One Day She'll Darken

by Fauna Hodel

  “Don’t pretend you’s sleeping,” Jimmie said, “I’ve known you too long.”

  “Hey Jimmie, it’s good you could come,” Homer said.

  “What’s wrong which you? They won’t tell me nothing downstairs.”

  Homer remained quiet. She never suspected that Homer had terminal cancer. “It must be that cough you been carrying around for years acting up again. This cold weather, you need to wear your heavy coat when you go out. I been telling you that, but you just don’t listen. Now I got to take care of you. How I’m suppose to do that? You got any money to pay for the stuff you need? While you’re in here, resting up, I’m trying to keep everything together and I need some money to pay the bills.”

  “Money, that’s all you could think about’s money?” Homer asked.

  “If you didn’t get yourself sick like this, then I won’t be needing no money,” she said.

  Homer began to cough violently. Jimmie leaned over and stroked his forehead, “Take it down a bit, I’ll get you fixed up and out of here in quick.” Jimmie turned and strutted out to the nurse’s station, where she began by giving orders to the nurses.

  “Hey, girl, you got any Vicks back there?” she asked.

  The nurse was heavyset with a young, light-skinned face. She peered over her glasses at Jimmie Lee, who was now leaning over with both elbows resting on the counter. “Hey girl? My name is Gomez, Nurse Gomez. What’s Vicks?” she asked.

  Jimmie snapped her head up and gave the nurse a leering eye. “You don’t know what’s Vicks? He’s got that cough from a cold and Vicks is what makes it go away. No wonder people die in here.”

  “Who are you?” Nurse Gomez stopped what she was doing and looked Jimmie in the eye.

  “That’s my man in there and he needs some Vicks, that’s who I am.”

  A second nurse entered from the back of the enclosed area and leaned over to Nurse Gomez. Jimmie watched carefully. “What’s she about?” the second nurse asked Gomez.

  “I don’t know, some crank asking for cough medicine,” said Nurse Gomez. She turned back to Jimmie and added, “You need the pharmacy. It’s down on the first floor. That-a-way.” She pointed toward the elevator.

  Jimmie snapped to attention, turned with her nose in the air, and sauntered back into the ward.

  “I got to do everything myself,” Jimmie complained. Homer said nothing. “They won’t give me no simple thing like the medicine, I got to buy it myself. I need some money. If it weren’t for me taking care of everyone, then I’d have something left over. Instead, you get sick, now I got to take care of you. If it wasn’t for you I’d have something today. But now look, I’m practically in the poor house.” Jimmie huffed out of the room.

  Homer knew that his condition was much worse then he was letting on. He sent for his daughter, Helen, who was not a big fan of Jimmie’s. Immediately, the two headstrong women disagreed on everything. The real problem lay in the fact that Jimmie was constantly nagging Homer for money—a fact that didn’t sit well with his daughter.

  Jimmie paraded into the ward as Homer lay in bed watching the Giants in the World Series on TV, Helen sitting quietly nearby. “I talked to the boys over at the Esquire, they said you could go back anytime you feel up to it,” Jimmie said.

  Helen rose imposingly from her metal hospital chair. She was a stout woman with black shiny hair ironed flat to the middle of her neck. Her face was round with a soft complexion and brown eyes, the same as Homer’s. But that’s where the similarity ended. “He’s a very sick man, he can’t go back to work, what’s the matter with you?”

  “Well, he needs to go back to work, cause we got bills to pay,” Jimmie said.

  Helen walked around the other side of the bed inches from Jimmie Lee’s face. “Money,” said Helen, “that’s all you want, you don’t care one bit about my father. I told him long ago to leave you, but you wouldn’t let him go. You took advantage of his good nature and used him any way you could. And now when he’s dying, all you care about is his money. Well, you’re not getting any more of his money. That’s over with. When he’s better, I’m taking him home with me. He’s leaving you for good. Cause without him, you’ll be in the street—where you belong.”

