“Got their face. Built strong like they built.”
“Unh-unh.”
“Lungs fill this house with the Word.”
“That’s just crying.”
“And praising the Lord.”
“He ain’t growing up here. We going back home.”
“Too late,” Great pronounced. “If my eyes seen it, it’s true.”
Not wanting to hear Miss Great’s prophecy, Gayle turned to the laughter coming from outside. She hurried to the window but couldn’t see straight down, as the terrace blocked her view. All she knew was that Uncle Luther was out on the porch making her son laugh.
21
“C’MON, COOKIE. We can still catch that fellowship meeting if we hurry.”
Gayle turned the knob. She entered the shade-drawn room and found Cookie lying facedown on her pillow, worn out from yet another day of crying. The sandwich Gayle had brought up earlier sat on the nightstand minus a bite.
Cookie was letting her heartbreak take over. She had stopped going to the soup kitchen to stir soup, and she had missed two choir rehearsals. Gayle missed the rides into town, stopping off at the Dairy Queen, the mile-high cakes, the singing at rehearsals. It wasn’t a stroll on the Avenue back home, but it was being out with Cookie. And the baby.
Gayle tapped her foot. “I know you feel me here.”
Cookie refused to turn over, let alone twitch.
“You just gonna lie there?”
Cookie wouldn’t budge. She had turned off Gayle just as she had everyone in the house.
“Dog, Cookie. I thought we were supposed to be like sisters looking out for each other. But no. You go tossing me to the curb like a broken toy ’cause someone else come along. That’s not how you do someone you . . .” love? I ain’t saying that. “Look. You hurt my feelings, Cookie. I had to get you back. Let you know I’m still here. Now, don’t ’spect me to go ’nouncing to the world ’bout Sister Lloyd, but I’ll say it to you: I’m sorry. Okay? I said, I’m sorry.”
Nothing.
“Fine.” Gayle grabbed the plate and turned on her heel. “Just fine, Cookie.”
Miss Auntie sat in the kitchen flipping through index cards to prepare for a seminar at the college. If it weren’t for the prospect of being walled in by educated black folks talking over her head about history, Gayle would pack up José and sit through it just to get out of the house.
“Sure you won’t join us? You just might learn something.”
“Nah,” she said in place of the smart retorts that occurred to her.
From nowhere a chill swept through her. She rubbed her arms, dotted with goose pimples. “Don’t you feel that?”
“Feel what, sweetie?” she asked, her thoughts elsewhere.
“The house. All creepy and quiet.”
Miss Auntie smiled without looking up from her cards. “Not exactly New York City, is it?”
Gayle shook her head. “It ain’t that.” It was a quiet Great talked about. How the house missed Sonny’s big laugh and the music his wife loved and Mama’s singing—none of which Gayle had ever heard, but which she missed all the same. It had been weeks since Cookie had erupted with something cheery, loud, and stupid about her Jesus or her Stacey. Even Miss Auntie was not inspired to say southern things at the dinner table. And Uncle Luther seemed to have lost all will to hurl thunder at the least provocation. It was as if the stillness among the planted crosses had spread up the walk and inside the house, lulling everyone into silence. That is, except for José, who was always full of life.
Gayle locked up after Uncle Luther and Miss Auntie left for the evening. She stood outside Cookie’s door and tapped lightly. Only talking and hearing talk would kill the emptiness in the house. Talking had healing power. Both she and Cookie would feel better if they talked. She knocked harder.
“See, Cookie. We could be making french fries and playing our tapes on the stereo.”
Still no answer.
She went down the hall to Great’s room. Great was on one of her journeys. She could tell. It was the calm of a face that smiled from inside. Miss Great just wanted to die! She seemed so happy.
Gayle sat down on the bed and rubbed Great’s arm gently to pull her back. She didn’t care if Great woke up cranky—not when she so desperately needed to talk.
“You hungry, Miss Great? I can warm up that broth you like.”
Great said she wasn’t hungry but she would like some recipe. Gayle hesitated, but Great fussed and got her way. Gayle brought out the mason jar from the bottom dresser drawer. It had thickened into a funky brown color on the bottom, leaving a deep orange on the top.
