July 7th

by Jill McCorkle

  “Oh my, Fannie, why on earth did you go down there in the first place?”

  “It was cool down there, I reckon. Most everybody I knew went down there. Good fishing from time to time.”

  “Wasn’t there a swimming pool?” Fannie can’t even believe Mrs. Foster sometimes. Imagine that.

  “There was the country club, I reckon,” Fannie says, and grins great big and shakes her head back and forth. It makes Mrs. Foster turn red as a beet. “Honey, we were lucky to have a river around here. When I was a girl and went a ways out to see my cousin, there wasn’t a thing to do in the summertime but sit under the pump and have somebody pump that water on your head and down around you. We took turns just a pumping that water.”

  “Well, I certainly didn’t know that there was a river with snakes right near here.”

  “Yes, ma’am, and big snakes, heads as big around as my fist and long as from your foot to mine.” Fannie scrapes some chicken bones into the trash.

  “Do you think there are still snakes around here?”

  “It’s swampland, all right. I told you that this area was called Piney Swamp and that’s why, not a thing but pine trees and swamp, couldn’t hardly even have a churchyard when I was going to the Piney Swamp Baptist cause every grave that was dug filled up with water. Our preacher said those bodies would wash right on down to the river.”

  “Oh Fannie, you’re teasing, aren’t you?”

  “No, ma’am, got to where we all would sing ‘Shall We Gather at the River’ come a funeral time.”

  “What happened to those graves?” Mrs. Foster has sat back down now and is staring out into the yard, like she might be listening to Fannie or like she might have her mind on something else.

  “I reckon they either washed out or they’re right out here under some of these houses.” Fannie turns off the water and begins drying the dishes that she washed.

  “That can’t be,” Mrs. Foster says and turns from the window.

  “Well, I knew several people that were buried out there and I never heard of ’em being dug back up.”

  “Oh dear, don’t you dare ever tell Parker that. It would scare her to death.” It looks like Mrs. Foster is near about scared to death by now. Fannie doesn’t know why that meanness gets into her like that sometimes, to make her want to have that woman believing such a story. That little cemetery is still right where it always was, as far as Fannie knows, right down near the river, but the graves really did all fill up with water, that part was true. Fannie is fixing to tell her about the time they dragged the river and found ten dead men all fish eaten and bloated but there’s a knock on the back door.

  “I’ll get it, Fannie. You go on with what you’re doing because we’ve got to get started on the party in just a few minutes.” Mrs. Foster opens the back door, and who’s there but that Mrs. Stubbs from next door. Fannie can’t stand that woman, her old fat face and that bleached yellow hair like she might be a teen. Fannie knows that Mrs. Stubbs has got to be at least fifty, and bleaches out her hair and wears those same kind of long shorts like Mrs. Foster’s like she might be as young as Mrs. Foster, and clearly she ain’t. It amazes her sometimes, the friends that Mrs. Foster has, several of ’em old as a coon. Now Corky pays visits but that’s different, because they don’t act like they’re two children in the same grade at school. Fannie likes to think that she is sort of a mama to Corky or a great-aunt, she don’t pry into Corky’s person or ask questions when Corky has a man in except to ask if she had herself a nice time, that’s it, but now that Mrs. Stubbs is going on and on like she might have just been asked to the prom. Course, it is right pitiful the way that those other women make fun of Mrs. Stubbs behind her back. Even Mrs. Foster does it sometimes, laughs and says how she just pushes and tries too hard to make friends. Though Mrs. Stubbs gets on her nerves, Fannie figures it’s better to try too hard than not try at all, like Thomas McNair.

  “Oh Helena,” Mrs. Stubbs screeches, and even Fannie knows that it’s not Hell-eena like she says but Helena. She would correct her if she was Helena Foster, just as she has always corrected people that say Mac Nair instead of McNair. “I brought the ladies golf tournament tickets, thought you could sell a few.”

