Midnight Without a Moon(5)

Fred Lee was tall like Mama. As a matter of fact, even at age twelve, he was almost as tall as the burly Mr. Pete, without the bulk. But we both, according to Ma Pearl, looked like our daddy, Johnny Lee Banks. She also claimed that’s where Fred Lee got his “slow wits.” Of course, I could confirm neither, seeing I had never met the man myself, even though he lived right there in Stillwater with his wife and children.

When Fred Lee didn’t answer him, Mr. Pete turned back to Ma Pearl to continue exchanging notes on city life. As he bragged about the things they would do once they got to Chicago, Papa took his pipe from his mouth and regarded him curiously. Leaning back in his chair, Papa crossed his right foot over his left knee and interrupted the conversation. “What kinda work you say you got up there again, Pete?”

Mr. Pete sat straighter. “I got a position with Armour and Company,” he said proudly. “The meat factory.”

Papa furrowed his brow. “They ’low coloreds to handle meat up there in them factories?”

“I won’t be handling meat,” Mr. Pete said matter-of-factly. “I’ll be making soap.”

“Soap?” Papa said, uncrossing his legs. “At a meat house?”

Mr. Pete tilted his head to the side. “You never heard of Dial soap, Mr. Carter?”

“I makes my own soap, Pete. No need to concern myself with the store-bought kind.”

Mr. Pete jerked back, his face flustered. “You never heard the radio advertisements?”

Papa placed the pipe back in his mouth. He shook his head and pretended to puff as he uttered, “Nope.”

“Can’t believe you never heard the advertisements,” Mr. Pete said, his voice low.

After a moment of silent staring, his expression bewildered, Mr. Pete cleared his throat and said, “‘Aren’t you glad you use Dial? Don’t you wish everybody did?’”

I suppressed a chuckle. But Ma Pearl, with a grin as wide as the room, couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. “Oooh, Pete,” she said, clasping her hands like a child before a candy counter, “you sound jest like the man doing the abertising on the radio.”

Mr. Pete beamed like a lighthouse.

Papa, still not impressed, countered, “Don’t much listen to the radio, Pete. So I reckon I ain’t never heard of a meat house making soap.”

“Aw shoot, Paul,” Ma Pearl said. “Ain’t no different than the rough lye soap you makes from the hog fat.”

Papa rubbed his chin, pondering. “I reckon it ain’t.”

As Mr. Pete, Ma Pearl, and Mama prattled on about Armour and Company, Chicago, and their shiny new apartment awaiting them on the South Side, Papa continued to regard Mr. Pete with a furrowed brow. “Pete,” he said finally, his forehead wrinkled, his pipe dangling from his hand, “you sold all that land and bought a fancy car just so you could drive up to the city to make soap?”

Mr. Pete’s expression soured. “Mr. Carter,” he said, his voice booming, “a Negro can own all the land in Mississippi and still be treated worse than a hog. I can’t even register to vote in this county without the threat of being gunned down on the courthouse steps.” He placed his arm around Li’ Man’s shoulders and pulled him close. “I didn’t sell my land to buy a car,” he said, staring intently at Papa. “I sold my land to buy an opportunity. A future for my children.”

“Well, making soap still don’t sound like a proper way to make a living to me,” said Papa.

Mr. Pete shook his head. “I don’t want this kind of life for Callie and Christopher.” He gestured toward the open window, suggesting the cotton fields beyond it. “They deserve better.”

“Better than what?” asked Papa, his brows raised.

Mama interjected. “They got real good schools up there,” she said. She smiled awkwardly and tugged at one of Sugar’s long braids. “Our babies can even go to the same school as white children if they want.”

Good schools for Sugar and Li’ Man, huh? With white children. Well, what about me and Fred Lee? Don’t we deserve good schools too instead of that haunted school for coloreds where everything in it is junk the white folks didn’t want in their children’s schools anymore?

When I was little, watching Mama pamper Sugar and Li’ Man, I used to think that maybe if I had light skin and long hair like Sugar’s, she would love me that way too, maybe even let me live with them. And the same for Fred Lee, except his hair would be curly and coal black like Li’ Man’s. So every night after I finished reciting the Lord’s Prayer to Ma Pearl, I prayed earnestly, “Jesus, please let me wake up in the morning with bright skin and long hair like Sugar’s.” But every morning I woke with the same chocolate complexion and short, nappy hair I had the day Mama left.

I finally gave up on the prayer after two years and two seriously callused knees.

Now all I wanted was to scream at Mama and shake her till her head rattled. But of course I didn’t. I didn’t say a word as she and Mr. Pete sang the glories of their new life up north. And neither did Fred Lee. He was as silent as a stump.

When Mama got ready to leave, she hugged me and kissed my cheek. She smiled at Ma Pearl and said, “Take good care of my babies, now.” When she tried to hug Fred Lee, he pulled away.

“I’ll write soon as we get settled,” she said. Surprisingly, her voice held a slight quiver.