The Dry Grass of August(20)

Mama handed the fluted bowl to Mary. “I know they’re not out of town.”

“I has to call Reesy two, three times.” Mary put soap flakes in the bowl.

“I need to ask Rita if they found a yard man,” Mama said. “I got a name from the girl who sweeps up at the beauty parlor. Do you know a Bobbo Scott? Would he be a good yard boy for Rita and Stamos? Bobbo, is that right?”

“That’s his name. Not much of a name, but he not much of a man.”

“Oh?” Mama’s voice arched like her eyebrows.

“He carries a bottle.”

I knew that was it for Bobbo.

Mama said, “Rita got a name from Safronia. Woodrow Addison. Do you know him?”

“Uh-huh.” Mary wiped the bar. “He falls out. Has blood sugar. All his people do.”

Neither Mama nor Aunt Rita would approve anybody colored until they’d run the name by Mary. If Mary didn’t know them, she knew somebody who did.

Mary picked up a basket of wet sheets and went out to the clothesline. Mama never let Mary put sheets in the dryer because the sunshine made them smell good.

“Jubie, have you swept the walk?” Mama asked.

Mrs. Feaster, a lady from Mama’s bridge club, pulled up while I was sweeping. “Hello, June,” she called out. “I’m here to help your mother.”

“Yes, ma’am. Mama said you were coming over. She’s in the kitchen.” I followed her into the house.

Mama handed me the colander of potatoes. “Hey, Susie, thanks for coming over. Jubie, peel these, please.”

Mrs. Feaster hung up her hat and coat. “Glad I can help.”

“I thought Mary was going to peel them,” I said to Mama. The potatoes smelled like damp dirt.

“When she finishes at the clothesline, she has to do the ironing.” Mama handed me the peeler.

“That plastic cloth on the table in the den,” Mrs. Feaster said, “has how to bid printed right on it. Diana Sawyer always stares at the place that means what she’s bidding. She might as well pass notes to her partner.”

“My linen cloths have to go on the tables in the living room. I can’t leave the den table bare. And I won the plastic cloth at the club last fall.”

“If you have to look at a tablecloth to know how to bid, you shouldn’t be playing.” Mrs. Feaster carried the fluted bowl into the dining room and came back with two silver trays that she put beside me on the kitchen table. “Wish I had your head of hair, June, so thick and blonde. Mine’s getting grayer every day and I’m always at the tail end of a perm. That’s a lot of potatoes.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I looked at the colander.

“How many people are y’all feeding tonight?”

“Carter’s eating with us, and my friend, Maggie Harold, but that’s only eight.”

“Only eight,” Mrs. Feaster said. “I swear, Pauly, I’d go crazy with so many people around all the time.”

“Sometimes I do.”

Water came on full blast in the sink, dishes rattled. Mrs. Feaster said, “Speaking of crazy, will Brenda be here tomorrow ?”

Mama sighed. “Eventually she will. About the time I’m serving dessert, she’ll come in, all short of breath and full of excuses.”

“Maybe she was an hour late being born and never got caught up.”

“Brenda doesn’t function very well these days,” Mama said. She didn’t add, “Bless her heart,” the way she usually did when she criticized another woman.

“Paula, you’re too kind. Brenda Simpson’d make a nigger look smart.”

“Susan!” Mama sounded shocked, but she laughed. Her laugh broke off and she gasped.

Mary stood in the doorway, the laundry basket at her hip. “Miz Feaster, you ought to know better than to say such a thing.” She didn’t sound like herself, didn’t sound like a maid.

“Mary!” Mama said. “We didn’t know you were standing there.”

“That is no excuse for talking trash.”

“Mary”—Mama’s voice went quiet and cold—“you’re forgetting your place.”

“No, ma’am.” Mary left the kitchen, came back in her hat and coat. She didn’t look at me.

Mama followed her. “I’m so sorry.”

“I be here in the morning. Wouldn’t leave you with all your ladies coming.” Mary closed the den door hard behind her.





CHAPTER 9

At Joyland by the Sea, just outside Pensacola, only a few cars were parked in the roped-off grassy field. Stell said, “There’s not a lot of joy in Joyland.” The sky was low, overcast, not at all what I’d imagined the weather would be for our afternoon at the amusement park.

Mary stood by the car, Davie on her hip, as I took the stroller from the trunk. “Lord’s day. Maybe folks just stays in church.”

We walked past the sandwich board I’d seen from the car the day we arrived in Pensacola:



BRYSON McCURDY’S TRAVELING CARNIVAL!!





THE SNAKE MAN

THE WILD DOG OF THE EVERGLADES

THE THREE-LEGGED GIRL

and MORE!!!! No Gate Charge!