Tomato Girl

by Jayne Pupek

  Mama nodded and licked her lips.

  “I forgot to cover these cookies,” Clara said. She took the basket from Jericho and carried it toward the kitchen. “Come with me,” Clara motioned to me.

  Once there, Clara turned to me. “I know you want to take the chick with you, but he’s better left with me for a time. He’s too weak to handle the pull of a restless spirit.”

  “When the spirit finds rest, can Easter come home?”

  “Yes.” Clara wiped her hands on her apron and covered the basket of cookies with a checkered cloth.

  “But how does a dead spirit find rest, Clara?”

  “Different ways, child. Depends on why the spirit don’t rest. Sometimes, it’s because the spirit don’t want to leave what it knows. Sometimes the living won’t let the dead go. Either way, the chick needs to stay here to be safe.”

  I knelt by the stove and kissed Easter’s soft head. The oven’s heat warmed my face and hands. “He won’t get too warm here, will he?”

  “I’ll watch him, don’t worry. I ain’t going to cook no bird I brought back from the grave.” Clara laughed and patted my head.

  “Can I visit him while he’s here?”

  “Yes, you come, you hear? You come every day after school. If you don’t come, I’ll know something’s wrong and send Jericho. You come every day, rain or shine, you understand?”

  “Yes, I’ll come. I promise.”

  Clara smiled. “That’s my girl.”

  “Clara?”

  “Yes, child?”

  “Will Daddy come home again?”

  Clara’s eyes narrowed. Her forehead wrinkled as if she felt pain. “He will come back, yes. But it will not be the way you picture it. It will be a darker thing, I’m afraid.”

  Clara’s words sent a chill through me.

  “Don’t ask no more, girl. Me and Jericho will look after you as best we can. Now, you have school in the morning. It’s time for you to go home and get to bed.”

  I nodded, then wrapped my arms around Clara’s neck and kissed her soft, warm cheek.

  AFTER JERICHO WALKED us home, Mama stayed awake most of the night, pacing the kitchen floor with Baby Tom in her arms. I sat at the table and nibbled on Clara’s butter cookies while trying to figure out how to make Mama settle down.

  “God, why won’t this child sleep?” she screamed. She grew angry and shook the jar. “Go to sleep, Tom! I can’t take any more!”

  Baby Tom bobbed up and down in his formaldehyde bath, his little body bumping against the glass. In a way, Baby Tom was lucky he’d been born dead. Otherwise, he’d surely end up retarded. I’d heard from Mary Roberts that if a baby is born fine and becomes retarded later, it’s because their mothers shook them or dropped them on their heads.

  Suddenly, I felt sorry for Baby Tom. “Let me hold him, Mama.” I held out my hands to take the jar.

  Mama let go of the glass so suddenly, I nearly dropped it on the floor. My fingers shook as I wrapped them around the jar. Wet from Mama’s sweaty palms, the sides felt slippery in my hands. I hurried to the chair by the window so Baby Tom could rest on my lap.

  Mama paced and smoked. Sheriff Rhodes had left a full pack of cigarettes, but now, all but two of the cigarettes were gone. Somehow, I’d have to find her more tomorrow.

  “He’s just like you, you know?” Mama spoke to the wall. Her bare foot tapped the floor as if keeping time to music.

  “Like me?” I asked, not sure who or what she meant.

  “Yes,” she puffed the cigarette, then mashed the butt on a saucer. She used such force, the saucer rattled on the table, spilling ashes. “When you were a baby, you refused my milk, just like Tom.”

  “Mama, Tom is …” I couldn’t finish. I couldn’t tell Mama that dead babies don’t drink milk.

  “Tom is what, Ellie?” Mama stepped closer.

  “Nothing, Mama.”

  “You don’t believe me? Here, watch.” Mama unbuttoned her dress and pulled out her breast. She grabbed Baby Tom from my hands and pressed the jar against her pale flesh. She tried adjusting herself so that her nipple met Tom’s face, but her movements were too rough. Baby Tom floated the other way.

  Mama’s eyes filled with tears. “See? He doesn’t want me. You did the same thing. Why don’t my babies want me? I knew it would be that way. See what kind of woman I am? Even my own children don’t love me.”

  “But I do love you, Mama. I do! And so does Baby Tom.”