“Miss Great, don’t you get tired of lying in that bed? Wouldn’t you like to sit by the window? We could catch the sunset. It ain’t color TV, but it’s a picture. Let’s go sit by the window.”
“Sun sets west, dudn’t it?”
Gayle didn’t really know and just said, “Uh-huh.”
“Naw, naw. Don’t want to see the sun. Hurts what’s left of my eyes. I wants to sit east,” Great said.
Gayle figured it out. East overlooked the crosses and the hills. “We gon’ miss our sunset,” she whined.
“Sit me east,” Great snapped.
Gayle grumbled but helped Great into her wheelchair all the same. Great was much lighter than the first time Gayle had lifted her.
“Now, sweetie,” Great said. “Something I want you to do for me. Old folks not supposed to see their reflection. Scares ’em into a heart attack. Go on and cover my bureau mirror with a sheet. Then take all them pictures with shiny glass and face ’em down.”
Gayle wrinkled her nose. “Miss Great, that don’t sound right.”
“Didn’t ask you what sound right.”
Gayle did as she was told, although hesitation pulled on every step. First she turned all the pictures of family facedown on the bureau. The sheet thing made her question her own good sense. Great was so intent on having her way that Gayle went along, taking a sheet from the linen closet. She stood on a chair and hung the sheet over the mirror. Then and only then would her great-grandmother consent to being wheeled across the room and transferred to the rocker. In return Great was full of praises for Gayle’s helping her over to the window.
Gayle retrieved the mason jar and undid the clamp on the lid.
“Let’s have a taste,” Great said, impatient.
Gayle tilted the jar with care, allowing Great to catch her breath between sips. She waited for her great-grandmother to say if the recipe had been made correctly and if it was on the second change. Great never did. Instead she asked for another sip and told Gayle to take a sip, calling it the “libation.” Then, without any help from Gayle, Miss Great set the rocker in motion.
Great was saying something, but what? Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
“What’s that, Miss Great?”
“. . . It came from Mbeke, torn from her sister, Who told her child Mahalia, Who stole the paper with Mbeke’s slave price, Who told her Mahalia that ope’d the gate and gave us our name, Who told her son Luther who like his pa preached in the field. Who told his son Luther that build Freedom Gate to set us free, Who told his wife Abigail that gave her only gat1 son to the world, Who telling you that you do the same.”
“Stop that, Miss Great. You Telling, ain’t you?”
“It came from Mbeke, torn from her sister . . .”
“Gayle covered her ears. “I ain’t listening.”
As Great spoke, the swing of her rocking chair aided her cadence. “All them Luthers preached the Word, for the Truth is in the Word and the Word set you free. Yes. All them Luthers preached the Word, and all them Mahalias blessed with voice. Come from snatching out we Wolf2 tongue. All them Mahalias blessed with voice.
“What ‘they’ calls the Cotton Song be the Calling Up Song. Women sing, pick cotton, call up children long gone away, call up kinfolk long gone away.
“Mbeke sang the Calling Up with her baby, Mahalia, ’longside her, sa
ng how they was gals in the homeland, gathering cow3 shells by the water—”
She knew! She knew! “That shell tied up there in the hanky?”
But Great could not be stopped. “—she sang ’bout getting kotched off the land, thrown into the whale’s belly, and how they lost their Wolf tongue in the journey, and drummed thoughts to each other like this”—and she made that throat-locking sound, the sound Uncle Luther and Cookie made when words would not do.
“When the whale spit them out onto land, Mbeke got torn from her sister. But Mbeke kept one cow shell in her fist and her sister kept the other.
“Now, time turned and passed when Mbeke, who they called Becky, Ma Becky, and Singing Becky, gat eight babies. All long gone sold away—to Massa’s wife people in Car’lina and Virginny, all but the baby girl, Mahalia. And Mbeke told Mahalia ’bout getting kotched, and how to spot the first cotton bloom, and how to make healings from what grows, and how to Call Up the lost ones, and not to lay cross eyes on the Guinea4 woman ’cause she could be kin, long gone away.