  Jimmie never even peeked at Helen, instead she placed her hands on her hips and looked right at Homer. “Homer,” she said, “how much money you got? I need twenty dollars for the food store, I told him I’d be right back, and I need another thirty-three for the light company and twelve more for the phone. Now, how much you got?”

  Helen’s eyes popped wide, her arms opened in disbelief. “Didn’t you hear a word I said? You ain’t getting no more money from my father. All you’re doing is getting him upset, and I want you out of here.” She rushed out to the nurse’s station and Jimmie was asked to leave the hospital. But that didn’t stop her from harassing Homer. She continued to visit and argue with him during her visits.

  Just before noon on the third day, Helen made her early visit to her father’s bedside. The World Series was starting, but Homer’s condition worsened. He went from an alert, responsive man, to someone who had lost the will to live.

  “How you feeling this morning, Poppa?” Helen said as she leaned to hold his hand. His eyes were sad and glassy. She noticed he was trying to tell her something, but his voice was too soft. “What is it, Pop?”

  Homer cleared his throat and whispered, “She took my money.”

  “Who took your money?” Helen looked puzzled.

  “Jimmie snuck in last night and took some money out of my pants. She thought I was asleep, but I know her smell,” Homer coughed intensely.

  “You get some rest,” Helen said, “take it easy, just rest. I’ll take care of this.” After Homer fell asleep, Helen explained what happened to the nurses, the doctor, and security. Jimmie was barred from the hospital.

  She was furious but didn’t give up. She found her way in through a back door and continued to pester Homer, showing up at odd hours. When the nurses discovered her presence, a padlock was placed on the door, leaving only one entrance into the hospital. But Jimmie persisted and harassed him over the phone for not sticking up for her. Homer was too ill to argue and let matters rest.

  For a week or two things settled down. Billy was much more helpful, taking time out of his busy schedule to watch Yvette while Fauna made her way each day from work to the hospital, sometimes not getting home until late at night. Fauna avoided Jimmie completely. It took all of her energy and time to deal with just one sick member in the family.

  The cancer eating away at Jimmie’s liver was causing her only mild physical pain, far less than expected, but the aggressive treatment of both chemotherapy and radiation caused her to be sporadically ill. The side effects of losing her already thinning hair became more evident in her personality. Now that Homer occupied center stage and she was excluded from the spotlight, her jealousy raged. She refused to accept the gravity of Homer’s illness.

  For the past six months Sierra Wine & Liquor employed Fauna as a computer operator. The methodical work prevented her from reflecting on current family events. She made friends with a few of her co-workers, and enjoyed her work. She disclosed nothing about her personal life, a vivid contrast from the many years she waved her birth certificate and boasted of her blackness. But now, her life was in a flux and she could no longer afford to be confrontational.

  Her boss was a big man, both in size and temperament. Even at fifty, his manner was loud and forceful, similar to a football coach preparing the team for second half. So when Mr. Barengo walked gingerly into the computer room and pulled up a chair next to her, looking rather apprehensive, almost frightened, she was confused.

  “What’s the matter?” Fauna asked, “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  He hesitated a moment, then said, “I’ve got some bad news, Fauna. I don’t know how to tell you this, but,” he vacillated again.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I just received
a call, your mother was found dead on her front porch. I’m sorry, I really am. Why don’t you go, just leave everything, don’t worry. I’m sorry.”

  Fauna felt a chill envelop her skin when she accepted his earnestness. Her eyes became moist. Mechanically, she reached for the telephone to call Jimmie, but she caught a glimpse of Barengo’s awed expression. She hesitated, and then her head began to wobble in disbelief. She replaced the receiver, stood tall, and hurried out of the warehouse to her car. As she zipped through the silent streets toward Jimmie Lee’s apartment at the projects, she thought about the person who dominated her life so thoroughly. Fauna relived the unfulfilled dreams of her momma—the plans of being famous, of being free of poverty. All the concerns that Fauna planned to make right for her momma flashed through her mind. She now would have to live with her self-imposed guilt for preventing those dreams from becoming reality. But most importantly, it was too late to learn the secrets about her real family that Jimmie once promised. It was over; Jimmie Lee was dead.