  Mama looked down at Baby Tom. When she moved the jar, his tiny face turned further from her breast.

  She let out a sob that came from some place so deep it scared me. The veins in her neck rose like vines that might choke her. She fell on the floor, hunched over Tom, and cried, her body heaving as if she might throw up.

  I quickly walked over to Mama, and knelt close to rub her shoulder. “Don’t cry, Mama. Everything’s going to be okay. Just give Baby Tom a chance. He’ll learn. He came out of you too soon, so he doesn’t know all the things a baby is supposed to know. Why, he doesn’t even know how to suck his own thumb, Mama.”

  Her sobs slowed and she breathed more evenly.

  “Here, Mama. Sit up and let me show you.”

  After she sat up on the floor, I placed my hands around the jar and slowly turned it until Baby Tom leaned toward Mama’s breast. “See, Mama, he’s doing a little better. Baby Tom loves you, just like I do.”

  Once she saw the baby facing her breast, Mama quieted down. After a few minutes of holding the jar against her breast, she seemed calm again, and let me take her hand and lead her upstairs.

  I tucked Mama and Baby Tom in bed, pulling the thick covers around them. I looked at Tom, wondered how his spirit would ever be free if he had to stay in a glass jar, cared for by a mother who could hardly look after herself.

  Finally I went to my own room. Too tired to brush my teeth and get undressed, I kicked off my shoes and climbed into my bed. With my eyes closed, I listened to night sounds: the faraway bark of a dog; the house creaking as floorboards settled; water gurgling though the pipes.

  In those dreamlike moments before falling asleep, I felt Daddy kiss me good-night.

  THIRTY-SIX

  SCHOOL

  MY MIND MOVED in and out of sleep. Night sounds caused my eyes to open to the dreamy dark of my room. Shadows threatened to step off the walls and come after me.

  Noises stirred that night. I woke many times to the creaks and whines of floorboards and pipes. It was as if our house missed Daddy, too.

  Worry made sleep difficult, too. Taking care of Mama felt like buckets stacked high on my shoulders. How long would Daddy be gone? Would Mama and I make it until he came home? What would happen if Sheriff Rhodes found proof that Daddy shot Mason Reed?

  Mama’s moods could be unpredictable and change direction in a matter of days, even hours, sometimes with no warning. What would her mood be when she woke?

  I wondered about the things I’d heard from Clara. She talked in riddles about spirits, and what she said about Daddy returning in a darker way made little sense to me.

  When the alarm rang on my dresser, I climbed out of bed and stumbled downstairs for breakfast. Only days before, the morning kitchen had smelled like coffee and bacon. Now, cigarette smoke hung in the air and made the room seem dirty and strange.

  I looked for Mama in the kitchen, then figured she must have been too tired to wake. Her cigarette butts were scattered on the floor. Gray ashes covered one side of the table. I wet a sponge and wiped up as best I could. When Daddy came back, he’d see that I’d tried to keep up appearances.

  Breakfast was usually oatmeal with cinnamon sugar, or eggs and bacon. Weekends were cold cereal days. This was a school day, which meant oatmeal or eggs, but I didn’t feel like cooking, and anyway, I wasn’t supposed to use the stove without a grown-up nearby. So today cold cereal would do. I figured that until Daddy came home, there would be a lot of cold cereal days.

  AFRAID I’D BE LATE for school, I hurried to dr
ess. No one had done the laundry in days, and the only clean outfit in my closet was my Easter dress. Mama had bought it weeks ago, before she fell down the steps. A beautiful pink dress with a wide sash around the waist and puffed sleeves with lace trim, it was the sort of dress for church or a party, not school.

  I almost decided to stay home sick, but being home with Mama seemed harder than going to school in the wrong dress. Tonight, I’d wash clothes and get things organized. Today, if anyone asked, I’d tell them I’d been invited to a party after school and wouldn’t have time to go home and change.

  Not a single noise came from Mama’s room while I dressed and ran the comb through my tangled hair. I listened for the soft thud of her feet, the creak of bedsprings, the flushing toilet, a cough, anything at all to tell me Mama was there.

  Nothing.

  Maybe I should have tiptoed into her room to check on her, or to at least let her know I was headed to school. Instead, I carried my book satchel outside and waited for the bus.