  “Oh sure, I’ll be glad to. Come on in, Kate.” Mrs. Foster opens the door and here she comes, long britches and all, and those pants big enough for Fannie and M. L. to camp out in. “I’ve been lazy this morning, would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “I sure would.” Mrs. Stubbs sits down at the table and her eyes are taking in every square inch of this room. “I left Ernie still in bed. I declare he’s working so hard these days.”

  “I know the feeling.” Mrs. Foster carries that cup of coffee to the table, and now it is like Fannie ain’t even there. She starts wiping the counters real slow like, because sometimes listening to these women is better than the stories on an average day. “Dave has had to be away on business twice this week and he’s always late. Of course, he says he does it so that I can have the life that I deserve.”

  “Same with Ernie, but my goodness, Hell-eena, how much more could we ever want?”

  “Oh yeah,” Fannie says, and they both look at her like she might be that big green man that M. L. likes to see on the T.V. reruns. “Mr. Foster said to tell you that he might be late, that I might have to take me a taxi cab home.”

  “Oh dammit.” Mrs. Foster only says that when she’s really aggravated, so Fannie can overlook it even though she herself doesn’t use strong words. “He couldn’t have forgotten about the party, after all the planning that I’ve been doing the past few days! I mean he was standing right there when I called the jewelry store and ordered that place setting of china.”

  “That’s what he said.” Fannie picks up the coffee pot. “Want some more before I rinse this up?”

  “I would, uh, I’m sorry, your name has slipped my mind.” Mrs. Stubbs holds up her cup.

  “Oh I’m sorry,” Mrs. Foster says. “I thought sure you two had met. Fannie, this is Mrs. Stubbs.”

  “Fannie, of course, I had completely forgotten.”

  “I had forgotten yours, too.” Fannie pours her some coffee and is so tempted to spill some right on those loud-colored pants. People are forever saying how black folks like the bright colors; well, those people ought to step out here in Piney Swamp for a peek or two.

  “I better call Dave right away.” Mrs. Foster reaches for the phone. “Excuse me a minute, Kate. Fannie, why don’t you go ahead and press that shirt I have hanging for Mr. Foster, and maybe touch up that gray suit.”

  “Lordy, I plumb forgot your dress.”

  “Oh dammit!” Fannie has never seen Mrs. Foster look so ill at her. “Dave Foster, please, this is his wife and it is very important!”

  “I’ll have the taxi carry me and bring me right back, I reckon.”

  “No, I need you to help serve tonight and you’ll have to be here by six, so you can bring it then.” Now, she is talking away to Mr. Foster, and that soft voice ain’t so soft any more. Mrs. Foster hadn’t even mentioned Fannie serving until now; she doesn’t know if she can or not. Now Mrs. Foster is smiling, and Mrs. Stubbs raises her hands over her head and claps like they might be watching Ali or something, nodding like some big fight may have been won. “Bye bye, honey, I know you’re busy.” There’s that sweet angel’s voice again, and Mrs. Foster hangs up.

  “Mrs. Foster,” Fannie says and steps up a little. For some reason it makes her so nervous to have to speak up to somebody that she really deep down likes. “I didn’t know nothing about tonight and you know I’ve got M. L. to think of.”

  “Well, Fannie, you know that I always need you when we have a party.”

  “I bet the girl that comes for me might can do it,” Mrs. Stubbs says, and eyes Fannie like she might just be the help, instead of the person that keeps this house going.

  “I’d feel better if it was Fannie,” Mrs. Foster says and gets real sweet again. “Maybe M. L. could come with you. I’ll pay
you double your usual.”

  “Oh, it ain’t the money.” Fannie keeps wiping the counter so that shell have something to do. She could use the extra because M. L. is going to be going off to first grade come the end of August, and hell need all sorts of new clothes and booksacks and such. “I bet maybe Corky Revels will watch him, and if she can’t I’ll just bring him and he can sit right here in the kitchen and help like he does at home.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Mrs. Foster squeals and clutches the neck of her thin robe like Fannie might have just pulled her out of Sherman River. “I’ll tell you what. You can go home earlier than usual if we get it all done, and then I’ll send Billy over to pick you up at six and I promise that hell take you home just as soon as the meal is served.” Mrs. Foster touches Fannie’s arm. “And I meant that about the money, too.”