  Fauna reached her front door and pounded with her fist, frightened at what she would find. But the door was locked and her key was at home. She rushed next door only to discover that the neighbor knew nothing. She let her use her phone to call the hospital but to no avail. Fauna then called four different funeral homes, and the ambulance service, all with the same result.

  They were sympathetic and polite. Her only choice left was to call the police. While she waited, she retrieved the master key from the superintendent. Perhaps, Jimmie Lee was inside her apartment, lying there dead. Fauna cowered as she entered the familiar room. It was empty—no sign of life, no sign of death. Fauna treaded lightly into the bathroom, threw water on her face, and cooled her dewy eyes. She glanced at her confused expression. What was all this strangeness? Where’s the body? She shook her head and tiptoed back outside, without understanding why. It was only a minute before the police arrived. Fauna’s heart began to beat faster.

  A young policeman stepped out of the car and asked, “Did you phone the police?”

  “Yes, my mother is dead—somewhere. But I don’t know where.”

  She couldn’t help but notice his eyebrows lurch upward. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “We got a call at work saying that my mother was found dead on her front porch. She lives here.” Fauna pointed to the apartment. “But she’s not there. I don’t know what to do.” She began to shiver and cry hauntingly, like a lost child.

  The young cop consoled her. “It’s OK. We’ll find her. What’s your name?”

  “Fauna. Fauna Hodel.”

  “OK, Miss Hodel, why don’t you sit down in the car. We’ll take a look around.”

  As Fauna stepped off the stoop toward the car, a young boy from the projects stood nearby. “What’s goin’ on, Pat?”

  Fauna looked up at him through misty eyes, but didn’t recognize him as one of the neighbors. “I got a call at work. Someone said that Momma was found dead on the front porch.”

  She jerked her head back when she noticed his incredulous expression. “What? You mean Miss Jimmie? Yo’ momma ain’t dead,” he said. He was so arrogant in the way he said it that the officer twisted around to pay closer attention. “Least she wasn’t five minutes ago,” he said as he pointed to the apartment on the far side. “I just see’d her in Reverend Mayfield’s apartment.”

  “What?” Fauna asked, “You sure?”

  “‘Course I’m sure. They been there all afternoon.”

  Fauna said nothing, just stalked quickly toward Mayfield’s. The two cops and the young black boy followed. As she approached his apartment, Fauna caught a glimpse of someone peeking through the blinds. She became anxious. Two raps on the door and immediately it opened up.

  “Pat! What a surprise,” Mayfield shouted. “Yo’ momma’s inside.”

  Fauna marched passed him, and sitting at his kitchen table with a drink in her hand and her legs crossed was her momma with a malicious look in her eye, and all too familiar smirk.

  “Aha! I told ya!” She pointed to Mayfield, and then slapped her knee.

  “You’re right! You win,” said Reverend Mayfield. “Miss Jimmie, I’m never gonna doubt you again. You said you could get her over here anytime you wanted and that’s exactly what you did—jus’ by picking up the phone.”

  Now they both laughed triumphantly, the two of them, together, drunk, having a good time at her expense; playing a joke as if they were two children. Fauna was enraged.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Fauna shrieked. “You think this is funny! Y’all think this is some kind a joke! You call the owner of the company where I work and tell him my mother is dead just for fun? What the hell is the matter with you?”

  They giggled together as if they got caught with their hands in a cookie jar. Then Jimmie acted more serious.

  “Don’t you talk to you momma that way! And how dare you cuss at me. You been spendin’ too much time over at the hospital with Homer. I’m the one who has cancer. I’m the one who is sick. You should be spendin’ more time takin’ care a you momma! And if it ain’t Homer, it’s that new nigger you been messin’ with—that Billy goat or whatever his name is.”