  In a way, I felt glad Mama hadn’t come downstairs and waited with me for the bus. What if she brought Baby Tom? Everyone would have laughed at me, the girl whose mother keeps a dead baby in a jar.

  The cold rain fell, dotting my pink dress.

  The one good thing about standing in the rain is nobody can tell you’ve been crying.

  BEING BACK AT SCHOOL felt good. This was the one place where grown-ups handled everything. The worst things you had to figure out on your own were equations at the blackboard and where the decimal point should go.

  When I stepped into Miss Wilder’s room and took my seat in the third row, I breathed in the familiar smell of crayons, pencils, and chalk, and I felt safe.

  When Mary Roberts looked up and saw me, she walked over to her desk, which was right next to mine. “Why weren’t you in church yesterday, Ellie? You missed the program, and the egg hunt, and … Wait a minute, isn’t that your Easter dress?” She picked up the hem of my skirt to check the frilled border.

  I pulled my dress from her hands. Mary Roberts can take only a few clues and figure out an entire story, so I had to think of something to distract her. “Mama wasn’t feeling well, so we didn’t come. But,” I tried to use my most excited voice to take her mind off my dress, “Daddy gave me a new chick!”

  Just as Mary’s mouth curled to ask another question, Miss Wilder stood at the front of the room and rang the small brass bell. Everyone quieted and faced her.

  For the next few hours, my head filled with fractions, pronouns, and pictures of the basic food groups. When lunchtime came, I realized I had forgotten to pack a lunch and didn’t have any money to pay the cafeteria lady. When everyone lined up to go to the cafeteria, I stayed behind.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Mary Roberts asked.

  “Not today. I’m not very hungry.”

  Mary shrugged her shoulders. “You must be catching cold or something,” she said, then went to the cafeteria without me.

  “Are you sick, Ellie?” Miss Wilder asked. “You look a little pale. Would you like to go to the infirmary?”

  “No, ma’am. I ate too much breakfast.” Lying to Miss Wilder made me feel ashamed.

  Alone in the classroom, I walked to the window and looked outside. My stomach hurt. My head felt as light as a balloon.

  Next to me, Nutmeg, the class’s pet hamster, scurried about in the pine shavings lining the bottom of his cage. He walked the perimeter of his cage, stopped at his shallow food dish, then picked up a sliced sweet potato.

  My stomach growled. The faint smell of sweet potato filled my nose. I could almost taste the thin, orange bits.

  I couldn’t stop myself. After checking the door to make sure no one would see, I quickly reached into the hamster’s plastic bowl and scooped out a handful of his chopped sweet potato, sunflower seeds, and alfalfa. I shoved the stolen hamster food into my mouth and chewed it as fast as I could. The grainy pieces tasted raw like earth.

  Had this been something Mary Roberts and I had decided to do on a dare, it might have been fun, something to laugh about on the playground. On my own, I was scared to think that anyone would see. As soon as I swallowed the chewed food, I hurried to the water cooler in the hallway to rinse the taste from my mouth. I drank gulp after gulp from the fountain, but no amount of water rinsed away my shame.

  A tiny seed wedged between my lower front teeth. I dug at it with my fingernail, making my gums bleed.

  I walked to the bathroom down the hall and hid in a stall. I dug at my gums until my mouth filled with blood. In a strange way, the bleeding made me feel clean.

  Of course, it also made me feel guilty. Mrs. Roberts once told me that causing yourself to bleed on purpose was a mortal sin, and things like tattoos, pierced ears, and any kinds of self-inflicted mark or wound are evil. Digging your gums until they bleed is certain to be on that list, too.

  To prove it, God sent me the curse the very same day.

  AFTER LUNCH WE HAD story time, and then recess. I felt embarrassed by my Easter dress and hid near the broken merry-go-round, away from most of the kids. Mary Roberts came with me.

  “Does she still have it?” Mary asked.

  “Does who have what?” I asked. Sometimes Mary Roberts thinks I can read her mind.

  “Your Mama. Does she still have that baby in a jar?”

  “Hush,” I nodded and looked around to make sure no one heard. “I don’t want to …”

  “Hey, Ellie,” a boy’s voice called to me.

