud of it. His lips press hard on the back of my hand when we’re done, then he jumps back up on stage and gets bugling again. The whole place is jumping and clapping.

  That night he leaves me feeling fuzzy, like I got a glow all over, and I get on off to sleep with a smile on my face, wondering what life is like for folks living with a good man’s loving.

  Later that year Safi gets a new job. One of the new plantation bosses asks the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People if they can recommend a clerk with shorthand. Mrs Archer-Laing tells us about it and Errol pours us all a glass of sweet lemonade.