  Fauna was too angry to answer. She slammed the door on the way out, still hearing their laughter as she walked away.

  Over the years, Reverend Mayfield lost most of his congregation and saddled himself with debts that he could never pay back. He took up the bottle with Jimmie—a self-confirmed saint and the town sinner, now joined together as drinking partners and next-door neighbors.

  On November first, Homer asked permission for Jimmie to visit one last time while he was in the hospital. Fauna watched tearfully as this old man, frail, beaten, now forty pounds lighter than when he went in, soulfully motioned for Jimmie to come closer so that he could whisper in her ear.

  “Baby,” he could barely speak, “Get me my shoes.”

  “You don’t need no shoes,” said Jimmie. “You’re in bed.”

  “No Baby. I got to get my shoes on.”

  Jimmie just looked at him. She, too, was saddened at this pathetic man.

  “I’m goin’ on a long journey,” he said. “Please, Baby, put my shoes on so I can walk along wit ’em.”

  Jimmie, solemn, genuinely heartbroken, moved closer and placed her ear near his mouth. Fauna watched his lips move but not a sound was heard. Then Jimmie held his hand, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. Moments later, she took his old, worn-out shoes from beneath the bed and placed them gently on his feet for the last time.

  Fauna gasped for breath, trying to hold back her mournful cries as she watched these two people together for the last time. There was so much between them, but there was very little either one could say.

  Fauna walked Momma out while Homer rested. That evening he died, six weeks after he was admitted to the hospital. Fauna went home by herself and wrote in her diary:

  He was a man

  He was my father

  He was my friend

  I said . . .

  I had no mother;

  That’s a lie.

  He was that . . . and more

  He shined shoes for a living

  And when he left me

  I was a polished lady

  I loved that man

  I respected him so.

  To me he was . . .

  HE WAS—a man.

  I remember days

  He gave me his last.

  Oh, how he would fuss

  He instilled in my heart

  The joy of living

  That man is away

  But not far enough

  for me to ever forget

  He shined their shoes

  To pay for my shoes

  OH MY GOD

  WHAT A MAN. . . .

  Shoe shine man

  Shoe shine man . . .

  Gentle shoe shine man.

  Gentle were your strokes

  And to think,

  me, a refle
ction

  Of a shoe shine man

  They buried Homer, and Fauna avoided Momma as much as possible. She prayed for answers, and hoped that Billy could help free her from this life of desperation.

  It was more than a month after Homer’s death when Fauna saw Momma again. She seemed to forget her outrage, and actually started treating her nicer. It was also noticeable that for the first time in years, she had cut down on her drinking. With the exception of Fauna, Reverend Mayfield, and Aunt Rosie, no one took an interest in the once “Pretty Jimmie.”

  Billy and Fauna became very close, and continued to plan a life together. His trips to San Diego were becoming more and more frequent. He was working on a project there, and he kept enticing her by dropping hints about how beautiful it was in San Diego and that it might be a good idea for them to move. The thought intrigued her.

  “Fauna, my life has changed so drastically since I met you—and all for the better, too. It’s good for us to start a family. It’s time for me.”

  “We’re not going through that again,” Fauna said.

  “No, it’s something else. Before I met you, before I worked for Lear, I was just a technician not making enough money to survive. I had a part-time job as a clerk in a grocery store to make ends meet. Yeah, I got the position in engineering at Lear on my own, but since I’ve been with you, a whole other world has opened up.”

  Fauna was baffled. “What are you talking about? What other world?”

  “Well, you know, things have been happening at work,” he said reluctantly.

  “What things?”

  “People have been taking an interest in me—important people at the company. I’m a new guy; I’ve only been there about a year. I don’t understand. Before I met you no one even noticed me. Now people are telling me that they have big plans for me. I just don’t understand. I’m just one of a dozen other guys. Almost all of them have far more experience, too.”