  “Thank you very much,” Fannie says and goes on about her business. She likes to show her pride as good as anybody, but she knows when it’s best to stop as well. If she sets up the ironing board where she usually does, she can disappear all over again and listen to these women, the way that one will every now and then slip up and say “y’all” or “ain’t” and then catch it and go back to that little accent that they all use.

  “Are we going to be out by the pool tonight?” Mrs. Stubbs asks, and before Mrs. Foster can even answer she keeps on going. “Ernie and I have been toying with the idea of a barbecue except of course we’d have filet mignons, except it’s so warm these days.”

  “This will be inside, and if some of the younger ones want to go by the pool after dinner, they can.”

  “Oh, that’s a splendid notion. I suppose we could do the same thing, maybe get somebody to come and grill for us and then just eat inside where it’s cool.” Mrs. Stubbs talks faster than any white person that Fannie has ever heard, talks faster than a Yankee even, but still keeps it real Southern-sounding by putting little uhs and ahs at the ends of her words. “I really am looking forward to it. It’s so much fun to mingle with the younger couples.”

  “That’s why I decided to have something for the bride and groom instead of just a tea for the bride.”

  “Well, I don’t even know the bride or her family.” Mrs. Stubbs pushes her coffee cup to the center of the table. She has no thoughts of carrying it over to the sink and rinsing it like an able-bodied human. Fannie thinks it’s because she ain’t able-bodied, and it makes her just laugh while she goes around that collar with the hot steam iron, and that steam feels good, too, spraying up around her hands, because it’s colder than usual in this house today, always is when there’s going to be a party. “I don’t blame you since you are giving the party because of the groom and his family. I mean from what I hear this girl’s daddy is a small farmer out in the county somewhere.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard but she’s a pretty girl, or at least her picture in the paper was.”

  “You can’t go by the paper in this town. Rose’s picture turned out just awful, all dark and ugly, and you know how Rose looks.”

  “Lovely.”

  “Well, the Raleigh paper did a much better job. I wonder if this girl will have hers in the Raleigh paper?” Fannie spits on the iron so it’ll hiss, just because she wants to interrupt Mrs. Stubbs’ gossip talk. It doesn’t work. “You remember Rose’s wedding, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes, lovely.” Now Mrs. Foster looks like she’s wandering right out of that window again, and who can blame her?

  “You’ve got a long time before a wedding, Hell-eena.”

  “I hope so! Parker is only twelve. Billy is seventeen but he doesn’t seem the least bit interested in girls. Goes out with the boys every night.”

  “That ‘going out with the boys’ gets younger and younger, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Stubbs shakes her head. “Can I help you do anything before I go?”

  “I believe that Fannie and I can get it all done, probably. I’ll be worn out and sweating but we can manage.” Mrs. Foster stands at the same time as Mrs. Stubbs and stretches. “I haven’t even showered and dressed. Look at me.”

  “We all get lazy every now and then.” Mrs. Stubbs goes to the door. “I’ve got to go get Ernie up and then go and get a birthday present for my mother. Every year she has this little get-together for all of her family. You know she’s so feeble.”

  “How quaint,” Mrs. Foster says. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Yes, and don’t you worry one bit, Hell-eena, it will be simply marvelous as always, I’m certain.”

  “I hope you’re right, and I’ll take care of these tickets.” Mrs. Foster stands out there on the brick patio with that door standing wide open, letting all of that paid-for air slip away, dollars just floating away. “Now Fannie,” Mrs. Foster says when she finally closes that door, “everything must be perfectly spotless and I’ve got to call the florist and the grocer, and I am having a caterer bring in the hors d’oeuvres, the gift will be delivered. Oh my, I don’t know if it’ll ever get done.”