  I turned around and saw Hank Shipes, a sixth grader who lives on my street, and his friend, Marvin Gregory. Hank had failed sixth grade twice, and was the oldest boy at our school. He hardly ever spoke to me, and I couldn’t imagine why he wanted to talk to me now. I tried to act natural. “Hi, Hank.”

  “So what are you all dressed up for, Ellie? You got a boyfriend?” He grabbed my dress and pulled it up to my waist.

  “Stop it, Hank!” Mary Roberts yelled.

  Marvin came at Mary and held her so she couldn’t move.

  I bit my lip, trying not to cry, but couldn’t help myself. Both boys could see my panties. My face burned. “Please Hank, leave me alone.” My voice shook. I tried to push my dress back down, but Hank slapped my hands.

  “You all dressed up for your Mama’s nigger?” His breath hit my face and smelled bad. “I seen you and your Mama walking home late last night hanging on that colored man’s arm.”

  “Jericho … He’s just my friend … He …”

  Hank put his hand between my legs and squeezed hard. It hurt, and I cried out, trying to push Hank away.

  “What’s going on here?” Miss Wilder stormed up behind Hank, surprising us all.

  Both boys took off running.

  Miss Wilder put her arms around me. “Are you all right, Ellie? Did he hurt you?”

  I tried to speak, but my throat felt too tight to make words.

  Miss Wilder led Mary and me back inside the school. She wiped my eyes with tissues and helped me straighten my dress. “Can you tell me what happened, Ellie?”

  I shook my head. I was afraid if I told one thing, all the rest might spill out of my mouth, too. How could I tell Miss Wilder or anyone? Not just about Hank, but about Jericho, or why I wore my Easter dress to school, or why I ate hamster food for lunch? How could I tell her Mama carried around a dead baby, and that Daddy ran away with his tomato girl?

  Miss Wilder turned to Mary. “Can you tell me?”

  “All I know is Hank came over and pulled up Ellie’s dress. He said a bad thing.”

  “What bad thing did he say?”

  “He called some colored man Ellie knows a nigger.”

  Miss Wilder flinched. “I see. Thank you, Mary. Can you stay here with Ellie while I speak to the principal and collect the other children?”

  After Miss Wilder left the room, Mary patted my arm. “It’s okay, Ellie. You don’t have to worry. Hank Shipes is a stupid boy with a grease monkey for a father. His mama doesn’t even have real tee
th. I’ve walked by their house and seen her dirty dentures sitting in a glass on the window sill.”

  I smiled, the way you do when you know somebody’s trying to make you feel better but can’t.

  “Is it true what Hank said, Ellie? Were you and your mama out with a colored man last night?”

  “Yes, but not like Hank said. Jericho and his wife, Clara, are my friends.” I told Mary how Clara had saved Easter, and how Jericho had walked Mama and me home.

  Mary shook her head. “They might be nice people, but they’re still colored, Ellie. You can’t let people see you in the colored part of town and especially not with a colored man. Doesn’t your mama know better?”

  “It’s not like that, Mary. They helped us.”

  “I know, but white girls just can’t be friendly with colored men.”

  When Miss Wilder came back, I asked for a bathroom pass. My stomach hurt and I wanted to be alone. I felt so ashamed and dirty. Even though no one saw Hank Shipes touch me except Mary Roberts, Marvin, and maybe Miss Wilder, I felt the whole world could take one look at me and know.

  In the bathroom, I pulled down my panties and sat on the toilet. I saw Hank’s dirty fingerprints where he’d grabbed me, and on the inside of my panties, a dark red stain the size of a dime. When I wiped, there was more blood on the tissue. Had Hank hurt me there? Or was this the bleeding Tess had told me about when she gave me the Kotex? I felt too ashamed to ask the nurse. I wadded tissue in my panties to soak up the blood and walked back to my classroom. My belly hurt in a deep, low place. I felt sore there the rest of the day, through history and science, and right into library time. The warm trickle between my legs stayed on my mind until the last bell rang.

  I CLIMBED ONTO the bus and took the first seat. I usually sat further back, but walking with a wad of tissue in my panties made my legs spread too far apart. I wanted to go home, and hoped Mama didn’t start fussing right away about Baby Tom not breast-feeding. Please, Mama, be okay for this one day. All I wanted at the moment was to wash my panties, eat a thick slice of buttered bread, and walk to Clara’s house to see Easter.