“Now, Mahalia snatched the paper from Massa book. Took the lash on the back and lived to tell her own Mahalia how she snatch Ma Becky’s slave price from Massa book, and how to fix healings, how to Call Up the lost ones, and be careful who you cross eyes at, ’cause she could be your kin, long gone away.
“Time turned and passed when Mahalia’s Mahalia swung ope’ the gate out front, let the Union soldiers ride in. And when the cap’n fix to spear Massa baby boy, Mahalia snatch up the chile and runned with it out the gate, in the woods. Some say runned and some say flied. But that Mahalia ope’d the gate, gave us our name. And some of her brothers went last we knowed to Canada. One brother went last we knowed to Ohio.
“It was Mahalia’s son Luther who preached the Word like his pa, also called Luther. They’d all named Luther ’cause you can find your way home if you knows your name.
“Now, Mahalia’s Luther couldn’t read at all, but could see through God’s eyes: Told how freed Nigroes gon’ build a church as fine as any and told how he wouldn’t live to preach from its pulpit, but his son and grandson would.
“He was buried by his own son Luther, who read, I say read, psalms over his grave, being the first to preach from a book. Hallelujah! And that Luther got to be an old man and a widower, then lost all his children to the pox. Married him a spry gal, Miss Abigail Coston, what gave him a giant for a son. Another Luther, we calls Sonny. And when that Luther came of age together they built Freedom Gate.
“Now Sonny ’tended college, and was a marching preacher in the Civil Rights with folk gathered ’round and ’round to hear the Word. He was a tall-standing man, couldn’t play boy to save his life. Sonny’s firstborn, also Luther, preached the Word with fire, and his baby girl Ruth Bell got the Calling Up voice. . . . Time turned . . . and passed . . . and Luther baby girl Constance . . . blessed with . . . the Calling Up voice . . . Ruth Bell . . . baby girl . . . Gayle Ann . . . blessed . . . with Emanuel. . . . And time . . . time pass . . . es . . . turns . . . Emanuel . . . will deliver us . . .”
She fought to Tell it one last time. Her lips moved, but she was as voiceless as when she began. Finally her lips closed. There was only the oak-on-oak creak of the rocker against the floor.
Before fear registered, instinct made Gayle place her hand over Great’s opened eyes.
Let Great stay in the chair, she instructed herself. Let the rocking stop on its own. Death wasn’t so scary. Not the way old people die. Old people just pass into it. Like sunsets pass and seasons pass. Old folks know how to do it.
She couldn’t leave the room. If she left she would have to reenter and find Miss Great in her rocker gone from this world. But if she stayed there with Great, talking the history, she would hear Miss Great’s voice guiding hers through the Telling. If she walked in circles and chanted, Miss Great’s body wouldn’t be so still.
She didn’t hear Miss Auntie and Uncle Luther coming up the stairs. She was chanting. She didn’t hear them enter the room, though someone was calling her name. She couldn’t hear them. She had to Tell, over and over, so she would have it in her.
Then she saw something. The black angel of death moved toward the rocker, picked up Miss Great’s body, and laid her on the bed. Then a loud roar of pain broke Gayle from her dizzying chant. She saw her uncle crying at Miss Great’s bedside. Miss Auntie rushed to the bed and threw herself around Uncle Luther. They cried on the bed like orphaned children while Gayle looked on.
Why didn’t she feel their grief? She could see how it pulled their lips and cheeks into scary masks. She could hear it in their choking and sobbing. What she couldn’t do was jump on the deathbed and join in crying, no matter how badly she wanted to.
Tell them, she thought. Tell them Miss Great up there in paradise, with her Lord and her Luther and her Sonny. Tell them.
Something stopped her. She felt another presence and turned to greet it. Before she could reach out to her cousin, Cookie fled without offering her sorrow.
22
THE NEXT MORNING GAYLE lay on her bed with José teddy-beared within the curve of her body. Miss Auntie entered the room and sat at her side.
“Morning, Gayle.”
Though awake, Gayle kept her eyes closed, hoping her aunt would go away.
“Don’t you think it’s time to stop hiding behind the baby?” her aunt asked. Gayle did not respond.
“Coroner came by, sweetie.”
Finally she spoke. “Am I gon’ to jail for that recipe?”