  “You go right on and relax yourself in a tub bath. I’ll take care of all the cleaning.” Fannie waves her hand and is glad when Mrs. Foster disappears down the hall. This is when she really likes her work, when she feels like she is all alone in this house and can walk around on those soft carpet rugs, smell those dried flowers and think of how it’s gonna be someday when M. L. is all grown up. If Thomas wasn’t so full of hate and worthlessness she wouldn’t have to count on little M. L. for every hope she has; after all, M. L. ain’t but a baby, and sometimes Fannie even gets to wondering if she will even see him all grown up and on his own. Lord only knows what would become of that child if she were to up and die.

  Sam Swett is on his third stack of pancakes, and they are so good. He can’t remember when anything was so good, can’t even remember when was the last time he ate. All he remembers is getting a ride with that trucker, CB blaring, remembers stopping and getting out, remembers seeing that man that was just in here and the one who’s sitting at the counter, but then it all goes blank. Now, his stomach is so full it feels like it might explode, but he can’t stop until he’s had that last bite, that last sip of orange juice, milk, coffee. He has gorged himself, succumbed to the weaknesses of human nature, but who gives a damn? He’s got to keep up his strength, got to decide where hell go, got to find out where the hell he is. The girl said that it is July 7th and he is certain that he left New York on July 6th. He remembers picking up a newspaper and it was only yesterday, only yesterday about this time that he put his typewriter in his bag, went to the liquor store, started looking for a ride. Only yesterday, and it seems like forever.

  “Can I get you something else?” the girl asks and brings him a cup of coffee.

  “No, no, I think I’m full. I might could eat some more but I think I’m full.”

  “You were starving,” she says and picks up his plate. She has the tiniest fingers that he has ever seen and he likes to see her joints move, fingers around the rim of that plate. “Bet you feel lots better.” She sits down across from him. “So exactly where in New York were you locked up?”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, I asked you if you had just been let out of somewhere and you said something about New York.” She looks over at that man at the counter and lowers her voice. “Did they have you in one of those shirts that wrap around you?”

  “A straitjacket?” Now, he’s getting scared. What if he’s done something that he can’t remember doing? “Why do you ask that?”

  “Are you teasing with me?” She wets her finger in the circle and draws a C. “I mean you said that you were locked up and you know I’m not making fun. I know a real nice person who’s been in one of those shirts before.”

  “I never have that I can remember.”

  “You said that you still weren’t quite free, though,” she whispers “free” and those beautiful gray eyes flash, a blink, a wink. It is coming back to him, being free; it is his whole purpose to distinguish himself from the horrors of the world, to detach hims
elf from the weaknesses of human nature, to decide how in the hell he will spend his life.

  “I remember, now.”

  “Well good! For a minute there I thought that I was the crazy one, I mean feeling crazy, you know, because after what you saw I think you have every right to feel that way.” She has leaned forward again to whisper the word “crazy.” This beautiful-eyed little urchin thinks that he is crazy, and she even knows why he might be.

  “I wasn’t physically locked up like you’re thinking,” he says and watches her tilt her head to one side, that pale hair falling over one shoulder. “I’ve been locked within myself, you know, trying to find lots of answers to a lot of things, struggling to understand society, human nature, to figure out why things are the way that they are instead of the way that we would like to believe they are. I want to define human nature.” Ah, it is all coming back to him. “I want to understand why people settle for things as they are, why they don’t try to change things or themselves, but settle for what’s been done before.”

  “I don’t get you,” she says and shakes her head. “I don’t get that about everybody settling, and I don’t see what it is you plan to do.”

  “I’m going to observe life.” He’s on a roll now, things have not come this quickly in a long time. “I’m going to stand on the outskirts so that I can see what’s happening without being trapped into being a part of it.”

  “Like sitting back and watching T.V.”

  “Something like that I think.” Now she’s confusing him. She looks a little confused herself.

  “Corky!” That bird man at the counter yells. Is this her name? Corky? “Get me a little more coffee and make it strong, ASAP.”

  “I’ll be right back,” she says and Sam hopes so. He has so many things that he wants to ask her.