“No, sweetie,” she said and pulled Gayle’s thumb out of her mouth. “The coroner said the recipe let Great go peacefully.”
Gayle wanted to believe her, but she couldn’t tell if Miss Auntie was just being nice or being for real.
“You know she Told me.”
“I know.”
“Why’d she do that? She knew I’m no genius. Why she didn’t Tell Uncle or you or Cookie? I know I got it in me somewhere, but I can’t remember a word of it right now. I mean, that’s our family history. ’Bout our freedom and all.”
Her aunt’s smile simply grew and grew. “If all you remember is how valuable our family history is, then you’ve got it all.”
“But s’pose I lost it for good?”
“It’ll come out when you’re ready, sweetie. You’ll do just fine.”
“Miss Auntie, you always saying that.”
“That’s because I know you, Miss Gayle. You have good sense, like Great. It will all come together when you finish growing. Now, have some faith. Put some in God, some in yourself, and some in the people who love you. Give yourself a chance. You’ll do just fine.”
The joy of having the Telling along with all of Great’s remembrances made Gayle suddenly talkative. She sat up.
“Miss Great told me lots of things.”
“Like?”
“Her funeral. She wanted a big funeral like Old Luther and Sonny’s with strong preaching and singers from Canaday.”
“Canada.”
Gayle shrugged. She could only repeat what she had heard. “Great said Canaday and lots of food. Lots of people in the house making it lively. And she don’t want that high-neck dress in the gold bag. She wants a dress that reminds people she was young and happy.”
“You helped get her ready?”
“She told me to.”
“Gayle Ann, stop feeling so guilty. I’m asking you about covering the mirrors, facing Miss Abigail east.”
“She told me to.”
“That’s old,” Miss Auntie said. “Something folks don’t do anymore.” Her eyes watered. “We have lost a treasure in Miss Great, you know.”
Gayle nodded.
“Bet you didn’t know Miss Great helped me snag Luther.”
“Oh, that love potion?” Gayle drawled. Then she listed the ingredients, the way Great had with rhymes and beats. Miss Auntie shook her head in disbelief, her face ready to break apart. Gayle wished she could take it back. She didn’t mean to say the ing
redients to the love potion. It just spilled right out.
Miss Auntie dried her eyes and stood up. “People will be by soon to pay their respects. Come on downstairs when you’re ready.”
Gayle put José into his wooden crib. She threw the quilt over him, realizing he wouldn’t sleep much longer. He’d be hollering for his bath, his food, and for someone to play with. She looked down on him, wishing he could stay quiet and peaceful like that, wrapped under the quilt. He made such a picture. Him. The quilt. The squares in the corners. Two shells. The opened gate. The cotton that looked like clouds. The stump.
She let out a gasp. As many times as José had wet that thing up! Didn’t Cookie know that quilt belonged to the family? Wait till I tell her . . .
Cookie wasn’t interested in her discovery.
“Dog, Cookie. They didn’t even put Great in the ground. You still broke up over Stacey. Don’t you think you should be spilling some tears for Great?”
“Look who’s talking. I don’t see you crying.”
“That’s ’cause I know she really wanted to go to paradise. Besides, I got all this cooking and cleaning to do to help Miss Auntie with the wake. Things you should be doing.”
“Great’s gone. Nothing I can do to bring her back.”
“But you can do something besides lying here mooning over Stacey.”
“I’m doing something,” Cookie said. “And I need your help.”
“Now you talking.”
“Tell them I’m sick and I want to go to bed early. Leave the back door unlatched and put my robe in the pantry so I can slip it on. If Daddy or Mommy come downstairs, I’ll just say I wanted a snack.”
“That’s so stupid, Cookie. They’ll hear your car coming and going unless Stacey’s going to park way down from the house.”
“He doesn’t know I’m coming.”
“Ain’t you just too much. Hope you get your feelings hurt.”
“I just need to talk to him,” Cookie said.
Gayle rolled her eyes. “Save that lie for your mama. You all heated up and ready to go.”
“So what if I am.”
“Well scuse me, Cuz. I thought being saved was for real. I see the Holy Ghost fly out the window at the first crack.”
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